Tumgik
#and by that i just mean id link to my Hand-Picked chapter where she does just that while they spar together
commanderquinn · 9 months
Text
Good Space Chapter 3: Hey Gringo
Tumblr media
! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!
that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh
master list / ao3 chapter link
warnings: ayyy!! none this time!! unless you wanna count Highly Disrespectful Thoughts ❤️ tho!!! the flashbacks are shuri, heads up for anyone who is a big baby (like me) and still crying over WF. also (shocker) bucko angst/panic attacks
song: it KALEO time!! istg there are golden oldies and hippie classics on this intended playlist, we just havent gotten to them yet. this choice is mega self-indulgent on my end ngl, buuuuut thats the whole fic in general lbr (side note: every time i write Angy Ava, i want you to imagine the vocal intensity of jefferson airplane’s lead singer, grace slick)
the timing of this chapter could NOT have been better with the probably-russian hackers knocking out ao3 that long. i mean it dude, im pretty sure the universe had a good chuckle over this one bc i sure as shit had to sit here and go “youre pullin my leg bud”
also now feels like a good time to mention, for absolutely no reason in particular (definitely not bc of Bucky being a Huge Simp this chapter), that i hc bucky as a dom with service top leanings. i just didnt wanna give the impression that reader is dom for this and accidentally get anyones hopes up with no payoff. i try to avoid that as much as i can bc god knows i drop Big Honkers on y’all every damn chapter, id hate for you to get all the way to the end of this and not get your cookie, y’know? (i am, ofc, down to write mega sub bucky for smut-shot requests)
also remember when i mentioned giving ava a HANDFUL of physical details for writing fuel? 🌝 (ur gonna think im funny rlly soon, dw)
anyways if you dont have adhd, good luck and god speed with the idiots thinkin abt each other in this chapter ❤️ im so sorry in advance 🥺😔
Febuary 17th, 2015
"Good morning, Sh—"
"Have you left your worthless husband yet?" Shuri impatiently taps a finger against her elbow, where her arms are crossed over her chest. 
She watches Ava sigh on the other end of the vidcall. The woman looks too tired. She needs rest. Shuri wants to stab Alec all over again. She's going to make a new, self-lacing, possibly electrified dagger just for the occasion. "I know you're just trying to—"
"We can come to get you. I will send T'Challa. You must promise me that you will have him get me something from Washington." Shuri raises a stern finger, pointing it directly at the camera. "Do not let him pick it out himself—"
"Shuri, honey, I love you with all my heart, but please—"
"I want you to pick it. The furniture in your office is ridiculous; I want something like that."
A smile far too small pulls at the corners of Ava's lips. Her smile used to move freely, and it will do so again if Shuri has any say in the matter. Which she does. "Well, thank you, I work very hard to keep it ridiculous. Now—"
"It will make me think of you whenever you are not around to make fun of my brother with me. My mother will get the lawyers you need to start your divorce—"
"I—sweetheart, please, it's been a very long night—"
"It is the afternoon where you are. You have not even had breakfast, have you? Of course not. You are busy doing the work while Alec—"
"Shuri!" Ava puts a hand over her eyes and takes an unsteady breath in. "I'm sorry. This is—it's been a long night. I didn't mean to yell at you—"
"You need to start yelling much more, Ava. Aim it at your worthless husband while you tell him you are leaving," Shuri argues, entirely fed up with how the doctor allows the spineless dickhead to make her miserable. "T'challa will remove him for you while you stay here with us."
Alec—she refuses to call him Ryder; the man does not deserve to have taken the doctor's name—leans into the camera view, his expression bored. Dismissive. Shuri wants to smash his wrinkling, greasy face in with her fist. "While I appreciate the offer, your majesty, my wife and I can handle our private life alone."
Shuri glares back at him, one of her eyebrows hiked as far up as she can comfortably get it. "Do you really think being aware of your presence on this call will deter me from reminding my friend that you are a demon?" She looks pointedly at Ava, who's still covering her eyes. "He is a demon. A pasty, rude demon."
"Alec is going to shut the fuck up now, I promise." The fingers over Ava's eyes pull in until she's pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. She looks as if she's fighting off a migraine. She probably is. And it is Alec's fault. "That way, we can get this over with, and I can finally get some sleep—"
"Which you need and are not getting enough of." The words slip out before Shuri can stop them. 
Ava's shoulders deflate slightly. Her hand drops, and she attempts another smile that doesn't reach her eyes, making Shuri feel a pang of guilt. "No, I'm not. But I will, just as soon as we finish the basic adaptation matrix. I promise."
Ava always encourages her to speak her mind, no matter what. Sometimes it gets her into trouble. She is not looking to berate her favorite Canadian; she loves leaving the vidcomm between their labs on. The open connection is a comforting window into the outside, one that lets Shrui indulge in any question or raving that passes through her mind. 
Alec is a poison in her friend's life, and Shuri will not back down from reminding her of that. But mother and Nakia have sat with her over this, explaining that sometimes, an abused heart will cling to what hurts it. They have to be supportive while Ava works through this. She's getting there. Just not nearly fast enough for Shuri's patience.
Father has been reminding them all that Alec is a risk, given what he knows. Trusting Ava means trusting her for the duration, and they can't go back now. If she says she is handling the issue of separating the man from her work, they have to allow her room to do that. But T'Challa has been ordered to keep close, or at the very least, ready to go.
As much as she despises Alec, Shuri does not wish to see Ava hurt in this. Not any more than necessary. She is also not interested in trying to control her friend the way her mother sometimes tries to control her. It is infuriating. 
So, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she lets some of the fight leave her. For the sake of Ava, not the pasty demon. "I have the latest build ready for transfer." 
"You're sure you've secured the connection on your end?" Alec has the audacity to question, even outside of the frame. "I'm not interested in spending my week chasing traces of this—"
"Do I look as if I will hesitate to strike you, colonizer?!"
"I'm just saying, Humpty Dumpty."
"Fuck off," Bucky wheezes at the billionaire, compressing the towel he grabbed from his new medkit against his ribs. Why he expected to make it through his first mission back without having to crack it open, he's not entirely sure now that he's sitting in the hindsight. Getting shot today was, if he's honest with himself, entirely predictable. It's his luck, after all. 
"We let you out of the house again for five minutes, and you've already broken yourself." Tony shakes his head as he tsk's, making Bucky roll his eyes lazily. "What's Ryder going to think? If you keep this up, you'll give the woman a complex about draining your mojo."
"She's going to think I throw myself in front of armor-piercing rounds for idiots that don't notice when they're being shot at." The mention of Ava brings the doctor's smiling face to the forefront of his mind. Bucky leans back against the Quinjet's co-pilot seat, letting his eyes fall closed. 
He could take care of this latest injury himself. That's what he usually does. Thanks to the serum, all he has to do is keep the wound clean for a few hours while his body stitches itself back together. Nothing's broken, and he'd be in much more pain if anything were punctured. Hell, he'd probably be dead already. The fix for this is so easy it'll practically handle itself.
"You always get so cranky after you've played the hero." He hears Tony kick his feet up on the Quinjet's main controls. "Take a breather. Maybe a bow or two. Believe it or not, it's possible to accept a compliment now and then."
"Grandstand more often, got it."
Ava's probably going to hear about today's incident now that Bucky thinks about it. If anything, Steve's going to make sure of it. He doubts she'd guilt him for not being comfortable with an optional trip to medical. They've been having more conversations about boundaries and comfort, and she's been unwaveringly supportive of him moving at his own pace. 
"You don't have to grandstand, you gigantic baby," Natasha chides from between the chairs. Her hand smacks against his shoulder, making Bucky grunt softly. "A whole new world is going to open up for you when you relearn to accept praise."
Tony snorts, long and loud. "Has he reached that stage of modern education yet?"
"I reached that stage of education before you were born, Stark." Bucky's not territorial over his reputation anymore; those days are long since passed. The grand majority of his mojo got left in the 40s. He's just tired of Tony's shit. That's all it is.
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Ava might feel bad that he didn't come to her for something like this. He doesn't... want that. He doesn't want her thinking that he doesn't welcome her help or that he doesn't trust it. He... he does. He doesn't just appreciate having the option; he enjoys it. The new routine is a breeze, and his neck feels better than it ever has. At least that he can remember.
"I'm confused," Tony mumbles around a mouthful of snacks. The man never stops eating. "Are we talking about your no-no years, or did you and Rogers hit up underground bars before Germany?"
"I know all his secrets from the vanilla days; they never went to any of the fun ones," Natasha confirms. It's not like Bucky was going to take the verbal bait anyways. Steve still falls for it regularly. 
"I like how you don't deny having the rest of the answer; I feel like it tells me all I can tolerate about the icicles when it comes to this. That's my favorite part about you, Romanoff. You know when I don't need to know, you know?"
His dumbass friends might as well be background noise with Bucky's mind this firmly in the memory of Ava's office. She's been so good to him, especially over this last week while she pushed through all the red tape for him. He'd been expecting it to take an eternity of hounding Steve all by his lonesome, but she got him back in the field in under two weeks. His best friend had actually been kind of pissy about it behind closed doors. For Bucky, it was like getting sprinkles on top of his cake. 
He's been thinking about getting flowers delivered to her lab for the trouble. It feels like too much whenever his thumb hovers over the confirmation button. He's reached the part of staring at the order details four times.
"I'm pretty sure your country doesn't appreciate it as much as you do. They tend to fight cold wars over it."
"Well, yeah, but our country—you see what I did there? That was a pretty funny communism joke. And it works as a reminder for both of us that you're actually an American citizen these days; isn't that wild? Back to the point here, our country fights wars over stuff we do ourselves all the time, so that doesn't feel like a fair reason to dismiss our friendship."
The doctor's forcing him to expand his music library. Her taste there is as scattered as her taste in movies, but she's got some leading themes he's been able to pin down. The 60s and 70s are huge for her, expectedly, and she's got a lot of nostalgia over the 90s. Paige keeps her versed in all things pop, folk, and country, according to her. 
"If I start referring to the US as my country, you people will expect me to do things like register to vote. Or put up wallpaper."
"I don't think anyone's expecting you to be legally allowed to do that. The voting thing, not the wallpaper. In most states. For multiple reasons. Although, the wallpaper might be a good call."
Ava invited him to their absurdly large archive of playlists during his second session. The ones Paige curates are nothing but insanity. Not one of them makes a lick of sense. Bucky decided that he should have expected that, given her Energizer Bunny reputation. Ava's are less scattered; more organized. Soothing for his mind to digest. He's been using them as workout music ever since. And driving music. And general background noise. 
"I don't think I'd know where to start buying wallpaper. Do you even want me putting that shit on your expensive building?"
"Not really, but the idea of walking in on you rolling paste on the living room walls is worth anything it could take to fix them later."
God, she's funny, too. He could listen to the woman's awful, soul-crushing puns and subsequent cackling for hours. He'll never say that to her face, not for as long as he lives, but they've made him feel lighter every morning that he's gone to let her work him over. He's already stolen two of them to torture Sam with. Another thing he's not going to tell her.
"Maybe I should start smaller. Bruce keeps suggesting a car that has legal registration."
"Heeey, that could work. You'll be signing up for mailing lists and bitching about state tax in no time. You know what?" He hears Tony snap his fingers. "We should get you a houseplant. Work you up to having a fish or something."
Alright. Maybe he'll go to Ava. He doesn't want her to think he's trying to blow off her expertise again. Or that he's avoiding her. He's not; he really does like hanging out in her office. Even if it's technically a medical appointment. He's a lot more eager to visit her than his therapists, that's for sure.
"I am not paying taxes," Natasha scoffs. "If you think I'm tying a legal address to my name, you're out of your fucking mind. Moreso than usual."
"You don't think you'd enjoy having a cave to lurk in?"
"What makes you think I don't have one already?"
"I'm talking about a real house, not a safe house."
This injury isn't related to his cybernetics. It's his ribs, well below any of his implants. He's not entirely out of the loop when it comes to what doctors have to do to get their licenses. She no doubt had to pull a lot of hard hours during her residency. Maybe she doesn't want to patch up the tower's notorious grouch every time he takes a hit. But he doubts she'd ever be impolite enough to refuse him walking in.
"I have my space here: bathroom, laundry room, small kitchen. If I haven't bothered decorating that, what makes you think I'll want to do it for an entire house?"
"Aww, come on. Look at Ryder! She's having all kinds of fun making her place as obnoxious as possible. That could be you after a few online shopping sprees."
Bucky's eyes open slowly, his brows drawing in when the second verbal mention of Ava pulls parts of his attention back to the conversation. 
Fuck, not going to medical still leaves the option of her taking offense. Okay. Alright. So, he'll split the difference and go to emergency intake. He's pretty sure she's listed as his surgical contact in the tower now—he can't stomach looking at his own medical file, not even the written records. Any injury this big will get flagged for trauma support, and she'll be notified. Then it's up to her what she wants to do. That feels like a good compromise.
"She's doing that to reclaim it from Alec; that's different. I don't have the same motivation. For me, it's just going to be extra work.
"Who's Alec?" Bucky asks without thinking. If the universe doesn't hate him today, Natasha's just going to assume he's being his usual kind of paranoid.
"She hasn't mentioned him?" Tony sounds surprised. "Alec's her ex-husband."
Ex-husband? She was married? And she's not anymore, meaning she might be—
He shuts down that train of thought immediately. 
Reclaiming the space of her house implies they lived in it long enough to form some heavy memories. She hasn't mentioned having a kid, and she strikes him as the type to bring up something like that pretty fast. So it was just the two of them, most likely.
"People usually don't like talking about the egocentric sack of shit they used to coexist with," Natasha points out. Of course, she already knows about the doctor's history. It's her.
"Bad divorce?" he prods, trying not to sound overly invested in the answer. These assholes will take it as an invitation.
"Oh, the worst," Tony confirms. "Shithead tried fighting her on it tooth and nail. She had to borrow my legal team just to get the guy to fuck off and leave her alone. He even kept her surname after the divorce; can you believe that?"
An uneasy feeling starts to rise in his gut, making Bucky look over at him. Then up at Natasha. "What kind of won't leave her alone are we talking about?"
"Down, fido, my lawyers took care of it. There's no need to start tailing him. Aside from being a self-absorbed asshole that insists they'll," Tony's voice turns scornful as his fingers form air quotes, "work things out with time, he's toothless." 
"She's got concealed carry permits she earned properly if that makes you feel better," Natasha offers up. The thought does help ease the tension building in him. 
He won't read Ava's file, no matter how bad the buzzing gets. But he might check in with JARVIS about her home security. He's noticed her name on the system logs. She, or at least her house, is linked to SHIELD's network despite her general distrust of the organization. He understands the opposing priorities completely.
He caved and read Wyatt's file two nights ago. The buzzing had been building since Ava mentioned him wanting an autograph, and it finally got to be too much. Nothing's lurking there aside from an impressive list of historians from all the fuck over Georgia and Alabama. The kid's got more family than some towns have population. 
Bucky leans forward with a muted groan to change the autopilot's intended LZ of the Avenger's balcony to the entrance hanger for medical. If he's going to grit his teeth through the antiseptic over a couple small holes, he's damn sure not going to haul his ass through half the tower while his ribs leak. His patience has limits, and that's pretty fucking far over the starting line. 
Tony looks over at him with a deep, suspicious frown. Bucky frowns at him right back with the same level of scrutiny. He can feel Natasha staring a hole into the side of his head, even if he can't catch her in his peripherals. He hates both of them with a passion at the moment. He knows what's about to happen—
"Did you just… prioritize your own health," Tony questions like he's baffled by the very idea. His whole upper body turns in the seat as he looks up at Natasha excitedly. "Oh my god. He's doing it. All by himself." He raises a hand to his chest and looks back at Bucky. "They grow up so fast."
It's good that the autopilot is on. If it weren't, Bucky would be tempted to crash them out of spite, mostly because he's sure he'd survive it. "Very funny."
"All it took was a hippie that gives him candy," Natash adds, her voice dripping with smugness. "Who knew."
"Both of you can fuck off." Bucky doesn't like how close she just got to his primary motivation on the first try. Old habits die hard, et cetera. And he hates that he can't tell if she was trying to guess. If he's lucky, which he isn't, she was just making fun of him.
Natasha knows about his visits to the florist's website; he's fucking convinced of it now. He doesn't know how, and he can't outright call her on it. If he does, he could fuck up and make himself right. There is nothing worse than having the Black Widow as metaphorical family. Not even Steve's hovering.
She and Tony harass him for the remainder of the flight. It's not long, mercifully, and he's starting to regret not grabbing something for the doctor. They were in Montreal, of all places, so it would have been fitting. He figures she'll understand once he shows her his side. The train of thought makes him wonder what part of Canada she's originally from. She hasn't brought it up.
His foot is already bouncing by the time he reaches the elevator. He's still got the surgical towel shoved tightly against his ribs. He hopes she gets there fast if she ends up taking the call. The last thing he wants to do right now is sit around in the burn of antiseptic and bleach while he fights off the urge to bolt. 
This is good, Bucky reminds himself as he takes his first few steps into medical. He's sat through plenty of trips to emergency intake. He can handle walking into his first optional one. It's a non-issue. Completely.
When JARVIS informs him that his file and general vital scan have been submitted for intake, the buzzing gets so intense that he almost leaves. The pace of his sergeant walk, as Sam likes to designate it, slows to a crawl. Then he thinks about a doctor with concealed carry permits. One that lets her house be monitored by a government organization she's actively pushing herself to trust. All in an effort to contribute something good to the world. The buzzing eases, and he picks up his pace, headed for the solo observation room JARVIS listed for him.
There's no moment of standing involuntarily from nerves this time. He doesn't have to force himself to sit back down and wait, even though the room smells wrong. His skin is crawling, and he wants nothing more than to put a throwing knife in his hand like a goddamn security blanket. But he doesn't panic. He doesn't try leaving.
Baby steps.
When the door opens, it's devastating. There's no diminutive hippie with UFO-sized glasses smiling at him on the other side of it. It's a guy in a plain white lab coat without artistic stitching, one that Bucky's never met before in his life. He's already squinting down at a tablet, meaning this will be his doctor for the duration.
This was the worst plan he could have possibly conceived. The universe is humbling him for thinking he could get away with something like this without some kind of suffering. He just wanted to make up for being dismissive of her help initially. Now he gets to sit through this. How fucking grand.
"Barnes?" The doctor that's not Bucky's doctor looks up, his heart rate elevating by a few notches. He's putting in a lot of effort to look confident. It's not exactly working. "I'm Dr. Erickson. I'm guessing you're here for the bullet wounds JARVIS detected?"
"Yup." Bucky's not about to volunteer for small talk at the moment. It's a miracle he hasn't jumped off the biobed yet. "Where's Ryder?"
"Your primary is in a staff meeting at the moment." Erickson puts his tablet down on the supply cabinet's main counter. He's already starting to gather what he needs, leaving Bucky to figure out real quick if he's actually willing to do this. "Don't worry; I'll get you sewn up and on your way in no time."
He doesn't want it getting back to Ava that he bailed the moment she couldn't show up. He doesn't want to leave her with the impression that he's only going to take on medical care if it's her; that's not anywhere near fair. The woman is a brain surgeon, not his private physician. He can grow the fuck up and accept help from people that haven't gone through his gauntlet of verification.
"Great," he pushes out, lifting the side of his undershirt to offer an unobstructed view.
It's not great; it's fucking horrendous. The first touch of the new doctor makes the overly physical memory of the buzzing build so high, he can feel it in his teeth. They're not actually rattling in his jaw the way they did back then, he knows that, but it doesn't matter because his body is screaming at him that it's happening.
The first stitch going through his skin makes him want to put his fingers through the doctor's eye sockets. His mind goes over all the ways he can violently put at least ten feet between them without having to get up. Looking back, it's probably good he didn't reach for the throwing knives. He's not unhinged enough to stab someone unprovoked; he's better than that. But they'd have been distracting to his impulse control, that's for sure.
Dr. Handsy is pulling the first suture in tight when the door to the observation room opens again. Bucky doesn't look up, his eyes locked on a random point on the far wall while he focuses on his breathing. He only looks over when a billowing, maroon pant leg enters his peripheral.
Thanks to a bunch of dead Nazi scientists that used to hide out in the mountains of Russia, Bucky Barnes has a trigger in his brain that is entirely out of his control. One that, when activated by his own interest, lets him process his surroundings in a sliver of the time that it should for a human mind. It is exceptionally helpful in the field. 
Watching Ava Ryder walk in, wearing a suede jumpsuit that mercilessly frames her curves, proves to him that having it in the 30s would have gotten him shot by someone's father. Definitely before he left Brooklyn. Or before he got chased out by several fathers banding together with baseball bats. In the time it takes her hand to come off the door handle and make its way to her hip, his mind goes on one hell of a fucking journey.
He already had more than a vague idea of the shape of her before now; he can't help it. Comes with the territory of doing threat assessment for a living. God knows his eyes have slipped down to her chest on a shameful amount of occasions. Her tits are being held up and pushed together fucking beautifully at the moment. Typically, that would hold all of his attention.
But this is the first unobstructed view of her that he's gotten, thanks to the lab coat being nowhere in sight, and good fucking god. Holy fucking shit. Godfuckingdamn.
She's half turned from him at this angle, so he's only getting a side view. That's more than enough to show off an obscenely rounded ass and the cushy thighs it rests on that are going to haunt his fucking dreams. It's bigger than his hands by a margin that's outright glorious. The mental image of his fingers digging into it, of how it would make her skin dip under the pressure, makes his blood race.
He can't spot the outline of any underwear at first. Then her hand makes contact with the jumpsuit, and his eyes pick up on it. Right there, above the top of her finger, pulled up high over her hipbone. There's a thin band leaving an impression in the fabric. An extraordinarily thin band. There is nothing else in sight.
Pulled between Ava's legs, right at this very moment in time, is a strip of fabric that Bucky's tongue would fit against perfectly. Right under that is a taste he's been catching himself wondering about for two weeks now. One good, long drag of his nose. That's all it would take to push in whatever she's picked out for the day and soak it with that taste. He could get it back out from between her lips with his tongue, pull it to the side with his teeth to give himself room to feast—
Bucky tries to shift his weight as nonchalantly as possible while his brain slows back down. The comeback from tactical analysis is always jarring, with this one being especially so. 
He's the worst kind of bastard. An awful, selfish, perverted sonofabitch. There's not shit he can do to change that. How unfortunate.
"David," Ava greets, the name coming out as tense as the closed smile plastered on her face. "You can put that down."
The other doctor doesn't look up from the work his hands are doing. "That you, Ava? I heard you were—"
"Now."
Bucky's back straightens up as David looks at her nervously, taken aback. Bucky doesn't blame him; he didn't know her voice could get that forceful.
David sort of laughs, which feels like the worst possible choice to Bucky. But, hey, not his call. "What, do you want me to just—"
"I want your hands off my patient right now. I'm not asking." She watches with unwavering intensity as the other doctor lets the needle and thread drop from his hands. She visibly bristles at the patronizing expression on David's face, her head tilting aggressively. Bucky kind of wants to watch her hit him. "I'll be back in less than a minute, sergeant. I need a word outside with Dr. Erikson."
"Take your time," Bucky assures, the tension bleeding out of him already. His ribs are leaking, and there's a piece of doctor floss looped through his skin that he's going to have to cut out of himself tomorrow morning. The immoral evaluation of her outfit that his head threw at him is going to eat him alive. Forever. Especially when he's trying to fall asleep for the foreseeable future. 
All things considered, though, he feels fan-fucking-tastic.
David still looks somewhat shell-shocked, and there's real insult starting to creep into his posture, but the guy doesn't argue. He follows Ava back out of the room, not bothering with a goodbye in Bucky's direction. When the door closes behind them, his super hearing picks up on Ava reaming David about prioritizing patients before ego. She goes into detail about the deep shit he'll be in with her if he keeps ignoring her written orders, long before it ever gets him fired. She tacks on why her anger should scare him a hell of a lot more than the idea of that. Then she instructs him to keep his damn hands off her patients and get back to the intake desk. 
The protective streak makes Bucky's chest feel warm, a half-smile pulling at his lips. She's a handful, alright. One he'd give anything to be brave enough to send flowers to.
Ava is calm, cool, and collected when she leans back in through the doorframe, hanging off it with a soft smile. "Hiya, stranger. I hear you picked a fight in my motherland today."
"I hear it has an arms dealer problem. I wanted to see if I could help." He gestures down at the needle swinging from his ribs without looking at it. "Not all Canadians are as welcoming as you, turns out."
"Eh?" she fires back, hamming up the accent. "Wellll, I'm not about to let a few cranky arms dealers tarnish our reputation. What do you say you push that bandage against your new bragging rights, and we head for my office?"
Licking his bottom lip nervously, he tries to give her a confident smile. "You were busy with something."
"Not too busy for my favorite popsicle." One eyebrow raises sternly. "You are not allowed to tell Steve I'm playing favorites." God, she's cute when she tries to deflect. It's never worked. At least not on him.
"That's—" Shit, where to even find the fucking words for her. "You don't have to do this. Go out of your way like this. I don't mind getting patched up by random medics. Comes with the job."
Her smile turns impish. "That's cool and all, but I mind when people ignore basic ethics just to have a story about stitching up an Avenger. If you need to tell yourself I'm using you as fuel for a workplace pissing contest, go for it. Whatever gets you off that biobed." She leans back, leaving the door open wide behind her. "Come on; I can't stand the way they organize these damn shelves. I wouldn't patch you up in here even if you did pay me. Next time, head for my office first."
Bucky does as she ordered, pushing the surgical towel she packed for him against his side, not minding the sting in the least. He swallows down the point that, by every definition there is, he's not an Avenger. "I'll follow you, doc."
"Alright," Wyatt plops his hands down on the glass of the holo, his expression determined. His tight curls bounce with the motion, making their resident gumdrop look adorable, even through the discomfort. "Let's get to dissectin' this cacophony. All in one go, preferably, so I don't feel like yackin' up my lunch two days runnin'."
Ava's head tilts sympathetically. "Oh, honey, tell me you didn't—"
His hand comes up, with his index finger pointed to the ceiling. "Nope. But I got close a couple'a times thinkin' about this." He mutters several things under his breath about creepy Nazi bastards while he pulls up the raw data from Bucky's implants. "All the more reason to get it the hell over with."
"A whole day of digging through coded war crimes," Hannah deadpans quietly, raising a steaming mug to her lips. "I'm glad we get the fun assignments."
"You'd ditch us if we didn't," Ava jokes. She scrolls through the sergeant's file absentmindedly on her tablet, reviewing the vitals added just a few hours ago. He actually came to medical. For something as minor as a field injury. Of his own volition.
"Mmm. I don't know. It's pretty fun watching a brain move like Jell-O. You might have been able to convince me to stick around just for that."
SHIELD's primary system makes a blaring noise of disagreement as Wyatt loads the main file structure. He frowns, looking over at Ava with concern. "Its askin' for administrative override."
"Heeey, that's that thing Tony says I'm not supposed to abuse. That's probably not a good sign." Ava pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and leans over to get a look at the error. "JAR, I'd like some reassurance we're not about to trigger an ancient LoJack if you wouldn't mind advising here."
"There are safeguards in place for importing code with an unknown source," JARVIS reports in. The warning on the screen is dismissed, presumably by him, and a new window comes up. A log of the programming in Bucky's cybernetics going through digital quarantine loads rapidly, with line after line being highlighted in red and labeled HYDRA Suspected. "I will process them for you. One moment."
"We have to clean the Nazi code before we can beat it to death," Hannah mumbles against the rim of her mug. "I think I kind of like that."
"Please, Hannie, I'm hangin' on by the skin'a my teeth here." Scrubbing his hands over his face, Wyatt groans exhaustedly. He drags them down slowly, giving Hannah a pleading look over the tops of his fingers. "You know I'm always here for supportin' you—"
"I'm aware." The ex-marine's clipped tone makes Ava snort and look back down at her tablet. They both know stopping him now isn't going to cut off the word vomit.
Wyatt's hands thunk back down onto the glass. "I'm so proud'a ya, y'know that—" And there's the thickening of the accent.
"I know."
Ava's eyes skim over the list of everything detected in Bucky's wound, locking on the word leather in particular. Today was her first look at his work gear—she's got a feeling he doesn't call it a uniform—in person. It was hard to keep professional in front of six and a half feet of Hi, how are ya? wrapped up in that much heavy black. The sounds that his vest made when he dropped it on the coffee table— Jesus. He's got to be packing enough in there to arm a small country. 
"All's I'm sayin' is that if I have to hear about murder right now, I might actually upchu—"
"Please don't."
Ava's too scared to ask what's in the sergeant's pants for a multitude of reasons. Professionalism is lower on the list than it probably should be. It's a shame, too. He's downright hilarious when he lets himself talk. There's not a doubt in her mind that he'd come up with something unbearably good—and unwaveringly dry—in response to the loaded question.
"A'right then. We're in agreement. No bad thoughts today. We go in like—like excavators, right? With our helmets and our 'lil pickaxes, and we get what we need so we can—" The way he cuts himself off makes Ava look back up in concern. She finds the most horrified expression on Wyatt's face. "That—ah shit, that didn't come out all that right. That was mean, wannit? Insensitive. I'm not tryin' to belittle what the sergeant's been through."
"You weren't belittling anything," Ava assures, reaching out to rub his arm. "I think he'd be the first one to race you to a fossil joke about this."
"You'll tell 'im I'm takin' this serious, won't ya—"
A small chuckle escapes before she can stop it. "Wyatt, sweetheart, it's not like he heard you—"
"You take your pills today, Combs?" Hannah's calm question makes the gumdrop freeze in place. She blows on her coffee, taking a small sip. "If you say you don't remember, I'm going to—"
Wyatt snaps his fingers, his expression shifting to relief. "I didn't, and I remember why, too." He rolls his chair back with a sudden push, aiming for his desk. He reaches out before the chair finishes the trip to grab his patch-covered messenger bag. "One'a the cats got int'a my coat closet; dumbass got stuck on a shelf for reasons I'm still not real clear on." He pops open his medication bottle, tossing a pill into his mouth with a level of dexterity that makes her jealous. "The hollerin' was s'damn loud, I thought the landlord was gonna come knockin'."
"Which one was it?" Ava asks. "Not the new kitten?"
"No, no—Juno's been'a dream. It was Galileo again. I love that furry little bastard, but sometimes he can drive me nutty ." He pauses to take a swig from another glossy vacation mug. Today's is advertising a campground Ava's never heard of that's the best in the Rockies, according to the swirling font. "I got new pictures of Juno if you want 'em, though."
"Yes, please," Ava confirms happily. Holding the teacup-sized ball of fur made her whole month when he last brought Juno in. Hannah ended up hogging most of the cuddle time, but the sound of little meows filling the day had been enough to make up for it.
Wyatt pulls his phone from his back pocket and brings it around to hook up to the holo. The system dings with the sound of a successful transfer after a moment. He loads a collection of new photos, zeroing in on one of Juno clawing her way up a window curtain—
The power to the lab shuts off with a loud, electric click. Everything plunges into darkness with the privacy setting on the glass walls keeping the sun out. It comes back on before Ava can react, the building's primary system switching to the emergency power grid. She and Wyatt lock eyes in panic.
"Oooh man, boss, did I just—"
"I'm sure you didn't," Ava comforts, trying to push down her own panic. It helps that she's heard Tony rambling about the work he's put into making this place indestructible. "JAR?" 
There's no response from the AI. She trades another nervous glace with Wyatt.
"I know it was probably the Nazi shit, but I'm hoping it was the cats," Hannah says, sounding sincere. "I feel like that'll make a much better story."
"Oh my god, did I break JAR?" Wyatt looks between them frantically. "How often does he back up his servers? Did I kill'a piece'a JAR?!"
"I have not been murdered," the AI confirms after nearly a minute of being gone. "The safeguards reported a false positive regarding the programming of Sergeant Barnes' cybernetics. It has been handled."
