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pronouncingitwang · 4 years

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pre-canon Jon/Georgie | 4.3K words | for @the-magnace-archives

“Laundry detergent is practically a self-contained emulsion—not that it has to be a mixture of anything, but it has a hydrophilic and a hydrophobic end,” says Jonathan-Sims-but-I-usually-go-by-Jon-oh-and-it’s-nice-to-meet-you-too, and Georgie grins. She hadn’t expected much when she dragged herself out tonight, prompted more by the vague feeling that she really ought to make some friends this year (apparently, her tutees don’t count, thanks Mum) than any real desire to do so. Then, she’d looked across Balliol Bar to see the student who’d interrupted their Modern-ish Lit prof in lecture yesterday, holding a briefcase in his lap and scowling at his beer as if it too wasn’t planning to analyze Jane Austen through a post-colonialist lens this year. Georgie had headed over as a gesture of BAME Literature student solidarity, and now it’s been an hour and she’s still here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jon doesn’t seem to be a fan of eye contact, which gives Georgie plenty of opportunity to observe. None of his initial red flags—being dressed like a professor on TV, for one—have proven to be signs of a deeper rottenness yet. There’s something in Jon’s gestures—abrupt, abortive, like he’s holding himself back—that assures Georgie that he’s not just doing this as an ego boost. This is all to say that the last three hours of banter and infodumping have been wholly pleasant. Probabilistically, it can’t last.

“Do- do you want to go back to mine?” Jon asks, and god does Georgie hates being proven right sometimes. It’s not that Jon’s unattractive, per se—Alex would have called him “hot in a murder victim kind of way” (and the memory of her voice hurts, but less than it would’ve a year ago)—but Georgie had hoped for a little more class. Plus, even if Jon seems harmless and even if Georgie's not scared, she'd rather not run the risk of being called a bitch tonight. She starts scanning for nearest exits.

Something about her silence must’ve clued Jon in because he quickly exclaims, “Not like that! God, sorry, not like that.”

Georgie pauses in her room surveyal. “Oh?”

“Sorry, sorry, I just meant that- that I’d like to keep talking to you, but it’s really loud here and I can’t think of anywhere quieter that’s open right now. I promise. But in retrospect, I can... I can see how that might’ve sounded.”

He looks earnest enough, and a little flushed as well. Georgie wants to—does—believe him. But she takes a second to size Jon up anyway. Between the eyebags, height (or lack thereof), and twig limbs, he looks like someone she could defend herself against if needs be. Also, she kind of does want to learn more about emulsifiers, or just watch him as he talks about them.

“Well, as long as you mean it—” “I do.” “Then, let’s go.”

(Georgie wakes up seven hours later with a crick in her neck and an Oxford sweatshirt she doesn’t own draped over her shoulders. Her hair’s a mess—she hadn’t pineappled it last night, and the back of this chair(? yeah, it’s a chair) is definitely not silk—and the time is… shit. Oh, and there’s Jon, perched on his bed and looking at her.

“You, ah, fell asleep during the ghosts debate? I didn’t know whether or not to wake you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Georgie says, rolling her neck and wincing. “Sorry for stealing your chair.”

“Tea?” Jon asks, holding out a mug Georgie’s almost certain was just in the godforsaken microwave. Not that she hasn’t done the same thing on many an occasion.

“Sorry,” Georgie says, “I should probably be going; I’m gonna be late for a lecture. But before I leave—do you want to do this again tomorrow?”)

Georgie spends some time deliberating over when to pop the question. It’s not fear holding her back; it’s practicality. There’s only a small window of feeling—after “certain she wants this” but before “starting to think losing Jon’s company would require her to take another gap year”—where taking the risk is worth it, and the second stage is coming up much faster than anticipated. (She’s never thought of herself as someone who falls for people fast—she hadn’t even realized her feelings for Alex until it was far too late—but now this. Maybe it’s another side effect of getting a philosophy lesson from a corpse. Or maybe it’s just a Jon thing.) All in all, it’s only been three weeks after their first meeting before she asks.

“Are you seeing anyone else?”

“What?” Jon asks, eyes jolting from his book to scan his room for uninvited apparitions. They’d both been unusually absorbed in their readings for the past hour, only interrupting the silence with scoffs and huhs.

“No, like, are you seeing anyone else romantically?” Jon frowns, and a thread of doubt worms its way into Georgie’s throat. “That is what we’re doing, right?” Granted, lunch meet-ups in the dining hall that spill over into long and unproductive study sessions might not scream “date,” but there’d also been a fair amount of (well, okay, Georgie-initiated) arm-around-the-shoulder action a few times. Also, hand-holding, of the fingers-intertwined variety.

“Oh. Um, yes, we’re romantically involved, or I suppose I should say that I hoped we were and didn’t know how to ask for clarification”—note to self: communicate clearer in future, Georgie thinks—“and no, I’m not seeing anyone else.”

Georgie had thought as much, but the confirmation is nice. “Cool. Me neither. Want to keep doing that?”

“Seeing each other?”

“And not anyone else, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe even start calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend?”

“Oh. Um.” Jon’s leg starts to bounce, which doesn’t seem like a good sign. Georgie waits.

“It’s not that-” Jon begins, then cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to, believe me. I just—I have a… ground rule. That you may not be happy about.”

“Just one?”

“What?” Jon looks startled out of his worry for a second, which Georgie counts as a success.

“Well, I mean, if you’re talking about boundaries, I’ve got plenty. Routines that I’d need you to work around, stuff I don’t want to talk about, and if you’re ever even slightly sympathetic to the Tories…”

Jon doesn’t even laugh at the last one, and she knows he’s not a Cameron cocksucker. Something’s really bothering him.

“This one is… a pretty big deal.”

Georgie tries to keep her tone reassuring. “Let me be the judge of that, yeah?”

“Okay,” Jon says, “okay, yeah,” then nods decisively. “I’m… not going to have sex with you.”

What?

Jon continues, hands fluttering nervously as he explains. “I mean, I can’t say for certain that I’ll never change my mind, but if we’re doing this, it should be under the assumption that I won’t. And it’s not—it’s not a you thing, I swear, it’s just the thought of doing that with—with anyone is just…” he shudders slightly, and Georgie gives him a sympathetic wince. “And I know that’s a dealbreaker with a lot of people. I think I’m—well, it’s called asexuality, there’s some books I found if you don’t believe me, here, I’ll write the titles down—” Jon reaches for his briefcase, presumably to find paper and pen, but Georgie grabs his hand before he can.

“Jonathan,” she says. He tightens a little at the sound, and damn if that doesn’t near break her heart. “Jon. I believe you. And”—she squeezes his palm—“I still want to be with you.”

“Are you—are you sure?”

“Completely. Honestly, I’m kind of relieved?” Georgie says, realizing as she replies just how true the words are. “I’m not sure how I feel about sex yet either, really. I’d wondered, each time I’ve been over, if you’d try to… and then you never did, and I was always glad. I’m not like you, I don’t think—the thought doesn’t repulse me, it just… might not be something I’m ready for yet.”

“But you think you’ll want to later?”

Georgie shrugs. “Well, yes and no? People are hot, but even if I changed my mind about sex, I wouldn’t ask you for anything you don’t want to give me, and I doubt I’d be so horny that we’d need to renegotiate our relationship. I’ve been doing just fine dealing with everything single-handedly. Or,” she amends, “sometimes double-handedly.”

And there it is: Jon laughs, a rusty exhale that makes Georgie smile more than anything.

“So…” she whispers, bumping her nose against Jon’s, “Unless my boyfriend has any more objections…”

“Just to—just to clarify. That’s me?”

Despite her best efforts, a giggle escapes Georgie’s throat. “Yes.”

“Well. In that case. He does not.” Jon says. “Oh. Except. Can I kiss you?” he asks, which conveniently answers one of Georgie’s unvoiced questions.

“Absolutely.”

Their lips meet despite Jon’s grin, but only because Georgie’s smiling just as wide as he is.

That conversation, it seems, marks the beginning of Jon-initiated physical affection. Georgie had assumed before that his lack of cuddliness was fully a result of touch sensitivity, but it's clear now that although the sensory stuff was a factor, Jon had also been holding himself back, trying to avoid any touch which could be seen as either too clingy or a prelude to sexual activity. Now, on some days, there’s a head leaning against Georgie's shoulder in the dining hall, a leg swung over her lap as they sit on his bed, an arm around her waist when they walk to Modern-ish Lit together. It’s not all effortless—Jon still moves like he half-expects Georgie to bat his hand away, and sometimes Georgie forgets to ask before she touches Jon—but they’re getting there.

Currently, Georgie’s wheeling a shopping cart around Tesco with Jon draped over her back like a very determined lichen. It was Steve-from-down-the-hall’s birthday last night, so Jon and a few of Jon’s acquaintances-turning-friends from a budding local urban exploration group had come over to duck into the party and snag several bottles. Georgie’s more than a little hungover, and Jon is no better for wear—he doesn’t drink, but staying up all night has taken its toll.

Jon’s wearing a sleeveless top that, on second thought, may actually be an old skirt of Georgie’s. Either way, he looks great. Georgie’s in her pajamas, and also, for some reason, a top hat? Between the outfits and Jon’s posture, they’ve gotten a few looks, but being literally fearless does wonders for one’s ability to ignore that stuff. Plus, Georgie knows almost all the employees here. They’ll have her back if needs be. Georgie’s not bothered, not by the other shoppers and not by her barnacle boyfriend—Jon’s not heavy, and he matches her every step, only disentangling himself to add items to the cart. She’s just glad they’ve both stuck around long enough to see each other like this.

In fact, there are a plethora of behaviors Georgie can sort into pre-commitment and/or post-commitment Jon things. She’ll make a Venn diagram once she’s certain her observations are solid. Pre-commitment things that Jon has since dropped include making his bed in the morning and keeping his professorial garb on at home. Things that go into both categories are Jon’s love of debate, the posh accent (though sometimes, after Jon’s just finished up a stilted call to his grandmother, his “of”s sound more like “off”s), and the fact that every time Georgie comes over, he opens the door before she knocks, like he’s been listening for her the whole time. Post-commitment, there’s calling her “George” when he’s sleepy; launching into completely sincere dramatic readings of his assignments to help him think passages through; stimming without looking self-conscious about it; and luckily for Georgie, cooking.

“Pasta tonight?” she asks as Jon squints at two identical-looking tomatoes so hard Georgie thinks they might explode.