Ava gives the hologram wall of code a warry look. "Handled by you?" There's a suspicion building in her gut around his phrasing, one that she's not planning on letting out of her teeth. 
"Mr. Stark has a protocol in place that cuts off my servers in the event of any irregular activity. Given the nature of the programming's origin, the system is designed to er on the side of caution."
"That's a really fancy way of dancing around the point, JAR." She's trying to stay civil about this. It's not an easy venture, and she's pretty sure it's not translating at all. Even she can hear the frustration in her voice. "How about we cut the shit, and you tell me what the false positive was."
"There are automated routines running for Sergeant Barnes' implants. They are not harmful; I've taken the liberty of checking them personally now that they've been cleared through quarantine. I am creating a stable update to forward to—"
"How long have they not been harmful, JARVIS?"
Hannah sits up from her relaxed position at the avoidance of their favorite nickname for the AI. Wyatt's brows pull in nervously, his eyes never leaving Ava. They both know exactly what she's digging at.
There's a long hesitation from JARVIS. Short by normal social standards but an eternity for a sentience with quantum processors. "There is not currently a risk posed within the Sergeant's—"
Ava's out of her chair and halfway to the door before he even finishes the omission. Fueled by some of the most intense rage she's ever felt in her life, she marches out on swift feet. She's going to kill him. She's going to string him up—maybe hang him off the side of the tower.
America's fucking Sweetheart, her ass. America's Doomed Liar is a lot more like it.
"Where is he," Ava nearly growls, still stalking down the halls, leaving the medical wing in a hurry. "JARVIS, I know you're still listening; you tell me where that puffed-up, hypocritical—oooh , you tell me where Rogers is right the fuck now. And then you tell me where Stark is—"
"Dr. Ryder, I know you're not inclined to believe this at the moment, but I assure you—"
"You're right; I'm not inclined to do that at all." She takes a deep breath as she passes through the front entrance, slowing herself to a stop. With genuine effort, she pushes down her anger. "I don't want to keep yelling at you. I don't like doing it in the first place. If you don't want to tell me where they are, I'll find them myself."
Ava heads for the elevator to do just that. She's not expecting a response as she pounds the side of her fist against the button for the Datacrux's floor. It's likely to be her best bet to find any of them. There's not a chance in hell that she's letting her team dedicate any more time to this until she gets some fucking explanations.
Halfway along the ride up, the light around the button goes dim. A flash of anger rises in her until she sees the one for the executive level illuminate. 
"Mr. Stark is not currently in the tower, but you will find Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes debriefing in the Situation Room," JARVIS informs her over the elevator's intercom, making the SHEILD agents around her pretend not to look over. She's tempted to ask them if it's the outfit.
"Thank you, JAR," she offers as an olive branch. Regardless of what's truly going on here, she doubts the AI is all that comfortable with the subject.
"You're welcome, Ava."
She's only been to this part of the tower once before. Tony dragged her up to the Avenger's balcony for a party after her divorce was first finalized. That's about the extent of her experience with this section. It's not hard to find her way with everything denoted like it is in the rest of the building.
The palm of her hand smacks against the door marked Situation Room, and she shoves it open aggressively. Both super soldiers, the Falcon, Black Widow, and a scattered group of SHIELD agents stare back at her in surprise. It doesn't slow her down any.
Ava points an irate finger at Steve in the uneasy silence of the room. "Unless New York just caught fire, you and I are about to have a very blunt conversation, captain."
"Hiya, doc." Bucky, unsurprisingly, is the only one in the room smiling at her while she glares daggers at Captain America. He's still in his not-uniform. There's still blood on it. The charm he's throwing her way reminds her that they won't want an audience. 
"I'm going to ask the rest of you to leave," she continues, but her eyes stay on the sergeant as her finger lowers. "I don't think you'll want to be here for this, Bucky."
"What makes you think I don't wanna watch you beat up my best friend?" He leans back in his chair, his hands coming up to rest on his stomach as his smile deepens.
"Can I stay?" Sam asks, his voice eager. It's a damn shame this is how she gets to meet him. She doubts the Falcon has any clue about unethical research.
"Come on," Natasha insists with a serene nod in Ava's direction, grabbing Sam's shirt to drag him up from his chair. "You heard her."
"I—hey!" Steve looks so insulted as he watches his friends and various coworkers abandon him with zero hesitation. "You're just gonna—I don't even know what I did!"
"Neither do I, but I am very ready to hear about it," Bucky assures Ava, not an increasingly distressed Steve.
Ava taps her foot impatiently as the room clears out, leaving her alone with the super soldiers. She ignores the nerves radiating off of one of them and focuses on the one that looks delighted. "I'm serious. This is about your case. Specifically, the work HYDRA was trying to finish."
The mirth leaves Bucky almost entirely. His posture doesn't adjust from its reclined position. "Alright. Tell me what's got you livid about it."
"Steve here made me a promise that was broken in my lab a few minutes ago."
Steve's eyebrows pull in with confusion. "Which promise? Wait—a few minutes ago—Is this about that blackout? Ava, catch me up here; what the hell is—"
"You swore to me that the intention of HYDRA—at least where Bucky's case is concerned—was to make an army of super soldiers, nothing more." She's letting him process this one step at a time. It'll make yelling at him for lying a lot easier. That, and she's honestly worried the technophobe doesn't understand the gravity of the situation.
"I—" Steve hesitates, and she watches the switch to tactical assessment come over him. It's startling to see it directed at her from a face that isn't Bucky's. "As far as I know, that was the intention."
"Yeah? You're sure about that? You're sure you're not omitting something pretty fucking important to my job, Steven?"
"JARVIS, what was the blackout?" Bucky questions at half the volume he started at when she first came in.
Ava points at the sergeant insistently. "See? I'm guessing he doesn't even know, but he's sure as hell already on the right track."
"There was an incident regarding the coding found in your implants, Sergeant Barnes. It has been handled. I have prepared an update to their systems whenever you're ready to undergo a transfer."
"As your doctor, I'm ordering it. We can go back to my office after I'm finished ripping your friend a new asshole for lying to my face." Her eyebrows lower at Bucky in indignation. She's doing this for him, but that doesn't mean she's going to let him off the hook if he knew. "We should probably figure out if I need to do the same to you before we get there."
"Hey, hang on now." Steve raises one hand, likely to try to calm her, but changes his mind and puts it back under the table. She's guessing someone's finally clued in the out-of-time man about that practice making women want to throw something. At his head. "We might not always be able to talk about classified information—something you agreed to, I might add—but I've never lied about HYDRA's intent as far as I comprehend it. I've been very careful to hold up that end of our deal."
"Let me tell you how I know, for a fact, that someone involved in this case is doing a piss-poor job of lying to me about it. Since you haven't quite figured out modern tech, I'm going to try to keep it simple." Ava points a far less aggressive, more instructing finger at Bucky's arm. "In order for that hunk of metal to work, it needs to be programmed. The hardware needs software that can tell it how to read brain signals. A few decades ago, some Nazis sat in a room and wrote a bunch of code for that software. That's what was supposed to be in Bucky's implants. That's all that was supposed to be in Bucky's implants."
"Wait—what the hell else is in them?" The flicker of fear that creeps into Bucky's expression breaks her heart. There's not a doubt in her mind that he could sell her on any lie he wants to with his mind set on it. That's the point of infiltrators like him. 
But Ava's willing to bet everything she's got in this world that the fear in him at the moment is genuine. He doesn't know. And it makes her feel awful.
"Given the size of your implants, I'm guessing not much," she tries to reassure. "We can always purge whatever is there later. However, if the code were as simple as 'read this signal, do this thing,' it wouldn't have been flagged as untouchable by Tony's security measures. The ones put in specifically to prevent JARVIS from being corrupted." She crosses her arms over her chest in exasperation, her eyes moving to one of the small security cameras on the ceiling. "Would you like to explain to the captain what kind of code it would take to accomplish that, JARVIS?"
There's another human-length moment of hesitation from the AI in response. "It would take adapting code."
"The part he's holding back—definitely because he's under orders not to break SHIELD protocol—is that something has to be driving the adaptation. There is such a thing as self-adapting code; that would absolutely explain it. If we weren't talking about something made in the 40s when HYDRA needed entire warehouses just to house a few terabytes of data." She glances over at Bucky. "While I'm sure the agents you scare the piss out of would disagree, your head isn't actually big enough to hold that much."
"You flirtin' with me to stop the panic or to apologize for not being Canadian for a minute?"
Ava blinks in surprise, the slightest hint of heat coming up the sides of her neck. That—she hadn't been—well. Steve's head turns to him, his eyebrows raising in mild shock.
Bucky clears his throat, then tries for a quiet chuckle, his eyes floating between her and the table. "Sorry—it's this damn room. Puts me in sergeant mode, makes me—let's get back to yelling at Steve."
"Thanks, asshole, I appreciate—"
"What makes you think I won't yell at you just because I'm Canadian?" Ava counters, finally recovering. "You trying to stereotype me, Barnes?"
The relief that comes off of Bucky is palpable. "I'd go for the hippie thing first if I was trying to do that."
"Didn't you sleep through the McCarthy era?"
"HYDRA gave me the long and short of it between naps."
Her hand flies up to her face to block a loud snort. Damn him, this is serious. But she's not about to begrudge him the gallows humor. She lowers it again while he smirks at her. "Do you mind? I'm trying to make an angry but valid point here."
"About a bunch of code that my head isn't big enough for," he continues for her dryly, one hand coming off his stomach to gesture up at it.
Ava sighs, the amusement from getting sidetracked by the Brooklyn heartstopper fading fast. "Not big enough by the standards of the 40s. By today's standards?" Her head tilts to the side sadly, readying herself to watch that fear in him get more substantial. "You tell me, Buck. Did the Nazis work in the mindset of single projects, or did they work in the mindset of generations that would lead a global empire?"
The words are the last piece to complete the puzzle in Bucky's mind; Ava can see it happen in his eyes. The expression of horror it yanks out of him will haunt her for the rest of her days. "Zola." 
It's said in a whisper, and Ava's not even sure what the word is. 
It takes Steve longer to reach whatever conclusion Buckys come to, and he looks resistant to the idea at first. "No, that's... no—Buck, you've been to what's left. You know what it took—"
"That's the point she's making, stupid. Look at how small everything's gotten." He stops, and Ava doesn't miss the sight of a hard swallow. "It makes sense. Think about it. It makes sense. They took care of the car until they could find an engine that fit. I was the prototype. Or—was going to be, at least."
The comparison—the one he's using on himself—is revolting. Accurate, but astoundingly revolting. She pushes past it, leaning down to tap a condescending nail on the table. "Hi, there. Still here. Still looking for some answers. What the hell is Zola?"
With Steve watching him like a hawk, Bucky breathes a long, tired sigh. "Not what. Who." 
"I can fill her in," Steve offers to him quickly. "You don't have to do this."
"Oh, I'm not doing shit. She's going to do it all." Bucky locks eyes with Ava, his expression passive. Having the Winter Soldier himself that focused in on her makes her breath catch involuntarily. "How's your Russian, doc?"
"I don't speak a word of it. Do I need to for this?"
"No, I'm sure you've got plenty of ways to translate anything you feel like reading. You should look up doveryai, no proveryai while you're at it." He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. His eyes never once move away from hers. "JARVIS, transfer a copy of my archive access to Dr. Ryder. Full permissions. And the next time she asks you a hard question, you don't have to bullshit her. Tell her to call me."
April 6th, 2015
"I want you to bring me with you next time."
"No."
"Is that a no because you do not agree or because you are afraid of mother?"
"Both."
Shuri frowns at the security feed, ignoring the quiet laughter she can hear coming from Nakia on the other end. "Coward."
The camera mounted on T'Challa's dashboard shakes as he turns it back to his face, his expression annoyed. "Say that to my—"
"Coward."
T'Challa rolls his eyes and turns the camera back around as Nakia laughs harder. He will be mopey now, for sure. "I am not taking you to stare at a soldier's office with us."
"Why not?"
"To start with, I refuse to be trapped in a car with you for that amount of time."
"You should be so lucky! Now, what is the real reason."
"What part of royal family do you not—"
"You get to go to these things."
"And when you leave your lab long enough to learn to use the spears of your foremothers, that privilege can extend to you."
"Okoye is always ready to teach you, Shuri," Nakia offers up diplomatically. 
"I do not need a spear to sit in a car annoying my brother," Shuri argues. They always do this to her. She is tired of it.
"You do not need to sit in a car annoying your bother at all." The moping has already started. She can hear it in T'Challa's voice.
"Fine. I will go to Ava's house and stay there while—"
"No."
Shuri slams her hands down on her desk, making the various instruments on it rattle precariously. "She is my family, too!"
There's silence on the other end in the wake of her anger. Then the camera turns again, this time by Nakia's hand. She doesn't stop the spin until it's pointed to show her and T'Challa. He does not look as annoyed anymore. He looks guilty.
Nakia gives her a sympathetic smile. "No one is trying to take that from you. We are only trying to keep you safe. We do not know how far Alec is willing to take things."
"And I am not willing to present the man with more temptations of power," T'Challa adds, the guilt on his face shifting to resignation. "It is not simply because I am afraid of our mother. I agree with her. And with our father. Alec Harlow is a man that is losing everything. That is a powerful motivator, Shuri."
"I am not afraid of that spineless demon," Shuri insists angrily. "I could handle him myself, thank you very much."
"Half the school children in Wakanda could," Nakia mocks under her breath.
She gets a stern look from T'Challa before he focuses it on Shuri. "It is not his strength we are concerned with. It is the allies he can call upon at any time. Men with strength and resources that we do not wish to deal with."
Some of the fight leaves her. Not much, but it does ebb. Her brother might be an idiot, but he is right about this. Ava would not be this afraid for no reason. She has been trying to disguise it when Nakia brings her for visits, which is how Shuri knows it is serious.
"I hate that man, brother." The word is far too inadequate. The contempt she holds for the worm who put fear in the heart of her favorite mad scientist feels immeasurable.
"As do I. As do we all." T'Challa smiles at her finally, his face softening. "I promise to bring you to hit him if he is ever arrested. That is when I will deem it safe enough."
"How many times?" she chases after quickly. "Can I bring a weapon?"
"You can bring exactly one weapon. Can you guess what it is?" The smile turns sarcastic as he reaches out and turns the camera back around to face Alec's office window. 
"I do not need a spear to break that man."
"No, you need it so I can stop being lectured by Okoye for enabling your avoidance of tradition."
"That will not help. She wishes for me to sit through her lessons. I would just bring the spear to hit him over the head with."
Nakia laughs, the sound light and soothing. "I am surprised you did not go straight for the idea of skewering him."
Tilting her head down at her desk, Shuri hesitates. She picks up the ridiculous coffee mug Ava got her, spinning it around in her hands with somber movements. 
Ava's last visit had been especially hard to stomach. The woman had looked so... empty as she talked about the start of the divorce. There had been no vengeful joy in her as she told Shuri's father she understood the gravity of the situation. No hard-won victory in her posture. There had only been grief and shame.
Shuri sighs, turning away from the screen to head for her lab's kitchen. She is going to fill the mug with one of the teas that Ava brings her. It will be a nice change from the energy drinks she has been binging. "No. I... I do not wish the man dead. I only wish to see him locked away somewhere he can never smile again."
—author end notes—
there’s one sentence in this chapter that is 14 words long (including contractions) that is the entire foundation of their incoming dom/sub and oh my g o d when i tell you that shit was cathartic to write 😫🤌 some day when this is finished, im gonna write a whole goddamn dissertation on that one sentence and all the narrative shit that tied into it in this fic so help me (YOURE ALLOWED TO GUESS BTW)
anyways, everyone is alive in wakanda bc i said so. and nakia and t’challa are really stupid uber mega important to ava’s backstory
i feel like we’ve all, as a species, Been Through Enough. you can talk my ear off abt anything, but dont talk to me abt the opening of wakanda forever i will Literally Die, i havent cried that hard over the first watch of a movie in so fucking long and i dont think im strong enough for a second. all i ever need for binging is winter soldier and black panther anyhow (FATWS is still growing on me and i only like it so far bc im a sambucky shipper. and a stucky shipper. and a 3 musketeer shipper. and a—i like making buckaroo be in love a lot. lets just. leave it at that). we can stop with the big owies thanks. let me escape to the fictional world where everyone is alive and Nothing Hurts, t h a n k s.
well. okay. some things are gonna hurt in this. probably really super bad too and youre gonna be really really mad at me when it hits. but like. theyre set up for comfort pay off so does it even really count??? i didnt think so, ty for agreeing 😌
ily 💖 tyty for reading 💞 and tyty in advance for yelling at me when i eventually hurt u ❤️🥰 i will understand, its okay, u are entitled to the emotional compensation on that one
1 note · View note
pocketramblr · 3 years
Note
Many people claim second is either time traveling Bakugou or like fore father or smth because... Well look at him. Whats your take on it?
The worst thing about Tumblr is that the search blog function is so non existent that I can't even be sure you didn't try to see my opinion about this before asking, so I can't even blame you, but... Well:
This was my reaction to people continuing to suggest Bakugo was Second after we learned Yoichi's name
This was my reaction to a "reincarnated second" Bakugo ask
This was me making fun of the time travel theory by explaining that Ponytail Uraraka could actually be Third
And this was a post where I mentioned that I'm basically neutral on Bakugo as a whole because I really like some of his arc and his interactions, especially the remedial course arc, but that I really don't like him involved with the OfA plot line and feel it detracts from both he and Izuku
Ok. Let's go deeper then, and hopefully make this the last post I have to make on this subject.
tldr of the read more: I don't like Second as Bakugo and I actually think that the chances of Second as Bakugo's ancestor went down after the events of this week's chapter
So, I did see a lot of bak-u-go and I finally put my finger on why I hated it so much, (BESIDES the fact that I just do not think Horikoshi has done the set up for time travel in general or Bakugo in particular. Look, izuku should have told us already if Second was Bakugo. It just doesn't make sense for him to be, functionally) and instead of posting it on tumblr and dealing with people actually, like, seeing and reacting to it I just told two friends why I didn't like it thematically in a group chat. The text of my message is pasted bellow:
"So, like, even if Bakugo grows up and yeets back in time and somehow izuku doesn't recognize him with a little face scar which seems VERY UNLIKELY to me EVEN IF, then it COMPELETELY makes First's supposition pointless
the thing WASNT "second extended a hand to someone connected to and hurt by afo and freed first even tho he was nemisis, which is why izuku should extend a hand to tomura"
INSTEAD it was "Baku2 extended a hand to first because he ALREADY KNEW afo's brother was a hero and it would help all might and co and there was ABSOLUTELY NO FAITH, NO GOODWILL, NO OPTIMISTIC COMPASSION involved because baku2 KNEW what would happen and wasn't even really making a CHOICE so much as following the plan"
ahem. anyway thematically it is bad As Well as being functionally bad
is,,, bad theory,,,, i have nine very good Seconds, why would i want no Second and just dealing with bakugo more,,,
So yeah, that's my take on Baku2- it replaces the potential actual character of Second (who is someone I love exploring in many different ways) with a character we already have. And I don't hate the character, but when I'm thinking about OfA Stuff? I don't want him there! I just can't bring myself to care about Bakugo as Second. If I want to have fun with Bakugo, and I sometimes do, I have him go train and develope menteeship with Nejire. I give him some Dadzawa. I have him develop friendships and better himself with the remedial team. Getting rid of a character I like to cast Bakugo in Second's place? The least fun thing I can think of! I just don't want to do it. Have fun, write it yourself, and tag it properly so that I don't have to see it.
Ok. You also mentioned Bakugo as Second's descendent. Honestly, it's possible, but I think it's less likely now. Second has spikey hair but it looks just as much like Dabi's as it does Bakugo's. It's just how Hori draws spikey hair. They don't even have the same style, since Second has an undercut and his hair is shaded darker than Bakugo's. I also don't think that Second is going to have an explosive quirk, because Third just got one! Third's Fa Jin quirk "builds up kinetic energy and use that energy to release an explosive burst of power."
What would be the point of Izuku getting an explosion quirk from Second? It wouldn't make sense with the actual quirk lineage Bakugo has from his parents if they were trying to go that route, and frankly it's just like the Baku2 Problem: I already know how Explosion works! It's not interesting to me! I don't want to miss out on a new fun quirk just to see one I already know again.
I want Second to have a mental quirk, that's my first pick. A lighting quirk would be fine too since I really wanted Sixth to have one but then he got a stealth one so I guess I don't need Second to have a stealth quirk anymore. *Glances at Vaneer.*
Anyway so maybe Third with spikey hair that actually matches Bakugo's color is his ancestor. Maybe Second is. They both have the build of their costumes in a way that reminds of Bakugo's summer and winter hero costumes. Maybe neither of them are. I don't really care that much, because... I don't think Second likes Bakugo. I don't think he liked him at the start, and I don't think he likes him now. I'll quote a friend who actually brought this topic up before I could, and whom I agree with:
Friend: Someone asked me "Okay but what about Second being Bakugou's ancestor?" So, I had to refrain from answering "Well, if you want, but Second would probably be disgusted by Bakugou. He is a guy who sacrificed everything so some asshole with a strong quirk wouldn't do whatever he wants. What do you think he would think of Bakugou?"
Me: you're stronger than me i would have answered that and then gotten a dozen angry messages back like 'uhhhh but but hes CHANGED now if second can 'forgive' a toothpick of a man who never actually did anything to hurt him and was only considered a target because of a relative, aka bc of his genetics, then surely he'd forgive bakugo for uh activlely harming izuku bc of his genetics and openly mocking the past holder's pain, fight, and strength in a meeting he acted too good for!'
So I don't think Second would like Bakugo for those reasons, but also another one- he's naïve. Second didn't like Izuku trying to "save to win" Shigaraki, he thought it was foolish. I don't think he'd like Bakugo's "fight to win" focus either, because to him it wasn't "fight to win." It was "fight to survive" and I don't think that for a single moment he thought he'd 'win' because he was 'a hero' and 'heroes always win and villains always lose and that's why I want to be a hero.' there's a reason he didn't want Bakugo to keep OfA either, and it wasn't just because of a very circumstantial theory some vestiges have based off a sample size of two with absolutely no way to check other variables said that maybe it would kill a holder if they had another quirk.
Has Bakugo grown since those views? Sure. Do I think he's still naïve? Yeah. Do I think Second would see that growth of his, or even care? No. I don't.
I don't think Second hates Bakugo. I just don't think he likes him either. His opinion, I think, probably is similar to my own: "he's a kid who can really grow and be great... And I just don't want him anywhere near OfA buisness."
37 notes · View notes
hei-ch0u · 3 years
Text
It’s long...(fair warning) ✰
 Shingeki no Kyojin 139 (Theories)
Since everyone is throwing around their theories from the wild to the more likely, I thought I should contribute. After all, it will be the last time we can theorise this amazing manga full of all its twists and turns. Like most, I do agree with the popular fan theories simply because this manga is consistently unpredictable with each chapter. Let’s face it, some stories are easily picked apart these days and finding one that continuously has you thinking about what could occur is a winning tale. So first, I will start off by saying that I am so sad that Shingeki no Kyojin is coming to an end. But! I will never forget this amazing manga as I have grown so attached to the characters and the story as you can tell from the past nearly 9 years of running this blog. So, thank you yams for being such a genius! Regardless of the ending, it will go down in history as one of the best stories I personally have ever read and witnessed.
With typical fan theories, I won’t go into them too much as I feel the concept of the “time loop” has been written about to filth and I think it is very blatantly clear at this point that the concept of a time loop is very likely in one way or another given the overall concept within aot/snk in general - there is a obvious manipulation of past, present and future. I will hold my hands up and say that I definitely do agree with ‘some’ popular fan theories and will list a fair few below in brief detail - as I do think they are highly likely to be true in some way or at least implied within the last chapter. Now, with the usual leak dates coming up on the horizon, I wanted to put my input in before hand. Although, because of recent prosecution warnings for leaking the final chapter - I would advise others just to wait for the 9th of April on official release for concrete facts rather than speculations and leaks simply because we have seen with past few chapters that a lot of false spoilers get released and I think with the final chapter it would be wise to wait as I have previously stated on here that it will be the ‘revelation’ chapter that ties this manga together.
So! With the typical fan theories, we see the likes of:
Eren being the baby daddy to Historia’s baby
Eren sacrificing his reason for living - freedom. By being the greater evil to bring about the greater good
The baby itself could become the new beast titan or baby Eren/Ymir reborn
Eren isn’t dead, but on Paradis by way of transferring his subconscious into a crystallised version of himself
Eren and Ymir have struck a deal
And of course - the time loop concept
…The list is endless of popular fan theories. It would be silly not to agree with any of them given the story and where we are currently at, its very clear that Historia, Eren and Ymir will play a big part somehow in the final chapter (if not id be genuinely shocked) since majority of the past few chapters they have been absent in full form and I feel this needs to be explained. After all we still haven’t seen the full extent of the memories of past/future that Eren was aware of from his contact with Historia and his connection with Ymir in Paths. We saw 137 being predominantly Armin based, 138 being Mikasa based and I think it is only reasonable given his absence as the initial protagonist that Eren will be the revelation within 139. Ultimately culminating EMA / the trio as a whole. We began with them, so it only makes sense to end with them (albeit separately as individuals).
Moving on, as you can see I agree with said fan theories as I think any route could be possible! The thing with Shingeki no Kyojin is that it has many hidden ‘Easter eggs’ (how fitting given its easter), whether it be in the background of scenes, characters wording, placement of scenes/characters, flashbacks, paths and even in the opening and ending credits of the anime we see hidden meanings through imagery. It has all been laid out very well for our finding, its just if we have an intuitive enough imagination to pick it apart and figure things out. This leads on to my own theory/theories (it can go any way and I wont sugarcoat it - I could be reaching)
I generally have 2 theories that run about in my head with how the story itself could turn out or how it works. Both theories kind of tie together in one way or another featuring predominantly Eren and then Mikasa or overall ‘Ackerman’ blood/gene concept and its potential involvement in control of said time loop. I will do my best to include manga panels to give visual insight to the points.
To begin, I want to touch on Mikasa's “dream” in 138 - although devastating, I think it is being taken as the opposite of what it was and personally I see many looking at it through rose tinted glasses. This wasn’t an alternative universe (in my opinion), this was Mikasa’s Ideal life - her dream. When it comes to Eren as a connection to Mikasa, he is her reason for being, even in death she chooses not to part with him for her own good and creates a dreamlike reality for herself to make herself go through with the deed. She as a character has dominantly surrounded her existence on Eren, he is categorised many times within the manga as ‘home’ - like other fan theories have stated, it has been mentioned many times Mikasa referencing the word ‘home’ and also how she wants to ‘be close to him’ because it gives her comfort and strength. The Ackermans as a whole have attachments to people and this is where they ultimately gain strength from. Without any of the Ackermans ‘attachments’ being in danger or being killed, their powers wouldn’t be awakened and without them I feel their strength almost weakens until they find a new reason for living to keep moving forward. I’ll touch more on the ‘Ackerman’ theory later as its one of the open loopholes still currently alive within the manga.
Mikasa has always been a character that confuses me, particularly with the way she acts and things she says or thinks. She has said many things that don’t make sense unless she has a certain belief system or knows of things from past lives.
Examples:
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
As you can see and I will produce more evidence of such comments further in. She implies that she either believes in reincarnation or she is aware of different periods within the said time loop. She speaks of starting over, being dead and returning and implies in different ways that she is scared of the same thing happening again. The last panel - what plan is she on about here? Her own plan. In my opinion it is - "Don't let Eren die". As we have seen, that may be what has to happen. It's fate. She interferes with this and never lets him go.
Mikasa does have an unhealthy bond with Eren, I do think he loves her ( I’m not dismissing that ) but do I think its the type of intense love she feels? no. Some things she has came out with has even shocked other characters and countless times her comrades have tried to ‘break the barrier’ to get her to realise her way of thinking when it comes to Eren is unhealthy. Hence why I think we seen Jean in this particular scene below so frustrated
Tumblr media
not because he himself has feelings for her, but because she’s not letting them get through to her that she is refusing to believe Eren could ultimately be a changed person (which he definitely is, I’ll not go into my rant of why he isn’t ‘evil or a ‘monster’ because i’ve done so already) but overall, Mikasa constantly makes excuses for Eren and doesn’t recognise it, her life revolves around being close to Eren and she gets very emotionally troubled at the idea of not being with him or him ultimately taking a path that doesn’t involve her. We even seen Annie question her and this wasn't many chapters ago and she replies with the same mindset of bringing back "the old Eren". He is not the person he once was particularly as a child. Something that is implied at beginning of manga, it opens with them as children and somehow links with 138.
Tumblr media
As stated by Armin below we see him even explaining to Mikasa that Eren’s never close, he always takes his own route and that ultimately both Armin and Mikasa aren’t his reason for living. Let’s face it - Freedom is Eren’s reason for being, his only desire. Armin has also expressed disbelief and almost frustration at her way of thinking when it comes to him (below examples) I think in a way the famed ‘table scene’ was Eren trying to break the bond, but he’s not doing that for no reason, its implied he does it to protect them, but it could also be because of what he has seen in memories past and future - he has perhaps became aware of Mikasa’s involvement within paths and the loop. He has to try to alter her way of thinking to protect her, but maybe also himself.
Tumblr media
Armin + Other comrades reactions to Mikasa’s mindset 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Another visual point to make regarding Mikasa’s ties with previous loops and Armin, was her comment made about him at a very early stage in the manga just after Eren had been eaten by a titan after saving Armin - leaving his fate at this point unknown. 
Tumblr media Tumblr media
this is implying that Mikasa has some knowledge of previous times Armin has helped them with his ‘ability’ which if we are referencing him as a character is his methodical intelligence. But, even here he is confused by the comment, simply because at this point there has been no signs of Armin’s usage of this ability - mainly fear and lack of confidence with that in comparison of his peers. We don’t necessarily see this until perhaps even a chapter later and as far as we are aware, Mikasa doesn't follow through with “i’ll tell you about it later”.
I don’t know about anyone else, but it seems odd she has such an attachment to Eren like this that is so intense. It’s not normal to be as intense as she is about someone unless she is used to losing that person over and over. Even as children Mikasa acted possessive over the ‘concept’ of Eren dying - it wasn’t allowed to happen. She doesn’t have this intense reaction with Armin or other comrades. She fixates on the idea of Eren being her saviour, the one to give her a ‘home’ and a ‘purpose’. Mikasa consistently opposes his death and his death alone, I can only see this from a standpoint that deep within her own memory she has experienced his death countless times before. She even uses force a couple of times to increase this intensity. Here are some examples of this even in childhood -
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
There are many more examples of this throughout the manga and her refusal to accept that what she doesn’t want, may just happen. Now this might just be my over active imagination or my own ability of media studies kicking in. But, previously I had been under the impression in the presence of a time loop that Eren was in charge of it and controlling it, that somehow it would constantly reoccur when he himself died and he would have to come up with a way to either prevent his death or ultimately stop the timeline of the titans. Whether that be under making a deal with Ymir herself or by essentially “breaking the wheel” and turning others against him to show Eldians as triumphant heroes.
However, the more i’ve thought about it and given the revelations of 138 - i would be more inclined to say it is Mikasa Ackerman herself due to either her specifically or her Ackerman gene. There is something about the bloodline that is missing and we have not had the fabled Ackertalk or much explanation of how they work (something I’d like to see covered in 139 - although i feel it will be an Eren chapter, I also think it will include the visions Eren has seen to give an explanation of why the previous 138 chapters played out the way they did)
I think there is a possibility Eren had to break the wheel on the loop,  Mikasa would go back each time and always Eren would die, something we’ve established she tries to prevent and never accepts. The only escape was her accepting his death therefore he did everything he could to push her away, break the bond and push her to kill him to end the cycle (since he’s seen the future). As I have a hunch previously in other loops he was not killed by her hand - it had to be her to break the cycle or vice versa (but we will get to this).