“Mm.”

“The one on the left is a bit bigger?”

Jon puts the other one down with a scowl. “Maybe.”

The kitchens in Jon’s building have a stovetop and just enough counter space for prep. Georgie insists on helping this time, so she chops vegetables as Jon gets the noodles going. As the water nears boiling, Jon begins to hum something that Georgie thinks is meant to keep time, tapping his foot to the rhythm.

“Whatcha singing?”

“Oh,” Jon says, foot no longer tapping. “I didn’t notice—that is—it’s just. Something my grandmother sings when she’s cleaning.”

Jon doesn’t talk about his grandmother much, but Georgie can fill in the blanks. Again, she's been in the room for some of their phone conversations, and though she doesn't understand Urdu, she does understand silence. So she doesn’t push, just says, “Well, it sounds nice” and keeps chopping. Jon doesn’t sing, or speak, for the rest of their time in the kitchen.

Georgie’s dad said something once about vulnerability being a mutual exchange, and it’s stuck with her ever since. (Seems even more relevant now, since the no-fear thing means vulnerability doesn’t cost her much anyway.) Five minutes into a very silent dinner, Georgie speaks.

“You know, during first term, on the weekends, I didn’t eat dinner at all. Or any meals, really.”

Jon doesn’t move, but she can tell he’s listening.

“It made sense to eat on weekdays, because I’d always come across a cafeteria on my way to class. But on weekends, it was way too much work to drag myself out of my room, sometimes even out of bed. There didn’t seem to be any reason to. And I always had some rolls on hand that I’d taken from the dining halls earlier that week, so it’s not like I was starving myself. But still. Wasn’t great.” Jon nods, which is enough encouragement for Georgie to finish. “So I guess what I mean is, thank you? For being a good enough reason.”

Georgie takes Jon’s hand, and he squeezes back.

(A few days later, when Georgie’s almost forgotten the incident, Jon pulls the blanket tighter around them and says, “I think I’m going to tell you about my grandmother now, if that’s okay,” and Georgie says, “okay.”)

Georgie hasn’t had a bad episode in a long time, but then her dad gets into a car wreck and he’s fine, he’ll be fine, but the bill’s gonna be hell to foot, and Georgie should be calling her English course freshers to see if they or their friends want any more tutoring hours, but instead she hasn’t brushed her teeth in four days and she’s missed her weekly scheduled room cleaning and she has that marked in her calendar for a reason, she has a routine for a reason, but every limb feels heavy and she’d rather stare at the ceiling and wait for it to collapse on her the way it one day will and therefore always has been. She misses Alex. She misses home. She misses being able to move without feeling like she’s dragging her body in a bag behind her.

Jon finds Georgie on what she thinks is a Saturday. He takes a second to scan the room before his eyes alight on the pile of blankets she’s under. “You haven’t been answering my messages,” he says.

The one time Jon had a meltdown in Georgie's presence, he shouted at her to leave, immediately. Georgie thinks she should extend Jon the same chance to escape, never mind that Jon's brain in crisis does better alone and Georgie's doesn't.

“Please go away.”

Jon does go away, but only to the other side of the room—where Georgie had accidentally knocked over her laundry hamper two(? three?) days ago and then stared at it until it felt like her insides had been hollowed out—and starts picking up each item of clothing on the ground, inspecting it, and shoving it back in the basket.

“Is this clean?” Jon asks, holding up a pair of knickers. Under most circumstances, the image would be funny, but as it is, it’s just surreal.

Georgie sighs. “I don’t think there’s a single clean thing in this room.”

“That’s good to know,” Jon says, and then, “Maybe you should get up.”

“Make me,” Georgie says. He does not.

As Jon continues to tidy up the floor, he asks her various bite-sized questions—trying to ground her, she assumes. Where did she get these jeans? What’s that poster on her wall of? Does she need the notes from Thursday? How is she doing? That last one, she elects not to answer.

When Jon’s done with the laundry pile, he asks for a hand to lift the hamper upright again. Georgie considers calling him out on the ruse, but finds that it’s easier to take Jon’s hand as he half-pulls her out of bed. Standing upright makes her a little dizzy, but he holds her still until her vision clears.

But then they go to lift the hamper, and Georgie drops it again and Jon doesn’t catch it fast enough and the clothes go spilling over the floor again, and she screams something at Jon that burns in her throat and Jon blinks and blinks and hardens and yells something back and Georgie wants to throw something or hide or fall asleep but instead she just tells Jon to get the fuck out out of her room.

“Fine,” Jon snaps, and wrenches the door open. He pauses before he takes his first step into the hall. “I’ll be back in an hour, if you want me here then.”

Georgie curls up on the ground and thinks about what Jon breaking up with her would look like and she isn’t scared, just sad, and then she counts prime numbers until she falls asleep again. And then Jon does come back, and Georgie is no less frustrated and Jon is no less hurt, but he’s holding a takeout bag. (Georgie tears through the wrap, and then, upon Jon’s prompting, all of his kebabs too, and he sits there until she’s finished. Once she’s full, she feels a little less heavy.)

Georgie practically runs up the stairs to Jon’s room, phone still clutched in hand. “URGENT,” the text had read, and Georgie had felt a sharp curiosity course through her.

When Jon opens the door, he’s practically vibrating. “I figured out a way to get into the Sheldonian after-hours,” he whispers.

“No fucking way,” Georgie whispers back. “Seriously, how? We have to tell the others right fucking now. But how?”

Georgie had recently dragged Jon into her latest obsession—Oxford history—though “dragged” implies that he hadn’t come extremely willingly. She’d wondered if the incident in the medical building would come up, but Jon had quickly turned to fixate on something else. For the last month, Oxford’s main theater has been the subject of most, if not all of their conversation. That's spilled over into their conversations with their urbex friends (read: all their friends), which has then spilled over into their collective ability to engage in academia. Each member of their friend group—going on different days to deflect suspicion—has been on a tour to scope out the surveillance cameras’ blind spots. Plus, they’ve pooled their money to buy a fancy lockpicking kit.

“Well,” Jon says, hands flapping wildly as he looks for his phone, “I was talking to one of the violinists who played there last year, and then there were some blueprints in the Balliol Library—here, I took pictures—and…”

There’s more planning to do, obviously, if the six of them want to achieve their ultimate goal of “don’t get caught, like, seriously.” They practice treading lightly, quiz each other on floor plans, and (at least try to) confine themselves to a strict sleep schedule to keep their reflexes sharp. It’s unbelievably overkill, but such is life.

Then, there’s scheduling, which is difficult because Marie has two big assignments coming up and Steph works night shifts five days a week, but eventually, the expedition is a go.

Two weeks later, Georgie finds herself standing on the wood floor of the Sheldonian Theater, looking up at the barely-moonlit ceiling.

“Wow,” Jon breathes over a chorus of April’s “holy shit!”s.

“Kind of stupid that Truth is white,” Georgie says, but her voice is tinged with as much awe as Jon’s is.

Jon lets out a huff of laughter. “Next time, we can break in and repaint.”

“By stacking like ten ladders on top of each other?”

“Obviously.”

Georgie’s seen the ceiling before on daytime tours, of course she has, but those times, it was always just a painting, no less shiny and solid than the rest of the theater. The fresco she sees now is smudged with shadow, but that only makes it look more real. It depicts a vortex of orange clouds surrounded by scholars and cherubim. The figures curl themselves around the perimeter, simultaneously drawn into and bracing themselves against the storm. In the center of the swirling mass, Truth raises itself up, holding out its glowing hand. Structural support beams run over the mural to hold the ceiling up, sectioning off various parts of the scene. Every figure is drawn in exquisite detail; the shadows of their robes, the strands of their hair. But from down where Georgie stands, the whole thing just looks like an ancient mouth straining against a golden net, ready to consume them both.

“It’s beautiful,” Georgie whispers, and then, because one time doesn’t seem enough, “It’s beautiful!”

“You’re beautiful,” Jon tells the ceiling, though his whisper doesn't carry very far.

“You’re beautiful!” Georgie whisper-shouts at Jon. (Georgie senses, more than hears, an exasperated groan from Nick behind her, but she pays him no mind. She’s earned the right to be this sappy, thank you very much.)

“So are you!” Jon whisper-shouts back.

“I am!”

Most of their friends begin wandering farther off, but Jon and Georgie stay put. The Sheldonian is a flat-floor building. There’s no raised platform that draws the line between stage and audience, just an area with chairs and one without. Whatever secrets the two of them whisper to Truth, it is both call and response.

“Sometimes, I feel so lonely I could scream!”—from Jon.

“I wish I remembered what fear felt like!”—from Georgie.

“I don’t understand poetry and I never will!”

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong because I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“I wish I’d chosen a different course! I have no idea what to do after graduation!”

“When professors call me Georgina, I feel physically ill!”

“I hate having short hair!”

“I hate having long hair!”

“I wish I’d actually taken my Urdu lessons seriously when I was younger!”

“I don’t feel guilty about quitting all my clubs in first year but I feel like I should!”

“We should be a little quieter!”

“I agree!”

A pause.

“I’m going to fail all my exams!”

“Funny, I’m gonna fail all of mine!”

“I’ll always feel like a disappointment! And I love my girlfriend!” It’s not the first time Jon’s said it, but the words send a thrill through Georgie anyway.

“I stubbed my toe yesterday and it still hurts! And I love my boyfriend!” It is the first time she’s said it. It feels right.

“I’m going to try to get to the balcony without being seen!”

“Good idea!”

“I really do love you,” Jon says again, and begins to move towards the nearest staircase, where Steph and April appear to be arm-wrestling. As Georgie watches his back, she’s suddenly struck by another memory—someone else Georgie loves standing in a building she’s not supposed to be in, taking one of her very last steps away from her. The feeling that rises in Georgie isn’t fear, but it must be the closest thing to it.

“Wait,” she says. (Jon turns around. He really is beautiful.) “I’m coming with you.”

It’s third year, which means fast-approaching papers and goodbyes and post-graduation uncertainties, but it also means Georgie and Jon (and Nick and Marie, but they aren’t arriving until tomorrow) are moving in together.

“You’re gonna have to try to hold still,” Georgie says as she attempts to apply a second coat of purple to Jon’s pinky nail.

“I am,” Jon says. “Can’t you tape around it?”

“I don’t know which box the tape’s in,” Georgie says. “And since someone insisted on having his nails done before we began unpacking…”

“New place, new hands,” Jon says. “It just makes sense.”

“It really… doesn’t… but… there! That’s all of them! Now, just- don’t touch anything for the next ten minutes. I’m gonna do mine now.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jon gives a mock salute, and of course, grazes his nails against his hair in the process. “Oh, shit.”

“You’re the worst. I’m stealing all the blankets tonight for revenge.”

“Which blankets did you pack?”

“I thought that was your job?”

“It definitely wasn’t…”

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no…”

“What did you say the last time I asked you to check the packing list…?”

“Shut up!"

“No, I don’t think ‘shut up’ was it. I’m pretty sure it was more along the lines of ‘I’m not an idiot, Jon,’ but if you’re sure…”

“We can check if they’re still there after our nails dry, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes pass.

“I think we should get a cat,” Georgie says. “Do you want to get a cat?” and Jon breaks the holding-still rule again by shouting something incomprehensible and flinging his arms around her.

(Later, over takeout and scuffed nails:

“This year will be a good year,” Georgie tells Jon. “I can feel it. And if it’s not, I’ll make it good.”

“I’ll make it good, too,” Jon says, “Or I’ll try to, at least. I promise.”

And Georgie believes him, and Georgie is not afraid.)

#jongeorgie #the magnus archives #tma #georgie barker #jonathan sims #magnuspod #fic #not sure why it says anonymous i think it's bc i posted to a collection

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sun-sakura · 4 years

Text

I POISON KISS I A Vampire x Dust story

IChapter 1.I

Dust sighed heavily, crawling on the pile of unmade sheets that were supposed to represent what was left of his bed. The skeleton looked around, noting that the room was completely destroyed. Of all the places he could have chosen to vent his anger, he had wisely decided to take refuge in his room. He looked up to the sky, feeling a vague sense of irritation towards himself, another disaster to add to the mess he felt in his head at that moment. Speaking of mess, the excessively loud voice of his deceased brother kept buzzing in his head, shuffling through the walls, mixing and blending in with his boss's earlier words. "Papyrus shut up!" he exclaimed exasperatedly, closing his eyes, trying to make pass with the sole will of thought what foretold an immense headache.

Incredibly, once in a while Papyrus had decided to take pity on him, because he immediately stopped talking, dissolving and disappearing from his sight. Dust puffed, honestly at that moment he didn't even care so much that perhaps he had offended his brother's spirit. All he wanted to do at that moment was sleep, but of course it was a luxury he could not afford. The most significant words in the brief conversation he had with Nightmare seemed to appear and disappear in front his eyes, haunting him like the ghosts of his past. "Dust this doesn't work, you're too weak. You're starting to become a dead weight for the team" "what?! Boss, what are you saying?! I have the same level of LOVE as the others, in fact, i'd rather say that i'm even better than all of them put together!" "That may have been true until a few months ago, but now? Come on, stop avoiding the truth, you know it too. The others are making progress and getting better and stronger every day, but you? I can't remember the last time i saw you take training seriously" Dust gritted his teeth remembering those words, part of him knew that Nightmare was right, but that didn't take away the fact that it pissed him off, not even a little bit. "I want to give you a chance Dust, since you have always been one of my best fighters. You have one week to increase your power by at least 5 levels, if you don't succeed and you show me that you are no longer useful to the team, i will make sure that the word dust is not the only thing that represents your name. Did i made myself clear?" God, the need to hit him, to wipe that constant air of superiority from his face had never been so strong. Dust could still feel the slight tremor in his hands, a sign that he needed to kill someone, to gain more exp, now. He got up, opening the door of the room with the simple use of his magic, his hands still had a slight tremor. Surprisingly, however, he was not the only one present in the corridor. "Damn, what's wrong? Bad day D?" The two-eyed skeleton took an annoyed look at what was theoretically close enough to be called his friend. As close as a colleague of killing and destruction could be called a friend. The other could honestly consider himself lucky enough to tolerate his presence enough not to kill him right there on the spot. Killer's almost permanent smile did nothing more than expand to the discontent of the other. Ignoring the clear death threats that the other had thrown at him with that simple glance, the skeleton with black tears broke away from the wall where he had previously rested, hastening his step, walking alongside the other. "So, judging by your bad mood i assume that the boss has spoken to you" Dust couldn't help but raise his eyes to the sky, a verse of mockery came out of his tightened mouth. Obviously Killer already knew everything. After all, he was literally Nightmare's little dog. Dust had repeatedly wondered whether there was anything more behind the scene of the boss and his loyal subordinate. He had seen them, the signs and marks on the body of the other. He would not know whether to interpret them as positive or negative signs, considering that each time it seemed that Killer had fought against some kind of beast. However, judging by the usual slightly less cold smile with which the other one returned to his room each time, Dust had ventured the hypothesis that the encounters between the two were more than consensual on both sides. Not that he gave a damn, if one fuck was enough to keep Nightmare's bad temper at bay, then as far as he was concerned they could spend whole days locked in their rooms. The hooded skeleton shook his head slightly, it would have been better if certain thoughts had never taken shape in his head. Regardless of the lack of cooperation in making conversation, Killer continued to talk to him. "you know, i wouldn't worry too much, i mean, if you start to do something right away, maybe you might have a chance to survive" sometimes Dust wondered why he allowed such idiots to consume his precious time. That conversation was getting him nowhere, as far as he was concerned, Killer at that moment was more than useless to him. In fact, all he was doing was increasing his boiling irritation. Dust fasted his pace, in the hope that the other one would understand the antiphon and decide to give him a break, at least for once. Killer chuckled at this, but understood the message, stopping in his footsteps, continuing to observe how the other one hastened to increase, one step after the other, the distance that separated them. "I know a way that will make you become stronger" Dust stopped immediately on the spot, his gaze, although the other could not see him, still seemed impassive; nevertheless, a spark of interest had begun to shine in the luminous irises. Slowly, he turned, half of his face was hidden by the blood coloured scarf slightly worn by time and monster dust. "Speak" Killer smiled, knowing he had him wrapped right around his finger. The skeleton took his time, reducing the distance that Dust had created a few moments earlier into slow, relaxed steps. He stopped right in front of him. The two of them stared into each other's eyes for very long moments, as if threatening the other one to give in first. In the end, Killer shrugged his shoulders. One of the hands constantly hidden in the pockets of his sweatshirt came out, revealing together the contents he was hiding. Dust looked skeptically at the small piece of paper the other was handing him. He looked up, staring at the other with a blatant irritation, mixed with a hidden temptation to murder. "what the hell am i supposed to do with a piece of paper?" "heh, go to the address on it, once there, tell him what you came for" despite the seed of doubt still clearly present in his gaze, Dust finally decided to take it. The letters that were written on it made his mouth twitch in a bitter and annoyed grimace. "They say that the guy who lives there is able to give you everything you want, but like everything else, this also has a price" Killer's voice was reduced to nothing more than a whisper. They danced temptingly to the side of his head, his warm breath almost sensually caressing the area where his ear should have been. "I advise you to be careful Dust, they say his words are particularly...sharp" Killer's laughter continued for several moments along the walls of the dark corridor, even when the skeleton was no longer present. Dust continued to stare at the slightly crumpled piece of paper in his hand. The words "AU: Vampiretale" followed by a series of coordinates apparently indecipherable to him swayed slightly in front his eyes. Dust clenched his fist, watching as the paper crumpled on itself with a slight protest sound. There was no way such a universe like that really existed, let alone a guy who could give you everything you want. Killer had simply mocked him, it was certainly not the first time. Yet why had his soul started beating at a slightly faster pace? Like some part of him really believed a bullshit like that? Doubt seemed to continue to prevail in his mind, stifling his other emotions, yet he could not deny that a part of him was curious. Dust hurriedly slipped the piece of paper into his pocket, starting to walk again as if nothing had happened. His mind seemed like a tornado in a storm, more violent than usual. There was only one way to find out whether or not Killer had lied to him, and as much as he wasn't so excited about it, he realized that his options were not that wide..

To be continued...

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|So...I decided to write a story about one of my favourite ships. Honestly, these two should deserve a lot more attention and love, so i hope i can get other people to appreciate this magnificent ship!^^|

| CREDITS:

Dust!Sans belongs to: ask-dusttale

Vampire!Sans belongs to: vampireprinceloki

Killer!Sans belongs to: rahafwabas

Nightmare!Sans belongs to: jokublog |

|Comments, likes and reblogs are really appreciated! Always feel free to tell me what you think about my stories. I DON'T own any of the characters used in the story, credits go to the respective authors listed above. Do not repost on any other platform. Nothing in the story represents canon facts, this is a work of fiction, please respect the creators of the characters. See you in the next chapter~♡|

#undertale au #undertale ship #undertale ships #sanscest #nightmare sans #nightkiller #killernight #vampire x dust #vampire sans #dust sans #vampiredust #undertale

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elibean · 5 years

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hello i love akihiko and haruki a whole whole lot! this is MOSTLY canon compliant but i am not yet done reading the manga thoroughly lol i skimmed through it while the anime was still airing so i might be missing some stuff. anyway please enjoy!

Haruki had a lot of thoughts when it came to fantasizing about dating Akihiko: how he’d act, the things they’d do together, etc. He’d imagined them dating hundreds of times, entertained the thought thousands of times before. After the problem, those thoughts vanished for months…and then seemed to come back with a fury just as Akihiko was seeming to drift away from him. Months had passed since the incident, and despite the bizarre situation the two found themselves in living-wise, things between them had started to go back to normal. Haruki had assumed his feelings had finally faded, and he was getting over Akihiko, and beginning to enjoy his company just as friends. But then as Akihiko finally moved out, and started working harder at the violin, harder at school—as Akihiko became more distant from Haruki—the feelings came back, with a vengeance.

But no matter how he imagined dating Akihiko would be like, Akihiko managed to break those expectations at every turn. Of course, he was still the teasing, playful person the whole band always knew—but he was also unexpectedly sweet. The way Akihiko would look at Haruki sometimes made his heart melt. But he was also such a gentleman! He offered to pay on dates almost always, and always held the door for Haruki; stupid stuff like that. But it was stupid stuff like that that would turn Haruki into a blushing mess. Maybe Akihiko knew it; maybe that was why he did it, just to mess with Haruki. It wouldn’t surprise him. But somehow Haruki felt like it was more than that—like Akihiko was trying to act in this way to make up for his actions in the past, but also because he just wanted to be sweet to Haruki. Haruki didn’t really care, either way; he loved it, regardless.