Tumblr media
there is hints of this in the “Lost Girls” OVA. Yes, I am aware it’s said that OVAS are not necessarily canon per say, but I don’t think it would have so many open links if Isayama himself didn't want it to. This particular one gives many hints to Mikasa’s involvement in the loop and alternative universe theories. The anime adaptations are on point with showing us details we only recognise after more plot points are revealed. It may explain the headaches, every time Eren dies, she reverses the loop or changes realities. This ailment could be a product of her memory issues. In the OVA we see Mikasa in real time thinking about Eren and his constant state of taking his own path.
Tumblr media
After this moment, the said “Scene” she speaks of is revealed to us. Another example of Mikasa’s dreamlike state or perhaps another timeline? We are taken back to the time where she had given up, had ran out of gas, a titan was approaching and she was ‘lost’ - her reason for being was gone and she knew her death was coming, but also in the manga during this scene she is “worried” she’ll have to start again (above in examples). This again implies she knows something we don’t. We then hear Mikasa’s voice speaking to Mikasa herself, telling her that if she simply didn’t like this reality she could choose the place she wanted, but as we have seen before - she can’t stop his death.
Tumblr media
The peculiar scene in this OVA that got me intrigued by this theory is the masked figure and young mikasa scene. Mikasa is rushing to meet with Eren and Armin to escape the walls in a hot air balloon, but she has to be there by a certain time or the plan fails. As she is running she is stopped by a mysterious masked figure who asks her to join in on his hypnotism trick to spectators. Comments he makes involve him telling her that her ‘friend’ will ultimately leave her and that she couldn’t accept his death and created this universe. Also, that he is no one, but someone at the same time. I think this holds great significance since the strange thing about this is that his voice mirages into a distant adult Mikasa.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
implying that she has to ‘kill’ a part of herself or she has to die to prevent and hault the loop. She has to return from her idealistic dreams of keeping him alive as it will only fail otherwise. Upon hearing of Eren’s yet again untimely death within this universe, she begins to have memory flashes of multiple scenes appearing within her eyes with a typical media ‘rewind’ sound as she wakes up back in the street with no gas and a titan approaching but... she says something I find interesting and links to what Eren says at the beginning of the manga 
“the feeling I’ve had a really long dream”
We witness Mikasa have these “headaches” multiple times within the manga and in the anime they are heavily focused on whenever it happens, which we can only recognise that this is an important part of the story itself. Eren too has random headaches, just not as much as Mikasa, he mainly experiences them when he accesses new memories. However, what if Mikasa too is affected by memories she cannot tap into or it is paths/ackerman gene warning her she is repeating past mistakes?
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Notice how there is a lot of emphasis on the word ‘again’ when it comes to her headaches or the thought of losing Eren. It is constantly repeated. I think it is highly likely she only remembers some parts from previous loops, but the one that sticks is simply - she has to save Eren each time, but fails. Everything begins again after his or her’s demise. Perhaps each time Eren is the one who dies first, creating a somewhat butterfly effect. That maybe Mikasa has died once like she implies in previous example. However, the one to die first (in this case primarily Eren) loses all memories of the past loops - again this is implied as Eren does tell Mikasa he cannot remember his dream. I think deep within his mind Mikasa does remember, but given the fact she has potentially reversed the outcome many times...her memory is simply warped - that or she died in the previous loop and lost those components. 
Tumblr media
Will she not remember due to her memories being altered in her death?
Either way something needs to change. Eren Kruger says this in Eren’s attack titan memories. They are doing something wrong.
Tumblr media
I believe Eren in 138 within Mikasa’s dream, was trying to tell her to move on, not necessarily forget him, but at least accept his passing - to stop the loop reoccurring, he influenced part of her reality...maybe with the help of Ymir. In a way it could be implied Eren almost regrets wrapping the scarf around her (this is heavily emphasised as a symbol of their relationship), for me the scarf seems like a softer symbolism for a chain - a binding if you will. By wrapping it round Mikasa he binds her to him. He has always insisted she should throw it away, even in 138 within her own conjured reality he says the same. She needs to kill this part of herself or “the same history” will be repeated. I do have a HUGE feeling in my heart, head and gut that Mikasa may need to end up dead first as I do have another HUGE feeling that Eren is not dead (maybe its wishful thinking, but his death doesn’t make sense right now, so Yams I trust in you for explanation). His death seemed too convenient.
Now, before I go onto “Ackerman” gene factors, I’ll briefly bring in another peculiarity I have always had about a particular scene in the beginning of the manga. After it is decided Eren will carry the boulder to plug the wall, Eren (the attack titan) seemingly loses control and succumbs to pure rage, in turn he attacks Mikasa. Something he hasn’t done against humans unless its free will.
Tumblr media
However, a part of me has always felt that this could be the attack titan itself (in past inhabitants and memories) recognising her as a threat and trying to rid her of the world first to avoid the loop of Eren dying first to Mikasa controlling the loop to return to try to save Eren - nothing changes. This is what I meant by “breaking the wheel”, we have saw it in other tales, things can’t change unless you choose a different path than the same one with the same brutal cycle. As Kruger says, to save Mikasa and Armin, Eren has to change things - this could be to separate not only Armin, but Mikasa from him, that maybe in previous loops...they follow him. In this instance, he has definitely separated Armin and by way of second hand - Mikasa too. Hence why Ymir says goodbye to Eren in 138, he is free. Another notable concept is that aot/snk is made up of trios, we see it in:
Eren / Mikasa / Armin
Reiner / Bertholdt / Annie
Connie / Jean / Sasha
Hanji / Erwin / Levi
Levi / Farlan / Isabel 
Kenny / Levi / Mikasa
It would partially make sense for the trio to be the reasoning for the ending. Almost illuminati based - very yams style. 
Tumblr media
Why not Mikasa?
Lets talk Ackerman and a slightly different theory, but with relation! 
(Obviously, I cannot provide much evidence to support any Ackerman based theories other than what has already been provided, which isn’t a lot to be fair. Dammit Yams)
I want to briefly start off on the Ackerman front with a brief comparison of our two currently known Ackermans: Levi and Mikasa. The main categorising difference between these two is that Levi moves on regardless of what happens to him or his comrades or his ‘attachments’. He also does not appear to experience these headaches, some say he does, but I can’t find evidence. Isayama shows these headaches with a throbbing sign around Mikasa’s head - so unless the Ackertalk happens and Levi confirms it, its still absent in theory. Levi treats Ackerman-ism as moving on, making choices with no regrets (as his backstory indicates) and even in current states he has said he doesn’t regret his decisions. It is why he is able to move forward and keep surviving. Its simple...his mindset is stronger than Mikasa's, she is the weaker link. This could be due to age difference and overall past experience, Levi has more life experience as an Ackerman to have mastered his emotion and reactions to outcomes - he accepts the bad. 
Tumblr media
Mikasa is weaker in this regard, perhaps if you link it back to the theory of her control of the loop...due to this weakness she creates the loop since she can’t accept his death and tries to return to make amends. I think in reality, Eren knows due to the attack titan ability - he will die. Hence why he appeared so shocked upon making contact with Historia to then very depressed and detached before vanishing in Marley. He became aware of the outcome and I don’t know about anyone else, but I’d be depressed too after finding out my life was made to end especially since all he wanted as a character was Freedom. Eren x Freedom will be the only canon ship at this rate.
However, I do think the only way she can create said loop is through her Ackerman gene. Ackermans are products of ‘titan science’, they were genetically engineered (if you want to put it that way) to have titan like abilities while still maintaining their human form and sense of self being. Created to protect the Fritz family (royal blood), to eventually being ostracised for their dismissal of the plan to wipe Eldian’s memories. Therefore banished, but allowed to live, I can only see there being one reason why - they would be still useful at some point and their deaths/extinction would be wasteful. 
From what we know and can tell from mere viewing, the Ackermans are very skilled and powerful beings that have ‘hosts’ or attachments (I like this name better) to channel their goals, strength and energy into. They were made to protect, fight and survive. The only surviving Ackermans are Levi and Mikasa.
Tumblr media
They cannot be affected by the founding titan and their memories cannot be altered. But, this brings about another question. Why were they created to protect the founding titan, yet could not be controlled by it? The theory with this bloodline is that they can do more than what we see, that they themselves don’t know it yet. One in particular can alter realities - that being Mikasa (as we don’t have mass amounts of information on Levi’s experiences other than his surge of power awakenings demonstrated throughout the manga to confirm his part) due to fact Levi really only knew he was an Ackerman within his 30′s after the previous Ackerman - Kenny, dies and informs him of this. Mikasa has always been aware. 
Mikasa’s ‘Power’ ultimately has something to do with the Attack Titan and the Founding titan - that being Eren and Ymir combined. In past loops, I believe each time she has seen Eren die she has said “see you later, Eren”... hence the ending of 138 and the beginning of the manga. Isayama did say the beginning would relate to the ending. Each time this happens they are transcended to the point Eren wakes up at the tree within the walls to begin once more, its the only clear explanation for why Eren comments of her hair length. The attack titan itself is the component of Ymir that captivates her freedom, it continues to move forward for 2000 years each successor until one has the power (the desire for freedom like her) to release her from enslavement to the power of the titans. In this instance Eren too has been a slave to the power, lets for arguments sake blame Grisha for passing it on to him. 
Again, with the Ackermans there is something I’ve always noticed between Levi and Mikasa - they have never touched skin to skin. It has always been over their clothing. I wonder if their Ackerman powers may stem similar to how Eren draws memories from contact with the royal family, i.e. Historia. They need to touch in order to access Paths and manifest it into their control. Eren is aware of this due to his connection to Ymir - there is heavy implied material to denote the idea of Ragnarok and reincarnation. Eren is the reincarnate of Ymir and previously I don’t think they were aware of this.
Tumblr media
For anyone not familiar with the term “Ragnorok” - its definition has multiple meanings in Norse mythology. Particularly - development, origin, cause, relation and fate. It is a series of events that often lead to a great battle, the deaths of multiple people of importance to the ultimate end revelation of the world being remade and fertile (the opposite of Zeke’s plan) with the remaining ‘gods’ returning and ‘two’ human survivors repopulating the world. I personally believe this to be either two of these: Levi and Mikasa or Eren and Historia by the way of Ymir as the ultimate god, but just in different ways. The Ragnorok element is particularly of importance within Germanic studies, this would connect with Shingeki no Kyojin since it is implied its set in early germany/europe and given characters name origins - it makes sense.
The two human survivors are that of Lif and Lifbrasir (shown below) who survive by ‘hiding’ in the woods while the great battle commences. 
Tumblr media
They repopulate the world starting with a daughter. In germanic regions, the concept of mankind originated from trees is an ancient notion “the tree of life” essentially. Trees have a massive importance and connection in Shingeki no Kyojin, we see Eren wake up at one in the beginning, the main Path coordinate resembles a tree, Ymir originated from trees and being within the woods would indicate “trees”. This would make me more inclined to believe the Eren and Historia theory to be likely, simply because Historia is all the way back in Paradis and potentially Eren himself by transferring subconscious. To me it seems very likely the leaked final panel released by Yams himself is Eren holding a child rather than anyone else as whoever this figure is tells the child they are free and this could only relate to both Ymir and Eren, the ones who sought freedom. This could mean in this instance Levi and Mikasa are the ‘gods’, the ones with the power to restore and mend, again through the concept of the Ackerman Gene being more than what meets the eye. Ymir will be reborn ultimately and no longer enslaved as will Eren. 
Tumblr media
Ragnarok and Shingeki no Kyojin combined have connotations of ‘fate’ being a big part of their depths. It is fated. Everything is. Just like Eren’s death and potentially ability to be reborn into another timeline. Just like Eren’s fate to obtain the founding titan and attack titan, both very powerful titans in the manipulation of time and events. Eren makes a statement around chapter 123 in Paths when talking with Zeke that if someone tried to take his freedom, no matter who, he would remove theirs. That he has been like that since birth because he was “born into this world”.
Zeke: “Since birth?”
this further implies fate. He was born free, he expresses detest for people who aren’t free and bound by something, 2000 years, Ymir etc. This only ties together if Eren himself in past lives was someone with the same views and personality traits, like Mikasa, except hers are the opposite. Paths has always been there and everything that has happened in the past is imbedded within its clutches through Ymir. These two titans needed to be combined, Grisha was informed by Eren himself through Kruger and future versions of himself that he had to obtain the founder or nothing could be changed. Grisha is even seen asking Eren to show him everything that happens, whether carla dies etc. He did not have full control, this was made for Eren’s inhabitant period and he did not have access to all memories due to only being able to access the ones the future successor sends back in time. Like the mirror scene for example, Eren is speaking to someone else, not himself. Grisha was only instructed to go within the walls and have a family. Eren was instructed to save everyone. Remember that the common rule with time is that you cannot change the past or it significantly alters the future.
I believe all the memories (the ones we are seeing even now) are actually in paths, the story has always had an indication it is being ‘narrated’ by someone - in most instances this is Armin. This has implied he will survive into the future, but that others may not. How this will happen...I can only theorise that Ymir will factor into who lives or dies. She will need to leave paths however, the only way the titan curse will end is if she leaves and no one is there to build titans. She will be either reborn to capture her freedom or reborn through Eren for them both to obtain the same dream. There has been multiple theories that some other titan other than the attack titan could be the key or another character, like that of the Ackermans or armin for example as I do think the trio concept is likely. But, remember the manga is called “Shingeki no Kyojin” meaning “the attack titan” - its always been the key and Eren is that key...again, key? Eren. scarf? Mikasa. Equals symbolism.
At the end of the day, the characters who I feel personally will tie together the ending are Eren, Ymir, Historia and Levi, Mikasa, Armin - both trios on different sides of the coin. Just remember, this isn’t the type of story where the characters get what they desire and that they could die without obtaining these desires. Erwin died before learning the truth of the outside world. Hanji died. Sasha died, Niccolo lost her. Floch did not live to see Eldian rule. Levi may have killed Zeke, but what for? He killed a different version of him, not the one who murdered innocents in Shinganshina. Levi lost every attachment of his. Mikasa lost Eren. I’d be angry and sad for him, but Eren also could lose his freedom by striking a deal with Ymir for her own freedom. But! he could free the world and his friends through both Mikasa and Armin, the chain will break, the titan curse will end and he will cease to exist or be lost in Paths dormant, unlike Ymir for 2000 years. This would be a good culmination of Eren’s character, extremely heart breaking, but fitting. A character who only sought freedom for humanity. He is humanity’s hope after all. Remember, Kaji Yuki (Eren’s Japanese voice actor) expressed extreme sadness at learning Eren’s fate from Isayama. It has always been a manga that indicates a bittersweet ending, so this could also be highly likely. (Eren is my favourite character...so this guts my heart from my chest)
To conclude, these are merely my own speculation of the final events within 139 and although sad of its ending, my excitement for this final instalment knows no bounds. I can only wish for the best and I know Isayama will deliver. 
Tumblr media
65 notes · View notes
dallonm-archive · 3 years
Photo
Tumblr media
[image description: three monstera leaves. The leaves and wall are tinted purple by string lights behind the plant. In the middle, in a white serif font and all caps, reads “LIFE CYCLE OF MASSIVE STARS”. At the bottom, in the same font but smaller, reads “update #1″ /end id]
LIFE CYCLE OF MASSIVE STARS | UPDATE #1
Before I start, this is an autistic OwnVoices novel and it’s Autism Acceptance Month! Remember that awareness is passive and acceptance is active. And whilst this book is autistic OwnVoices I want to stress that it doesn’t cover the full autistic experience; autism is so individualistic and  this story only stems from my experience. Make sure you to listen to all autistics, not just those who can speak and live independently and present in a way that suits neurotypical society. Support autistic creatives and if you’re also a creative, include autistic characters in your work! Autism is not a disease. It does not need to be cured. 
Hey y’all! This has sure been a week! I gave myself the goal of 15,000 words for Camp Nano and somehow hit that in 5 days? I have literally never written at that pace before so I’m a little shocked lol. I don’t intend to keep that pace but the momentum has made drafting very fun and? drafting this has been a literal dream. I was really worried because March was a month long slump I expected to carry into April. I want to disclaim that I’m currently out of school and work because of the pandemic so I have all the free time to write and that definitely contributed! But also as a neurodivergent and disabled writer, free time does not always equal writing, so to know that I am capable of writing like this, even if not always, it is Such a gamechanger. Also this story makes me miss University so much I actually can’t take it :( 
LCOMS has been a dream so far because the protagonists are all characters I’ve had for 5-8 years, and | spent those years struggling to figure out their stories. Even when I settled on this story, originally Patchwork, there was like 4 versions of it before I landed on this - none ever drafted beyond a couple thousand words because they just Never Worked. But the wait was worth it because holy shit I feel like I struck gold. This story feels so me, it’s so much fun to write, and I don’t think a story has come to me this easy before. It’s given me such a zest for storytelling again that I didn’t realise was missing. I’m slowing things down now because creative boundaries and self care >>>>, but I just passed 19k words - though some of the chapters are very unfinished because my priority has been mapping out the story’s skeleton as far as I can, then filling in the gaps based off what I learnt. I wanna put a passage before the cut so it’s not just me rambling about bullshit and no content, but it’s hard to pick just one, so here’s a non-linear scene that I :) cannot elaborate on :)
(CW: alcohol)
Tumblr media
[image description: the side of a ferris wheel against black sky. The wheel is lit white, but at the bottom it’s coloured a mix of pink, blue and green. At the top, in a white serif font, reads “The ferris wheel lights blur between turquoise, magenta, mint, lavender, casts the puddles into technicolour. “ /end id]
Picture this: December 17th. End of term. End of year. Cloudless night, stars winking. Fargate glows, market stalls lit by yellow fairy lights line the street like candle stubs, gently burning. It’s raining. It has all day. Dampened your new beanie and scarf but you’re not mad, even if you’ll cringe at the texture when you take them off later. The ferris wheel lights blur between turquoise, magenta, mint, lavender, casts the puddles into technicolour. Your eyes and feet ache, but you’re not mad. And the mulled wine that buzzed warm in your bloodstream now coils in your stomach, but you’re not mad. You’re queuing for the technicolour wheel, even though you know it’ll be underwhelming and a waste of £4, but you’re not mad. Chocolate is usually too sweet for you, but he bought a pack of snowflake shaped ones - each carved with their own design - and when he passes the paper bag over you don’t say no. They taste like raspberry. He grins at you.
I have once again written a long update because I am autistic and have no self control; more excerpts and chapter-by-chapter rambles are as usual under the cut!
(content warnings are specific to the respective excerpt, but as a general warning there’s a lot of alcohol mentions!)
Originally I wanted 3 parts for 3 semesters, but I might do 2? Especially because in the UK at least the spring and summer semester kinda blend into one. The chapters are grouped by 3 - one for every POV character - but that’s more to help with writing because I get more done if I break it down like that, but I also like how it’s shaped the story structurally. 
Sometimes the three chapters will be each of the character’s POV on a single event, sometimes they’re more individual but still follow a general idea (for example, one of them is how each character’s first three weeks of the semester goes). As usual for me the plot here is ~non-existent, especially at this stage, but everything is still connected and threaded together and thats all we really need. The chapters are also pretty short at the moment, none of them are over 3k and only tackle 1-3 scenes. This is something I feel is working really nicely now but I’m not gonna commit to it for the entire novel. I like chapter length variety! But right now we are just going with the flow :)
The most unexpected part is this being in second person, which I decided impulsively the night before Nano because I have :) zero self control :). I was unsure if it’d work in Multi POV, but it’s created such a unique tone that I can’t imagine the story without anymore, even if it’ll need tweaking over drafts. I think it suits the story so well! I’m just torn about it being in past or present, so if you see tense jumps in the excerpts no you did not <3 I’m not naming chapters right now beyond the character’s name, but part one is titled Growing Pains.
Tumblr media
[image description: photo of a city at night. To the left are skyscrapers with lots of lit up windows behind a chain-link fence. To the right is an unlit building. Near the middle is a bright streetlight. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “growing pains”. /end id]
 1: Tomas
We start in the most overrated part of Uni, fresher’s week <3 The drinking and clubbing culture of UK university is a big part of this novel but in a way that’s like “hey this can be fun sometimes but sometimes it’s really not and it’s also really not for everyone.” Our three POVs go to a club night and really don’t care for it. Tomas does not want to be here, is in a weird as shit mood, and instead of looking for his friends he goes to the smoking area with a man he just met called Damiano. I really wanna rewrite this because I wrote it with Zero Idea of where the story was going, so here’s the one part of it that I consider salvageable <3 
Damiano shoves his phone in your hands, brightness puncturing darkness. You hadn’t noticed the dimmed lights until then, but the room blued, music and time slowed. Though his notes are on dark mode, his phone brightness is on two fucking high. Your eyes sting. Cracks travel up the screen like veins.
Each character also has a specific image they keep seeing in things that are never actually there and they all make me like 🤠 hey besties what do these mean are you okay?? I Do Not know what they mean yet, but Tomas’ is veins. (Also shout out to me for finally settling on a spelling for his name after 5 years and by that I mean thank you to my friends for peer pressuring me into choosing Tomas lol)
My absolute favourite part of this story is the character voices. They are all SO fun to write, and I feel like I settled into a good combo of My Literary Prose Bullshit and they’re very specific, often very sarcastic voices. They also say fuck like, so many fucking times. RIP to me if I decide to query this <3 
2: Kristen
Okay first off Kristen is THE funniest character I’ve written. He is SO fun. I wish I was his bestie but he’s also been my bestie since 2013. We meet him in the gender neutral bathrooms being annoyed by a very rich and very tone deaf girl. Classism and the UK class divide is one of the biggest themes of this novel, and Kristen is a very proud working class Northerner (the North is massively underfunded and unsupported by the Gov compared to the South) and cannot stand the Tories (Conservative Party). Extremely fucking valid of him
(CW: blood)
“I’m Floss. Florence.” Of course she was. Fucking Florence. “Where are you from?”
You don’t look at her. Eyes on your reflection, the glittered cheekbones. You busy yourself with your eyeliner, gliding the pen over gaps and smudges that don’t exist. “Barnsley, babe.” It’s only a half lie this time - if you tell her you were born in Liverpool she’d probably look at you like you’re a dead rat on the side of a dodgy alleyway. But maybe that’d be better because then she’d leave you the fuck alone. 
“Oh! That’s like well close isn’t it. I’m from Reigate.” Her voice breathes trust fund and Waitrose, tries to speak like it doesn’t. You try not to laugh.
“Reigate! I bet your parents are right little Tories, aren’t they?”
She playfully slapped your shoulder. She thinks you’re friends. "Not every rich person is a Tory!” Don’t roll your eyes don’t roll your eyes don’t roll your eyes. “Is that blood on your hands?” 
“Huh?” You look: faded red dye dried to your palm, blotted on your fingertips. It is dye, because your hair is as of four hours ago a fierce “Real Red”. But it could be blood. “No, it’s hair dye.”
If you think he’s being harsh, she literally calls him a slur like 3 lines after this <3 Fuck rich people half of this book is me clowning on them. 
Kristen’s recurring Imagery is blood, except sometimes it’s less clear if it’s actually blood or not. Once again, besties are you okay ????
3: Junie
Junie my beloved <3 love her so much. She finds Kristen in the bathroom, and they agree to look for Tomas, until Tomas texts to say he already left. But the biggest part of this chapter is the absolute crisis she has over kissing for a girl for the first time to ABBA :) 
(CW: alcohol)
Tumblr media
[image description: a disco ball against a red-purple background. The disco ball casts dots of light against the across the ceiling. At the bottom, in a white serif font, reads:  “Dancing Queen bounces against the walls. The disco ball casts specks over the ceiling, floor, walls, your skin, hair, eyes like broken glass.” /end id]
You don’t listen to 80s music, or 70s, but this room is smaller than the main floor, not claustrophobic, less freshers. Yet, even without the mask of a crowd, nobody notices the girl in the corner kissing the other girl. A girl you don’t know. You’d only gone up to her because she has purple hair and you had to tell her how much you love it - what dye is it? Professional or homemade? Did you have to bleach your hair? Professional or homemade? Will your hair fall out if you bleach it at home? If you dye your hair purple, do you become part of the Milky Way or part of Andromeda? She turns and sticks her tongue out to display her fresh tongue piercing, like a silver bullet lodged in flesh. “Dance with me, you look lost.” She has an allure to her, the Andromeda hair, the bullet in the tongue - do you want to pull it out with your teeth, or lodge it in your own skin? But she asks you to dance, and you fall into her orbit, if only for a few songs. Dancing Queen bounces against the walls. The disco ball casts specks over the ceiling, floor, walls, your skin, hair, eyes like broken glass. Her tongue in your mouth, yours in hers, bullet grazing against your lips. She tastes of vodka and cherries and metal.
I really, really feel for Junie. She’s recently out, and she’s only just navigating what it means to exist as a lesbian. She kisses a girl and immediately regrets it, because she’s a hopeless romantic and was hoping her first kiss with a girl wouldn’t be in the back of a club, but she also doesn’t regret it because it was a good kiss and they’ll never see each other again lol. Junie’s recurring imagery is glass and once again, besties are you okay 
4: Junie
I don’t know how I feel about back to back POV chapters but that’s just how this set worked. The next 3 are immediately after the events of the first 3, after they’ve all left the club. Kristen and Junie walk home together, and most of this and his subsequent chapter is establishing relationship dynamics and <3 this story made me love writing dialogue y’all. This story has a lot of dark elements, so it’s really refreshing to be able to have the light-hearted moments as well. Like these characters are all going through it but they’re also Gen Z 20 year olds who grew up using humour to cope like what else are they meant to do 
“We should’ve got that flat on Brunswick. It’s literally down the street from the SU - we’d just have to walk down a hill and then we’d be home.” He complains.
“Kristen, that flat had a rat problem. I saw one scurrying behind the oven.”
“Yeah, and we live with Tomas Meijer now, so what’s the difference?” He faces you, walks backwards, grin plastered on his face.
“That was mean.” You feign annoyance. You sound like a schoolteacher. 
“It’s just how we are, you know. The love hate relationship. Like night and day or some shit. I’d kill for that boy but like, he’s still a rat. He’s the same to me - did he tell you he called me a malnourished ferret once in first year? In English and Dutch. Don’t even remember what it is in Dutch but he really came at me with two knives like that.” 
Kristen and Junie don’t really know each other well - Junie is Tomas’ friend from class and Kristen and Tomas met in dorms, and a series of shitty housemates in second year brought them all together. It’s funny because I really worried Junie would end up with no clear place in the group and more like a third wheel to Kristen and Tomas but as I started writing I realised that her and Kristen are gonna become besties like. Instantaneously. Love this for them <3
5: Kristen
Essentially mirrors the last chapter. Him and Junie arrive home and have a heart to heart in the living room about gender <3 I love this for them <3 
6: Tomas
Tomas goes home with Damiano and they hook up, which is very out of character for Tomas so it’s like his I Am So Random. I Can’t Believe I Just Did That moment. Damiano is a really sweet dude though it’s all good, but he’s here to stay and I can just tell it’s gonna get messy :/ I actually really love how this chapter came out but whilst I have no problem with reading or writing non-explicit sex scenes I’m also like a would rather die than put that on tumblr dot com oops 
7: Kristen
we’ve skipped a week ahead to the day before semester starts, and the next three chapters are basically like a character study of where each of them are mentally. It’s not the best :/ This is also the point where Day 1 Of Camp me had literally no idea what I was doing. LCOMS is different from the way I pants Revelations, Revelations because with the latter I find it much easier to brainstorm scenes in my head but with this one, it really is a surprise until I open the doc. It’s created some really interesting moments though. 
Kristen visits an amateur photographer friend named Kasia to model for her. I struggled to find anything that included info I’m fine with sharing, but I learnt a LOT about Kristen and his mental state, which was surprising since he’s lived in my head rent free for 8 years now. It’s messy <3 The summary: he sees himself as a mannequin, and he decides that he likes it that way, but he also doesn’t know who’s moving his joints into poses. Bestie???
8: Junie
Junie unpacks her room a week after moving in. Autistic queen <3 This is one of the unfinished chapters, and I have zero motivation to finish it because there’s a scene missing and I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is. The gist of it though is she FaceTimes a friend from secondary school that definitely was her gay awakening that she only realised was her gay awakening in the last year. Messy <3 
9: Tomas
One of my favourite chapters. It’s split into two halves, a light-hearted moment of all three housemates at a superstore because <3 grocery store scenes my beloved <3 and then Tomas’ Everything Is Bad exploration at the end. There’s a moment in the first half where Tomas and Kristen have a heart to heart in the candle aisle, and Tomas asks Kristen where he thinks they’ll be in their thirties. I winged this in a sprint and I’m obsessed with it, it’s all about the ~dynamic~
“Well, he has student debt for one. But that’s not on him. That’s on the Tories. But I like to think they’ll be out of power by then. Boris might even be dead, if we’re lucky. But again, not on me.” He’s quiet again. You watch him think. “He’d be a music teacher probably, or an English teacher. But like, a cool one. He doesn’t teach secondary school because he doesn’t hate himself. Maybe a Sixth Form, or even better a Uni. His students would love him because he’d be able to take a joke and also like, not hound on them for having mental illnesses or life struggles?” Neither of you look at the aisles anymore, just circle the home section of Big Tesco. “He’d also do a lot of charity work. He has a foundation-charity-thing for queer and autistic kids to get accessible music lessons, because creative therapy is like, the best thing - besides Prozac but I digress - and it’d be better than the old white men from CAMHs who act like you don’t exist by your eighteenth birthday. And he’d have a cool little flat in Sheffield where the landlord lets him paint the walls so every room is a different colour. Turquoise kitchen. Magenta Living room. Lavender bedroom. Mint bathroom.” He looks at you like he forgot you were there. “You really let me ramble like that in the middle of Big Tesco, huh? That felt like a fucking therapy moment.” He laughs a little, like he’s nervous.
“Nah, it was a good answer. Maybe if Tomas-in-his-thirties doesn’t move back to the Netherlands, he’ll rent the apartment next to Kristen-in-his-thirties.” 
Kristen pouts. “Aw, you don’t wanna be my roomie anymore?” 
“No, you called me an animal for eating pineapple on pizza.” 
“Deserved. And you called me a malnourished ferret.”
You smile. “You’re not gonna let that down, are you?”
He smiles. “Of course not.”
Kristen tells Tomas he knows Something Happened to him over summer, and gets him to promise to tell him when he’s ready. The second half of the chapter takes place back at the house. Tomas is grieving, and it’s starting to creep into all elements of his thought. In this one specifically, he’s reminded of his top surgery and his memories in the hospital for that starts to blend with his memory of being in the hospital to grieve. Tomas is interesting as trans rep because like, he is trans rep curated for me specifically <3 Tomas was a huge comfort character for me when I was younger and when I realised I was trans, I looked at him and was like oh. He had a very smooth coming out and transitioning process (bc mine is the opposite and I need to project :) ), but right now he views his transness as like, a chapter of his life that was important but is now closed, so he doesn’t think about it a lot anymore, but the combo of grief and its mental impacts causes him to think about it more and he realises he has a very unhealthy internal relationship with his transness. Whilst the big idea at the start of Tomas’ arc is to show trans peace, I really wanted to take a moment to acknowledge the grieving process that comes with being trans. Literally the moment that made me realise “oh god, this is real and I can’t ignore it” was googling “im scared i might be trans” and realising how normal those tangled feelings are. Tomas’ experience of it is only fleeting, but I wanted to show that it’s normal. That being said, there’s no transphobia in this story. It is ultimately a Trans Peace story but also a trans story that, for me at least, is realistic. And the thoughts don’t last long, because his mind circles back to the grieving process. 