One thing Haruki did not expect in his daydreams of dating Akihiko was just how much he’d ask for permission to do…well, basically anything. Haruki had always imagined Akihiko to be the type to take charge: to be the one initiating hugs or stealing kisses. Which was why Haruki was so surprised to find out that when they were together, alone or otherwise, Akihiko would initiate none of those things. Haruki figured it was because of what had happened before, and he was fine with it. He appreciated that Akihiko was careful, that he didn’t want to make Haruki uncomfortable- he really had changed. He’d always, always ask, no matter how little the action was. From everything from handholding, to hugging, to of course kisses, Akihiko never did anything without express permission. Haruki found it sweet—but at the same time, sometimes it was too much. Sometimes it was okay not to have to ask first, just to indulge, he thought. He said as much to Akihiko one day.

“You know…I think it’s great that you always ask before doing anything, like handholding or whatever but…you don’t always have to do that. You can just do it without asking, you know. It’s okay.” Akihiko looked up at him. They were sitting in the apartment talking idly; Akihiko was holding his hand, rubbing patterns in his palm.

“Really?” he asked. “I don’t want to…Well, because of before, I…” Haruki turned to face him.

“I know you’re worried because of before. I think the both of us will always remember what happened before: there’s no forgetting that.” The caresses of his hand stopped: Akihiko looked down.

“I know what I did was horrible—I,” he began.

“Stop, stop. We’ve been through this before, and we don’t have to go through it again. What you did was wrong. You know that, I know that. You worked so hard to change after that, you said it yourself- and you did.” He took a breath. “And I love you. And…Well, I trust that you would never do anything I didn’t want to. So if you feel uncomfortable not asking, that’s okay. Ask away: I can pretty much guarantee I’ll never say no,” he said with a smile. “But…well, you don’t always have to—” he began, but couldn’t finish: Akihiko had surged forward and kissed him, hard. Akihiko’s eyes were closed, but caught off-guard, Haruki’s were open: and he could see Akihiko had a tear falling from his eye. Haruki smiled to himself. He really had changed. He closed his eyes and gave him a kind kiss back, then pulled away. He gently placed his palm on Akihiko’s cheek, and brushed away the tear.

“I never knew you were such a crybaby,” Haruki teased.

“Shut up,” Akihiko grumbled in response. Haruki let out a laugh. “You know, I wanna do dumb stuff like hold your hand and generally hang around you all the time. If you say I don’t have to ask, I…well, there might be a lot of kisses in your future,” Akihiko quipped with a grin. A signature, Akihiko shit-eating grin. Haruki rolled his eyes, but found himself blushing, nonetheless.

“Maybe I should rescind my statement…” Haruki said, pretending to actually consider it. Akihiko immediately began to speak up.

“That’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“I’m kidding, Aki!” he laughed out. “You’ve become so soft,” he snorted.

“Whose fault is that,” Akihiko mumbled, looking away. Haruki reached out and cupped Akihiko’s face in his hands.

“I wouldn’t have you any other way,” he said softly, closing the space between them and giving him a kiss. When they pulled away, Haruki kept his hands on Akihiko’s face, and Akihiko reached out to do the same, as they bumped foreheads. Haruki smiled at him, and Akihiko thought: God, I really love him. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Haruki beat him to it. “I really love you, you know,” Haruki whispered, completely red-faced. Akihiko snorted. “Hey!” Haruki exclaimed, offended.

“You beat me to the punch,” he responded. Haruki rolled his eyes and pulled away.

“Well it would sound better if you said it,” he pouted. Akihiko pulled on his arm, and Haruki turned to face him.

“Hey, Haru?” he asked. Haruki’s heart leapt to his throat- no matter how many times he heard it, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that nickname coming from Akihiko. Akihiko surged forward and captured his lips in a kiss.

“I love you too.”

#text post #given #akiharu #idk what their ship name is????#anyway im love them

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madrut16 · 5 years

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Premeditated Part 2 (Day 24: Memories)

Author’s Note: It’s finally here! This was the perfect prompt for this fic so I had to have this come out today. Thank you for the amazing feedback on the first part, that was one of the most challenging fics to write but also one of the most enjoyable (why have I become so twisted?). Of course, a lot has changed in the canon story that makes the timeline for this a little weird. I envision that both parts take place after Vegas but before the Council meeting where everything hits the fan (pretend that there’s a business trip for Adrian in between that he had to attend).

I’ve also committed to doing my crossover series for Bloodbound and Nightbound so expect an official announcement/teaser sometime soon! It has a name and even some artwork for it that I made last night, so get excited. I plan to write some one-shot fics that serve as a kind of prologues that share some of the developments that take place before Chapter 1. I have a lot of small headcanons that aren’t really enough to stitch into a full prologue so, I figured I would do this instead while I’m writing the first chapters for the series.

(Spoiler alert: promotions, kittens, and why Zelenia is so good at flying)

Finally, I just wanted to do a quick thank you since I recently hit 300 followers on here! And please feel free to message me or send me an ask if you want to say hi, I’m always open to talking to more of you.

For Day 24 of the @choicesjulychallenge hosted by @kinda-iconic

Book/Pairing: Bloodbound (Adrian x MC)

Rating: PG-13 (Mentions of violence, not nearly as detailed as Part 1)

Summary: Isabel deals with the effects of the memory on her as they struggle to tell Adrian the truth about what happened to him and his family.

@endlesshero1122 @kinda-iconic @brightpinkpeppercorn @desiree-0816 @flyawayboo @tabithacarlisle @shelley-parah @ladykateofhousebeaumont @krishu213 @choices97 @galaxyside-0 @ella-raines

Isabel felt restless, fidgeting with the blanket covering her as she sat on the couch, waiting for Adrian to arrive from his emergency flight back. She had been ordered by both him and Kamilah to take the day off of work in order to rest and process what she had experienced. But, even in the poor shape, she was in, she hated not being there. They wouldn’t even allow her to work on her laptop from where she was with Kamilah and Lily enforcing it strictly.

She knew they had a point, even as she was miserable doing absolutely nothing. She probably couldn’t focus on anything serious if she tried. There were many physical and mental symptoms from the ordeal that were still reaching their peak. Even twenty-something hours later, the images of the horror she witnessed were vividly imprinted in her mind every time she closed her eyes or thought about Adrian’s family.

The one thing that did give her a little peace of mind was knowing that she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. He had landed almost an hour ago and would be there any minute now since Kamilah had picked him up from the airport.

A touched smile appeared at the thought of the gesture. Even though it was hard for her to express emotion, having lived and lost so much, Isabel knew that she cared significantly. Somehow in between saving Adrian from near-death and getting them out of Kavinsky’s cages, she had earned the respect of the Ahmenet CEO, the person she had idolized and dreamed of imitating in the business world for years. Befriended even.

But, she wasn’t completely relieved about seeing him. Her already upset stomach tossed and turned even more with anxiety. How would she react when seeing him? What would she say? She knew that breaking the news would trigger her mind to slip into the memory once more. She didn’t know whether she could take seeing and feeling those painful images again, but she probably wouldn’t get a choice.

Before she had too much time to dwell on this, her acute hearing picked up on the sound of the doorknob turning followed by a persistent knock that anyone could have heard and she knew it was them.

She jumped up to answer it and groaned when her body protested the movement.

“Stay there,” Lily insisted, using her vampire strength to easily force her to sit back down. “I’ll get it.”

Isabel frowned at her but didn’t protest knowing that it was no use. She glumly resumed her previous position as her friend answered the door.

Soon, Adrian’s voice was a commanding but welcome presence. “Lily, where’s Isabel? I need to see her.”

“I’m over here.” She exclaimed, fluffing the pillow she had been propping herself up with for what seemed like the hundredth time.

She didn’t bother trying to fix her haphazard appearance, knowing nothing but time would remedy it. With his vampire speed, he breezed past Lily and was at her side in mere seconds.

As soon as his brown eyes met hers, she crumpled and clung onto him as if he were a life preserver.

“Oh Adrian, I’m so...s-sorry,” she whispered, beginning to tremble.

“What for?” he asked in bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

Although her brain was clouded and not nearly as sharp as it usually was, she still figured out what his question meant relatively quickly. She pulled away enough to look at Kamilah standing being him.

“You didn’t...he doesn’t know...about them?”

She shook her head, her expression sad and apologetic. “No, I assumed that you would want to be the one to tell him. If you’re up for it, if not, I can do it.”

“No. I can...I can handle it,” Isabel stammered.

Adrian looked at them, his eyes widening in confusion. “You’re worrying me, whose memory did you see? Mine? Did you see something I did that frightened you?”

“What? No, not this time. It...it wasn’t your memory.” Her face twisted into a bitter scowl. “It was his.”

Kamilah gave her a silent look, asking for permission to interrupt which she welcomed.

“But, the problem does have to do with your memory Brother,” she added. “It contradicts it.”

This only served to further upset him, the crease between his brows deepening into a canyon. “What? You’re not making any sense. Just tell me what you saw.”

Isabel had never seen him this desperate before and it nearly crushed her. She knew that once she said the words, that the last shred of control he had on his Id would vanish. She had already seen it jump out once and she was frightened by the prospect of it taking him hostage completely—that once it was out it wouldn’t be able to become contained again.

She and Kamilah shared a look of painful understanding between them. She feared what this would do too, maybe even more than Isabel did. But he also deserved to know the truth. The extent to which he had been used as nothing more than a soldier, a weapon.

The elder vampire sighed, her eyes fixing on his. “She will, Brother. But I need you to prepare yourself. I know you won’t believe it but, while your brain can change memories, hers can’t. It really happened and—”

“—Kamilah,” he insisted, frustration now bubbling over. “With all due respect, can you stop trying to sugarcoat it? Just tell me.”

The comment causes her to frown, a raw melancholy that was rare for the woman. “Adrian, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help protect you—”

“—I don’t need your protecting! I’m not your child that you can just coddle…”

The words hit Kamilah and her demeanor turned ice-cold her mouth open. Something he said had hurt her and for once she couldn’t hide it. The rant continued but, he didn’t notice that it had quickly become one-sided.

“Adrian, stop, you hurt her,” Lily tried to say, inching over towards her mentor protectively who was still frozen still.

But he couldn’t hear her over his tirade, still directed at his closest friend. This proceeded to only frustrate Lily which didn’t happen that often.

“Adrian, she doesn’t deserve this, chill out, will you?!”

Finally, Isabel had enough. The argument now between Adrian and Lily who was just trying to calm him down was making her head pounding painfully against her skull.

“I saw your family, Adrian!” she blurted, screaming at the top of her lungs so that it rang out loud and clear above the commotion.

Both of them were immediately silenced. Lily proceeded to give Adrian a look that shouted we told you so.

Isabel’s statement had sobered him, and he numbly sat down in quiet shock. “What?”

“Eleanor…Charlie,” she confirmed her anger at his childish behavior shifting to sadness. She began to shake as the horrific images of the memory washed over her like a grim slideshow all over again. “They didn’t…die…the way you think they did,” As she forces the words out, her throat constricted.

She watched as his normally analytical mind failed to pick up the clues that skirted around their terrible misfortune of being too important to him. It didn’t want to figure out what she meant, the results too painful. She realized with dread that she was going to have to spell it out for him.

“What do you mean? Isabel?”

She swallowed down the boulder-sized lump that had lodged itself in her throat as she felt the tell-tale sensation of when she was just about to cry for the countless time since she was plunged into the vision. Yet, she wasn’t afraid or spiteful of it like she was not that long ago, having finally unlearned the dialogue she had internalized for two years. Her emotions, they didn’t make her weak, in fact, it was quite the opposite. It’s what has allowed her to not only survive but thrive in this new darker world she had been thrust into.

So, she let them fall like one embraced the rain on their skin. Luckily as she struggled to get the words to come to the surface, he suddenly gasped in horror, having finally pieced the information together.

“No. Y-you saw them…get killed?”

She opened her mouth to speak and then settled for a nod. “Sh-she let him in, he had a patriot uniform on. Said he knew you. A-and then he…oh god.” She buried her head into his shoulder, getting tears on the expensive suit jacket.

But she lifted it back up again since as soon as she closed her eyes, the vivid images imprinted themselves once more.

“But, they were killed by the British?” he said in disbelief, just like they had predicted.

“No, Adrian, they weren’t.” Kamilah had finally recovered from whatever emotional wound he had opened earlier. Her voice was as commanding as ever but, at the same time uniquely sympathetic and gentle. “That was most likely a false memory. Something you…made up to deal with what happened. I have them too.”

They let the information sink into him, not wanting to overwhelm him with the whole terrible truth at once.

After a few minutes, the shock on his face dissolved into acceptance and then despair as he thought of the tragedy that had taken place. “I-if one of them didn’t do it, then who did? Why?”

“Gaius,” Isabel sniffed, her clipped speech showing the anger she felt deep inside.

The name rippled through the room, hitting him like a poisoned arrow.

“I-it can’t be,” he exclaimed. He jumped up into a standing position before trying to reconcile the thick web of lies he was spoon-fed so successfully. “There must be some mistake! There has to be.”

Isabel tried not to let his trauma filled skepticism get to her but, as someone whose last relationship was nothing but doubt and insecurity, she couldn’t help it. But, this wasn’t Adrian’s fault. Gaius was to blame for everything, so she didn’t let it consume her even as it did it’s best. Somehow through the continued waterworks, she found enough strength to power through for both of them.

She grabbed a hold of his lapels in order to get him to stop pacing and eventually she somehow was able to match his innate strength and he halted, which caused him to look at her.

“Adrian, believe me, I wish that it wasn’t true just as much as you do,” she said, her natural rasp breaking just like the collective hearts of everyone in the room. “But what I see is what really happened, whether the person with the memory knows it or not. I’m sorry.”

This seemed to be what she needed to say to convince him that the narrative he had painted about his family’s death was just that—fiction.

“No,” he let out a strangled cry, and suddenly there was a clear sheen in his eyes that Isabel had only ever seen once before.

He sank down into the thrift store couch Lily had purchased when she first moved into the tiny apartment three years earlier, placing his head in his hands.

“Why? Why did he have to do this?! Why couldn’t he have just spared them? They didn’t need to be hurt because of me!”

Isabel sat down next to him and placed a comforting arm around him. “I know. But, for…for him they did. It was all part of the plan to get you alone. Isolated with literally no one else to trust. A-and he also wanted all t-the blood.”

“Knowing Gaius for much longer than anyone, it doesn’t surprise me,” Kamilah told them glumly, confirming the theory. “He probably was watching you for weeks, months even. Calculating a foolproof plan to turn you…into his to control.”

A dry, bitter scoff escaped her lips from having to relieve all of the pain the man had inflicted on her too.

“He probably attacked you too, held you on the brink of death so that you couldn’t resist him.”

Adrian scowled in grief-stricken anger. “S-so I caused this. I’m the reason t-that they’re dead.”

The self-deprecating belief was like a knife to Isabel’s heart. Did he really believe that?

“Adrian, no.” She forced him to look at her, and his reddened appearance from his silent tears crushed her. “Listen to me, I doubt there was anything that you could’ve done whether you had been there or not. He would’ve found a way.”

Her words had yet to provide much comfort and he gave her a dubious look. But she quickly remembered something else from the memory that might be what he needed.

“Hey, don’t just take it from us. Eleanor, she didn’t blame you for this, so you shouldn’t either.”

He finally began to respond at the mention of his former wife. “H-how do you know?”

Isabel’s answer was instantaneous. “Because she said so. T-they were her…l-last words. She apologized to you, about how s-she couldn’t protect…your son.”

“What exactly did she say?”

She bit her lip but obliged. “That. She also wanted you to know…that she loved you…and that if you somehow survived…she wanted you to live your life, to find happiness. That doesn’t sound like someone who believed that anything about this was your fault.”

When Isabel looked around, she noticed that there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Even Kamilah had to stare up at the ceiling for a minute.

Then, she shifted and was reminded of her sore muscles and winced, blowing out a tense breath of air. The whole ordeal of the revelation had allowed herself to become distracted from the fact that she was still recuperating from the vision’s physical manifestations.

His red-rimmed eyes fixated on her and he sat up abruptly. “Oh god.”

“Adrian?”

She blinked with surprise when he all of a sudden cupped the side of her face, examining every inch of her worn-out appearance.

“This clearly took a toll on you,” he told her. “Kamilah said it made you sick, that you had a fever?”

Isabel frowned, hating to be fretted over. It was a part of her independent streak, which had become even stronger after Derek made her almost forget it existed.

She shrugged, visibly downplaying the distress that she still felt. “It’s true, it’s due to me trying to process everything. Well, that and the memory was stronger this time. Much stronger.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve told you that usually when I’m in them that there’s a tingling sensation. But, I guess because it was so emotional, it actually hurt this time,” she described, trying to remember exactly what it felt like. “It burned, almost like there was this…electricity inside of me.”

At this, Lily became somewhat animated from where she had perched herself. “I can confirm that. You were really staticky. Your hair was standing up all over the place and whenever I tried to touch you, I would get shocked.”

“No wonder I’m so sore,” Isabel grumbled.

Adrian’s expression became even more troubled as the lingering regret and grief mixed with his concern for her well-being. “You must be traumatized. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner.”

“Hey, it’s okay. That trip was important and I’m glad that you didn’t have to miss it,” she said, taking his hand in hers. “And every blessing has a curse, and this is mine. If doing this means that I can actually help you guys, if this is how I can contribute, then it’s worth it to me. I’ll do anything to stop Gaius at this point.”

And she meant it. Now that she had seen how his family had been violently taken from him, just how cruel his former master could be, she understood why Adrian had been so easily swayed to violence. By itself, it was already deceptively sweet, but coupled with grief it became like honey, cocaine.

It was a cycle of vengeance and power that was extremely difficult to break. But, they would soon learn that it was the one thing that they would have to do when the one advantage they had would slip out of their hands. And to do so, they would have to tap into it, in order to rise above it.

#playchoices #choices stories you play #choices july challenge #bloodbound #adrian x mc #adrian x isabel #adrian raines #trigger warning: trauma

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: ヒプノシスマイク | Hypnosis Mic (Albums) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aohitsugi Samatoki/Yamada Ichiro, slight Busujima Mason Rio/Yamada Saburo Characters: Yamada Jiro (Hypnosis Mic), Yamada Ichiro, Yamada Saburo, Aohitsugi Samatoki, Aohitsugi Nemu, Jinguji Jakurai, Izanami Hifumi, Kannonzaka Doppo, Mentioned Doppo's brother, Iruma Jyuto Additional Tags: Yamada Ichiro-centric, Probably ooc, Definitely OOC, Cringe, Cheesy, Romance, Angst, Fluff, Self-Indulgent, Very brotherly Ichiro, Not the canon Ichiro that neglect his brothers at first, No Mic, Alternate Universe - No Powers, No literally crushing each other with fire raps please, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, The Author Regrets Nothing, Red String of Fate, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Not Canon Compliant, Dress Up, You'll know why I put that tag, I love Jyuto's red gloves, Graphic Wounds Series: Part 2 of Hypmic Red Strings of Fate : The Yamada's Summary:

Side story of 'All I Ever Wanted'. Can be read separately. I think.

A story covering the background of Ichiro and Samatoki's relationship. They're soulmates, but in front of his brothers, the pair always fight until they draw blood. They're supposed to be perfect together, but they never meet again when after that one fight.

A story takes Ichiro's perspective of the relationship, things that his brothers will ever know. It's been five years since the fight, and they never meet after that. Things he didn't want to remember came in dreams, like punishment for leaving his soulmate and sleeping with another. Dreams about the days before shit happens, before they have to separate, before all the disagreement, before they are forced to choose between each other or their family. In reality, Samatoki is not here anymore, so Ichiro tried to get by, no matter how he regrets how he left his soulmate.

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The soulmate universe is inspired by “You would make a good soldier.” by 6fortius9, check it out!

Click Keep reading to read it on tumblr

Ichiro is used to a full house filled with noise. The only calm he had back then is when he woke up first thing in the morning to get ready ahead of time and prepare breakfast for his brothers. Sometimes for his aunt too when she has the day shift, and sometimes his uncle when he’s home from a long business trip. Even though his aunt and uncle didn’t join the table sometimes, it’s still full of life with Jiro and Saburo are bickering.

Sometimes it’s about a missing jacket they accused each other of stealing when it’s actually in the laundry, fighting over the warm shower, or any other thing they manage to disagree on.

Most of the reason they fight are petty things that get too far. Like games, and they support an opposite team in sports. Then he will come up from mid cooking with a spatula in hand and threaten them with no food if they don’t make up. Or if Ichiro wasn’t cooking, he’ll grab anything in the room and threaten them with that.