(CW: graphic surgery and hospital imagery, vomit mention, death)
Tumblr media
[image description: a darkened picture of an empty hospital room. The only light comes in through the window through thin white curtains. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “ Scalpel gliding across the chest; were the cuts they made as thin as the line between surgery and autopsy? “ /end id]
Picture this: The hospital room. Clinical lights like exit wounds in the ceiling. Everything hurts. Haven’t slept properly in weeks. Can barely eat without it coiling and tangling in your stomach only for nothing to come up when you heave over the toilet. Messy hair, sunken eye bags. Dull eyes. The hospital room. The hospital halls. The hospital waiting room. The hospital car park. The drive to the hospital. The sleepless night before the hospital visit. The locked in the armchair next to the phone waiting for the hospital to call. The silence shrills harsher than the phone’s ring. But ask yourself this: who’s in the bed? You or him? The memories are different but the same. Oil and water. Shouldn’t be mixed. But it’s hard not to. Picture the two of you on the operating table and on the metal slab. Too far from reality to feel skin slice. Scalpel gliding across the chest; were the cuts they made as thin as the line between surgery and autopsy?
There’s a lot of paragraphs in the story that start with Picture This:. I have no idea what it means, it just reads cool lmao
10: Junie
we skip around 3 weeks now to see how the kids are dealing with the start of semester and well. They’re managing! Junie actually has a good chapter here, because she experiences Baby’s First Queer Class Crush 
Tumblr media
[image description: a purple sunset with a large pink cloud. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads  you notice her background is of a purple sunset. You wonder if purple is her favourite colour like you and if she took it and if she likes photography and if she’d take photos of you “ /end id]
You listen, touch type your notes without properly processing the words yet, but instead of studying the PowerPoint, you study her: how she tucks a strand of black hair - free from her messy bun - behind her ear. The three studs in her earlobe, three little gold stars. The way her eyebrows furrow when she’s confused, and the way her face relaxes when she figures it out. How she touch types like you, how her two brass bracelets  jangle and how you’re the only one that hears it. She minimises Word briefly, and you notice her background is of a purple sunset. You wonder if purple is her favourite colour like you and if she took it and if she likes photography and if she’d take photos of you. Lavender polo shirt, lavender perfume. She doesn’t wear make-up, but a tiny black heart sits under left eye.
Junie’s dreams of a photographer girlfriend are quickly shattered when she admits the photo’s from Pinterest, but otherwise this is so <3 the sapphic crisis of it all.
You walk out together, and she tells you she only got into Sheffield that weekend, and it was a nightmare to explain to the tutors why. “It’s like, they forget we have lives sometimes. Lives we can’t control.” She shakes her head. “It’s okay now though, I’m here now.” 
You almost trip on the stairs up to the main floor, and her hand is warm against your wrist. Your cheeks redden, but she just asks if you’re okay, smiles when you are. Tells you she’s late for a seminar, but it was lovely to meet you. Thanks again for the lecture notes. Calls you a lifesaver. Fades into the between-classes rush. You’re glad she’s here now.
again she is so <3 i get it babes i get it <3 
In other news, at the end of the chapter Kristen drops the most relatable line of the entire fucking book:
“You know how like, when it rains, all the worms come out and do a funky little dance? Yeah so basically: the rain is LIT3001 right. And the worms are all of my mental illnesses.”
11: Tomas
Tomas turns 21 on October 13th so naturally like anyone in his early 20s he has multiple crisis’ about it. I still haven’t figured this chapter ~out yet but it sure exists! It just sucks the same way it sucks to be a young adult in the late 2010s. But here’s Kristen being the most relatable character in the book again and getting bullied for it :/
(CW: alcohol)
"I still can't believe you both do a science. Like, it actually baffles me - I could not be more further from that." Kristen refills his glass, measures the vodka level with his index. "Just a babe and his silly little BA against the world." 
"You know if you wanna be a BA babe you have to actually, like, graduate."
12: Kristen
Kristen is personally like I will pretend my degree does not exist and honestly? I get it King. He visits his Dad, since he only lives 30 minutes away, but most of the chapter is him thinking about Tomas and their messy friendship and the fact that Tomas is kinda ghosting him despite literally living together :/ Anyway here’s Kristen’s cat :)
Mar snoozes on your pillow, half curled like a croissant. Orange fluff against grey sheets, and you’re not mad at the fur debris she’ll inevitably leave. Her head pops up when you sit next to her, “you forget about me yet?”. You scratch her head and it’s like you’re 12 again and you don’t have to worry about rent or degrees or masters applications or careers or groceries or housemates and you haze through Sundays snoozing in bed with your new kitten. Technically she was a birthday present, but dad couldn’t wait an extra month to adopt her. Said he saw it in her eyes at the shelter, that she belonged here. You named her Marmalade because you were a dumbass eleven year old and also thought marmalade was the shit back then. She stretches her legs and yawns. Plops her head back down, back to sleep. “Yeah, me too.”
13: Tomas
The next three chapters centre around each character’s Halloween, because <3 Halloween my beloved <3. Tomas’ starts off with him and Kristen being ~homoerotic and him being a ~disaster about it. 
Tumblr media
w[image description: a photo of a blue planet - Neptune - against a black background. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “You don’t know which palette he’s using, but you remember his favourite is space themed: Mars red, Neptune blue, Jupiter orange - you try to guess which planet he thinks looks best against olive. He taps the brush against the palette. Imagine the planets. How they dandelion in the air.” /end id]
When you sit in front of him, your knees press together. When he tilts your head up, thumb on chin, nail grazing the curve of your lip, his hand is ice on your skin. He studies your face, you close your eyes. When he pulls back, you swear you still feel his thumbprint on your skin. You don’t know which palette he’s using, but you remember his favourite is space themed: Mars red, Neptune blue, Jupiter orange - you try to guess which planet he thinks looks best against olive. He taps the brush against the palette. Imagine the planets. How they dandelion in the air. He holds your head in place, hand sprawls over you cheek like veins. Brushes colour into your eye socket. Underneath the radiator, your phone buzzes twice. Don’t say anything. Ignore your heartbeat.
(before this Tomas threw his phone at the radiator because someone texted him :) yeah okay mood :) )
this story is really about the ~gay disasters and also the ~dialogue 
You flop onto your bed, arms crossed over your face. “I dunno. I might just print off all the emails Uni's sent me about my dissertation. Staple them to a jacket and tell people I'm going as mental illness." 
"Tomas, if you want to go as mental illness then you don't need a costume at all."
Unfortunately the rest of the chapter is not as fun because plot had to happen but this first scene was :)
14: Junie
Junie is not a fan of Halloween so she gives up halfway through the night and invites the girl she met in her lecture over to bake cookies at 1am instead. Fellas is this gay?
(CW: alcohol)
The girl in the kitchen brought cookie cutters in pink Tupperware. She explains she’s had them since she was eight, but she hasn’t had a chance to use them this Autumn. She has seven: cat, butterfly, crescent moon, heart, three stars matryoshka’d together. “I have more, these are just my go to ones. I’m a bit of a collector.” She lines them up on the counter, you trace the outline of the cat. She says she didn’t want to bring too many, but she likes having the options with no plan, the potential. You want to tell her that, after you invited her over, you spritzed the counters with lavender surface cleaner twice and tucked the discarded vodka and raspberry liqueur bottles in the cabinet you can barely reach. You piled unfolded laundry into your closet and hid drooping plants behind your closed curtains when you had zero intention of her inviting her to your room. You want to ask her why she said yes, why she replied in two minutes at one in the morning, and you want to ask her why people feel the need to cookie cutter themselves into a false potential. She asks if you want to bake with coconut or chocolate chip.  
she is actually such a disaster around girls i love her so much
The girl in your kitchen clears up glass that isn’t hers. You drop the measuring jug and it fireworks against tile. No shards lodge in your skin. Whilst she cleans, insists that it’s okay, you brew peppermint tea because you insist it’s the least you can do. The girl tells you a story about how she did the exact same thing, when she was nine, and her mother shrieked so loud the neighbours banged at the door a minute later. She laughs, muted. You apologise again. She insists it’s okay again. Rain hardens against the window, looks like TV static. You breathe in the peppermint steam.
The biggest thing I’ve learnt since drafting is that, at it’s core, this is a love story. And that makes me so excited because so many people, especially in mainstream media, still think that autistic people are incapable of love - or even worse, undeserving. 
15: Kristen
Kristen’s favourite holiday is Halloween so naturally on his special day I had to make him go through it :) I can’t share a lot of this, but it feels right to end this beast of an update on this beast of an excerpt because it came to me out of absolutely nowhere and it is one of my favourite passages I’ve ever written OOPS
(CW: death, parental death)
Tumblr media
[image description: a cluster of stars against a dark blue, almost black sky. In the middle, in a white serif font, reads “You want to ask your dad how something can end if for you it never began, but he’s asleep in his armchair back home. You look at the stars. You wonder if any of them are her.“ /end id]
You’ve mapped Sheffield’s streets since 13 so you know you’re walking the wrong way. This isn’t the way to Crookes. This isn’t the way out the city centre. You should order an Uber. You keep walking. You stop at a crossing. There’s no cars. You don’t cross. The traffic light flashes red and bleeds on your face. The stars are out tonight, and now it’s 2004 and you’re in the lounge with Lion King in the VHS. You’re off sick and your neighbour - Mel, recently retired, recently widowed - nurses a glass of brandy in your dad’s armchair because you don’t know it yet, but he can’t afford to miss work. You’re sprawled on the dusty-red rug when Simba and Mufasa sprawl in the grass and Mufasa tells Simba that all the stars are the Kings of the past and they are watching over him. You ask recently retired, recently widowed Mel if that’s true; her smile is happy but her eyes are sad and she says “yes, and not just Kings. Nobody leaves Earth, they just move to the stars.” 
Ten minutes later, Mufasa is flung off a gorge’s edge; you haven’t studied storytelling yet, but you understand those two moments are connected. And when you relay this to dad over ready made pasta that evening, you ask him if people really live in the stars: Sometimes, when they can’t live here anymore. Then you ask if they can come back from the stars: No, but people remember them. They’ll tell stories about them, so people don’t forget. Then you ask if memories and stories are like stars: A little. Then you ask why they can’t live here anymore: It’s hard to explain, Kris.
After dinner, he lets you play on the plastic slide in the garden as he scrubs the dishes. You climb to the top and try to see faces in the stars, but it’s too cloudy. And after that but before bedtime, you’re sprawled on the dusty-red rug again, and Lion King is in the VHS again, and as Simba and Nala are bathed by their mothers again, your five year old mind connects what’s different about you. You go to ask dad about it, but he’s asleep in his armchair. It’s 2018, you’re stood on a phantom street in Sheffield. You want to ask your dad how something can end if for you it never began, but he’s asleep in his armchair back home. You look at the stars. You wonder if any of them are her.
And I usually don’t do this, but I think the playlist for this wip is absolutely fucking elite, so here’s a handful of the songs that I think encapsulate the story the best:
The Wombats – Greek Tragedy
Duncan Laurence – Arcade
FKA Twigs – Two Weeks
Peach Pit – Alrighty Aphrodite
Khalid – Saturday Nights
Alfie Templeman – Stop Thinking (About Me)
Rina Sawayama – 10-20-40
If you read this far, then I love you and we shall have a platonic wedding this summer. But I cannot express how excited I am about this story and to see where it goes!
54 notes · View notes
thedumpsterqueen · 4 years
Text
Standards of Performance, Chapter 3: Boundaries and Text Messages
Regular weekly update! Look at me go! This one took me ages to write for absolutely no reason, and then ages to edit because the AO3 text editor kicked my ass. Hopefully the formatting isn’t a dumpster fire, and hopefully you enjoy! Sidenote: you are always welcome to scream about Hotch, nsforwork or not, in my inbox.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
AO3 Link
Summary:  You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?
Chapter: 3, Boundaries and Text Messages
Chapter Summary: You discover that the unsub isn't what he seems, and overstep some boundaries you probably shouldn't have.
Words: 2291
Rating: Explicit, 18+
Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You
Back in Hotch’s hotel room, the three of you were sitting on the ground, surrounded by textbooks and torn-out pages covered in the seemingly mindless scrawls of the suspect. Well, you and Morgan were on the floor; Hotch was at the desk chair. Hotch wasn’t really a sit-on-the-floor type of person.
Morgan groaned and rubbed his temples for the third time in an hour. “It means nothing, man. He researched all this shit so he could commit the crimes in a way that would fuck with us.”
Hotch sighed and nodded in agreement. “It certainly seems that way. That explains the inconsistencies in the profile. However, we can still understand the subject by the signatures he chose.” He pointed to a scribbled note in a textbook section about the psychology surrounding different methods of murder: “Slashing throat? Effective + easy.”
He looked at you. “What can this note tell us about our subject?”
“Um, it doesn’t sound like the cause of death is important to him. Like it’s just something he needs to do. A necessity. Right?” you responded, somewhat unprepared for this sort of pop quiz.
“Exactly. And this tells us more about him. This isn’t about the kill; it’s about what he does beforehand. It’s about the rape,” Hotch said. “Don’t be so humble. You know more than you think you do.”
Your face felt hot, and you looked at the floor - an increasingly regular occurrence around him.
Morgan spoke up, still visibly exasperated. “If he spent so much time trying to throw us off, why did he pick victims that were so easy to tie to him?”
“He’s an idiot?” you offered before you could stop yourself.
Really professional. Holy shit, please shut up.
The faintest trace of a smirk graced Hotch’s face. “You’re not entirely wrong. He isn’t particularly intelligent, based on the information we’ve gathered so far. Not nearly as complex as we initially assumed.”
“Yeah, well, either way, he’s a nut. And Gracia can’t find anything about where he might be, and I’m starving,” Morgan said, standing up. “I’m gonna pick something up. You guys want anything?”
“Get me whatever looks good,” replied Hotch, focused on whatever written ramblings he was currently dissecting.
“You?” Morgan asked you.
“Just get me whatever you get him,” you said. “Thanks, Morgan.”
Morgan nodded and grabbed his jacket. “Be back soon.”
He closed the door, leaving you alone with your boss that you definitely didn’t have an erotic dream about the night before. You tried to focus on the textbook, but the words swam. After a few minutes, you huffed and set the book down.
“Shouldn’t we be looking for him right now instead of reading his weird psychobabble?”
Hotch looked up from his work with a raised eyebrow.
You continued, “I just mean, isn’t it more important to stop him from killing again? We already know he did it based on the stuff he wrote in the books, we don’t need to fully understand his motivations to confirm that.”
“Yes,” Hotch said, “but these offenders rarely cease their behavior out of nowhere. His appetite is alarming; he took three victims at once. We don’t know if those were even his first assaults or kills. Given that Garcia couldn’t locate any family or friends, we have no idea where he might be, so our time is best spent learning how to predict his actions and respond if someone else goes missing.”
He was correct, of course, but it just didn’t feel right - like you were sitting and waiting for something terrible to happen before you could do anything. Hotch must have sensed your frustration, because he leaned forward towards you, elbows resting on his knees, and continued in a slightly softer tone, “I know you feel helpless. We all do in situations like these. But trust me, we’re accomplishing more here than we would be trying to canvas the entire city.”
“I know,” you mumbled. “You’re right. It’s just, seeing the photos of those girls, knowing the type of person that’s out there, it’s hard to convince myself I’m doing enough just sitting here.”
“You’re not just sitting here, and you know that,” Hotch said, sternly. “You’re doing your job. People will die with or without us; our job isn’t to save them. It’s to catch the people that kill them.”
“But how do you deal with it?” you asked, growing more bold than you probably should be. You weren’t just asking about this case anymore, and you weren’t sure whether or not you wanted him to understand that. You wanted to ask him how he did it - how he woke up every morning alone, how he suffered an unimaginable loss at the hands of some of the purest evil society could produce and went back to the job that showed him more of that evil every day.
Judging by the hard set of his jaw, he knew exactly what you were getting at.
“I do it because I have to,” he said. Every word sounded measured, like he was explaining something he had dozens of times before.
“You don’t,” you whispered, but you knew you were wrong, at least to him. You knew he felt it was his responsibility to shoulder the burden so other families didn’t have to experience what he did. You had a background in psychology, and this was pretty low hanging fruit. A therapist would have a field day with him, but you weren’t a therapist, and you certainly weren’t in any position to tell your boss, a leader with decades of experience in the field, that he shouldn’t be taking all of this on.
He evidently didn’t find your comment worthy of a response, as he went back to picking through the pile of evidence. You’d hit a nerve though - his posture was more rigid, his almost-permanent scowl even more pronounced. The tension built with every second of silence, and you suddenly wished you could go back and erase the conversation.
Thinking better of trying to repair the damage you’d done, you kept the subsequent conversation focused on the profile. By the time Morgan got back, you had a fairly good idea of the suspect’s psychology, and after a quick break for fried rice and a video chat with the team, JJ set up to deliver a press conference from the police precinct in Vegas. Hotch switched on the news on the hotel TV, and you sat back to watch.
“The man currently suspected of committing the triple homicide that left bodies here in Vegas, in Phoenix, and in San Diego is an obsessive sexual predator,” JJ said to a waiting crowd of reporters and police. “He displays characteristics of a stalker, and women who interact with him may describe him as creepy or off-putting. Though murder is not his ultimate goal - in fact, he may not be completely comfortable with the act - he views it as a necessary step to dispose of his victims post-assault.”
“Do we usually do this?” you whispered to Morgan, “Release the whole profile publicly?”
“Nah, but with this guy, we want him to know we’re onto him,” he said back, trying not to disturb Hotch, who was watching JJ’s address intently. “He put so much effort into throwing us off, we gotta let him know we see through his bullshit. It’s the only play we got right now, considering we got no idea where he is.”
You turned back to the screen, where JJ had moved on to talking about the suspect. “His name is Ellory Matthews,” she said, holding up his ID photo. “He’s a 24 year old white male, about 5’9” and 200 pounds. We have strong reason to suspect he is involved and currently trying to evade the police. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous, so if you see him, please do not approach and call 911 immediately.”
Hotch, apparently having heard enough, stood up and turned off the TV. “Hopefully someone has seen him and can tell us where he is. If not, this should be enough to scare him into making a mistake.”
You tried not to think about the fact that a mistake still probably involved someone being hurt or killed.
“Get some rest. I’ll clean up here. Morgan, before you head to bed, call Garcia again and see if she’s found anything that can point us to where he might be.”
“Got it, I’ll let you know. Night, Hotch,” Morgan said.
You echoed Morgan and headed back to your room.
____________
After getting ready and tucking into bed, you found yourself completely unable to fall asleep. The conversation with Hotch kept replaying in your head - how resentful he’d looked when you asked him how he does his job, knowing that you were asking about it in relation to his family members’ deaths. He was a reasonable man, and you knew you hadn’t done anything wrong on the surface, but you shouldn't have pushed it, especially since the events you were referencing had been relayed to you by JJ in private. You weren’t even sure he wanted you to know about what happened to his wife and kid.
Shit, I might have really fucked up.
You rolled over and yanked your phone off the charger, and before you had time to convince yourself it was a bad idea, you sent him a message.
Me: Hey, sorry to bother you, I know it’s late. I just wanted to apologize if I offended you during our conversation earlier. You’re an incredible agent and boss and I didn’t mean to imply you shouldn’t be in the field for any reason.
You scrolled through Instagram mindlessly, waiting for his response, but he texted back almost immediately. Knowing him, he hadn’t even made an attempt to go to bed; he was probably still up reviewing the case.
Agent Hotchner: I understand. No need to apologize. I knew you’d hear about what happened sooner or later, and it’s natural to question my judgement, considering. I hope my actions in the field haven’t done anything to lend credence to that concern.
A weight lifted from your shoulders at his response, knowing he wasn’t angry with you.
Me: No, not at all, Sir. You and the team have been incredible and I’ve already learned so much. If I ask a question, please know it’s for my own learning rather than questioning your decisions!
Agent Hotchner: I’m glad to hear that. Please always feel free to ask questions.
Me: Thank you so much! Will do!
Satisfied with conversation, you set the phone back on the nightstand and rolled over. A few moments later, though, it buzzed again, and you looked at the screen.
Agent Hotchner: “Sir” is a little formal for text messages though, isn’t it?
You blinked, struggling to process the tone of the message. Was Aaron Hotchner making a joke? You messaged him back hesitantly.
Me: Can never be too formal! :) Is there something you’d prefer?
Agent Hotchner: Oh, I’m sure you can figure something out.
Your eyes widened at that, and you sat up in bed, staring at your screen. If you thought he was messing with you before, this was more; this was almost… flirting.
Ok, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, you thought, trying to calm your embarrassingly high heart rate. He’s older. Way older. He probably doesn’t text that much, and he probably doesn’t realize how that came off.
Me: I’ll let you know when I do.
Agent Hotchner: Please do. Sleep well.
You placed the phone back on the bedside table, almost shaking with adrenaline. What was wrong with you lately? First you have a sex dream about your boss (who’s old enough to be your parent, you might add), and now you’re freaking out because he texted you something that could possibly be, in some interpretations, construed as flirting.
Hotch was attractive, of course. You’d have to be an idiot not to admit that. He was handsome in a way you didn’t see often - not the obvious, in-your-face stunning like Morgan was, or even the adorable, put-together look that Reid gave off. Hotch was old-school handsome, like he should be in a black and white movie smoking a cigarette while his doting wife made him dinner.
Or something. It’s not like you’d thought about this before.
But even if he was handsome to such a degree that seeing him with two buttons on his dress shirt undone nearly gave you a heart attack, leaning into this fantasy you were unconsciously creating where your relationship was anything more than boss and intern had the potential to destroy your career. Hotch could read people like a book, and if you were unable to conduct yourself normally and effectively at work for any reason, your internship and aspirations would be tossed out to the street.
Time to stop being an idiot.
Sometime during your mental dissection of the text conversation and its implications, you must have fallen asleep. You were awoken to a still-dark room and someone gently squeezing your shoulder, saying your name.
“Wha- oh, it’s you. I’m so sorry, did I miss something? What’s going on?” you asked, still not fully conscious.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Hotch replied, standing over you. You were suddenly thankful for the dark room and the blanket that were covering your lack of pants. “I tried calling you and knocking, but you didn’t respond. I figured you’d forgotten to turn your ringer on.”
“Shit, yeah, I did. I’m so sorry,” you said, sitting up. “What did you need?”
“It’s Ellory Matthews. Police caught him trying to kidnap another girl. He’s in custody.”
292 notes · View notes
zargsnake · 3 years
Photo
Tumblr media
Knightkiller: Anakin and Obi-Wan’s First Adventure
Chapter 7: Jane
Word Count: 2217 Links: Chapter 1, Table of Contents
 *   *   *
Freed, with the help of the little screwdriver Anakin gave her, on the lower floor of the space station, Zlinky uses the nearest control panel to disable the local electricity. The already dark lower-prison hall turns completely black.
As an Akarn, Zlinky has a third eye in the middle of her forehead which can adapt to almost any environment. Many droids have night vision too, but Zlinky has observed from her time in captivity that droids are poorly kept here. Knightkiller, with her telepathic powers and abundant riches, holds sway over the organic beings in her employment; the guards and patrons here are all devoted to her. But Knightkiller has neglected her mechanical servants. They are all falling into disrepair, and Zlinky has even detected them grumbling among themselves.
People forget too easily that droids, nowadays, have extremely advanced personalities. Adults underestimate how independently-minded their droids can be. But children understand. They have never known droids to be any other way.
Zlinky sneaks down the hall, past the fumbling guards. Other prisoners soon realize that their own electrobars have become deactivated, and they start to emerge into the hallway too, their arms outstretched in front of them, tripping and feeling their way through the dark. Zlinky maneuvers through them with a small measure of grace and a large measure of scrutiny.
Lightsabers, lightsabers, lightsabers, lightsabers, lightsabers. I must find all four. Once we've found them, we'll be unstoppable.
Suddenly, a guard grabs her from behind. A Togruta -- he must have used echolocation. Zlinky squirms against his arms, then stabs behind her wildly with the screwdriver. She isn't sure where she hit him -- the stomach, possibly. But he howls in pain and loosens his grip. She slithers out and leaps, calling upon the Force to help her. She hits her head on the hallway ceiling, but the ploy, otherwise, works. Holding her head, she stumbles around the corner and sees a door marked “Storage.”
Maybe our lightsabers are here? Well, SOMETHING useful must be in here! All I have now is this flimsy little tool.
But she does feel extremely grateful for the little screwdriver, and she hopes Anakin will let her keep it. She would call it good luck, if she believed in that stuff. Instead, she'll call it exceedingly useful. She picks the lock to the storage room with the screwdriver, which takes a frighteningly long minute, dashes inside, and shuts the door behind her.
Zlinky sees cabinets and closets and boxes full of files and records, piles of office and medical supplies. Who would think running a death sport would be so bureaucratic? The haphazardness offends her Temple-trained sensibilities.
But most importantly, she sees, in the corner, a rusted old murder-droid, missing much of its plating and bent over in disrepair. Its shape is about as humanoid as her own, though a couple feet taller. Compassion moves her to approach it. She sees that someone has scribbled a face with two X's for eyes and a frown on a little yellow piece of paper and taped it over the murder-droid's face to signify its death. She yanks the paper off and examines the droid’s busted innards.
There's a flipzipter. A gavel gear. A pair of old-fashioned mono-trammers. It's really not too different from the diner-droids on which she learned robotic engineering. A gunky substance has clogged its gears; she tries to scrape it off with the screwdriver, but she can't get a grip on it with that. She takes a nervous glance at the bulky laser blasters on its back, then plunges her own claws into its chest and scoops out the goop. She pulls out a burnt-up square of metal which was caught in the goop; upon closer inspection, she guesses that it used to be a memory chip. Oh well -- it's useless now. She bends the flipzipter back into its standard position, and reattaches the wires that had become unplugged from it.
With a tiny jolt of electricity that shoots through the Padawan and makes any hairs loose from her braid stick out, the murder-droid wakes up, its red eyes the only light in the darkness.
“ʙʟᴢᴢᴋᴢᴢɢᴀᴀᴀᴀᴀ! ᴀᴀᴀᴀʜ!! AAAAAHHHH!!!! ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?! ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴏɴ?! ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ?!”
“Shhh!” Zlinky pulls her sticky hands out of its chest and throws them on top of its mouth-slot -- her mouth-slot, she supposes, since the droid has a feminine voice. “Keep it down! The badguys are looking for me!”
In a muffled voice, the murder-droid responds, “ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ YOU! ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ME?”
“Well you SHOULD care about me! I just saved your life!”
“ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ?”
“Yeah, I repaired you, you ungrateful bucket of bolts!”
The murder-droid issues whirring noises from several parts. “ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍʏ ʟᴇɢꜱ!”
“Well I'm not finished! I just started! And if you don't keep it down I never will!”
The murder-droid narrows the dots of light that project her eyes. “ᴡʜᴏ ᴀᴍ ɪ?”
“Well... I'll check your brain-text, but I'm not optimistic.” Zlinky unscrews a panel on the side of the droid’s head. “Yeah. It's like I thought. You've been pirated. They scraped off your original ID number.”
“ᴡʜᴀᴛ?! ʙᴜᴛ -- ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ!”
“Nobody's nothing. They must have called you something. Unfortunately, at least one of your memory chips has melted. I think.”
With a squeaking sound, the murder-droid raises her claw to her forehead. “ᴏʜ... ᴍʏ ꜰʀᴀɢɪʟᴇ ᴍɪɴᴅ…”
“Hey, don't worry about it. These bozos didn't respect you, but you're with the Jedi now.”
“ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴇᴅɪ?”
“Yeah, like me! I'm a Jedi! My name is Zlinky Zalt.”
“ᴠᴇʀʏ ʀᴜᴅᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴀᴜɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ, ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ.”
“Uh, sorry. Well, let's find you a name; what do you do--?”
Zlinky accidentally zaps herself with an open wire and bites her lip in a grimace.
The murder-droid’s eyes become scattered dots that beep quickly and softly. “ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ... ᴍᴀɪɴꜰʀᴀᴍᴇ ... ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ: NEUTRALIZE.”
“Neutralize?”
Her eyes flicker back to solid red. “ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ.”
“Neutralize what?”
Her eyes become scattering dots again. “ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ... ᴍᴀɪɴꜰʀᴀᴍᴇ ... ʜᴀʀᴅᴡᴀʀᴇ ... ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ ... ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅ ... ʙᴢᴢᴛ ... ꜱᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ... ‘ᴏʙᴊᴇᴄᴛ’ ... ‘ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ’ ... вzzт ... b҉z҉z҉t҉ ... ᴛᴀʀɢᴇᴛ: ERROR.” Her eyes flicker back to red, but with the sides tilted down in sorrow. “ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛᴇᴅ.”
“Hey, it's okay. The Jedi can get you a new purpose. As long as your programming isn't hopelessly violent…”
“ᴡʜᴇɴ? ʜᴏᴡ ꜱᴏᴏɴ?”
“Well I don't know. As soon as I can get you back to the Temple.”
“ʟᴇᴛ’ꜱ ɢᴏ.” The murder-droid stands up straight.
“Wait!” Zlinky pulls some wires apart.
“ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴇᴀᴄᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ʟᴇɢꜱ! ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀꜱ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪxᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ!”
“Yeah, I did. Your purpose right now is to stay put.”
“ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪꜱ ᴀɴ ᴜɴᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴡᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴀʙɪʟɪᴛɪᴇꜱ.”
“Deal with it. Patience is an ability, too.”
“ɪꜰ ᴀʟʟ ᴊᴇᴅɪ ᴀʀᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ɪ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ɪᴛ.”
“Fine. Do you want me to shut you down again?”
“ʙᴜᴢᴢ ʙᴜᴢᴢ ʙᴜᴢᴢ, ɢʀᴜᴍᴍᴍm҉m҉m̵̧̌̍͋̆b̸̧̙͈͈̓̌̌ĺ̵͕͔͇͔͎̠̗͈͍ͅe̷̖͎̳͖̬̅́…”
“I'll take that as a no.” The droid is silent as Zlinky works on her. “I'm sorry we're not at the Temple right now. Believe me, I want to be there far more than you do.”
“ɪ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ. ɪ ᴀᴍ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟ ꜰʟᴜx.”
I have to repair her mind AND her body! thinks Zlinky.
“Uh, okay, listen. How about I give you a temporary name and a temporary mission right now. Just to tide you over until we get back home. Er, I mean, back to the Temple.”
“ʜʀʀᴜᴍᴍʜʜᴘᴘʙᴢᴢᴢ ʙᴢᴢᴛ ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ.”
Zlinky spins a cog and sees a panel of lights in the droid’s guts turn on. She thinks she’s nearly got her -- then she hears the weapons on the droid's back powering on. The young girl swallows nervously.
“Okay, your temporary mission is to protect me and the three other Jedi: my master Tila Juna, a 500-year-old gray Lollian with one broken horn -- Anakin Skywalker, a 9-year-old human with pink skin and yellow hair and blue eyes -- and -- uh -- his master too.”
“ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ɪɴꜱᴛᴀʟʟɪ-- ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ. ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪꜰʏ ꜰᴏᴜʀᴛʜ ᴊᴇᴅɪ!”
“I can't! I don't remember their name! I'll know them when I see them.”
“ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛᴀʟʟʏ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴊᴇᴅɪ?”
“Well, first of all, only neutralize when absolutely necessary.”
“... ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ... ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙʟᴇ ... ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ.”
“Oh gimme a break!”
Maybe this is a mistake, thinks Zlinky. I don't want to go on a rampage. But I must get out of here! I have to get back to Tila! That's my top priority!
“Look, I'm very sneaky,” Zlinky says, reassuringly. “You might not have to neutralize anyone. You just have to protect me.”
“... ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴅꜱ, ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴀꜰᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴇꜰᴇɴꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ᴏɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴏꜰꜰᴇɴꜱɪᴠᴇ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍꜱ.”
Zlinky replies, smugly, “Well I do it every day. That's what being a Jedi is all about! Protecting the innocent, defending the law!”
“... ʙʟʀʀʀɢɢɢɢ.” The droid’s eyes become one annoyed horizontal line of dots. “ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ... ᴀʟɪɢɴɪɴɢ ... ᴘʀᴏᴛᴏᴄᴏʟ ɪɴꜱᴜꜰꜰᴇʀᴀʙʟᴇ.”
“Oh come on, grow up. It's good to be the hero.”
“ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ɢᴏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ‘ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴏʀᴀʀʏ ɴᴀᴍᴇ,’ ᴛᴏᴏ.”
“Yeeeah. I did. Um ... Jedi ... Jedi ... Temple ... Temple Bot? Teebee?”
The murder-droid shudders. “ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɪᴅᴅɪɴɢ? ᴛᴇᴇʙᴇᴇ?”
“What's wrong with Teebee?”
“ɪ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ɪᴛ.”
“Beggars can't be choosers.”
“ɪᴅ: REJECTED. ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ: ɪɴᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀᴛɪʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍɪɴɢ. ᴛᴏᴏ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ.”
“Jedi Bot? Jaybee?”
Goop dribbles out of the droid’s mouth slot.
“Alright then... Neutralize. Neutralizer. Jedi ... Jedi Neutralizer. No. Wait. That sounds wrong.”
“ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ,” the murder-droid says quickly.
“Ah, wait!”
“ᴊᴇᴅɪ ɴᴇᴜᴛʀᴀʟɪᴢᴇʀ.”
Zlinky sighs. “Fine. Jedi Neutralizer. JN.”
“ᴊɴ. ᴊᴀɴᴇ.”
“Jane?”
“ᴊᴀɴᴇ. ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪᴛ,” the droid repeats.
“Me too,” Zlinky responds, truthfully.
As soon as Jane is functionally repaired, Zlinky finds her a battery pack, since they have no time to recharge her. She looks around for a new memory card, but finds nothing. Oh, well. Jane will just have a very short-term memory until they find new hardware for her. Without the card, she can't have any more than one gig of memory. Zlinky will just have to keep reminding her that her name is Jane and her purpose is to protect the four Jedi. Zlinky fears that Jane will forget this and kill her on accident. That would be very ironic. But for now, Zlinky is glad to have her.
Once they leave the storage room, Zlinky points to a guard and begins to command Jane to knock them out, but Jane has already blasted them.
“Ah! Are they alive?” Zlinky whispers in terror.
“ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. ʜᴏᴡ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ?”
Zlinky cautiously approaches the body. “...They're alive. Keep your blaster at exactly that setting, okay? Don't change anything.”
“ᴀꜰꜰɪʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴠᴇ.”
“Great.”
She tugs the armor off the guard and puts it on herself. Together, they quietly leave the lower prison in absolute chaos and locate the space station employee break room and quarters across a hall. Zlinky finds a station map on the employee computer, which someone had, happily, left logged in.
She finally gets a good look at the layout of the station. The lower floor has a prison and under-arena logistical areas; the main floor has the arena, gladiator rooms, and the best seating; and the upper floor has another prison and the balcony cheap seats.
She searches for where Knightkiller could be. Tila recognized Knightkiller as her old friend Glagret, and told her Padawan so before they were separated. Zlinky knows that the key to escaping, and to stopping this whole evil enterprise, is Glagret. Why has she turned evil? Why did she gather all these crooks together? Why is she mind-tricking Jedi children?
Zlinky figures there must be something controlling her. She imagines striking the implement off the old alien’s brain and rescuing her, restoring her to her true, good self.
What happened 400 years ago on the Liberated Comet? If she was alive, why didn't she come back?
One Padawan and one droid probably don't stand a chance against her.
Zlinky sees in the screen projection that Obi-Wan is fighting in the arena, and Tila is being held as bait. Zlinky wonders why Anakin isn't. She guesses, with a heavy heart, that Obi-Wan was so stubborn about playing along that they killed Anakin in retribution. She feels her guts writhe with fear and anger at the thought. The boy was so kind, and clever, and so very strong in the Force, strong enough to resist a mind-trick -- unheard of at his age -- even though it was stupid of him to try. Perhaps his last legacy is the screwdriver. She will not let him die in vain.
Unless, of course, he's still alive. She wonders if, perhaps, he escaped, just as she has…
She hears an ominous whirring sound, drifting away.
“Jane! Don't wander off.” Zlinky grabs Jane’s rifle-barrel and pulls her back to her side. “Stay with me. You must protect me; it is your purpose.”
“ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ?”
“... Call me Guard.”
“ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ.”
Zlinky looks around nervously at the other guards. She grabs Jane's head and whispers into her audio-slot. “Zlinky Zalt. But don't say so. I'm in disguise right now. So shhh.”
“ᴀʜʜʜʜ. ɪ ꜱᴇᴇ.”
“Uh, good.” The confidence in Jane's voice makes Zlinky doubt that Jane has any idea what's going on. She shakes her head and continues looking at this map.
Chapter 8: Priorities
4 notes · View notes
timextoxhajima · 4 years
Audio
Playlist Feels
*SHORT SERIES
Member: j u y e o n
Genre: drama with chaebol/lawyer juyeon
A/N: I’m investing way too much feelings and emotions into this i might cry when it ends. this chapter is more serious i guess i can’t be writing angst and smut every chapter LOL
Link to other parts: 
I Never Wanna See You Again
Frustrated (light smut)
Love Somebody (light smut)
Play With Fire (smut)
~
Tumblr media
“i’m playing with fire.”
all you wanted to do was have breakfast, but you walk out along the hallways of the second floor only to watch an entire crowd of staff members push and pull countless of racks across the living room. 
the female staff member who recognised you from the previous week notices you standing awkwardly behind the wall, struggling to process the crowd at the foot of the stairs. 
you watch her say something to another staff member, before she strolls across the living room and heads up the stairs to greet you.
“i’m going to hope you don’t have any clothes of your own,” she smiles at you, eyes flitting to your neck for a split second and looks at your bare legs. 
“uh--” you stumble on your tongue, having trouble finding any words to say. you completely forget about the marks on your neck, and you were only in his underwear with the large pullover barely covering your rear. 
“i’m gonna get you a robe while you choose your clothes for today and i’ll run you a bath before you have breakfast.”
you watch as she walks away into the bathroom, and again, you wonder why it was so difficult to think of anything to say. you had expected the house staff to be judging you for sleeping with him, but they all seemed so nice and candid, it was a little difficult to believe. 
you just couldn’t get the idea of juyeon being such a kind, relaxed boss out of your head. 
she returns from the bathroom with a robe, the water now running and a rose scent begins to waft through your nose. “here,” she hands you the robe and waits for you to put it on. 
“mr lee wanted you to pick out as many clothes as you wanted, and he wants you to know not to worry about the price.”
you reach the bottom of the stairs with her standing right next to you, and you see at least three racks of clothes surrounding the living room. there were at least two full-body mirrors next to the sofas, and a separate mobile shelf with shoes. 
“uh... do i have to? where are my clothes from yesterday?” your hand unconsciously reaches up to your neck to cover your skin. 
“in the laundry! we’ll get it steamed and ready for you by lunch, but right now, he’s told us he wants to see you in something from any of these racks. he didn’t exactly give us much choice either,” she gives you a look that comforts you, gently patting your arm to encourage you. 
you choose out exactly five different sets of clothes, which included shoes. you suddenly feel like you went on a splurge and your credit card would’ve exceeded by now, judging by the brands the clothes were from. 
you soak yourself in the bathtub, the light from behind you illuminating the white, black and golden surfaces. you couldn’t help but to let your head replay the memories from the night before as the rose scent pulls all the knots in your body apart. 
it felt like you were on vacation, when you were really just... feeding off your boyfriend’s wealth. you felt guilty, and frankly, a little worried that people were going to start thinking you were with him for his money. 
you haven’t done anything for him besides curse at him, take the credit for his workings for the case and sleep in his bed. 
you shake your thoughts away, deciding that it was time for you to get your due breakfast before working on the case. 
you were pushing the last few bites of the strange looking pudding around in the bowl, and the female staff from before was in the dining room with you, arranging the cutlery and utensils away from sight.
“hey, uh--” you call out, looking at her while mrs jung comes out of the kitchen. you wonder why it took you three meals before you notice that you could see into the kitchen. the dining table was right next to a black counter where mrs jung would leave the food right after it was prepared, and the kitchen itself looked extravagant.
“you called?” the female staff lays down the plate and walks over to your side. 
“yeah, uh...” you scratch your temple, slightly pulling on the turtleneck you chose to hide the bruises he left. “you don’t-- happen to think that... i’m with mr lee for his money... do you?”
the female staff blinks in surprise at you, and before she could respond, mrs jung does the honor. 
“oh, my dear, definitely not! you’d be surprised at how good juyeon-nim is at picking out who’s genuine and who isn’t.” you turn and watch mrs jung carry some leftover food back into the kitchen. 
“we were very surprised when he asked you to stay last friday, past the time where the house staff gets off work. he doesn’t like guests over, unless they are his parents... so it was nice to see him bring someone back.”
you let a small laugh escape your lips, feeling the blood rush up to your ears and cheek. 
hold on. 
‘someone’?
“you mean he’s never brought anybody home before?” 
“not willingly, no.” mrs jung responds from the kitchen. “juyeon-nim is only friendly to people he trusts and even then he’s extremely cautious, though sometimes a little dense... but now that we know how comfortable he is with you, and we’re all just happy for him.”
you feel a second wave of embarrassment wash over you, your hand now wrapping around your own neck and pulling up the material to hide any possible marks that were peeking out from under. 
“you don’t have to hide those as long as you’re here. everybody knows what happened,” the female staff member teases you, clearing the plates that you literally licked the crumbs off from before. 
“awh... nooooo,” you whine, hiding your face in your hands. 
the staff member laughs at your embarrassment, encouraging you to finish your dessert before she tells you where his office was. 
you get the door open, and the first thing you notice was the similar L-shaped glass windows like his bedroom had. the desk sat on the right side, with a main leather seat back facing a large shelf. the levels were alternated between files and small, expensive-looking statues and souvenirs. 
right before the glass panels were two single-seaters with a small coffee table between them, and your eyes took awhile to notice the little fridge under the table. 
you log into the computer with ease, surprised that there wasn’t a password required. you remember mrs jung saying that he doesn’t have anybody over, and you figure that nobody else has been in his office anyway. the worry about someone hacking into his files was non-existent. 
your suitcase was already placed by the table, and you wonder when did it get here. did he leave it in here last night? this morning? or did he get a staff member to do it?
the online system was perfectly synced with the system you had in the office, and all you needed to do was log in with your information before your case displays itself on the screen. 
you get to work almost immediately, every now and then looking past the computer screen to look out the large glass windows. 
the clouds were so fluffy against the bright blue sky today, and you couldn’t help but imagine chanhee, eric and sunwoo’s reactions when they notice you didn’t clock in today.
oh. chanhee, eric and sunwoo.
you reach over to your suitcase and pull out your cellphone, noticing the nearly ten missed calls you got from them starting about five minutes before the supposed reporting time. 
chanhee: where the hell are you? its 7.55am!
eric: did she oversleep
chanhee: she doesn’t oversleep
sunwoo: not with that annoying ass alarm she’s got
you smile to yourself, unable to contain your happiness as you scroll down.
chanhee: why do we have to hear about your absence from our manager?
sunwoo: wait
eric: OH MY GOD
sunwoo: mf WAIT
eric: DID THE BOSS TELL OUR MANAGER THAT YOU WEREN’T COMING IN TODAY
sunwoo: DID YOU SLEEP WITH HIM AGAIN
chanhee: but he’s in office! 
sunwoo: so? he could’ve just left her at home and came to work to reduce suspicion cause it’ll too obvious if the both of them are absent
eric: unless...
sunwoo: i’m betting on that and OTHER REASONS
eric: i was thinking about other reasons
chanhee: whatever the reason, call us during our lunch break!
eric: yeah we want details
sunwoo: fucking disgusting
you snort to yourself, ready to keep your phone away and finish up the case. 
but the aggressive vibration from your phone stops you just as you laid it down, and you sigh heavily when you see the caller ID. 
“yello,” you put the phone down on the table, keeping it on loudspeaker. 
“why do you sound so glum? i return from a two month trip and this is how you greet me?”
you roll your eyes, laying your hands right at the keyboard. “hi mom, how was your trip to san francisco?”
“oh, it was gorgeous!” she says with a strange accent. must’ve been the american air for two months. “i was pretty sad to leave, but nothing can stop me from coming back to see you!”
“when have you ever needed to see me?” your tone was unenthusiastic, and you resist the urge to hang up altogether. 
“aw, no, honey,” she whines. “are you still mad about last year?”
“just so you know, i’m gonna stay mad for quite a bit, so don’t expect anything different.”
“aw, but you did say you wanted swavroski--”
“yeah, a swavroski ring! not the damn brand!” you huff, burying your face into your hands. your eyes were on the screen, staring at the case document, but all you could hear was the heavy breathing over the phone. 
“i take it that you haven’t signed the contract to claim ownership of the brand.”
“of course i didn’t! i left home so i could build a life for myself. you promised me that you’d leave me and my finances and my life alone. you know i don’t want you or dad’s help but you go ahead and buy a whole jewellery brand?!”
silence. 
“i’m never signing that contract, just so you know. it’s been sitting at home since you had it mailed to me while you ran off to canada.”
“are you still living in that tiny flat by the lake outside of town?”
you pick up a pinch of contempt in her voice. “yeah, what’s so bad about my 'tiny flat’?”
“nothing,” liar. “i just want you to have the best we can afford.”
“again with the ‘we’. how many times do i have to tell you that i don’t want you or dad’s help?”
“but--”
“no,” you snap into the phone, picking it up and hovering your thumb over the hang up button. “i’m gonna go now because i have work to do. don’t call me unless it’s to tell me that someone else already owns swavroski.”
you finally hang up and you throw the phone back into your suitcase, hands on your forehead as you return your attention to the screen. 
needed me? what a load of bullcrap. 
maybe if she didn’t treat you like some kind of trophy when you were younger, you’d believe that she genuinely loved you. 
you were called to lunch when the sun was at its highest, the blinding rays bouncing off windows and the metal from buildings that it heated up the room like a toaster. 
mrs jung’s food never fails to deliver, and the female staff from before struggles to tuck your napkin into your clothes so that the gravy doesn’t fly about. 
you were mindlessly praising the hell out of mrs jung’s pasta when you hear a staff outside the dining room shout. you turn at the sound of the doors swinging open, and you find yourself standing immediately at the sight of a lady who looked like a million bucks. 
“what do you mean he’s in offic--” the lady finally turns her attention from the staff outside the dining room and to you. “and... who are you?”
so much for that lunch phone call to your friends.
you find yourself sitting awkwardly opposite her, carefully watching as she swirls the wine in her glass. you feel her eyes pierce right through you, and your hands reach up to your turtleneck in a bid to pull it upwards.
“there’s no need to hide,” she nearly scolds you, and the harsh tone strikes a chord in you. “i know who you are.”
what?
“you’re the reason why my son’s fiance is in shambles right now.”
his what--
“i’m sorry, who?” you squint your eyes at her, for a split second forgetting that she was the mother of your now-boyfriend.
“he didn’t tell you?” she offers a smile of disbelief. “and here i was thinking he changed for the better.”
“’for the better’? he wanted to leave the country to do charity work, not run away.”
“he was running away from the responsibilities he was born to shoulder. we do enough charity for him to stay,” she leans forward on the table, one palm pressed flat on the surface. 
“but he didn’t even want the damn law fi--”
“mother!” 
the both of you turn to the door of the dining room. every staff member within your line of vision looked like they were scared shitless, which was a strange sight, considering how relaxed and candid they were in the absence of this... crazy lady.
who might be my mother-in-law? ugh. 
“you should’ve told me you’re visiting,” juyeon walks in the doors and the staff members shut them behind him. he grabs a seat next to you, and it visibly stuns his mother. 
“i wouldn’t have bothered if i knew you weren’t even at home,” she watches in slight disgust as juyeon leans into your face and plants a kiss on your cheek. your eyes widen and your heart feels extremely heavy. “care to explain what is going on?”
juyeon carefully sits his suitcase next to his chair as the kitchen staff serves him a glass of wine. you remember the only food that was prepared was only for you and the staff members.
“what’s there to explain? i never said i agreed to marry anybody i was told to.”
you watch anxiously, eyes switching between juyeon, who was calmly sipping on his wine, and his mother, who was so angry that you could almost see the steam escaping from her ears...
“and so you run off and sleep with some random girl?”
ouch.
“will she still be ‘some random girl’ if you knew what she was capable of? she’s closed more cases in six months than i did in a year, mother.”
“i didn’t think a lawyer would let someone leave such savage marks all over her body like this!” she berates you, hand carelessly gesturing to all of you.
“which year did you walk through a portal from? it’s not the 1800s, mother.”
wow, so she blames me and not the one who made these marks?
“girls nowadays.”
you could feel juyeon’s frustration hit the roof, and the atmosphere in the dining hall gets heavier as each second passes in silence. 
“what are you here for, anyway? just to ask me about me dumping my fiance who i never even loved? i don’t even like her face, mother. she’s an incapable princess who does nothing but sit around and gets waited on.”
“forget about that, you’ve gone ahead and spent your weekend breaking off the engagement anyway,” his mother glares at the two of you. 
didn’t he spend his weekend with his family--
“but i do want to know why you’re back in the office.”
juyeon locks his jaw in odd angles, and if you didn’t know it was his mother who was pissing him off, you would’ve thought he was going to throw a punch across the table. 
“what do you mean ‘why i’m back in the office’? doing my job and accepting my responsibilities like you wanted to!” 
“and you didn’t have the decency to at least inform us? we were ready to re-sell it to the bureau director!” 
juyeon sucks in a deep breath and stands up, eyes tightly shut as you watch him collect his feelings. his mother remains relaxed in the seat opposite you, arms tightly crossed over her chest but her face still brimming with anger and dissatisfaction. 
“okay,” he leans downwards, pressing his palms flat against the surface of the table. “if you’re so upset then i assume a contract has already been drawn up, yes?”
his mother doesn’t respond. 
“alright, i’ll contact the bureau director and i’ll explain the situation. it’s you the bureau director has a problem with, anyway. it’ll be easy for me.”
your face was turned to juyeon, but your eyes couldn’t resist the temptation to look at his mother. she had just been outspoken by her son, and you felt so proud of him for standing up for himself. 
his mother finishes the win, visibly angry. she gets up and leaves the dining hall, and when you hear the lift ‘ding’ followed by the sound of its gears shutting its doors, you heaved a sigh of relief.
the entire room relaxes and begins helping to clear the table. juyeon was the only one who looked like he was about to burst from anger and frustration. 
you stand up and wrap your arms around his torso, leaning your chin on his shoulder.
“hey.”
“i’m sorry you had to see that.”
you shake your head, pulling away and hugging his arm instead. 
“i’m sorry that i lied about what i did over the weekend, and i’m sorry i didn’t tell you i was already engaged.”
you let the pain of the realisation sink in for a moment, before giving him a weak smile. “well, it wasn’t really a lie. you said it was something to do with your family... and besides, you broke off the engagement.” you reach over his chest and find his arm to pull him to face you, looking up at him whose eyes were filled with remorse. 
naturally, a shitty feeling swamps you when you lose sight of his prideful, authorial self, so you pull his face down to meet yours and you feel him melt into the kiss. 
“do you need to go back to the office?” you let him go, his hands now resting on your waist.
“yeah,” he sighs apologetically. “i only came back because the lobby called to tell me my mother was here.”
“aw,” you grin in attempt to shake off the tension that was still hanging in the air. “nice to know you came back to save me from your mother.”
a smile appears on his lips, and he pulls you in all so suddenly, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.
“maybe i shouldn’t leave my marks so high up your neck next time.”
you sigh with your lips in smile, pressing your head into his chest as he wraps his arms tightly around you. 
THE NEXT DAY
your arm was linked tightly with juyeon’s as he walks you up the stairs of the grand hotel, the ends of your gown dragging along the marble surface to the restaurant where he would meet the bureau director. 
you couldn’t take your eyes off him, though the simple suit was nothing compared to the dress he had prepared for you within a day’s notice. you reach the restaurant entrance and the lady immediately recognises him, turning to lead you two into the restaurant and in the corner where the private rooms were.
“so just to be clear, ignore your mother and be nice to the bureau director, right?” you giggle as the restaurant staff knocks on the door. 
juyeon laughs and pecks you on your temple. “maybe if you ignore her enough, she’ll start wanting your attention.”
you snicker to yourself, watching the door pull open and the light from inside spills out. 
you trail behind juyeon and look into the room, and your heart stops in your chest.
the world stops revolving around the sun and your breath hitches in your throat, your grip on juyeon’s arm tightening instantly when you see the two people in the room. 
“mother,” juyeon awkwardly starts, only noticing your sudden grip on his arm. 
mother. 
she looks at you with wide, surprised eyes before they dissipate into a wide smile. 
“this is the bureau director, mrs--”
“it’s alright,” she stops juyeon. “i know who she is.”
you gulp and your chest collapses in on itself. 
of all people, THIS bureau director just had to be your mother?
Part 6: Bourbon
95 notes · View notes
rokutouxei · 3 years
Text
the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]
The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop's most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo's pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go?
[ masterpost for all chapters ]
CHAPTER 1 OF 22
“Hey Theo, your girlfriend’s here.”
Just as she always is: 2:00pm every Wednesday and Sunday, carrying a maroon Kånken bag slung over one shoulder, dark brown hair up in an (adorably) messy half-bun. Today, she’s wearing a black turtleneck under a plaid coat, because it’s early fall now, and every day is a little colder than the last. Mustard-colored shorts over leggings, high-cut Doc Martens. She’s looking at the books on display through the window, hand pressed lightly on the glass.
Theo looks up just long enough to confirm that it is her, their favorite customer, before he disinterestedly returns his gaze to his book. “She isn’t my girlfriend.”
Working in the most reliable, well-known bookstore in a university town means a lot of university students come and go regularly, whether it’s for books needed for class or idle reading. There are a lot of familiar faces, but hers is arguably the most recognizable, considering she’s there twice every week.
Like on clockwork.
Arthur, Theo’s only other co-worker, has just finished shelving the new stock of books by the register when she finally decides to enter. The little bell hanging by the door rings as she does. Theo doesn’t even bother. Arthur makes up for it with his enthusiasm. “Welcome to Dragon’s Hoard Bookstore—oh, it’s you, little bird!” He walks up to her and they do a little high five.
She smiles; it crinkles the corner of her eyes ever so gently. “Hey, Arthur! Nice to see you.”
“How’s your class with The Professor Everyone Hates?”
“Oh, please, don’t get me started,” she sighs. “Considered shifting to lit yet? I could use the company.”
Arthur smiles conspiratorially. “Only for you, luv.”
Theo flips a page on his book. Ah, of course Arthur’s become friends with her. Arthur hits up anything that vaguely resembles the shape of a woman—a couch, a shelf, name it. He’s not really interested in his co-worker’s woman-hunting pursuits.
Arthur, however, seems to be a little more up to it. Theo doesn’t quite know if it’s because he’s interested in the girl he keeps insisting is Theo’s girlfriend, or just because both of them are friends. That makes her a bigger weirdo. Who wants to be friends with Arthur? “So, how can we help you today?”
“I actually came in to pick up my book! I got the message that it’s in—and I need it for class. I ordered it last week.”
Theo feels the stare directed at him all the way across the store—not that it’s that large to begin with. He doesn’t need to look up to know that Arthur is throwing him that glance he has become so familiar with—but he raises his head anyway just to glare back at him, a silent Please don’t.
But when did Arthur ever listen to him anyway? “If it’s a special order then it should be at the register,” the playboy sing-songs, ignoring the death stare he’d received. “How about go over and ask Theo, hmm?”
A tick of a vein on his forehead. Don’t get him wrong—working retail in a small quiet town isn’t anywhere as bad as, say, being employed in a big fancy spot downtown, but when Arthur is regularly like this to him… it’s rather easy to work up a temper. Calm down, Theo says to himself, as he puts his feet down from the chair to sit a little more appropriately for work. The girl takes a pause—gauging, measuring, making sure?—before answering with a half-hesitant, but still lively “Thanks Arthur!”.
The store is just small enough that in five steps, she is in front of him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He steels his face to a practiced, charming customer-service smile that makes Arthur snicker from across the store. One day Theo’s definitely going to get that idiot fired, or mangled, and no one will know it was him. “A special order? I need an ID for that.”
“Yeah, sure!” she pulls out a student ID from her pocket, places it on the counter, and wrings her hands like she’s nervous. Why, though. It’s just a book. Theo takes the ID, looks at her name, gives it back to her, and coolly looks through the stacks of books underneath the desk.
Theo doesn’t know where she gets this curiosity and her fidgety hands, but by the time he’s pulled out her book—a book of literary criticism on 20th century poets (that just makes sense, doesn’t it. a literature major in the bookstore, he thinks to himself)—she’s already flipping through the book he was just reading, chewing on her lower lip. She near-jolts when she realizes her book is already on the counter, lost in between the pages of his book.
Ah, the thought pings in Theo’s mind. Arthur’s a trying-hard literature major. That’s probably where they’ve met.
“Any particular poet you’re interested in?” he asks once he’s gone up, dusting the book off gently with his hands. He doesn’t really like small talk, but it’s bookshop etiquette at this point.
“Cummings, maybe?” she answers, and it makes Arthur stifle a laugh from the other end of the store; it’s audible to everyone no matter how hard he tries.
“A world of made is not a world of born,” Theo recites, to which she beams.
“Yes, pity poor flesh and trees, poor stars and stones,” she finishes. She looks entirely too visibly pleased by their exchange: Theo isn’t too thrilled about it. “I suppose you’ll find it cheesy that I like his love poems.”
“They’re great, hard to not like,” he says, following up with another poem: “kisses are a better fate than wisdom, lady i swear by all flowers.”
“You are whatever a moon has always meant, and whatever a sun will always sing is you,” she offers, as well. Grinning awkwardly as she puts Theo’s book back on the counter—a Camus, not really her jam—she says, “I really didn’t take you to be a poetry kind of guy.”
“Not only literature majors read poetry,” Theo answers.
She flushes and pouts a little, making Theo chuckle under his breath. “Well, I don’t really know what major you’re taking,” she says, recomposing herself. Theo has an inkling why she’s so nervous now, but he’s not really interested in it. “No way to find out.”
Theo shakes his head and pushes the order-claims log and a pen in her direction. “How about give it a guess.”
She presses the cap of the pen to just below her pink lip and thinks. “Hmm… political science?”
“Wrong.” Theo slips her book into a paper bag with the bookstore’s logo stamped on it.
She pouts, but a little less seriously than earlier. She signs the log and pushes it back to him. “Aww, dammit. You looked like a crook, too.”
It takes a few seconds for it to sink in, Theo busy sorting the files into their proper boxes. “What?”
“I’m kidding!” she says with a grin. She doesn’t move to take her book, just rests her elbows on the counter and her chin on her palms. She’s here every week at this hour, she knows when business is slow; she can go and pester the employees, sure. And with Arthur enabling her, there is no escape for Theo. He’s really going to strangle Four-Eyes soon. “History?”
Theo doesn’t want to indulge her, but he’s a good employee. “What stereotypes are you going on, here?”
“Well, literature isn’t really a favored field as it is, and you’re reading Camus, so…” she trails off. “Figured poetry was just your little nerd thing, and you’re some serious dude elsewhere.”
He’s not usually the confrontational type, in fact, he’d rather get this conversation over with, but somehow he can’t stop. He’ll never hear the end of this from Arthur later. “A nerd, says the one who is always at the bookstore, peering over the window looking at books. Can almost see your tail wagging excitedly like a little hondje.”
She narrows her eyes at him. “I don’t know what that last word means but it sounds like an insult.”
Theo shrugs, trying to freeze the smirk out of his face. “Guess you’ll never know.”
At that exact moment, a trio of what looked like exhausted seniors enters the store, the bell at the doorway announcing their entrance. Theo half-heartedly calls out a Welcome to Dragon’s Hoard! because Arthur is in the back room.
“Times up for me,” their—no, Arthur’s—favorite customer finally says in defeat, after what seems like ten years. She picks up her book from the counter. “One day I’ll figure out your major and find an even worse insult to tell you, Theo,” she teases, grinning as she turns away.
“Try,” Theo only drily answers, to which she puts out her tongue, and finally leaves the bookshop with a spring in her step.
Like any regular devil, Arthur’s timing is impeccable, as right at this moment he emerges from where he’s sorting books some shelves away, swinging by the register with a grin. He turns to check that their other customers are far from earshot, but then it’s his turn to torment Theo. Of course. Theo doesn’t get paid enough for this.
“Aww, didn’t want to get caught flirting with an employee. What a sweetheart.”
“What the hell are you talking about,” Theo asks. “If that was flirting then she wasn’t trying at all. Had no effect on me whatsoever.”
Arthur pulls a face of mock disbelief. “Sure, sure. She was making such a cute face, too. But if ever you change your mind, she left her number in the order log, so you might want to—"
“Leave me alone, Arthur,” Theo sighs, and Arthur laughs like he’s won.
--
Was that worth it? Was that actually worth it? Holy shit.
She walks two blocks away from the bookshop before turning into a random street corner to breathe. She presses the paper bag against her chest, feeling her heart trying to keep up with the demand for blood, mostly to her face. No, it wasn’t, her brain almost answers for her, but did she actually expect anything else? He’s mighty fine—easily one of the more tolerable face in this drab university town, and with a stare like that that could easily throw people off, push admirers away… he couldn’t, in this lifetime, have been someone who would go down without a fight.
And what a fight it was, if she could call that one! She didn’t expect him to answer back, much less tolerate that much conversation from her, and yet! Her head was spinning so fast, trying to process the information.
“What the hell man, relax,” she says to herself, leaning against the brick wall behind her with a thump. Why the hell did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you? Oh my god.
Even with her heart pounding angrily inside her chest, so loudly she can barely hear anything, she doesn’t find the strength, the will, or the desire to get the grin out of her face. Oh, boy, was that worth it. Kind of fun, really.
She wouldn’t call herself a heartbreaker in any way—she’s close to Arthur, being in the same club and such, but she is no way near his level. All she really wants is to be done with this and get out of this goddamn town that’s been keeping her hostage for years. But god, why did she had to have slipped and told Arthur she thinks his co-worker is kind of hot?
Arthur knowing about her crush and Arthur knowing about her little penchant for doing things she’s either been told not to do or told she would not be able to do—really was her undoing. One little you know, Theo’s the last person you want to befriend if you want a hint of romance; he probably won’t even spare you five seconds, and they both know from that very moment that she would go for the kill.
She does.
She does and it is glorious.
She could feel Arthur grinning at her from across the bookstore the entire time.
It’s taken her weeks to gather the courage, but—who knew it would be this thrilling? It wasn’t like she was looking for a relationship, she just “wants to join in on the fun,” as Arthur likes to say. Oh, is this why the man’s so addicted to doing this? It sure is adrenalizing. Kind of fun.
When her breathing is a little more stable and her legs a little steadier, she resumes her walk to her favorite café with a little spring on her step. She hasn’t felt this determined to get on with reading in a long time.
“Welcome!” the familiar baristas call out when she arrives, and she waves at them as she piles her stuff on her typical spot. When she approaches the counter, the barista with sunflower-yellow hair and a smile like summer recognizes her, beaming. “Hey! The usual?”
She smiles back. “Yep, thank you!”
Ah, why does this feel so good?
--
“Are you opening shop tomorrow, or am I?”
Arthur is sweeping off the dust by the register and Theo is closing down the windows—it’s 5:00 in the afternoon and the shop closes early on weekends. It’s phrased as a question, but Theo’s voice is resolute: Arthur is opening the shop tomorrow.
It’s the least he can do for all the chaos with bringing that girl from the literary club.