It works most of the times, sometimes the fight is so bad that one of them leaves the room or not talk to each other, but they always manage to go around it. They all do. His aunt is grumpy without her coffee when she wakes up and often pass out by the entrance when she came home. His uncle will pass out on the table in the morning when there’s no breakfast, and when he’s home, he pass out in random rooms too. How did they survive before Ichiro and his brothers came along? He has no idea.

He misses Saburo who went to school in Hokkaido and moving in with Riou, his soulmate. He misses Jiro who’s on an internship abroad so he’ll be closer to his long-distance girlfriend. Ichiro also misses his quirky aunt and gentle uncle.

Ichiro is also grateful that his aunt and uncle came around when their father left. He loves his aunt and uncle, but he misses his dad. He was not a good dad, but Ichiro still misses his dad. He misses his loving and kind dad, the one before his mom died, but it seems like no one else did.

Whenever he feels lonely, he instinctively looks at the red line on his finger, then immediately cursed at himself for looking at it.

“You’re okay?” Ichiro felt his heart leap at the sudden interruption of his daydream.

In front of him is a screen playing a video of an action clip and sound waves at the bottom that he only gets to edit on the first half.

The owner of the deep voice is Jakurai, his purple hair is tied up in a messy bun. His sharp and elegant face seems like he didn’t get too much sleep. Ichiro shrinks under the project manager’s gaze, especially when he just spent a wasteful amount of time daydreaming.

“I’m fine sir, just need some coffee, it’s not done yet,” he says apologetically.

“I’m not here for that, the others are buying Ramen from Kyoko’s stand, you want one?”

At the name of old grandma Kyoko, all his sense rouse excitedly, especially imagining her rich ramen broth and the perfect chew of her noodles and the tender pork strips, oh and the must-have gyoza... the rich and tender filling... light, a little burnt, and crispy on the outside.

“Yes,” Ichiro moaned, a bit too sexually for food.

His project manager, who thankfully already used to his antics, just shook his head and smiled amusedly. He picks up his phone and types away.

“Be down in 20. And take a break Ichiro, you look horrible,” he said, looking horrible himself, and walks away from the room.

Ichiro only now just noticed that he’s alone in the sound editing room. Everyone else must’ve been out to have lunch.

He looks down to the clock on the bottom right of his screen, three pm already, everyone is either having a late lunch or Jakurai is letting them have a longer break, which is impossible. That guy will so far lock the doors to make them all finish according to the deadline. Even so, he’s a respectable leader, and lock himself up with the rest of them.

Ichiro likes it here in Tokyo, working in a film making industry. It’s not far from his aunt’s and uncle’s home, but they’re busy too. It’s been two years since he worked here, he could’ve gone back and forth from Tokyo and Ikebukuro, but it’s more convenient to stay close in a walking distance. As the consequences, he’s homesick often. He misses everyone. He can only put so much family photos on his desk.

There is a picture of him and his brothers with his aunt and uncle on the beach. Ichiro is the one completely buried in the sand, Jiro is in the middle of giving him sand boobs and looks like he’s groping him. Saburo is making his mermaid tail, his aunt is doing a slav squat and pressing her palm together beside him and his uncle is taking the selfie with all that mess. It was funny, and somehow even though Ichiro is the one with boobs, Jiro is the one most embarrassed about this picture.

Then there’s Jiro’s high school graduation with all of the family, and Saburo’s Middle school graduation minus his uncle that can’t leave his work in Egypt, but Riou was there.

Beside it, is a picture of the three of them plus Riou, when he and Jiro went to Hokkaido to visit Riou and Saburo. It was taken on a flower field. He forces Jiro to make a heart together with him and makes Saburo and Riou poses in the middle of the heart. They protested at the cheesiness of the picture but Ichiro knows for a fact that this picture is Riou’s phone home screen.

Behind all that framed photo, he spots one he rarely sees. A picture of him, Jiro, his dad, and his pregnant mom. After Saburo was born, his dad doesn’t want them to take a picture together. Ichiro misses his mom the most, and he still feels like he’ll tear up every time he remembers her. But then he remembers Saburo, that little genius, brave, strong and stubborn little kid that he loves, and Jiro, another stubborn, hot-headed and strong-willed kid.

Maybe she’s gone, but she gave him his precious brothers. For them, he thanks her. He promised her that he’ll take care of them, keeps them safe, and Ichiro will do everything necessary to do so.

He looks at his hand again, the red string on his finger is as stark as ever.

His heartache for a bit, remembering all these things. He picks up his phone and dialed Saburo without any hesitation. Saburo picks up on the second ring.

“Sup Ichi-nii?” he sounds chipper, and that’s honestly all Ichiro needs.

“Just checking in.”

“Uh-huh, you’re lonely aren’t you?”

Ichiro melts on the inside, “Hope I didn’t catch you on a bad time?”

“No, you didn’t. How are you even calling at this hour? Jakurai isn’t breathing down on your neck this time?”

“Strangely he’s not! I’m alone in the room now, everyone is getting lunch.”

“At this hour???”

“Yes, at this hour, c’ mon, my odd hour isn’t news.”

“No it’s not, but you know what’s news?”

“What?” Ichiro finally feels intrigued.

“This New Year holiday I’m coming home with Riou! He finally has New years off.”

“That’s great!” Ichiro exclaimed, grateful that no one is here or he would’ve made ten or so people deaf. “It’s been so long since I met him, you guys doing good?”

“Yeah! I visit his grandparents grave last weekend, and turns out there’s a romantic story behind it.”

“You went to a cemetery and it was romantic, it’s a bit too late for a goth phase, isn’t it?” Ichiro teased.

“Just listen to me first!”

“Alright alright, I’ll listen!” Ichiro chuckled.

“Okay, remember the dog tag that Riou always wears?”

Ichiro remembers, Saburo told him about it years ago. Riou always wears this dog tag, and Ichiro assumed it was his because the man is an ex-navy. Turns out, the dog tag was not Riou’s, it was his grandpa’s, who gave the dog tag to his wife. His wife, Riou’s grandma, already died when he met his grandpa, and then gave the dog tag to Riou so he’ll know that his grandpa loves him even though Riou only meets him for summer break in Hokkaido.

“He thinks he didn’t have a soulmate, until he’s 14 and I came along of course. But when he was a kid he was sad about it, so his grandpa gave him the dog tag. His grandpa told him it was a reminder that he’ll find someone for him even though he didn’t have a soulmate. Because you know, I told you already about Riou’s grandparents right?”

“That they’re not soulmates?”

“Right! His grandpa told him he can return the dog tag to his grandma when Riou finds someone he loves. When we came to their grave, guess what he did.”

Ichiro gasps, “He gave the dog tag back?”

“He gave the dog tag back! I swear that man will be the death of me!”Saburo then squealed, Ichiro chuckled at his little brother’s antics.

Riou’s grandma and grandpa were not soulmates, but they’re happily married for decades and his grandpa still had the red string on his finger until the day he died.

Ichiro already knows this story back when Saburo told him in tears. It was the first time Saburo met Riou, and Riou told him that his little brother doesn’t have to choose him if the age between them is too heavy to bear for Saburo. Even though all that Riou wanted is a soulmate.

In the end, Saburo chooses him. It was the common fairytale-like red string of fate story. Ichiro is glad that Saburo gets to have them. But the story gave hope to someone probably not to someone that Riou might have predicted. It gave hope to Ichiro.

“Ichi-nii?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you really okay?”

He wonders sometimes, but don’t we all? Sometimes we ask ourselves somewhere in life, if we’re okay, or if we’re happy, or if this is the life we want to be having, or if you’re making good choices.

And Ichiro just doesn’t know.

“Yeah! I’m just a bit swamped at work,” Ichiro isn’t totally lying about that.

“Are you sure?” Saburo didn’t sound convinced, of course he doesn’t.

This one particular brother of his is incredibly sharp that it’s scary. He can sniff your emotions no matter how good your lie is. Ichiro is never an exception. Ever since he was little, Saburo was always the first to notice when Ichiro is not his best.

Ichiro debates whether or not he should tell the truth, guess he’s just gonna go for it.

“I’m looking at our family pictures, and I don’t know.”

Saburo sighs at the other end, “Sometimes I worry about you Ichi-nii.”

“Hm? Really, why?”

“You gave up a lot of things for us, and you never let us do the same,” Saburo’s words stir him.

He bites his lips, deeply feeling the guilt that resurfaces.

“I really didn’t,” Ichiro says instead.

“You know Jiro and I are cool with it. You don’t have to protect us anymore.”

Ichiro bites his lips tighter, and it really breaks his heart more than it touched him.

“I know.”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up, we just want you to be happy.”

Ichiro smiled at that, he really does raise his brothers well. That’s all Ichiro needs.

“I am happy.”

+++++++++++

He drops by the 3D animation office before he’s off to walk back to his apartment. Some of the desks are already empty this late, but there is still a few that stays, including his roommate. A ducked redhead sticks out like a sore thumb in the middle of the room filled with rows of messy desks. Ichiro walks over to the man who had his eyes open and glued to the screen. So focused that he didn’t notice Ichiro is already in front of him.

“Doppo,” he tried to call gently, but the man jerks away like he’s been shocked by a thunder. He was doing a meticulous work on a woman’s face with Blender app. Yesterday it was only a blop of circle. Ichiro will never know how the heck 3D modeling works.

Doppo had bags on the bags under his eyes, it’s a hard case of bags-ception. It’s been there since Ichiro first meet him, and only had been gaining in color and weight since then. The mug on his desk is half empty and stained badly, the stain wasn't there yesterday.

“It’s 10 PM, are you going back today?” he asked.

Doppo groaned, rubbing his face on his palms roughly.

“I don’t think I ca-”

“Yes! He’s going back with you.” A blond shoots straight upwards from the bunch of desks. Hifumi, allegedly Doppo’s best friend and former roommate, came barging through the desk and chairs in loud clatters and pushes Doppo off his chair.

“No!” Doppo yelled, and get a lot of ‘shh’ noise from the rest of the people there.

“I can’t go back, I have to finish this by today or-”

“You can finish it tomorrow! You’ll sleep on your desk anyway, just go back!” they bicker in a hushed voice.

“I agree, Doppo,” Ichiro grabs Doppo’s jacket that hanged on his chair, “You need to take a warm bath and sleep on a soft surface,” he puts the jacket on Doppo’s shoulder and grabs him by the shoulder, the man in his arm sways as he walks. Yeah, he really should go home.

“I’ll leave him to you!” Hifumi waved, Ichiro gave him an understanding nod and they’re off.

Two years ago, Hifumi wouldn’t even let Ichiro touch him without sending a threatening passive-aggressive comment. He didn’t know when or why he finally stops but Ichiro is relieved a little. Hifumi always said that taking care of Doppo has always been his job ever since they’re kids. But it’s not like Ichiro wanted to replace Hifumi, but what else can he do? The guy is his roommate, he can’t just let the guy drop dead.

Also, kind of a hypocrite of Hifumi to disapprove him in that first days when the guy himself, that let him room with Doppo, moves out from his allegedly precious childhood friend with his soulmate. Though Ichiro can’t really blame Hifumi on that one.

Doppo is unsurprisingly a slob. Hifumi kind of hyped Ichiro up at how much of a slob Doppo is. Shockingly though, it was not as bad as his house. When you live with two busy and always tired adults, and two teenage little brothers in puberty, Doppo is not that bad.

Doppo barely talks to him at first too, but you’ll be surprised how much simple care and attention do to a person. Also, patience, because Doppo doesn’t always reply to you in stressful days. Sometimes he doesn’t want to talk at all for no reason, and it can be frustrating.

Even though right now they’re walking with Doppo’s hand around his shoulder, they’re in no way closer than just good friends. They gave each other respected privacy and doesn’t probe.

One thing that surprised him about Doppo, is that for all the two years he lived with him, not once did he asked about the red line in his pinkie.

Ichiro sits Doppo beside the kotatsu table and the man just plops his head on top of there.

“Don’t sleep yet, I’m preparing the hot bath, have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”Doppo dismissed with a low and tired voice.

“I’m making you eat, I’ll make a...” Ichiro walks over to the fridge and sees what’s left inside he can work on, “Curry it is.”

“I don’t want to eat,” Doppo says firmly this time.

“You will eat, or I won’t wake you up tomorrow.” And that was enough to make Doppo agree, not without showing his dissatisfaction though.

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“Good, I’ll prepare the bath.”

Their apartment is small but it’s enough. The open ‘kitchen’ that only consists of a fridge, a microwave that sits on top of the fridge and the electric stove, and they are pressed against the wall of the bathroom. There’s a small kitchen island that’s as wide as the length of the bathroom wall for cutting stuff and condiments. The bathroom is also painfully small and the only discomfort they have. Just because the bathtub is too small and they can’t completely extend their legs.

The living area only consists of the kotatsu and a small flat-screen TV that they only use on weekends. They have a PS4 console though, through winning the office’s lottery, and they play whenever they can. They only have one bedroom, and they sleep on a futon. The closet is small, barely manage to contain all of Ichiro’s clothes. Can you blame him? He likes cool clothes, and thankfully, Doppo doesn’t have much in that department and allow him to have more closet space.

Some might say it’s awkward for two men to be in one bedroom at night, but Ichiro doesn’t agree with that, at least not with Doppo. When they have their needs, they have a quiet agreement that they need to take it to a love hotel or the place of their partner for the night. Or if they don’t feel like having anyone, take care of it in the bathroom, quietly.

He rarely ever sees Doppo goes out though, when he does, mostly because he sleeps over at the office, but then again, they don’t probe on that stuff.

Ichiro returns from the bathroom to Doppo blinking heavily.

“Don’t sleep yet, the bath is ready.”

Doppo hums, he strips then and there, being butt naked before he walks into the bathroom, leaving a trail of his clothes. He’s not usually like that though, only when sleep-deprived, even so, Ichiro is used to it.

While he’s in the bath, Ichiro makes simple vegetable curry with instant curry block for one plate. Doppo steps out of the bathroom when the curry is done. He’s awake enough to pick his clothes up from the floor and put it in a laundry bag.

Ichiro placed the hot curry with potatoes and carrots on the kotatsu, and Doppo sits there when he’s clearly still wet and only have a towel on his lower half.

“What about you?”

“I already ate lunch and dinner, unlike you, and change to your pajamas before eating,” Ichiro scolds.

“You can’t make me.”

“Are you willing to bet on that?” Ichiro crosses his arms, looking down at Doppo who looks completely exhausted. Ichiro gave up.

“Fine, don’t blame me if you got a cold tomorrow.”

“Please drag me if that happens.”

“Nah.”

“Ichiro!” Doppo groaned.

“No!”

Doppo frowned and reluctantly stood up and walk to the bed room. But then he stops, and he looks back, “Thank you for taking care of me today,” he said.

Ichiro smiled, “You’re welcome.” Then he steps into the bathroom.

Ichiro showers clean and quickly for the long-awaited warm bath. It feels like all the muscle in his body just expands and let loose by the warmth, except his knees that poke out on top of the water. Stupid small bath.

He relaxed for a while, letting his mind think of anything but work. He splashes his knees with the hot water and startled when he sees a lot of red on his arm.

A brand new gush of a scar on his forearm, he can see his bones, and rips of flesh starting from his wrist down to his elbow. Ichiro knows it’s not his because, despite the open and gushing flesh there, he didn’t feel any pain.

His heart pumps a bit harder at the sight. Then not long after, he sees the wound close from the bottom working up to the top. There are two little red dots on each side of the closed wound, he must be getting stitches.

This isn’t the first scare he gets over a scar of his soulmate. The most heartbreaking one was the one on his back when he was eighteen. A thin and long trail of red lines and splotches of red that form a picture of a samurai with a face on an Oni mask surrounded by sakura flowers and peonies.

The wound had healed and disappears without a scar from Ichiro’s back, but the ones on Samatoki’s will leave a scar that lasts forever. As long as he has that tattoo, none of them are safe together, for them and the people around them.

So, Ichiro did what he had to do.

He told that to himself, before his longing gets too deep and turn into regret.

#hypmic #ヒプノシスマイク #hypnosis mic #hypmic ichiro #yamada ichiro #ichiro yamada #hypmic fanfic #samatoki aohitsugi #what's their ship name?#ichisama #Ichisama fanfic #Don't let me drown in this fanbase more than I should #emocel's

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mskinkyafro · 6 years

Text

Us Against the World ( Flynn x MC)

A/N: VOS is such a great mystery so far, I'm loving this book and I'm loving the chemistry between Flynn and my MC Aaliyah Olivera. This takes place back in chapter 11 and I included most of the same dialogue and added some of my own from the arraignment scene. Plus I wanted to shed some more emphasis over the fact the D.A. publicly discussed Aaliyah's love life in front of the town and how that felt for her. Also this sat in my drive for a minute, I've been feeling insecure about my writing lately but I feel like this fic is worth publishing. Since this does take place back in chapter 11 it isn't compliant to how twelve started so it's canon divergence.

Sidenote: I briefly describe Aaliyah's appearance in this fic and the hairstyle I detail isn't an option in book. The reason I changed it is because sometimes the hairstyles offered do not flatter the darker MCs as much as I'd like so in my HC and this story and any future fics she's rocking a natural shoulder length kinky-curl fro.

Summary: After the hearing, Flynn and Aaliyah head back to his place to regroup from the day. They have a heart to heart about today's revelations and how to move forward from this minor setback.

Rating: PG-13 slight cursing

Aaliyah walks up the steps entering the Birchport's courthouse. Once inside she noticed that it was everything she'd expect for the small coastal town. As she entered the courtroom Aaliyah was taken back by how many people came to the hearing. She was faintly irked at the nerve of the townspeople. Some treating this hearing, Kate's life as some sort of entertainment.

Spotting Flynn in the row directly behind the defendant's table she made her way over. "How are you holding up?" she asked him carefully.

Aaliyah noticed the anxiousness and apprehension radiating off him.

"Considering that this place is just one bad massive flashback? You tell me…" he drifts off his eyes avoiding hers.

Sympathizing with her best friend's brother she squeezed his hand and doesn't let go as she tells him

"I'm here for you, Flynn."

His face is kept neutral but the usual spark that she's seen in his eyes the last few days are not there at that moment. It almost breaks her heart to see him so forlorn. Her thoughts were going a mile a minute that she didn't notice the look Flynn gives as his eyes look her over up and down, admiring the all-white pantsuit that fit her like a glove and accented her coffee colored skin. He opens his mouth and says

"Though...that look is a pretty decent distraction. I'm not gonna lie I think I'm a bit...afraid of you in that suit…I mean that in a good way. " A blush is evident on his face as he tries to regain his composure.

Flashing a coy smile his way she playful shoves his shoulder and says

"Only decent?"

He gives a small eye roll

"You know what I meant…" he rubs behind his neck

"You never do anything just decent and you yourself aren't either. What I meant is that you look amazing."

She places a chaste kiss to his cheek and says

"Thanks, Flynn. Let's hope it has the same effect on the prosecutor."

Then she drops her voice in a sultry tone so that only he could hear her

"And there's nothing you should be afraid about. I only bite when you ask me too." Aaliyah tosses a wink in for good measure.

Flynn grins and shakes his head. He then tells her what he found out when he went to talk with Tony Roz. After explaining they've hit another dead end when the doors behind them opened and who entered was Grant with Kate by his side who held her head down. Aaliyah tried to give her a small, comforting wave but Kate seemed to not notice. She appeared to look distant and haunted. Frowning she murmured to Flynn

"God. We were supposed to watch her walk down the aisle to be married, not arraigned."

"I still can't believe this is happening." Flynn said back.

The chamber doors open, and the judge and bailiff walk in.

"All rise for the honorable Judge Samantha A.Winters" the bailiff announced loudly to the courtroom.”

Everyone rose from their seats and he bailiff continued

"This is a hearing to determine the bail for Kate O'Malley in the alleged murder of Tanner Sterling."

Judge Winters sits down and brings down her gavel and says

"You all may be seated. Mr. Emerson? Proceed when ready."

Spectators sit and Grant rises looking confident and in his element and he begins his opening statement as to why Kate is innocent. As he continues on Aaliyah leans into Flynn to whisper

"Do you know the prosecutor?"

His body tenses in annoyance as he answers her question

"That's Mac Hornby. Birchport's D.A. Let's just say he's a frequent guest at Sterling's garden parties."

As he finishes talking Grant is walking back to sit next to Kate at the defense table when the Judge then turns to the district attorney.