Arthur isn’t even a literature major. Yet. This is ridiculous.
“I will, I will,” Arthur pledges, shaking off the dust into the bin. “I really don’t understand though, when you’ll still be here 10 minutes earlier than I will be,”
Theo doesn’t even blink. “It’s called being on time, Arthur.”
“No timecards in this bookstore, are there?” Arthur answers, but he’ll still be here right on time tomorrow anyway. Not early, just on time. Just like most of him, Theo supposes—isn’t that why he’s on a gap year in the middle of his medical degree? Dabbling in electives in the literature department of all things. Arthur seems to catch onto this train of thought and adds—“Pardon good sir, but you, too are only taking one class this semester.”
And that’s true—Theo only has one class, on Saturday mornings, when his day off is scheduled. He could have taken his thesis course already this semester, but… “I have other priorities right now,” he says, just as he always does, and then quips, for good measure, “but you are just loitering. Don’t make comparisons.”
Arthur laughs at that only because he’s so used to Theo already, saying, “Oh, you wound me.” He puts away the broom to its compartment at the back and goes to the door to leave. Not before he looks back at the register where Theo has just finished packing his bag. “If you need the miss’ number—”
“Go home, Arthur.”
—which is answered by boisterous laughter, the chimes at the doorway ringing.
--
Late that night, hair still damp from the shower, she suddenly remembers to look up the word that’s been stuck in the inside of her head all afternoon, disrupting her thought processes, letting her lose her train of thought. Hell, she doesn’t even know how to spell it—she has to wrangle with letters being added and removed to get the translator to recognize the language.
Hawje.
Hanje.
Howche.
Honje.
Hondje, the app finally offers, pinging with recognition as it shows her the translation.
She takes a moment to stare at the screen, taking it in.
“What?”
She presses the flip button. English turning to Dutch. Same results. Presses it again, Dutch to English. Same results. She looks up, stares at the blank wall, remembers what he told her.
“…Can almost see your tail wagging excitedly like a little hondje.”
Her mouth falls open in offense, eyes darting back to her phone.
“DID HE CALL ME A DOG?”
Ah, the beginnings of a twisted, cruel love.
11 notes · View notes
dandannoodl3s · 4 years
Text
Ahhh so I also managed finishing chapter 2 in the re-imagining of the events post the episode 5.08 (Ian Garvey) if you’re haven’t read part one I’ll attach the link but here’s part 2 it’s slightly long but worth it I promise. Gif credits to @biconicclarkegriffin and @bravebold
Chapter 2
Before Ressler knew it, he was driving towards Liz’s apartment. It was way past midnight now and the thought of resting before beginning his quest to uncover the culprits behind this horrific attack was too much for him to bear. Besides he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing Liz was in the hospital fighting for her life. Cooper had already alerted the Post Office about the events and a CSI team had been sent to Liz’s apartment. Nobody it seemed wanted to waste any time. As he approached her building he saw a bunch of cop cars parked outside, along with police tape cording off the area. He parked his car but sat in it for several minutes, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to see. He stepped out and made his way under the police tape, taking his badge out to identify himself to the officer in charge of the scene.
“Donald Ressler, FBI”
“Yes Sir, come through”
“Are you okay sir?” said the same officer who had let him in.
As Ressler made his way up the stairs to her apartment, his heart beat faster and faster almost bursting out of his chest, He had to lean against the wall to calm down
“Yeah fine” Ressler chimed in, trying to hide the emotions that were threatening to explode.
“Did you know the people who were attacked?”
“Yeah” he said, sucking a deep breath in.
“It was my partner and her husband.”
“I’m sorry sir. It’s always hard when someone close to you is killed.”
“She isn’t dead. She’s in a coma.” retorted Ressler who was beginning to get irritated at the officer for talking so much but he knew that he didn’t mean to offend him, so he just nodded at the officer and made his way into her apartment. But he was not ready for what he saw. There was blood everywhere along with shattered glass across the living room floor, broken tables and chairs, torn pillows and two dead bodies. He assumed correctly that they must have been part of the team that attacked the Keens and having known that there was no way that Liz and Tom had those many bullets to spare, he knew it had been Reddington and Dembe who had come just in time to rescue the two of them.
The CSI’s had marked all the areas and were in the process of gathering all the blood and any other DNA evidence they could get from the scene. Ressler on the other hand made his way into Agnes’s room. It had been completely tossed. All her toys scattered on the floor, her mattress had been flipped, her cupboard had been carelessly emptied out, and there was nothing that was left in place. He was grateful that Liz had sent Agnes to her friend’s place for a sleepover. He didn’t want to imagine what they would have done to the poor girl if she was at home with her parents. No. Liz would never do that if she knew somewhere in her gut that she was uncovering something dangerous.
Suddenly a paper caught his eye. He bent down to pick it up. It was a drawing Agnes had made of herself, Tom and Liz. They were in the park with Agnes in the middle of her two parents holding both their hands and smiling. It made Ressler tear up. How the hell was he going to get her through this? He folded the drawing and put it in his pocket. He went out, ensured that the CSIs covered everything and left her apartment.
1 month later
The investigation into the attack was just a bunch of dead ends. While they managed to ID the two bodies, there was no other trace of blood, fingerprints or anything. Whoever did this was meticulous. It was planned to ensure there were no survivors and absolutely nothing that could lead back to them. What the attackers perhaps hadn’t anticipated was Reddington. And while the Task Force was doing everything possible, Reddington had surprisingly continued to supply them with names of Blacklisters. I guess it was his way of honouring Liz and it was also the only way everyone could remain distracted.
Reddington had also been actively taking care of Agnes. Ressler was actually quite surprised at his approach towards her. He had asked Samar if she would take Agnes in for the time being since he realised how important it was for Agnes to have a female presence. In another world Red would have jumped at the opportunity to keep Agnes to himself for her ‘protection’ but things were different right now and what Agnes needed was a sense of normalcy, something not possible in his world. Ressler would usually spend the weekends with Agnes, who insisted on building pillow forts with him. She was in the “princess phase” while the pillow fort was her castle and Ressler her knight. It had certainly been a difficult month, and perhaps Agnes was too young to completely understand death and medically induced comas, but there was no denying that behind that smiling face, she missed her parents dearly.
Tumblr media
“Uncle Donnie?” said Agnes one evening that Ressler was at Samar’s place.
“Yes sweetheart?”
“When is mommy going to come home? I miss her.”
Ressler picked her up, setting her on his lap as she cuddled into him.
“Sweetie, I know you miss her. Uncle Donnie misses her too. Remember what I told you about Mommy and Daddy being in an accident?” Agnes slowly nodded her head.
“Well mommy was injured very badly. It’s like when the evil queen sends her army to kill the princess and take her place in the kingdom and the prince tries to protect the princess by fighting the evil queen’s army. Your daddy was the prince who tried to save his princess, and he fought very bravely to protect your mother.”
“You said daddy is in heaven now right?”
Ressler smiled at the sweet child sitting on his lap.
“Yes, daddy is in heaven now. He’s still protecting your mommy and is making sure she is strong enough to wake up. Give it time sweetie. I promise you that I’m here with you till Mommy comes back okay?”
“Okay, Uncle Donnie.”
And with that Ressler picked her up and took her to the room Samar had set aside for Agnes. He lifted the covers and gently placed a sleepy Agnes in bed. He read her her favourite story at the moment “Mulan” as it reminded her of how strong and brave her mother was and watched her fall asleep before placing a kiss on her forehead and making his way out of the room.
6 months later
It had been half a year and Liz had still not woken up. The doctors had lost hope but Reddington being Reddington refused to give up and had her transferred to a private care facility, paying for everything along the way. Other than Reddington, Ressler was the one member on the task force who visted Liz almost every day. Sometimes he would bring her favourite food from Wing Yee and just sit and talk to her while he ate his share. Other times he would tell her about his day, about Blacklisters they caught and about the thrill of the chase. But every single time he spoke to her, he would tell her about Agnes. Her grades, her favourite movies and books at the moment, how she had dyed some of her hair pink after seeing some movie where the lead actress had pink hair, how she had discovered Samar’s lipsticks and insisted that she needed some of her own.
For Ressler, Liz was the only thing he thought about for the last 6 months. Whether it was his feelings for her or the fact that he just utterly missed her, her teasing and her silly jokes, he just wanted Liz to wake up. On the 6 month eve of the attack, Ressler snuck in a bottle of her favourite wine in his coat pocket before making his way to the care facility. When he entered her room he was surprised to see Red sitting next to her, since he usually wasn’t here so late in the night.
“Donald, it’s lovely to see you.”
“Red, what are you doing here so late?”
“Well I know you aren’t as happy to see me but you know what date it is today and I don’t know, I just wanted to be here with Lizzie”
“I know what you mean. That’s actually why I’m also here.”
Reddington looked at Ressler for a long while before saying something that took Ressler by surprise.
“You know Donald, its going to be difficult for Elizabeth when she wakes up, you know with Tom not being here and their attackers being on the loose, but for what it’s worth I’m glad you’re in her life. I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate all that you’ve done for sweet Agnes.
I know we’ve had a colourful history and I may have outsmarted you that one time in Belgrade but you were the only one who ever came close to ever capturing me. In fact, sometimes your personality strikes me as uptight even rigid, but that perfectly sculpted jaw line certainly helps” Reddington chuckled.
Ressler couldn’t help but snort.
“So the only acceptable quality I have are my looks? Tell me something new.” He said somewhat cockily but he was slightly stung by the jab.
“Your face definitely is a sight for sore eyes but that’s not the only thing. In the last few months you have proved my wrong. You’ve been at Lizzie’s side the whole time, unwavering in you love and care for her. You may not realise this but your loyalty and compassion is an envious trait. Something that I have always admired and remember I am not easily pleased.”
The atmosphere in the room was thick with emotion and as a means to break the unfamiliarity of Reddington’s emotional confession, Ressler took out the small bottle of wine from his inner coat pocket.
“What do we have here?” exclaimed Reddington.
Feigning a smile Ressler said “It’s Liz’s favourite cheap wine. Every time we finished arresting a particularly nasty Blacklister, we would sit in our office and pour ourselves this god awful wine in plastic cups and try to finish our day’s reports.”
“Why in God’s good name does Elizabeth subject herself to such ghastly taste in alcohol, I mean why do that when she has a perfectly beautiful collection of aromatic Chilean wines lying in her house, ones that I especially bootleg for her but for some unearthly reason continue to remain unopened? ”
Ressler chuckled.
“Well, one day Liz and I were the only ones left in the Post Office. We had just wrapped up a case that among other things involved seizing alcohol from underage kids who had they known any better were drinking counterfeit wine supplied to them by the Blacklister we were out for, who made millions selling adulterated wine only to poison his wife and daughter when they found out the truth about his enterprise. Anyway, Liz and I were up late, writing our reports and filling in data when we decided to sneak into the backroom where there were several boxes of adulterated wine ready to be processed in the morning. We were both in desperate need for a drink so we opened up a carton and nicked a few bottles, since they were yet to be registered.
One thing led to another and before you know it we had finished two bottles of that awful wine, laughing at how desperate and teenage it was to go sneaking around stealing alcohol. And Liz in her drunken state declared it to be her favourite ‘cheap wine’ going so far as even writing a heavily misspelled review on the now defunct company website. It was also the last case we solved before things blew up and today while cleaning up her workspace, I found another bottle of that wine and couldn’t help but smile and the first thing I wanted to do was come here and share it with her. I know it sounds stupid, but I would do anything to have that time again, stealing bottles of wine from evidence rather than see her life being stolen from her by some ruthless criminals.”
Tumblr media
“It is silly yes, but it is certainly not stupid for you to want to share that memory with her again. We will find out who did this Donald. I don’t plan on letting those scums get away. But until then, let’s open that bottle and judge just how much I need to consider an intervention and possibly a crash course for Lizzie on everything related to the finer things in life.”
Ressler pulled up a chair and poured the wine into two plastic cups and handed one to Reddington as they sat talking about Liz and all her little quirks.
20 notes · View notes
96harmony96 · 3 years
Text
Chapter 2
Her tie was silver and her shirt brilliantly white, the stark absence of color emphasizing those amazing green irises. Standing there with her jacket open and her hands shoved casually into her pants’ pockets, the sight of her was like running smack into a wall I hadn’t known was there.
I jerked to a halt, my gaze riveted to the woman who was even more striking than I’d remembered. I had never seen hair that purely black. It was glossy and slightly long, the ends drifting over her shoulder. That sexy length was the crowning touch of bad boy hotness over the successful businessman, like whipped cream topping on a hot fudge brownie sundae. As my mother would say, only rogues and raiders had hair like that.
My hands clenched against the urge to touch it, to see if it felt like the rich silk it resembled.
The doors began to close. She took an easy step forward and pressed a button on the panel to hold them open. “There’s plenty of room for both of us, Camila.”
The sound of that smoky, implacable voice broke me out of my momentary daze. How did she know my name?
Then I remembered that she’d picked up my ID card when I’d dropped it in the lobby. For a second, I debated telling her I was waiting for someone so I could take another car down, but my brain lurched back into action.
What the hell was wrong with me? Clearly she worked in the Crossfire. I couldn’t avoid her every time I saw her and why should I? If I wanted to get to the point where I could look at her and take her hotness for granted, I needed to see her often enough that she became like furniture.
Ha! If only.
I stepped into the car. “Thank you.”
She released the button and stepped back again. The doors closed and the elevator began its descent.
I immediately regretted my decision to share the car with her.
Awareness of her prickled across my skin. She was a potent force in such a small enclosure, radiating a palpable energy and sexual magnetism that had me shifting restlessly on my feet. My breathing became as ragged as my heartbeat. I felt that inexplicable pull to her again, as if he exuded a silent demand that I was instinctively attuned to answering.
“Enjoy your first day?” she asked, startling me.
Her voice resonated, flowing over me in a seductive rhythm. How the hell did she know it was my first day?
“Yes, actually,” I answered evenly. “How was yours?”
I felt her gaze slide over my profile, but I kept my attention trained on the brushed aluminum elevator doors. My heart was racing in my chest, my stomach quivering madly. I felt jumbled and off my game.
“Well, it wasn’t my first,” she replied with a hint of amusement. “But it was successful. And getting better as it progresses.”
I nodded and managed a smile, having no idea what that was supposed to mean. The car slowed on the twelfth floor and a friendly group of three got on, talking excitedly among themselves. I stepped back to make room for them, retreating into the opposite corner of the elevator from Dark and Dangerous. Except she sidestepped along with me. We were suddenly closer than we’d been before.
she adjusted her perfectly knotted tie, her arm brushing against mine as she did so. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to ignore my acute awareness of her by concentrating on the conversation taking place in front of us. It was impossible. She was just so there. Right there. All perfect and gorgeous and smelling divine. My thoughts ran away from me, fantasizing about how hard her body might be beneath the suit, how it might feel against me, how well-endowed—or not—she might be…
When the car reached the lobby, I almost moaned in relief. I waited impatiently as the elevator emptied and the first chance I got, I took a step forward. Her hand settled firmly at the small of my back and she walked out beside me, steering me. The sensation of her touch on such a vulnerable place rippled through me.
We reached the turnstiles and her hand fell away, leaving me feeling oddly bereft. I glanced at her, trying to read her, but although she was looking at me, her face gave nothing away.
“Camila!”
The sight of Cary lounging casually against a marble column in the lobby shifted everything. He was wearing jeans that showcased his mile-long legs and an oversized sweater in soft green that emphasized his eyes. He easily drew the attention of everyone in the lobby. I slowed as I approached him and the sex god passed us, moving through the revolving door and sliding fluidly into the back of the chauffeured black Bentley SUV I’d seen at the curb the evening before.
Cary whistled as the car pulled away. “Well, well. From the way you were looking at her, that was the girl you told me about, right?”
“Oh, yeah. That was definitely her.”
“You work together?” Linking arms with me, Cary tugged me out to the street through the stationary door.
“No.” I stopped on the sidewalk to change into my walking flats, leaning into him as pedestrians flowed around us. “I don’t know who she is, but she asked me if I’d had a good first day, so I better figure it out.”
“Well…” He grinned and supported my elbow as I hopped awkwardly from one foot to the other. “No idea how anyone could get any work done around her. My brain sort of fried for a minute.”
“I’m sure that’s a universal effect.” I straightened. “Let’s go. I need a drink.”
The next morning arrived with a slight throbbing at the back of my skull that mocked me for having one too many glasses of wine. Still, as I rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor, I didn’t regret the hangover as much as I should have. My choices were either too much alcohol or a whirl with my vibrator, and I was damned if I’d have a battery-provided orgasm starring Dark and Dangerous. Not that she’d know or even care that she made me so horny I couldn’t see straight, but I’d know and I didn’t want to give the fantasy of her the satisfaction.
I dropped my stuff in the bottom drawer of my desk and when I saw that Mark wasn’t in yet, I grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to my cubicle to catch up on my new favorite ad-biz blogs.
“Camila!”
I jumped when he appeared beside me, his grin a flash of white against his smooth dark skin. “Good morning, Mark.”
“Is it ever. You’re my lucky charm, I think. Come into my office. Bring your tablet. Can you work late tonight?”
I followed him over, catching on to his excitement. “Sure.”
“I’d hoped you’d say that.” He sank into his chair.
I took the one I’d sat in the day before and quickly opened a notepad program.
“So,” he began, “we’ve received an RFP for Kingsman Vodka and they mentioned me by name. First time that’s ever happened.”
“Congratulations!”
“I appreciate that, but let’s save them for when we’ve actually landed the account. We’ll still have to bid, if we get past the request for proposal stage, and they want to meet with me tomorrow evening.”
“Wow. Is that timeline usual?”
“No. Usually they’d wait until we had the RFP finished before meeting with us, but Cross Industries recently acquired Kingsman and C.I. has dozens of subsidiaries. That’s good business if we can get it. They know it and they’re making us jump through hoops, the first of which is meeting with me.”
“Usually there would be a team, right?”
“Yes, we’d present as a group. But they’re familiar with the drill—they know they’ll get the pitch from a senior executive, then end up working with a junior like me—so they picked me out and now they want to vet me. But to be fair, the RFP provides a lot more information than it asks for in return. It’s as good as a brief, so I really can’t accuse them of being unreasonably demanding, just meticulous. Par for the course when dealing with Cross Industries.”
He ran a hand over his tight curls, betraying the pressure he felt. “What do you think of Kingsman vodka?”
“Uh…well…Honestly, I’ve never heard of it.”
Mark fell back in his chair and laughed. “Thank God. I thought I was the only one. Well, the plus side is there’s no bad press to get over. No news can be good news.”
“What can I do to help? Besides research vodka and stay late?”
His lips pursed a moment as he thought about it. “Jot this down…”
We worked straight through lunch and long after the office had emptied, going over some initial data from the strategists. It was a little after seven when Mark’s smartphone rang, startling me with its abrupt intrusion into the quiet.
Mark activated the speaker and kept working. “Hey, baby.”
“Have you fed that poor girl yet?” demanded a warm masculine voice over the line.
Glancing at me through his glass office wall, Mark said, “Ah…I forgot.”
I looked away quickly, biting my lower lip to hide my smile.
I looked away quickly, biting my lower lip to hide my smile.
A snort came clearly across the line. “Only two days on the job, and you’re already overworking her and starving her to death. She’s going to quit.”
“Shit. You’re right. Steve, honey—”
“Don’t ‘Steve honey’ me. Does she like Chinese?”
I gave Mark the thumbs-up.
He grinned. “Yes, she does.”
“All right. I’ll be there in twenty. Let security know I’m coming.”
Almost exactly twenty minutes later, I buzzed Steven Ellison through the waiting area doors. He was a juggernaut of a fellow, dressed in dark jeans, scuffed work boots, and a neatly pressed button-down shirt. Red-haired with laughing blue eyes, he was as good-looking as his partner was, just in a very different way. The three of us sat around Mark’s desk and dumped kung pao chicken and broccoli beef onto paper plates, added helpings of sticky white rice, and then dug in with chopsticks.
I discovered that Steven was a contractor, and that he and Mark had been a couple since college. I watched them interact and felt awe and a dash of envy. Their relationship was so beautifully functional that it was a joy to spend time with them.
“Damn, girl,” Steven said with a whistle, as I went for a third helping. “You can put it away. Where does it go?”
I shrugged. “To the gym with me. Maybe that helps…?”
“Don’t mind him,” Mark said, grinning. “Steven’s just jealous. He has to watch his girlish figure.”
“Hell.” Steven shot his partner a wry look. “I might have to take her out to lunch with the crew. I could win money betting on how much she can eat.”
I smiled. “That could be fun.”
“Ha. I knew you had a bit of a wild streak. It’s in your smile.”
Looking down at my food, I refused to let my mind wander into memories of just how wild I’d been in my rebellious, self-destructive phase.
Mark saved me. “Don’t harass my assistant. And what do you know about wild women anyway?”
“I know some of them like hanging out with gay men. They like our perspective.” His grin flashed. “I know a few other things, too. Hey…don’t look so shocked, you two. I wanted to see if hetero sex lived up to the hype.”
Clearly this was news to Mark, but from the twitching of his lips, he was secure enough in their relationship to find the whole exchange amusing. “Oh?”
“How’d that work out for you?” I asked bravely.
Steven shrugged. “I don’t want to say it’s overrated, ’cause clearly I’m the wrong demographic and I had a very limited sampling, but I can do without.”
I thought it was very telling that Steven could relate his story in terms Mark worked with. They shared their careers with each other and listened, even though their chosen fields were miles apart.
“Considering your present living arrangement,” Mark said to him, catching up a stem of broccoli with his chopsticks, “I’d say that’s a very good thing.”
By the time we finished eating, it was eight and the cleaning crew had arrived. Mark insisted on calling me a cab.
“Should I come in early tomorrow?” I asked.
Steven bumped shoulders with Mark. “You must’ve done something good in a past life to score this one.”
“I think putting up with you in this life qualifies,” Mark said dryly.
“Hey,” Steven protested, “I’m housebroken. I put the toilet seat down.”
Mark shot me an exasperated look that was warm with affection for his partner. “And that’s helpful how?”
Mark and I scrambled all day Thursday to get ready for his four o’clock with the team from Kingsman. We grabbed an information-packed lunch with the two creatives who would be participating in the pitch when it got to that point in the process; then we went over the notes on Kingsman’s Web presence and existing social media outreach.
I got a little nervous when three thirty rolled around because I knew traffic would be a bitch, but Mark kept working after I pointed out the time. It was quarter to four before he bounded out of his office with a broad smile, still shrugging into his jacket. “Join me, Camila.”
I blinked up at him from my desk. “Really?”
“Hey, you worked hard on helping me prep. Don't you want to see how it goes?”
“Yes, absolutely.” I pushed to my feet. Knowing my appearance would be a reflection on my boss, I smoothed my black pencil skirt and straightened the cuffs of my long-sleeved silk blouse. By a random twist of fate, my crimson shirt perfectly matched Mark’s tie. “Thank you.”
We headed out to the elevators and I was briefly startled when the car went up instead of down. When we reached the top floor, the waiting area we stepped into was considerably larger and more ornate than the one on the twentieth. Hanging baskets of ferns and lilies fragranced the air and a smoky glass security entrance was sandblasted with Cross Industries in a bold, masculine font.
We were buzzed in, and then asked to wait a moment. Both of us declined an offer of water or coffee, and less than five minutes after we arrived, we were directed to a closed conference room.
Mark looked at me with twinkling eyes as the receptionist reached for the door handle. “Ready?”
I smiled. “Ready.”
The door opened and I gestured in first. I made sure to smile brightly as I stepped inside…a smile that froze on my face at the sight of the woman rising to her feet at my entrance.
My abrupt stop bottlenecked the threshold and Mark ran into my back, sending me stumbling forward. Dark and Dangerous caught me by the waist, hauling me off my feet and directly into her chest. The air left my lungs in a rush, followed immediately by every bit of common sense I possessed. Even through the layers of clothing between us, her biceps were like stone beneath my palms, her stomach a hard slab of muscle against my own. When she sucked in a sharp breath, my nipples tightened, stimulated by the expansion of her chest.
Oh no. I was cursed. A rapid-fire series of images flashed through my mind, showcasing a thousand ways I could stumble, fall, trip, skid, or crash in front of the sex god over the days, weeks, and months ahead.
“Hello again,” she murmured, the vibration of her voice making me ache all over. “Always a pleasure running into you, Camila.”
I flushed with embarrassment and desire, unable to find the will to push away despite the two other people in the room with her. It didn’t help that her attention was solely on me, her hard body radiating that arresting impression of powerful demand.
“Miss, Jauregui,” Mark said behind me. “Sorry about the entrance.”
“Don’t be. It was a memorable one.”
I wobbled on my stilettos when Jauregui set me down, my knees weakened from the full body contact. She was dressed in black again, with both her shirt and tie in a soft gray. As always, she looked too good.
What would it be like to be that amazing looking? There was no way she could go anywhere without causing a disturbance.
Reaching out, Mark steadied me and eased me back gently.
Jauregis' gaze stayed focused on Mark’s hand at my elbow until I was released.
“Right. Okay then.” Mark pulled himself together. “This is my assistant,
Camila Cabello.”
“We’ve met.” Jauregui pulled out the chair next to hers. “Camila.”
I looked to Mark for guidance, still recovering from the moments I’d spent plastered against the sexual superconductor in Fioravante.
Jauregui leaned closer and ordered quietly, “Sit, Camila.”
Mark gave a brief nod, but I was already lowering into the chair at Jauregui’s command, my body obeying instinctively before my mind caught up and objected.
I tried not to fidget for the next hour as Mark was grilled by Jauergui and the two Kingsman directors, both of whom were attractive brunettes in elegant pantsuits. The one in raspberry was especially enthusiastic about garnering Jauregui’s attention, while the one in cream focused intently on my boss. All three seemed impressed by Mark’s ability to articulate how the agency’s work—and his facilitation of it with the client—created provable value for the client’s brand.
I admired how cool Mark remained under pressure—pressure exerted by Jauregui, who easily dominated the meeting.
“Well done, Mr. Garrity,” Jauregui praised lightly as they wrapped things up. “I look forward to going over the RFP when the time comes. What would entice you to try Kingsman, Camila?”
Startled, I blinked. “Excuse me?”
The intensity of her gaze was searing. It felt as if her entire focus was on me, which only reinforced my respect for Mark, who’d had to work under the weight of that stare for an hour.
Jauregui’s chair was set perpendicular to the length of the table, facing me head-on. Her right arm rested on the smooth wooden surface, her long elegant fingers stroking rhythmically along the top. I caught a glimpse of her wrist at the end of her cuff and for some crazy reason the sight of that small expanse of golden skin with its light dusting of dark hair made my clit throb for attention. she was just so…womanly.
“Which of Mark’s suggested concepts do you prefer?” she asked again.
“I think they’re all brilliant.”
Her beautiful face was impassive when she said, “I’ll clear the room to get your honest opinion, if that’s what it takes.”
My fingers curled around the ends of my chair’s armrests. “I just gave you my honest opinion, Miss. Jauregui, but if you must know, I think sexy luxury on a budget will appeal to the largest demographic. But I lack—”
“I agree.” Jauregui stood and buttoned her jacket. “You have a direction, Mr. Garrity. We’ll revisit next week.”
I sat for a moment, stunned by the breakneck pace of events. Then I looked at Mark, who seemed to be wavering between astonished joy and bewilderment.
Rising to my feet, I led the way to the door. I was hyperaware of Jauregui walking beside me. The way she moved, with animal grace and arrogant economy, was a major turn-on. I couldn’t imagine her not fucking well and being aggressive about it, taking what she wanted in a way that made a woman wild to give it to her.
Jauregui stayed with me all the way to the bank of elevators. She said a few things to Mark about sports, I think, but I was too focused on the way I was reacting to her to care about the small talk. When the car arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief and hastily stepped forward with Mark.
“A moment, Camila,” Jauergui said smoothly, holding me back with a hand at my elbow. “She’ll be right down,” she told Mark, as the elevator doors closed on my boss’s astonished face.
Jauregui said nothing until the car was on its way down; then she pushed the call button again and asked, “Are you sleeping with anyone?”
The question was asked so casually it took a second to process what she’d said.
I inhaled sharply. “Why is that any business of yours?”
She looked at me and I saw what I’d seen the first time we’d met—tremendous power and steely control. Both of which had me taking an involuntary step back. Again. At least I didn’t fall this time; I was making progress.
“Because I want to fuck you, Camila. I need to know what’s standing in my way, if anything.”
The sudden ache between my thighs had me reaching for the wall to maintain my balance. She reached out to steady me, but I held her at bay with an uplifted hand. “Maybe I’m just not interested, Miss, Jauregui.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips and made her impossibly more handsome. Dear God…
The ding that signaled the approaching elevator made me jump, I was strung so tight. I’d never been so aroused. Never been so scorchingly attracted to another human being. Never been so offended by a person I lusted after.
I stepped into the elevator and faced her.
She smiled. “Until next time, Camila.”
The doors closed and I sagged into the brass handrail, trying to regain my bearings. I’d barely pulled myself together when the doors opened and revealed Mark pacing in the waiting area on our floor.
“Jesus, Camila,” Mark muttered, coming to an abrupt halt. “What the hell was that?”
“I have no freakin’ clue.” I exhaled in a rush, wishing I could share the confusing, irritating exchange I’d had with Jauregui, but well aware that my boss wasn’t the appropriate outlet. “Who cares? You know she’s going to give you the account.”
A grin chased away his frown. “I’m thinking she might.”
“As my roommate always says, you should celebrate. Should I make dinner reservations for you and Steven?”
“Why not? Pure Food and Wine at seven, if they can squeeze us in. If not, surprise us.”
We’d barely returned to Mark’s office when he was pounced on by the executives—Michael Waters, the CEO and president, and Christine Field and Walter Leaman, the executive chairman and vice chairman.
I skirted the four of them as quietly as possible and slid into my cubicle.
I called Pure Food and Wine and begged for a table for two. After some serious groveling and pleading, the hostess finally caved.
I left a message on Mark’s voice mail, “It’s definitely your lucky day. You’re booked for dinner at seven. Have fun!”
Then I clocked out, eager to get home.
“She said what?” Cary sat on the opposite end of our white sectional sofa and shook his head.
“I know, right?” I enjoyed another sip of my wine. It was a crisp and nicely chilled sauvignon blanc I’d picked up on the walk home. “That was my reaction, too. I’m still not sure I didn’t hallucinate the conversation while overdosing on her pheromones.”
“So?”
I tucked my legs beneath me on the couch and leaned into the corner. “So what?”
“You know what, Camila.” Grabbing his netbook off the coffee table, Cary propped it on his crossed legs. “Are you going to tap that or what?”
“I don’t even know her. I don’t even know her first name and she threw that curveball at me.”
“She knew yours.” He started typing on his keyboard. “And what about the thing with the vodka? Asking for your boss in particular?”
The hand I was running through my loose hair stilled. “Mark is very talented. If Jauregui has any sort of business sense at all, she’d pick up on that and exploit it.”
“I’d say she knows business.” Cary spun his netbook around and showed me the home page of Cross Industries, which boasted an awesome photo of the Crossfire. “That’s her building, Camila. Lauren jauregui owns it.”
Damn it. My eyes closed. Lauren Jauregui. I thought the name suited her. It was as sexy and elegantly masculine as the woman himself.
“She has people to handle marketing for her subsidiaries. Probably dozens of people to handle it.”
“Stop talking, Cary”
“She’s hot, rich, and wants to jump your bones. What’s the problem?”
I looked at him. “It’s going to be awkward running into her all the time. I’m hoping to hang on to my job for a long while. I really like it. I really like Mark. He’s totally involved me in the process and I’ve learned so much from him already.”
“Remember what Dr. Travis says about calculated risks? When your shrink tells you to take some, you should take some. You can deal with it. You and Jauregui are both adults.” He turned his attention back to his Internet search. “Wow. Did you know she doesn’t turn thirty for another two years? Think of the stamina.”
“Think of the rudeness. I’m offended by how she just threw it out there. I hate feeling like a vagina with legs.”
Cary paused and looked up at me, his eyes softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry, baby girl. You’re so strong, so much stronger than I am. I just don’t see you carrying around the baggage I do.”
“I don’t think I am, most of the time.” I looked away because I didn’t want to talk about what we’d been through in our pasts. “It’s not like I wanted her to ask me out on a date. But there has to be a better way to tell a woman you want to take her to bed.”
“You’re right. She’s an arrogant douche. Let her lust after you until she has blue balls. Serves her right.”
That made me smile. Cary could always do that. “I doubt that woman has ever had blue balls in her life, but it’s a fun fantasy.”
He shut his netbook with a decisive snap. “What should we do tonight?”
“I was thinking I’d like to go check out that Krav Maga studio in Brooklyn.” I’d done a little research after meeting Parker Smith during my workout at Equinox and as the week passed, the thought of having that kind of raw, physical outlet for stress seemed more and more ideal.
I knew it wouldn’t be anything close to banging the hell outta ofLauren jauregui, but I suspected it would be a lot less dangerous to my health.
5 notes · View notes
yoddream · 4 years
Text
The Price to Pay | n.jm
Tumblr media
pairing: jaemin x fem!reader
summary: when you’re given your dream job, what will happen to you and Jaemin?
warnings: ANGST, bad writing lmao, depression (not specifically mentioned but it’s obviously there), a shit ton of crying, jaemin being kind of an asshole ngl, mentions of hockey (only because there might be some things that don’t make sense idk maybe they do to somebody who doesn’t watch it), VERY INACCURATE INFO ON BECOMING A TRANSLATOR
notes: here’s part 2 to New Beginnings! idk how to link it lmao im sorry im really bad at this also im iffy on how this came out but at this point whatever i wrote a lot. I’m gonna try to do the bold for korean again (cuz new beginnings on the app is fucking jacked af but on the full website it looks how it’s supposed to) but like just assume that everything the OCs are saying are in Korean and whatever the Dreamies say that aren’t to English speaking people are in Korean
“Please put on your seatbelts as we will begin our descent to Los Angeles, California.”
You did as the flight attendant asked and looked out the window. The ground slowly got closer and closer, and your heart raced with excitement. Despite how you’d felt a year ago, you couldn’t wait to land and start the next chapter in your life. You could still feel the exhaustion from it being in the middle of the night in Seoul, but that was so little compared to all the emotions running through your body.
Once you were out of security, you pulled up FaceTime on your phone and called Jisung. It rang and rang, and you almost gave up when he finally answered the call. He was out of breath, as if he’d just run to get his phone. His face lit up when he saw yours.
“Y/N! You landed safely!” he said. Your parents appeared in the frame, which made you smile.
“I did! I’m heading towards pick-up now, so hopefully I’ll be on my way to the rink,” you told them.
You’d decided you wanted to be an English-Korean translator, so you had been hired as a translator for a new NHL prospect. He was born and raised in Korea, and he knew very little English, so you were going to help him during prospect camp, translating and teaching him English. You expected to be in America until September, but if he made it past both prospect and training camp, who knew what your future held?
“Oh honey, I’m so proud of you,” your mom said.
“We both are. You’re gonna do great, we know it,” your dad added.
You looked around and spotted your name on a sign that was held by a man with a driver’s cap. You told your family you had to go and hung up before walking over. He greeted you with a smile and grabbed one of your bags, heading to the parking lot. You shot a text to the boys, letting them know you’d landed. The drive to the rink didn’t take long, and you were escorted by a security guard through the hallways to an office.
“Ms. Park is here,” the security guard announced before heading back to his area.
“Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Rob Blake, the general manager,” a very tall man in a suit said. He held his hand out to you, which you shook. “We’re very happy to have you here. Chi-won Han’s translator from last year has a new job, so we’re glad you can stay for longer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blake. I’m very excited for this opportunity,” you stated with a wide smile. “So, where should we start?”
Mr. Blake’s assistant gave you multiple papers to sign before bringing you to get your ID made. You proudly hung it around your neck, even though your picture looked absolutely horrible (you just got off an eleven-hour flight). Then, Mr. Blake himself brought you to a conference room where the prospect, his agent, and the coaches were.
“Everyone, this is Y/N Park. She will be Chi-won’s translator.”
You bowed and said, “Han Chi-won, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Park Y/N.”
The boy bowed as well. “Thank you for flying here, Y/N. You have to idea how appreciative I am.”
You then introduced yourself to the agent and the coaches, dropping your bags to bow and shake hands. You told them about your exact role and how to contact you in case you were needed last minute. You’d been given a phone for work with everyone’s contacts in it, along with a rental car since you still had a valid driver’s license. You were then handed the keys to your apartment, which you would be sharing with Chi-won and one of the Kings’ players, Tyler Toffoli.
“Y/N, do you own any skates?” Marco Sturm, one of the assistant coaches, asked.
You shook your head. “I’m not very good at skating, but I’ll definitely do my best.”
“Have Tyler and Chi-won take you shopping for a pair. We really need you on the ice for drills.”
You translated for the hockey player when his head perked up at his name. He nodded shyly, his eyes darting to the floor. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him; he had no idea what anyone was saying, so for all he knew you could’ve been talking poorly about him. None of you would do that, but he didn’t know any better.
“Camp doesn’t officially start until tomorrow. We just wanted you to meet before then so that you can get situated. before the madness,” Mr. Blake explained.
“I appreciate that. It’s past midnight in Korea, so I’m pretty exhausted,” you replied.
“You guys are all set for today. We’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for day one.”
You turned to Chi-won and asked, “You wanna get food?”
He nodded vigorously, saying, “Tyler and his wife were making breakfast when I was called down here.”
Grabbing your bags, you said your farewells to the men before heading out, Chi-won hot on your feels. When you clicked the key fob for the rental car, a new SUV lit up. You let out a low whistle and popped the hatch, tossing your suitcases and duffel in. You and Chi-won then climbed in and decided on a local diner. The car ride was mostly silent, the radio playing softly in the background. When you walked into the restaurant, his eyes widened in fear as the waitress spoke to him. You ordered juice for the both of you and then started translating the menu with ease, watching his shoulders relax at the sound of a language he knew.
The two of you ate in silence for a couple minutes, simply enjoying your food. You checked your personal phone for any messages, but there was nothing. You weren’t surprised, though. The boys were supposed to be asleep, so you expected there to be nothing, but it still hurt to see that you hadn’t even heard from Jaemin. Then again, you probably should’ve expected as much.
“What?” Jaemin asked quietly.
You’d shown up at the dorms, wearing one of your boyfriend’s sweatshirts and a pair of shorts. Your hair was a mess from stressing out, so you had the hood up. He had to know what was going on, and you were out of time.
“I’m going back to America,” you repeated. “A major sports team contacted me last month to help one of their prospects. He doesn’t know much English, so I’ll be translating for him during camp.”
“When you do leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?!” You flinched at the sudden rise of his volume, the sound bouncing off the walls. There was no way the other Dreamies hadn’t heard him. There was no way the other Dreames hadn’t heard him, and you started to panic. This was definitely not how you expected this to go. “You’ve known for a month, and you’re just telling me now?!”
“I was going to tell you sooner, but since you’re working on your comeback, you’ve had to cancel dates! I didn’t have a choice but to tell you now!” you argued.
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?”
“I didn’t say that, Jaemin. I’m just explaining that there wasn’t a good time, so that’s why you aren’t finding out until the day before my flight. I’m sorry it wasn’t sooner.” Your hands were wringing in the kangaroo pocket, but it was hidden by the island in the kitchen.
“How long will you be gone?” When you didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenched. “How long, Y/N?”
Scared by his tone, you said, “I have no idea. Prospect camp is for a few days, but they’re expecting him to continue on to training camp in September.”
“Are you even coming back? What does that mean for us?”
“I don’t know, Jae!” you snapped. Your voice reverberated off the walls, and you could hear shuffling down the hall. “I don’t know.”
There was a heavy pause. He then asked, “You don’t know if you’re coming back? Or you don’t know what will happen with our relationship?”
“Both.”
“You’re very young to be a translator,” Chi-won stated, snapping you out of your thoughts.
You wiped your mouth with a napkin, giving you time to think of your answer without revealing too much. “My step-dad is from Korea. He and my mom got married when I was nine, but he and my step-brother had to stay there while my mom and I live here. We would visit whenever there was a vacation for school, so I learned it over the years.”
“Do you live in Korea now?”
“Right in Seoul. I moved after I graduated high school last year.”
Chi-won was silent after that. After you paid the bill, you plugged in the address for the apartment building and made the quick drive over. Parking along the street, Chi-won grabbed your bags for you and led you to the apartment. You used the key to unlock the door and walked inside. A man and a woman looked over at the same time from the kitchen and smiled.
“You must be the translator. I’m Tyler, and this is my wife, Cat,” the man introduced.
You shook their hands and said, “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Y/N Park.”
“Come right in. I’ll show you where your room is,” Cat offered.
You followed her down the hallway to a room that had grey walls, dark wooden floors, and a matching wooden dresser. There was a queen-sized bed with fresh sheets on it and a cream armchair in the corner. Identical nightstands stood on either side of the bed, and there was a bathroom attached to the bedroom.
“Make yourself at home. You look like you’re about to fall asleep standing up,” she joked.
“Yeah, I’m gonna take a quick nap, if that’s okay?” you asked.
“Go ahead.”
Cat closed the door behind her, leaving you alone. You collapsed onto the bed and checked to see if any messages had come in before you’d left the diner’s WiFi, but still nothing. Sighing, you put your phone on the nightstand and let your eyes close, the heaviness becoming too much to fight against.
When you woke up, the sun was high in the sky. You groaned as your arms stretched above your head. According to your phone, it was a little past noon, so you rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. Luckily, the password to the WiFi was on the refrigerator. As soon as your phone was connected, it started blowing up with messages and snapchats. The sudden sound made you jump, definitely waking you up. You took some time to respond to the boys and your parents, and it took you a few minutes to notice that none of the notifications were from Jaemin. Sighing, you shoved your phone into your pocket and went looking for Chi-won. You found him in his room, looking at an English book with furrowed brows.
“I’m not starting lessons until after prospect camp,” you said.
The boy jumped, clearly unaware of your presence until you announced it. He closed the book and placed it on the nightstand before looking around the room, avoiding your eyes. Sighing, you sat at the desk that was by the window.
“What’s on your mind?” you asked.
“What if I don’t make it past this camp?” he questioned.
You let out a deep breath and said, “Then you go back to your team in Korea, continue to train and practice, and then next year, you’ll come back. The exact same thing as what you went through last year.”
“What will happen to you?”
“I’ll go back home as well. I’m currently under contract with the team, so if you’re not here, I’m not needed. They’ll let me know when I am. You’re stuck with me.”
///
You and Chi-won walked into the practice rink the next morning, a fresh pair of skates in the duffel bag on your shoulder. You’d gone out with Tyler and Chi-won after dinner to buy them, just like Coach Sturm had told you to. The thought of being on the ice with a bunch of hockey players and falling on your ass was terrifying, but you didn’t have much of a choice.
You headed to the weight room and sat on a bench. Skating wouldn’t come until after they were done for the day, so your bag was simply dropped to the floor. You then pulled out your phone and looked at the last message you’d sent to Jaemin.
You: I know you’re upset, but I would love for you to be at the airport tomorrow.
He never showed up. Everyone else had, but he’d stayed at the dorms. The way the conversation had ended left the status of your relationship up in the air, and you were too scared to ask. Your anniversary was supposed to be in a little over a month, but you didn’t even know if that was something to be celebrated anymore.
The sound of the door opening behind you caught your attention. The players started filtering into the room, shooting odd looks your way. You stood up when Chi-won walked in, moving to his side for when the head strength and conditioning coach started talking.
After a speech, the coach came over and introduced himself, apologizing for missing the meeting the day before. When you assured him it was fine, he transitioned the conversation to the first test he wanted Chi-won to run through. You translated everything as you followed them to the bikes, not missing a single beat. You watched as he pedaled and pedaled, sweat dripping down his face as his leg muscles rippled from the rapid movement. You could hear the cheers of encouragement from the other prospects as they watched the others that were running through the tests.
When there was time for a break, Chi-won took the water bottle you handed him, draining it fairly quickly. He then grabbed the towel from your shoulder and wiped his face and neck, tossing it in the hamper in the corner. He looked around at the other prospects, watching them talk and laugh with each other. You felt bad knowing he wouldn’t take that first step. It was understandable, though. You’d gone through the same thing when you started making trips to Korea; you’d been surrounded by people who understood you as much as you understood them, which was not a lot.
After a few minutes, it was time for more testing. You followed the group around the weight room, mostly watching but translating when needed. Everyone’s eyes were on you whenever either of you spoke, but all your attention was on him and whoever was talking to him.
At the end of the day, Chi-won looked like he was about to drop at any moment. You decided to skip the skating and brought him back to the apartment, using the work phone since it could connect to data. He dozed in the car, his face finally relaxed. You’d never noticed how much tension was there until now. Between the stress of getting past this camp and not knowing what anyone was saying, his head was probably spinning.
When you entered the apartment, Chi-won immediately headed to his room to nap. There was a note from Tyler and Cat that they’d gone to run errands, leaving you alone. You tried to FaceTime your parents, but neither of them answered. You knew the others were rehearsing, so you called Mark, but he didn’t answer either. Feeling dejected, you headed to your room and sat in the armchair. You looked out the window and watched the world below, a sudden flashback to the day you and Jaemin were sitting in the mall’s food court. Your heart ached at the thought of one of the happiest days of your life, knowing there was a chance it was all over.
///
It was the last day of the four-day camp for prospects. You wobbled onto the ice as you tried to skate closer to Chi-won. He looked over and rolled his eyes before skating over, grabbing your arm, and dragging you to the group. A few of the players laughed, but you didn’t care. You would be laughing too if you’d seen it.
Yesterday, they’d run drills, so you got to see Chi-won on the ice for the first time, and you could see why he was their first-round pick the year before. However, the true test was the scrimmage scheduled for today. Drills could be run over and over until you got it right, but in a game if you made a mistake there was no going back.
Once the teams were split, Chi-won helped you to the bench. You could hear your personal phone ring with a FaceTime call, but you ignored it. It was most likely Jeno, calling to talk to you before he finally went to bed. He loved to call you before he went to bed, which annoyed Jaemin whenever you were on a call with your boyfriend. You wished you could answer, since you hadn’t had much interaction with anyone. You mostly translated back at the apartment, leaving you craving to talk to someone, but you felt too awkward talking to Tyler and Cat.
The scrimmage was exhilarating to even just watch. Chi-won was fast, despite how large he was. He wove through players, making fantastic plays. His stick work was quick, and he seemed to know where his teammates were, making passes without looking. There was no doubt in your mind that they were keeping him, but seeing the looks on the coaches faces made it that much better. Chi-won played fairly, probably too much; he always passed the puck for a goal instead of taking a chance himself.
During a break, Coach Sturm was going over a couple plays to Chi-won’s team. You translated as fast as you could, trying your best to make it sound clear and right. Hockey pretty much had its own language, so you assumed it was working when he nodded along. As he was about to head back onto the ice, you grabbed his attention.
“Shoot the fucking puck, man. You’ve made plenty of great passes. They want to see what you’re capable of.”
His eyes widened, but he nodded and bumped your held-out fist before skating back to the face-off. You watched the puck drop, and the game was on. Your eyes never left the player you were there for, his form zipping across the ice with a breakaway. He was denied, but you could tell there was a fire lit under his ass. There were still amazing passes, but he was taking shots on goal more. The goalie was just unbelievably good at his job,
There wasn’t much time left in the scrimmage when Chi-won was skating towards the goal, him against two defensemen. His feet moved in a way you couldn’t explain, and he slipped past the opposing players, taking a shot on goal. You nearly jumped with joy as it flew past the goalie’s shoulder, and you didn’t miss the smile on his face as he celebrated with his teammates.
At the end of the day, Chi-won was asked to dinner with some of the other prospects. He nodded his head with a grin, so they told you the restaurant. Your phone connected to the Bluetooth as you were typing it into the map, and “My First and Last” immediately started playing through the speakers. Chi-won sent a look your way but said nothing.
The other players made sure you and Chi-won had seats next to each other so you could easily translate for him. They asked him questions about his life in Korea and his teammates. He talked about his family, his girlfriend Eun-ji, and his friends. You were learning more about him by doing your job rather than conversing with him yourself. You could feel something heavy settle in your chest as they all talked to each other, only looking to you when you translated.
When you were back at the apartment, Chi-won collapsed onto the couch. You sat in an armchair and stared at the ceiling, thoughts of Jaemin running through your head. It’d been five days since you last heard from him, and you were still hesitant to reach out. He was probably in the same boat, but what if he didn’t want to hear from you? What if your relationship was over and you didn’t know it? You hadn’t talked to the other boys about it, not wanting to drag them into your drama.
“You’re thinking too loud,” Chi-won complained.
“Sorry,” you said quietly. “How do you think camp went?”
“I think I did well. My whole body hurts, though. I wish Eun-ji was here. She gives amazing back massages. I would be in constant pain if it wasn’t for her. I’m definitely the luckiest guy in the world.”
That’s what Jaemin tells me. “Is she gonna be starting college this fall?”
He nodded. “She wants to study sports medicine, so she’ll be studying at Seoul University. I’m so proud of her.”
You looked at the time on your phone before realizing that it was your work one. Your personal phone was still in your duffel, which was in the car. Cursing under your breath, you rushed downstairs and grabbed your phone from the bag.
Jaemin💕: 3 missed FaceTime video calls
Shit. Just in case your relationship wasn’t fragile enough, you’d missed three calls from him. It was the first time either one of you had tried reaching out since you stormed out of the dorms in tears. Worried, you headed inside and returned to the apartment as fast as possible. You tried calling Jaemin back, but he wasn’t picking up. It was about ten in the morning where he was, and he never slept in too much no matter what time he’d gone to bed, so you knew he was ignoring you. Trying again, you cursed and swallowed around the lump in your throat. He finally picked up, and he was not happy.
“Hey,” you said as you moved to your room.
“Hey. Where were you?” he asked.
“We were at camp, and then we went to dinner after,” you explained.
His eyebrows raised. “You went to dinner?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it a date?”
Your eyes widened in shock. “What the fuck, Jaemin? Of course it wasn’t a date! Why the hell would you ask that?”
“I mean, you did say you didn’t know how this would affect our relationship,” he snapped.
“That doesn’t mean I would cheat on you. God, do you really think that low of me?” You could feel the sting behind your eyes of tears forming, but you tried to hold them back.
“I don’t know what to think anymore, Y/N. You waited until the day before you were leaving to tell me about it—”
“I didn’t have a choice, and you know it!” you exclaimed. “You know what? I’m done. I can’t do this right now.”
You hung up and threw your phone across the room, muffling sobs into your hands. Being here, having the job you’ve worked towards the past year, it was supposed to be exciting, yet you were dealing with possibly the worst heartbreak yet, and you didn’t even know if there was a relationship to salvage anymore.
Your phone was ringing with a FaceTime call from Jisung, but you ignored it. He couldn’t see you like this; even though you were partially in the wrong in the fight, he would completely lose it and attack Jaemin. You didn’t want to be the cause of something happening to NCT Dream. It would have to stay to yourself, just like everything else about your life.
///
You’d been in America for two weeks, and you were absolutely miserable. You didn’t talk to the boys as much, ignoring some of their calls so that when you did answer, there was too much to talk about for you to think about Jaemin during the calls. You hadn’t talked to him since your last argument, and you didn’t know what to do. Jisung didn’t now, but it was clear he was suspicious of something. You just wanted to go home, but Chi-won had to stay in California for more training and practice. He’d been invited to training camp in September, so it was easier for him to just stay here until he knew his future with the team post-camp.
Chi-won’s English was improving a little, but it was clear he wasn’t confident in himself. Learning a language was hard, and English was one of the most difficult. From conjunctions to words sounding the same but being spelled different to even the sentence structure, you didn’t blame him for feeling self-conscious and frustrated. You had talked to Jisung, and he’d agreed to speak with Chi-won.
“Chi-won, can you come here for a minute?” you called out.
He walked into the living room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looked at your phone, jaw dropping when he saw Jisung on the screen. You held it out and said, “My brother wants to talk to you.”
He took the phone, sending a glance your way before looking back at Jisung. You moved to the kitchen to make breakfast, giving the boys some privacy. You could hear Jisung’s laugh through the tiny speaker, and it made your heart ache. Not seeing him every day felt like torture. You were so used to talk to him every day, but the both of you were too busy with your jobs, not to mention that you were still unsure of what the others knew about you and Jaemin.
As you were making some fried eggs, Chi-won joined you, holding your phone out with Jisung still on the screen. The hockey player sent a look that told you there would be a conversation later, and then he disappeared to his room. You looked at Jisung and smiled, asking him how it went. He said it went well, that Chi-won seemed to really listen to what he’d had to say. A door had opened behind him, and Chenle walked into the room. His face lit up when he saw you, and he ran over and jumped on Jisung’s back.
“Y/N! I haven’t talked to you in so long,” he said, suddenly pouting.
“I know, I’m sorry. Prospect camp was crazy, and I’ve been busy with teaching Chi-won English,” you replied. “I wish you guys were here. You’d love it.”
“We’ll have to visit sometime. Jisung, we gotta head to bed. We have practice tomorrow morning,” he said.
“Sleep well, you two,” you said with a smile.
“Love you!” they shouted, and then the call ended.
You finished breakfast and called for Chi-won. He joined you in the kitchen, taking his plate from you without a word. The two of you sat at the breakfast bar, eating in silence. Tyler and Cat were in Canada for a wedding, so you were alone with him. You waited for him to say something, anything, but he didn’t. Instead, he washed the dishes and went back to his room. He returned a few minutes later in workout clothes, so you changed into your own outfit and silently followed him to the gym downstairs. He started out on the bike while you went to the treadmill, starting a light jog.
After a few minutes, Chi-won said, “So, your brother is Park Jisung.”
“Yup. Has been for ten years,” you panted.
“I didn’t even know he had a sister.”
“No one does. It’s too dangerous.”
“That must suck. I can’t imagine keeping my sister a secret,” he said.
“Seeing him live his dream makes it all worth it. Besides, once I’m living here permanently, we’ll be able to tell everyone who I am.”
///
Getting out of bed was harder and harder as each day passed. You could feel yourself settle into a deep and heavy depression. and it seemed like the people you were living with were concerned. You never felt hungry, you were having trouble finding the motivation to shower, and you were ignoring every call that popped up on your phone.
There was a knock on your door before Cat poked her head in. You glanced at her before turning your attention back to the window. She sat in the armchair and leaned on her elbows, sending a smile your way.
“So, Chi-won and Tyler talked to the team, and they decided that if you want, you can go back to Korea until it’s time for training camp,” she told you.
You sat up slowly and asked, “What?”
“We can all tell how homesick you are, and Chi-won said that you had an argument with someone that sounded like your boyfriend. They have a back-up translator, so you can go home for a little bit,” she explained.
“He told you all that?”
“Well, he used an app to translate, but yes.”
Leaping out of bed, you hugged her tightly, mentally thanking yourself for having showered that morning. She laughed and hugged you back before telling you to start packing. You started throwing your things into suitcases and your duffel bag as she left, and tears started streaming down your face in happiness.
You hugged Tyler and Chi-won in thanks before rushing to the airport, not wanting to stay in America any more than you had to. You called your parents and Jisung once you had a ticket purchased, and they promised to keep it a secret. Jisung was practically vibrating in his seat once he heard the news, and you couldn’t wait to hug your family again.
Somehow, you managed to sleep on the flight. When you landed, it was about three in the afternoon. You raced towards your family as soon as you spotted them, leaping into Jisung’s arms. He lifted you up and squeezed tight, as if you would disappear if he let go. You then hugged your parents, not afraid to let the tears fall down your cheeks.
“I missed you guys so much,” you sobbed.
“We missed you too, sweetheart,” you dad said.
When you were home, you took a couple hours to settle in before taking Jisung with you to the dorms. Not only did you have some boys to surprise, but there was a certain boy with blue bangs you needed to speak to. Jisung seemed to be excited to be on the other end of the surprise.
As you walked into the building, your stomach twisted into a giant knot. You didn’t know how Jaemin was going to react. Before you could dwell on it too much, Jisung opened the door to the Dream dorm. Jeno and Haechan were playing video games in the living area, but they stopped immediately when they looked at you.
“Sunshine!” Jeno shouted. He threw the controller on the couch and ran over, scooping you into a bear hug.
“What are you doing here?” Haechan asked as you managed to pry away from Jeno to hug him.
“They let me come back home until training camp starts,” you explained. “Where are the others?”
“They’re in their rooms. Jaemin’s napping, but Renjun and Chenle are playing PUBG,” Jeno explained. “It’s good to have you back. Jaemin’s been moping every since you left.”
So they didn’t know. “I’ll go see Renjun and Chenle first. Jaemin must be really tired if he’s napping.”
You walked down the hallway and quietly stepped into Renjun and Chenle’s room. They were too busy looking at their phones to notice, so you sat by Renjun and asked how he was doing. He glanced at you and then did a double take before tackling you to the bed. Chenle complained, but when he looked up a screech left his mouth instead as he piled on top. They started asking you a bunch of questions at once, but you shushed them and explained why you were home. Chenle didn’t want to let go, but you explained that Jaemin didn’t know yet.
Jaemin looked so peaceful as he slept. You could just stand there and watch until he woke up, but the conversation needed to be had sooner than later. Quietly closing the door, you walked over and sat on the bed as gentle as possible. Your fingers carded through his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. He sighed in his sleep, melting under your touch. You called out his name lightly, but he didn’t stir. You tried a couple more times, and his eyes finally opened. He stared at you for about ten seconds before grabbing you. You were suddenly thrown on the bed, and he pinned your arms down before kissing you.
Kissing Jaemin felt like a dream, especially after what you two’d been going through the past few weeks. He pressed kiss after kiss to your lips, finally pulling away with a frown.
"I’m really sorry for how I acted the past couple times we talked. I trust you, and I support your career,” he said.
“I forgive you. God, I forgive you. I’ve been so miserable the past few weeks. I should’ve tried harder to tell you sooner than when I had.”
“Let’s just forget this, okay?”
“Deal.”
He leaned down to press your lips together again, not leaving any space between your bodies. He trailed kisses down your neck, sucking a mark into your skin at the base of your throat. When he moved back to your face, he whispered, “I love you.”
That was the first time either of you had ever said those words. Whenever the two of you were together, there was a good chance another Dreamie was with you, so actual dates were rare, which meant that neither of you felt like it was the right time to say them. However, the past three weeks, had proven that it didn’t matter how much time was spent alone.
“I love you too.”
It was about half an hour before you two emerged from the room. The others made fun of the hickeys that were all over your necks, but in that moment you didn’t care. You and Jaemin were more than okay, and that was all that mattered to you.
95 notes · View notes
serendipityjxmn · 4 years
Text
I Hate You, Park Jimin!
Chapter 4
Words Count: 1.9k
TW: None
Link to Chapter 3
Link to Chapter 5
Tumblr media
I glanced at the clock on the edge of my table. It was almost 2 AM. I buried my head into my notes, mentally cursing in my head for bringing this onto myself. I had been spending the last five hours planning the so-called study plan for Jimin. It was extremely time-consuming because I had no idea which level he was at. I kept on rewriting my plan over and over again, constantly having a war on whether it would be too easy for him because that means he would laugh at me and placing the bar high would also not mean a thing. Alas, I gave up. I decided to just go on with my plan and whatever criticism he would have for me, I would just take it. Without realizing, I fell asleep on my study table. I woke up the next morning with eyebags, dark circles around my eyes and a painful neck.
I think I looked like a mess when I went to college the next day and Ah Young confirmed my thoughts when her eyes widened at my sight. She was about to say something but our professor entered the class so she was forced to shut her mouth. When the class ended though, she didn’t hesitate.
“You look like zombie!” She examined me at arms length. “What happened to you?”
“I slept late.” I answered simply and we both made our way to our locker. As soon as I was done filling my bag with the next subject’s books, I leaned against my own locker as I wait for Ah Young to finish whatever she was doing.
I sighed.
“What’s up with you?”
“I said yes to the study partner thing but now I’m not sure whether it was the right decision.” My feet kicked the air.
Her eyes widened at this. “What?!” She almost half screamed.
“Yah!” I glanced around. Thank God no one was paying attention.
“Oh my god-“ she clasped her hands onto her mouth dramatically. Her voice dropped low. “This is your chance, girl. The time has finally come. Lord- I would like to thank you for not letting my best friend die a virgin.” Her palms were now clasped together in a praying manner.
What the heck? “Yah!” I pushed her shoulder and she laughed.
“So when are you meeting him?”
“In two hours.” I said poutily as I looked at my watch.
Her eyes went round. “What?! You’re meeting him today and you’re wearing this?”
I threw a look at her in disbelief. “What is wrong with my outfit?”
“Oh God- girl.” She buried her hands in her face. At that moment, her phone rang. She groaned when she saw the caller ID. I peeked and immediately understood. “Yes- Dad. Yes.. I’ll be there. I won’t be late. I’m going now.” She rolled her eyes as she hung up.
I threw a sympathetic look at her. It had to be one of those formal lunches with her family again.
“I have lunch with my parents. And I’m pretty sure they’re going to bring someone again.” She made an annoyed expression. Her parents had been trying to set her up with a friend’s son and she had been suffering a lot these days. Then she narrowed her eyes at me. “You. You’re lucky that you’re off the hook today. But next time you’re meeting him, I’ll be there to groom you from head to toe. Let’s go shopping soon!” She said and with that she left me.
I shuddered at her words grooming me from head to toe. If Ah Young says that, she literally meant that. I slowly dragged my feet to the library.
JIMIN POV
I ran my hands through my hair as I sigh. Why the fuck do I have to go through this shit again?
“Jimin-sshi.” A voice called me. I glanced at the girl sitting in front of me. She has medium-short brown hair, sharp and defined facial features. Her dress looked expensive. Her nails were shiny. Definitely groomed.
“Do you not like the food here?” She asked in her low voice. She slowly put down her own cutleries elegantly.
I shook my head. This had got to be the hundredth date that my parents set with some of their friends or business partners or clients’ daughters. I was starting to get tired of it but I wasn’t creative enough to think of ways to rebel. It was strange that none of these meetings ever fluttered the heartless hole in me. Sure I’ve fucked around but never with the girls my parents set me up with. No particular reason why although I know most of them thirst for me. I just happened to draw the line there.
But that was just it. My encounters with girls were either family business or personal pleasure. None of it ever tapped the hole in my heart. Not until recently- a small voice in my head said. I frowned but I brushed it off quickly.
Kim Hana. The name inevitably popped into my mind. She had a very beautiful name. It sounded just right whenever it came off from my mouth although I rarely had the chance to call out her name. The image of her laughing whenever she was with her best friend crept into my mind. She never flashed a single smile to me. Well, maybe you can try being less of a jerk to her, Park Jimin. I shook my head thinking about the way I rejected her when I knew that she mustered so much courage to come and talk to me. I noticed she doesn’t talk much with guys. I barely see her interacting with boys. The thought seemed to please me.
Wait. Am I forgetting something? I glanced at my watch. It was already 4 PM. My eyes widened. Shit! How could I forget about Kim Hana? I stood up immediately and the girl in front of me seemed taken aback.
“Jimin?” She called softly.
“I’m- I’m sorry I have to go.” I ran my hands through my hair, feeling exasperated at myself. I quickly fished out my card and called for bills. “I’m sorry. I’ll send someone to pick you up.”
I said and within seconds I was in my car, flooring the gas and headed towards the campus. Meanwhile, I called Taehyung.