"Mr. Hornby, your opening remarks, please."

"With pleasure, Your Honor" he replies with a million dollar smile.

He then launches into his opening and at every corner attempts to discredit Kate and paint her as a murderer. Sitting next to Flynn, Aaliyah can feel and see him physically tense up as the D.A. spread lies about his sister, from the way his hands balled up into fists to the way his nostrils flared. So she reached to squeeze his hand once more and give him a reassuring look to keep him from exploding in rage. She says gently

"Easy. Easy."

Hornby continues on with his opening. Disapproving of his message Aaliyah whispers again "He's really sticking with Walsh's narrative."

Vindictively Flynn responds "You mean Pierce's narrative."

After ending with closing remarks Grant calls Aaliyah to the stand as a character witness. She stands from her seat and before she makes her way Flynn squeezes her hand in support in which she gives him a small smile in return. She was sworn in and Grant asks her a few questions to shed light on the true nature of Kate. She answers them with ease. Soon she's answering questions from the D.A. and inside she can feel her irritation and loathe of the man build. His next question catches her off guard

"...And yet, your own character is pretty questionable isn't it?"

Quirking her eyebrow but maintaining a neutral professional face Aaliyah responds

"That's up for interpretation. I'm a reporter from New York. I take it that most close-knit communities are wary of visitors. But I believe that most can testify that my character is an open and shut case, just like this ridiculous accusation."

Hornby takes a step closer to the stand and chuckles and moves so he faces the audience.

"My, my, my Ms.Olivera. You're a fiery one, aren't you? You have a sharp tongue and quite the mouth. I'm assuming that's what attracted the defendant's brother in engaging in a romantic and sexual relationship with you?

Stunned and angry at his remark Aaliyah was a taken back but managed to reply coolly.

"Excuse me?"

The D.A. then turns back to Aaliyah, his eyes fierce.

"Isn't true that you have become romantically and sexually involved with Kate's own brother, Flynn O'Malley?"

At this point, Aaliyah is furious with the line of questioning and it takes all her energy not to lash out.

"What…? How would you even…? How does that question pertain to Kate?!" She says, her voice raises slightly near the end.

Not holding back Hornby pushes "Answer the question! Yes or no?"

Feeling challenged Aaliyah was about to answer when Grant interrupted

"Objection! Relevance?”

The D.A. then exclaims "The relevance is her bias! Aaliyah Olivera is so tangled up in the O'Malleys at this point, that she's practically one of them!"

Grant chimes in again more aggressively

"He's badgering the witness! Objection!"

Then Judge Winters voice rings clear throughout the room. "Sustained! I will not let my courtroom become a circus."

She then eyes Mr. Hornby . "Consider this your last warning, Mac."

"Understood. No further questions. "

He steps back and is heading towards his seat but the damage was already done. The crowd is buzzing at the latest revelation regarding the visiting journalist. The bailiff motions for Aaliyah that she can leave but she then speaks

"I have something to say before I step down, may I your honor?"

The judge nods

"I'll allow it."

Aaliyah's voice rings loud and clear throughout the room.

"I may not have grown up with Kate O'Malley here in Birchport but since I've met her it feels like I've known her my whole life. I know that Kate would never, ever hurt anyone no matter if they've wronged her. She's the victim and I refuse to let anyone construe it otherwise."

Her eyes look to the D.A. after she says the last sentence before continuing her speech.

“I'm going to fight to prove that my best friend is innocent no matter how high the stakes grow. I can't be bribed, intimidated or manipulated to leave things be or to go away. I will uncover the secrets and blatant corruption that is poisoning Birchport one way or another." Aaliyah's gaze lands on Chief Walsh and the Sterlings as she finishes.

She then steps down and makes her way back to her seat with her cheeks burning for the fact her love life was blasted out unexpectedly and that everyone's eyes followed her, judging. She sits down next to Flynn who is ready to blow his gasket.

"That...that was…"Sighing she finishes his sentence

"A disaster, I know but losing our cool will only make it worse."

The hearing continues on with a distinct pattern of people detailing Kate's true nature and the prosecution twisting it around. Finally, it comes to an end and Judge Winters weighs in her thoughts. She reluctantly denies bail for Kate and bangs her gavel down.

"This hearing is adjourned."

Aaliyah and Flynn can barely make out Kate's small cries of protest

"But...But I…"

The bailiff grabs her to put her back into her cell, silent tears roll down her face as she's taken away.

"No...Kate…"

Aaliyah sinks onto the bench frustrated that everyone is believing the lies that are fed to them. Not standing being in the room much longer Aaliyah stalks out in anger. She briefly makes eye contact with the Sterlings who give her icy glares. She turns her head quickly and makes her way out the courthouse.

She stands to the side, breathing in and out slowly to calm herself. Especially since the citizens that pass her keep giving her side glances or snidely whispering while looking her way.

"Aaliyah!" She turns and sees both Grant and Flynn coming her way.

"I can't stay long. I'm going to start prepping for the trial but I wanted to say sorry that I didn't prepare you for Mac's question regarding your…" he says looking between Flynn and Aaliyah, his voice is professional but Aaliyah can see a flash of disappointment in his eyes as he realizes that she isn't available and he's not her first choice.

"...personal life. If I'd known that-" she cuts him off.

"It's okay Grant. It's not your fault."

He checks the time on his watch briefly then glances back at the two.

"I gotta run, but take it, easy guys."

He pats Aaliyah on the shoulder and clasps hands with Flynn before walking away. Flynn then turns to Aaliyah his eyes filled with concern.

"Hey, you alright?"

She sighs while running her hand through her kinky curly fro.

"No. Not really. I really need a stiff drink and to get the hell away from other people as I can."

Her other hand motions to a pair of older women who can be seen staring at the two.

"Well, how about hard liquor and a sailing around the local coastline sound? I usually take my place out for a spin when I need to clear my head."

She smiles slightly that Flynn is trying to cheer her up.

"That sounds perfect, actually." They walk to his bike where he hands her the second helmet and they ride to the Marina.

Once there he helps her onto his home and head inside. Making their way into his living room he tells Aaliyah "You grab the alcohol and I'll get us sailing."

She nods and he leaves out of her sight. She rummages through the cabinet and finds two glass and she grabs his bottle of whiskey. She can feel the boat slowly moving as she walks to the roof. She walks to stand by him as they watch the sunset and pours them both a glass. Handing him his their eyes lock and he silently thanks her before turning back to the sky. They take a swig of the alcohol at the same time. Aaliyah wasn't a usual whiskey fan but was appreciative of the warm burning sensation it provides at the moment.

A comfortable silence passes between the two for a few minutes before Flynn speaks. "Look, today in court was terrible. Not just because of Kate but…"

He pauses and gulps down the rest of drink before continuing "What that bastard did to you was terrible. Using our…damn it!"

"I've never been so humiliated and embarrassed before. Not because I'm ashamed to be with you Flynn, but for the fact that he had the audacity to broadcast something so personal. Who I decide to spend my time with is no one else's business, and I'm pissed that he caught me off guard like that."

"I wanted to beat that smug smile off that asshole's face."

He clenches his glass in his hands as his facial expression grows dreary. "I've told you before I'd do anything for you. But at this rate, I'm worried, Aaliyah."

Aaliyah reaches over and places her hand softly on his face to make him look her in the eyes and asks softly

"What are you trying to say?"

His eyes are sad.

"What I'm saying is, I want you to be safe and comfortable. I'm not sure what exactly we are..." She cuts him off and tries to lighten the mood by saying.

"I thought we were a dynamic private investigators duo with not by the book tendencies."

Flynn gives her a small smile but his grim expression returns

"True. But I believe it's much more than that. We don't have to label it just yet but I care about you a lot.”

"I care about you too Flynn."

He sighs.

"This is why I'm saying if you wanted to stay away from the Birchport after today...or me, I'd understand if you left especially after your talk with Walsh, Kate's hearing, and the way the townspeople looked at you afterward."

He breaks eye contact and gazes out at the rolling sea.

“I couldn't protect my baby sister like a good big brother should. She's in the place that to this day gives me nightmares. I've tried so hard these past few days to save and defend her but after today looks like its all for nothing. I've failed her."

Flynn looks down and brushes Aaliyah's hand from his face.

"I'd hate to see you go but I'd hate it even more and myself if something happened to you. I couldn't live with myself if I failed you like I've failed Kate."

She stays quiet for a moment and then she lifts his head, delicately placing her hands on his cheeks to lock her eyes with his and places a soft but passionate kiss on his lips. She breaks away and says.

"Flynn, you're one of the reasons why Kate is alive. You never stopped questioning and searching since the moment she disappeared. You're relentlessness and love for your sister is one of the reasons she's here with us. Even though seeing her cuffs is hard, I rather it be that than us finding her too late. You did not fail her, understand?

He tried to interrupt but she kept going.

"No. I'm not going to hear otherwise. And if you think I'm going to run when things start to heat up you're wrong, mister. I promised that I was going to get to the bottom of this all for Kate. Nothing and no one is going to stop me."

She removes her hands from his face to grasp his hands into hers, gently rubbing her thumb across his calloused hands.

"Plus if I did go, I couldn't imagine not seeing you," she says sheepishly.

Closing her eyes momentarily before opening them again and shaking her head quickly she speaks more firmly, her eyes are determined.

"I don't care if all of Birchport disapproves that I'm heavily involved and sleeping with the "resident bad boy" Flynn O'Malley. All that matters is that I like you a lot and I'm not letting snide remarks or stares keep me from spending time with my partner in crime."

At that moment she turned her head to gaze at the swirls of pink and purple in the sky that she didn't see him move closer to her and places a smoldering, smooth kiss on her plump lips. Any self doubt and worry melted away from him and her heart rate escalated. After a few minutes, he breathes heavily as he barely removes his lips from hers and murmurs softly

"Kate's lucky to have you as a best friend. You're unlike any girl or any person for that matter, that I know. I'm glad that I met you and have you by my side."

Aaliyah smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist "It's up to us to solve this. You and me against the world, you think we stand the chance?"

He smirks at her and pulls her even closer into his warm embrace, she inhales his scent of whiskey and old spice. "I like those odds. As long as you're always in my corner."

"Without a doubt Flynn."

She lays her head on his chest and relaxes for the first time that day. Together they watch the sunset, hoping for a better tomorrow.

#choices the stories you play #choices fanfiction #veil of secrets #flynn o'malley #flynn x mc #choices vos

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