“Hey.” He answered within a second.
“Taehyung, I need your help.” I said and he didn’t question when I asked her to fetch the girl I was meeting just now. He knew me and my sad life story well. Although I was sure their meeting wouldn’t end then and there. Taehyung had a very high sex appeal and he can be extremely seductive. I can attest to that. I shook my head. Although not that I was in any place to judge his sexual life.
I had no idea how long it took me to arrive at the campus but I sure did break a lot of traffic rules to get here as soon as I can. Could she still be waiting for me? I doubt so but my guilty conscience told me that she might just do so. She was that innocent. Mentally, I rolled my eyes.
I was going to head to the library but I kept my eyes peeled while on my way, scanning for any sight of her. I didn’t see her anywhere so I entered the library. I searched every corner. There was none. Maybe she did go back? Now it does kind of seemed stupid if she were to wait for me. Almost two hours passed. But I climbed the staircase anyway just in case she was at the upper floors. A large lake area slash park where most students enjoyed studying on the grass can be seen through the large glass windows accompanying the staircases. I stopped in my tracks. I saw a familiar back sitting at one of the bench. Her long black hair waving softly from the wind. Is that Kim Hana? I wasn’t entirely sure but I went down anyway.
Soon I arrived at the bench near the park. The place was practically empty perhaps because it was Friday, the start of weekend. I glanced around searching for the familiar figure.
Almost as if she sensed my presence, she looked up and her eyes met mine. She looked pretty in her short white dress. No words seemed to come out from my mouth.
Her expression turned cold. I could clearly see that she was angry. Her face was red. Her eyes pierced at me but why does she look cuter to me that way?
I resigned to what was coming. I went nearer to her.
She crossed her arms. “Thought you got killed or something on the way here.” She said sarcastically.
I didn’t reply anything.
“Did you know that I waited for you for 2 hours like a fool?” Her furious expression tickled something in my heart. It didn’t seem right at her innocent face.
“You’re such a jerk. I have no idea why I trusted you in the first place.” Her ranting continued on and on.
She was getting a bit too lengthy with her words and without me realizing it, I leaned in and crashed my lips to hers. I did it without much thought as I was just trying to shut her up. To my pleasant surprise, her mouth tasted sweet and it felt so right on mine that I was tempted to deepen it but I held myself back.
I broke the kiss - except that it was barely a kiss. Our lips merely touched. I regarded her expression. She was obviously stunned but her expression unfathomable for me.
HANA POV
I was mentally cursing Jimin for the past hour that I even ran out of any other curse words to use. I felt a presence near me so I looked up and guess what- he showed up, obviously way past our meeting time. He dressed smartly - white shirt and black slacks. I wondered if he was from some important event briefly but anger consumed me quickly.
When he went near me with his nonchalant look, I stood up immediately. I crossed my arms. “Thought you got killed or something on the way here.” I started with sarcasm.
My anger boiled further when he made no attempt to reply. I crossed my arms. “Did you know that I waited for you for 2 hours like a fool? You’re such a jerk. I have no idea why I trusted you in the first place.” His eyes were on me but I wasn’t sure if he was even listening to me.
He leaned into me and in a fraction of seconds, his lips were on mine. I should be pushing him away but I was too stunned to do anything. His lips went away as quick as it met mine. Even when he released me, my mind still seemed unable to function properly. Our lips met for a brief moment but it was enough to suck all the air from my lungs.
When my brain finally had the capacity to process the heart-stopping (apparently) event, I glared at him. That was my fucking first kiss! How dare he! I raised my hands to slap him but he was quicker. He took hold of my wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped at him.
“What? Don’t tell me that was your first kiss.”
I went red. Then I looked away. How does he even know?
He regarded me for a moment. “Are you for real?” He threw an incredulous look at me.
I glared at him as I tried to pull my hands away but he still held it firmly. “Let go of me!”
“Is that Park Jimin? And Kim Hana...?” A voice was heard and we both stood frozen.
Link to Chapter 5
Posted on 200508 11:25PM
27 notes · View notes
imaginesbymk · 4 years
Text
PINK + WHITE.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
—CHAPTER TWO ; THE GREATEST CITY IN THE WORLD.
summary: teresa’s permanent resignation from the peaky blinders leads her to a whole new chapter of working in an art museum. but little did she know her best life would be butchered some time later when her former lover tommy shelby gives her no choice but to return to the peaky blinders after they make new enemies, with the leader, of all people, being the man teresa fell in love with one night after a wedding reception back in post world war; luca changretta.
pairing: luca changretta x OC x tommy shelby
tags in this chapter: swearing (in a different language), and i *tried* to add some fluff because luca’s charming teresa and just smoothly asking her out on a date *spoiler* but yeeee
[ chapter index / meet my oc / wattpad link ]
1919.
BEFORE ART DECO became a widespread aesthetic, Teresa instead promoted the wonders of oil landscapes. And yes, Luca Changretta paid a visit to the Penarth gallery that day. It was him and two of his relatives that tagged along to the day's trip, walking behind him. People would assume Luca had business to attend to, meetings were always important as he kept a tight schedule, but he couldn't help but squeeze in an ounce of leisure.
It started with marble floors and art, and Luca silently wishing to himself he could reserve the entire museum for himself. All he needed was to simply request for one.
As for Teresa, she strolls around the floor after finishing up paper work in her office, and enjoyed the privilege to look around as part of her job, when she entered the same section Luca and his men were strolling in, the space of the renaissance.
"This one's my favourite." Teresa faced the tall man, and he perked up when he noticed a woman had caught onto a gaze. He noticed the dress she wore for the job, and her ID pinned on her chest. "It just speaks to me, eh? I'd like that hung in my home, where I can walk pass it every morning. Don't tell me. It's worth almost a million pounds?"
Teresa turned to what he was looking at. Indeed, the piece were a lot of people’s favourites. It just couldn't belong to anyone, unfortunately.
"Oh, I believe this painting isn't for sale," she smiles apologetically.
"I see. I'm more of a theatre man, anyway. But where I'm from, art speaks to our souls, and this painting deserves a spot here, truly."
Teresa studied him from head to toe. His suit looked new and clean, including the two other men accompanying him while they kept their distance a few feet apart looking around. All three of them wore pressed suits with hats to match them, and neither of them looked like they were from Penarth.
"Would you like some tea while I send a tour guide over your way?" Teresa asks politely, hoping to satisfy the handsome man's visit.
"That's kind of you. But I prefer having you show me around instead. You happen to be more passionate to everything here more than the actual tour guides."
It's not like she would get fired for being a tour guide for the day, but that wasn't technically her job by the hour. Teresa holds account for activity coordination, fundraising and selectively hand pick artwork and design from various staff members.
But hey, what the hell. She blushed. "Right! Well, you can ask me anything. I grew up reading art history books and wishing to paint just like every artist credited here." She eyed him again, now clasped onto curiosity over the mysterious man. "What's that accent?"
"I'm American," the man tips his fedora, lowering a smile down at her. "From the greatest city in the world."
"New York." He didn't even need to say it. A lot of people love New York, anyway. Plus his accent kind of gave it away.
The man nodded. "We get a lot of you Welsh people back there quite often."
"When I was in college I visited New York," she pointed out.
The man raised his brow. "Really?"
"Yeah. It was a year after the Titanic sank to the bottom of the ocean, before the great war. So count me as lucky."
"I could of met you," he said. "Where were you? Brooklyn? Had to deal with liquor business there." Which that reminded him he had a meeting in a couple hours.
"Had to visit someone in the Bronx," Teresa nodded while noticing the men approaching Luca from behind like they were attached to him. "Well, Mr. New York, welcome to Penarth. And welcome to the Penarth Art Gallery. Your visit is greatly appreciated.”
"Grazie . . . Miss Tour Guide." Thank you. Italian-American, then. Teresa smiled, so intrigued by this man as she kept observing him looking around.
"Well," she smiles humbly at the three men. "Let's start, shall we? You've all seen the renaissance, but how about Pablo Picasso..."
It switched afterwards. The atmosphere, the attitude, the comfort. And she was quick to notice while she spoke the whole time, the men listening to her, often times just letting her words enter through one ear and out the other. But Teresa was smart. He didn't quite keep his distance from the art as it was a rule, and stared down at the labels of all the paintings Teresa introduced, studying it in a way that had nothing to do with admiring, but more likely guessing the pricing.
Teresa gradually realized the man is just using his American identity as his own privilege into getting a personal tour around the gallery instead of gathering with different guests. She jumped one step ahead to know he would later ask for private access to hidden artworks that aren't placed public to the museum for the next few months in hopes of buying them.
"None of the art here is for sale," Teresa grew confident in her tone. "Art should never be in the hands of Americans who have no business being in a gallery to begin with."
The man shot his eyes toward her. "Do you have any idea who you're talkin' to, Miss Tour Guide?" his voice lowered until it no longer sounded friendly as before.
"I'm not afraid of you, Mr. New York," Teresa folded her arms.
"You should be."
"Guests come here to feast their eyes on the subject of emotions, dreams and tragedy, not for buying them."
"Well maybe," the man leaned a bit closer. "You should reconsider handling things around here, because one day someone will take away your paintings, you'll walk in here dying inside every time you walk past an empty space on the wall where your personal favourites used to be hung."
"Basdun." Teresa wasn't afraid to insult the man in Welsh, too.
"Very unprofessional to insult a guest, no?"
"Luca," one of the men moved closer behind him. "Non ne vale la pena."
"Mi sto solo divertendo qui, Matteo," Luca responded while he smirked at Teresa.
The other man chimed in. "Non puoi vincere. Lei è una pistola."
"Okay, basta," the man, Luca, rolled his eyes back a bit when he turned to his attention to the men behind him. He looked at Teresa again while telling them, "Lasciami con lei."
"What does that mean? What did they say to you?" Teresa demanded, confused. "Did they insult me in Italian?"
The men leave, Luca and Teresa remaining inside the empty section of the gallery, with pastel landscapes surrounding them.
"Actually, Miss Tour Guide. I hope you can spare five more minutes of your time."
"Teresa Griffith."
He nodded. That was easy. "Miss Griffith, allow me to explain myself. This art gallery you own, it's a shame nothing here is for sale. Imagine how much money you'd be making selling Van Gogh's Starry Night at an auction, or that disturbing painting of that naked man eating a little boy."
"Saturn Devouring His Son."
"Yeah that. The first painting that I fell in love with was the School of Athens, my mother showed me that one. Then it was the sculpture of Pietà. I even visited the Louvre."
"So have I," Teresa shrugged.
"Anything to do with the tragedies or emotions that you speak of, that comes to my eye. Amore is one hell of a blueprint for painters."
"Your point being?"
"I'm what you call a businessman, and I was actually nice enough to give you constructive criticism." Luca faced a self portrait painting while he spoke.
Teresa shook her head, hoping something—anything, would come up so she would no longer have to deal with this man's nonsense. Whatever he was doing, it was probably stalling. The two men that were with him were probably thieves and that this man was just charming her away so she would be to blame after it's all over.
Or maybe he was just being a nuisance on purpose. "I don't need you to tell me how to run a gallery, and it seemed to me it was more of an attack rather than providing constructive criticism."
"Well, that was part of the plan. I make you use your time on me as my personal tour guide just so I could be with you," Luca says, eyeing down the use of colour of the portrait. "And to ask you if you were free tomorrow night."
There it was, the point. Teresa was more than ready to smack the hell out of a total stranger before she could get ahold of authorities, but she could now barely hold a steady breath. The room suddenly felt still, even the temperature to keep the air tight drew goosebumps on her skin. Were her ears clogged, or was this man that was at first giving her a hard time, asking her out on a date?
"I'm sorry?"
"I’m Luca Changretta, by the way." He took off his fedora hat so he held it against his chest. Dark hair, slicked back. "A whole half hour has gone by, one more and you get paid another forty bucks."
"Well," Teresa bit her lip. "You came off as if you were only here to buy my workplace, and what makes this workplace the way it is. I don't know you, and I don't think you'd want to take me out."
"Why is that? You keep a tight schedule? So do I."
"It's not that. I mean, I do. But I think you'd grow bored of me within the first hour of spending time with me.“
"Like I said, Miss Griffith. I'm a lover of theatre. We met half an hour ago and I’m far more interested in you than what makes your workplace the way it is,” he shamelessly repeated her words. ”And I plan on taking you out to the grand theatre to see the performers put on a show, a moving painting. To me it's New York's grimy perspective, but set here in Penarth.”
Teresa tensed up when she felt her cheeks flush a bright red.
"Whaddaya say?" Luca smiles. "One date."
After all, she booked Monday off tomorrow to get a head start on coordinating future events, but maybe she’ll use that freebie to see a show with a handsome man.
“Sure,” she nodded.
+ pls be mindful that my pinch of knowledge of italian in this chapter/story overall isn’t gonna be fluent, so pls bare w/ me! —mk.
39 notes · View notes
Text
Of Lattes and Lingerie- Adrienette Coffee Shop AU Chapter 3
A few quick notes about this, if you’re interested in being added to the taglist please let me know via replies or dm me. Its really encouraging when people tell you they actually want to keep up with your stories. 
If you haven’t already, you should read the first two parts
1. and 2.
Also, if you’re on desktop, you should check out blog’s home page because I updated the theme (not my code but there’s a link that gives credit to the creator) and it looks dope as shit. I added links to all my original work (art and fics alike) so if you’re interested in that kind of thing, check it out.
I am gonna add a few end notes to this as well regarding the actual content so I’m not giving spoilers at the beginning. Please forgive me because it took a lot of effort to write this. I hate setting up plots (part oft he reason I’ve never really attempted to publish a fic) but I’m really excited to get into the nitty gritty which should start in the next chapter.
TAGLIST
@catsssmeow
 Marinette thought she was going to fall over and die. Her face was blazing, her eyes were wide and when she opened her mouth, all she could manage was a squeak.
“WHAT?!”
She was back at the office again with Audrey and she had never been more thankful to be sitting down in a chair.
“Marinette, the fact of the matter is we don’t have enough models booked for the event and you’re the perfect size. We just need one and quite frankly I’m tired of the agency we’ve been using. So the obvious solution is to use you.”
“But I’m not a model! Audrey you know how clumsy I am! And I can’t wear lingerie! In Public! I’ll die!” Audrey rolled her eyes.
“Don’t be a prude Marinette. You designed them; you can wear them. Besides. I’m not asking. You owe me for the fiasco that was yesterday. Don’t think I didn’t notice that your assistant is still here. Even you can handle walking down a catwalk for 2 minutes without falling over. We’ll practice.”
Marinette was now positive she would fall over and die.
The ringing of Adrien’s phone never surprised him. It was common for his phone to ring regularly throughout the day, whether it be work, or Chloe or Nino, there always seemed to be someone that urgently needed to talk to him about something that was never really urgent. No, the ringing was unsurprising. What was surprising however was the Caller ID when Adrien picked up the phone. Adrien nearly dropped it when he looked.
GABRIEL AGRESTE
Adrien paced anxiously around his bedroom, thumb hovering over the red button. He didn’t know if he was ready to confront his father. About anything. He had almost been relieved lately that his father had decided to just ignore him. It had let his anxiety just kind of creep around in the background where Adrien could pretend it wasn’t there. But Adrien knew that he had to speak to his father eventually and it had already been weeks. So with a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and hit the answer button.
“Hello? Father?” Adrien winced at the frantic sound of his voice.
“Adrien. It’s Natalie. Your father would like for you to come home to discuss a few matters with you.” Adrien rolled his eyes.
“I don’t suppose he could’ve called me himself to tell me that.”
“Your father is very busy. He has a very important show coming up.”
“Yeah, yeah, when does he want me to come?”
“Tonight. 5:30. He’d like to have dinner with you.”
“I guess there’s a first for everything. Tell him I’ll be there.” The phone clicked. She had hung up. Natalie never had been one for pleasantries. Adrien groaned as he flopped backward onto his bed. Just like that, his anxiety had leapt to the foreground and bitch slapped Adrien, as if to say Don’t forget about me fucker.
While realistically, Adrien knew there was nothing his father could hold over his head, he still felt like his freedom was about to be yanked from his fingers as quickly as he’d grasped it.
“Alya, what the hell am I gonna do?” It had been four hours since Marinette had gotten the news and she was still frantic. Alya on the other hand was thoroughly amused.
“Think of this as an opportunity. You can show the world that you can do it all.” It took everything Alya had not to laugh into the phone.
“But I can’t do it all! I can’t just walk across a stage in underwear! I can’t even walk across a stage with clothes on!” Marinette was speaking in hushed tones. She had walked into Dunn’s and she was sure she didn’t want anyone to overhear her predicament. She knew all too well how easy (and fun) it was to eavesdrop in a small coffee shop.
“With a little practice, I’m sure you can pull it off. You just have to be in the right mindset! You’re the most stubborn person I know Marinette, if you tell yourself you’re gonna do it, then you’ll figure out a way to do it.” Marinette put her free hand over her face and groaned as she walked to the coffee line.
“This is a disaster.”
“I guess it’s a triple shot of espresso kind of day huh?”  Marinette’s head immediately snapped up to see Tim staring at her expectantly from behind the counter. Marinette flushed as she approached, pulling her wallet out of her purse.
“I’m gonna let you go Alya, talk to you later.”
“Bye girl!” Marinette hung up the phone and looked back at Tim.
“It’s a little embarrassing how well you know me,” she grumbled, throwing a wad of cash onto the counter.
“You learn a lot about a person from their coffee habits,” Tim teased. He counted her cash and handed her the change.
“I’ll bring it out when its ready.”
“Thanks,” Marinette said unenthusiastically. As she walked back to her usual spot, she glanced around. She was disappointed to see that there was no cute blond boy in sight. Nothing to distract her from her thoughts. Not even a project. God, she’d give anything for a project right now. She was spiraling. Contemplating if she really needed a job. Maybe she could just be homeless. Live under a bridge. Beg people for money and then impulsively spend it on coffee. Maybe she could move back home and work in the bakery, forever a failure. That sounded nice.
When Tim handed her the coffee, she took it in her hands and leaned back in her seat with a long deep sigh. She had no idea what the hell she was gonna do.
Adrien subconsciously chewed on his lip as he stared at the gate in front of his father’s house. He was definitely not ready for this. He prayed to every god he could think of that at the very least, the night wouldn’t end with death. On second thought, maybe that was too much to ask for.
“Come in Adrien.” Natalie’s robotic voice emanating from the comm system brought Adrien out of his thoughts. He approached hesitantly as the gates opened. He paused at the front door, thinking for just a moment about running away. Locking himself in his apartment with Plagg and never leaving again. Living off Camembert and tap water. Becoming the reclusive cat lady of floor three. That sounded nice.
The front door opened, and Adrien sighed as he walked in.
“Hello Adrien.”
“Hi Natalie. Is my father here?” Natalie gave a curt nod.
“He should be downstairs shortly. He’s finishing up a conference call. He asks that you wait for him at the dinner table.” Adrien nodded and walked back to the dining room. He suddenly felt massively uncomfortable. He took a seat in his old spot at the table and glanced around with uncertainty. This wasn’t his house anymore. So sitting alone in a room, of a house he didn’t live in (or feel welcome in for that matter), made Adrien feel out of place.
“I apologize, I was taking care of some business.” Adrien looked up to see his father entering the room. He sat at the opposite end of the table.
“Oh, uh its alright father,” Adrien stuttered. This was so awkward. He had no idea what to say.
“Um, what did you want to talk to me about?” He finally said.
“I have a proposal.” Adrien stiffened a little. He did not like where this was going at all.
“Okay,” he said cautiously. Gabriel cleared his throat.
“I understand why you want to move out. You were right when you said you were an adult and you are able to make your own decisions.” Adrien was holding his breath. He had no idea where this was going but he was grateful at the very least that there was no yelling. That seemed like it should be a good sign.
“However, you still have a responsibility to your family.”
“What the hell does that even mean,” Adrien thought to himself.
“What exactly are you suggesting father?”
“I want you to publicly support the Gabriel Brand.  You would appear at my events and conduct yourself in a way that upholds our public image. Understand that this means you’d still have to behave in any public setting, not just professional events. I will not hear of my son acting like a rebellious teenager. In return, I will respect the professional decisions and leave you to do as you please, within reason, without complaint. Put simply, respect my career and I’ll respect yours.”
“How do my actions affect your public image?” Adrien asked sourly. He crossed his arms.
“Because you are my son and whether you like it or not, everything you do reflects on me. And in my industry every reflection of me matters, whether it be my work or the actions of my son.”
Adrien sat in silence for a long time, contemplating. On the one hand, his father wasn’t really in a position to make demands. The only thing Gabriel really had to offer Adrien at all was his approval. On the other hand, Gabriel was still his father and as much as Adrien hated it, his fathers’ approval was still very important to him. It occurred to Adrien that if he wanted any kind of positive relationship with his father, this was really the best-case scenario.
As dinner was being served, Adrien began to weigh the pros and cons of “supporting” the Gabriel brand. For instance, since he was no longer modeling, he’d actually be able to enjoy the food at his father’s events, which meant that he might be able to actually enjoy the even itself. He wouldn’t really be working as much as socializing and honestly, Adrien could really use socialization. But Adrien didn’t like the way his father threw in the part about “public image.” He hated saving face for the sake of the media and one of the best parts about quitting the whole modeling thing was that he didn’t have to think constantly about every public decision he made and how the media would portray it. There was a little less pressure in this new scenario but not by much.
Gabriel ate quietly, glancing at Adrien every so often, trying to decipher his thoughts. Adrien had always worn his heart on his sleeve but the conflict in his face made it clear to Gabriel that Adrien was wrestling with his decision. After nearly ten minutes of silence, Gabriel spoke up.
“You don’t have to answer me today.” Adrien glanced up from his meal.
“Okay father.”
“But I’d like an answer soon,” Gabriel said. Adrien winced.
“How soon?”
“I have a very important show next month and I’d like to know whether to reserve you a seat by next week.” Adrien nodded.
“I understand.”
Next Chapter
I fuckin suck at ending chapters I’m sorry, I’m working on it.
Can you see where I’m going with the fashion show? Foreshadowing brings me great joy. Even if its not subtle. 
I’m not sure if you guys picked up on it but I’ve decided to write Adrien as very anxious because I feel like thats what comes with having a dad thats super over protective in the way that Gabriel is. If anyone feels like I’ve written Adrien in such a way where I need to put trigger warnings please let me know. I don’t know if I’m going to go in a direction thats so dark that its necessary, but I also like characters with actual dimension so I guess we’ll see how it goes. 
Anywhoo thanks for reading!
22 notes · View notes
yunhostinyuyu · 3 years
Text
broken and fixed - part 03
pairing: roommate!doyoung vs friend!taeil x original female character (ft. haechan & taeyong)
genre: roommate!au, work!au, social media!au-ish, fluff, angst, eventual smut
wc: 2.1k
synopsis: kang haneul is desperately looking for a way out of her home. as one of her best friends suggests a friend who is currently looking for a new roommate, a new and better chapter in her life begins. or so she thought...
warning: suggestive, mentions of abuse, panic attack, weed (for medical reasons)
Tumblr media
“How many more boxes do you have? I don’t recall you having this much stuff! And why again is everything so heavy?” Donghyuck complained as he lifted another one of Haneul’s moving boxes. Drops of sweat already rolling from his forehead down to his cheekbones. “Quit whining big baby and get to work!” Mina scolded the younger boy as she grabbed a smaller box.
“We’re almost done...” Haneul explained as she kicked the door to her new room open and scanned all the labelled boxes with her belongings. She quietly counted as the three of them put thier boxes down, but can’t get rid of the feeling that she forgot something. “So these are the last ones.” Mina said and rubbed her red hands together. But as Hanuel looked around, she finally notices what’s missing.
“Wait, where’s my keyboard?”
“You didn’t bring it? Because I don’t remember loading it into my car...” Donghyuck commented. Haneul now remembers at how the piano is still at her parents home. She forgot to pack it because it was stored away on top of her wardrobe.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed loudly at the realisation, “I gotta go back to get it, I forgot... Fucking Shit!” she deeply growled. “I’d say that’s typical for you but I think you already know that.” Hyuck said, but was hit by a halfhearted slap from Haneul. He apologized “I’m sorry, I will go back with you to pick it up. Let’s go...”
“No, I can handle it. I still have my keys so I can just slip through for a minute and sneak out again. I’ll be fine, you guys should start getting ready for later.” Hanuel told her friends. Mina’s phone rang and she got startled as she saw the caller ID , “It’s my sister, I gotta run! But see you later!”. She placed a quick kiss on Haneul’s cheek and a slap on Donghyuck’s shoulder before she accepted the call. “Oww! She always does that!” He complained at Mina’s attack as she ran out the door. Right as the front door shut close, Doyoung’s head peeked out of the shared living room. That’s the second time he checked in on Haneul’s moving activities that day, earlier offering his help and letting them know he has friends over. So in case they are being to loud, he said she shouldn’t shy away from telling them to ‘tone it down’, as Doyoung put it into words.
“Everything okay?” He asked, a little concerned. He probably heard the cursing and Mina’s not-so-silent foot steps as she stormed out just a second ago. Hyuck shakes his head and she follows along, linking her hands behind her back in an effort to stretch them, as they stood in the hallways right out of Haneul’s doorframe.
“Yes! Don’t worry Hyung, we are about done.” Hyuck said first. “I’ll have to drop off one more thing in about twenty minutes and then I’m finished.” Haneul added and plastered a smile across her face.
“Yeah, no worries. Just wanted to check in.” Doyoung answered and already turned on his heel to open the living room door once again. As the door was wide open however, Hyuck spotted two new figures in the room and was quick to recognise one of them:
“Hey! Taeyong!” Oh oh. That name rang a bell in Haneul’s mind. Is he that ex of his sister? The one who’s room she is moving into right now? The look on her face froze, but only until they heard the slim figure yell back.
“Is that Donghyuck? What are you of all people doing here?” The boy walked out of the living room into the hallway and towards the younger boy. He was really skinny had had distinctive facial features, topped with platinum white hair, which was pushed back, with some strands of hair hanging out loosely.
“Oh just spending my precious time helping my friend...” Hyuck said, smiling, while fist bumping him. Taeyong quickly turned to face her and offered a handshake. “It’s nice to meet you! I’m Taeyong, Youngies former roommate.” The new face introduced himself, and Haneul shook his hand firmly.
“Nice to meet you too, I’m the new roommate of Doyoung, but you probably knew that.” She said, but then spotted another new face enter and slip past Doyoung, who was trying his hardest to hide his discomfort about this friends meeting Haneul. But he couldn’t do anything about it now. The nameless guy was shorter than the other two, but not by much. He had a round face with very plump lips and eyes she could loose herself in if she wasn’t careful, sparkling brightly. He was fast to stand next to his bright haired friend, his own brown, short locks looking awfully fluffy.
“We knew that, but we don’t know what your name is, beautiful? I’m Taeil.”
So now, when she first met Doyoung, she thought he was really attractive, but with the flirty boy who was now right in front of her, she had to correct her previous thought. His gaze almost made her drool. Thankfully, she could contain herself enough to shake his hand aswell and give him a genuine smile. “I’m Haneul” was all she could say before Donghyuck interrupted.
“Why don’t you guys join us later? Well be heading to a few bars downtown.” he suggested and Doyoung immidiatly cut right through.
“Maybe another time, but thanks for the offer.” the black haired man said and disappeared back into the living room now, hoping his friends would do the same. The both shoot a certain look to each other, thanked for the invitation and left to join Doyoung in the living room and went back to whatever it is they have been doing before. “Suit yourselves.” Hyuck dismissed the topic.
Haneul took her bag from her room and left together with Donghyuck. Her hands started to get clammy from the thought of having to go ‘home’ for one more time. Already running through all the worst case scenarios as she unlocked her car, which was parked right across Donghyuck’s. “Hey,” he spoke softly and she turned around to face her best friend again. He was just standing there with his arms spread out, offering a big hug. This was so rare coming from him, but nonetheless she put her arms around his back and let herself be pulled into his warm and cuddly embrace.
“I’m proud of you, Noona.” He whispered after a few seconds. “Don’t get all sappy now! Thank you Hyuckie, and I’ll see you later, yeah? Gotta make sure you look good so you get layed.” she joked when she pulled away from the younger man. Even if the older one enjoyed moments like these, she can’t handle them without getting either sarcastic or defensive.
“What do you mean? I always look good?”
“I will see you later! Bye now or I won’t make it in time” she swiftly dismissed his accusation and entered her car.
Nervosity starting to run through her veins as she got closer and closer to her parents home. Maybe she should have asked Hyuck or Mina to go with her, but now it’s too late. She didn’t talk with her parents about her plans to move out. To be honest, she didn’t talk with them at all, unless she was subject to her mother’s hits and unfiltered, rude words targeted at thier only daughter. The chance that they have caught up on what has happened already are pretty slim, since she wasn’t home all day and, obviously, all of her stuff is gone. Memories of the last incident with her crossed her mind again, and she really tried her hardest to keep that thought out of her mind. Focused on the street, the memories still stayed there and didn’t want to budge only an inch, which really made the young girl ache.
On the doorstep, her shaking hands tried to unlock the door as quiet as possible. The door opened itself slowly, and she stayed silent to listen for any sign of her parents. But no - there was only silence and everything was dark. The rooms she was living in all her life until now looked strange. They felt foreign, even if today was only the first day she officially moved out. It felt foreign, and it left a bitter taste in Haneul’s mouth.
Taking a chance, she dashed into her old bedroom, where her piano keyboard was stored. She hurriedly pulled it out from above her old wardrobe, balancing it as good as she could and put it into its cover. Without another thought she held it tightly against her chest and ran back out of the door. Everything happened in the span of only a minute, because Haneul was scared and the adrenaline made her act quicker than usual. But she was quick enough, and put the keyboard carefully in the trunk of her car.
„So that‘s it?“
Haneul froze, still facing the trunk of her car before slowly turning around to look at the source of the voice.
„What does it matter to you?“ she spat, quite surprised she managed not to break down right then and there.
„You‘re my daughter, a quick goodbye wouldn’t have hurt, huh? Tell me, who are you running away with?“ it‘s quite ironic, because it would infact have hurt.
„None of your fucking business. I‘m off now.“ Haneul spoke with as much force as possible, slamming the trunk shut and slowly walking around the car to get in the driverseat.
Her mother just scoffed. „Your attitude will never change, you stupid whore. Don‘t show your disgusting face around here ever again.“
Haneul swallowed hard, hand around the car door handle, but not get pushing it.
„Don‘t worry, you won‘t.“
And with that she drove away, back to her new home. Not having to deal with this mess ever again.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
„Is she single? Do you know anything about that?“ Taeil asked, as the three freinds sat back down on the couch, curious about the new girl he had just layed his eyes on.
Doyoung didn’t answer, he only rolled his eyes as he stared back on his phone screen. Scanning Haneul‘s Instagram profile again and again in search of anything new, something she didn’t tell him or he didn’t find out about.
Tumblr media
She was so interesting to him, but he would never admit it.
„Doyoung?“ Taeyong nudged his friend to pull him out of his thoughts, quickly shutting his phone.
„What? I‘m not helping Taeil, he can figure that out on his own.“ he huffed, clearly annoyed. Even if they were his best friends, they all had thier needs. And normally would help each other out to get what they desired, as in helping each other to get layed. But he really didn’t want them to be involved with his new roommate out of all people.
„Why are you so sour about this? I wouldn’t fuck her here if that’s what you’re so worried about.“
„No, because you won’t be fucking her at all. She‘s my roommate, there’s no need to involve her in anything just because you can’t keep it in your pants for once! There‘s plenty of fish in the sea.“ Doyoung answered and was met with an intense stare of his older friend.
„These are bold words coming from you.“ Taeil said, softly. „Somethings bothering you, and I don’t think it has to do with Haneul.“
„Ah, I don’t know, I‘m just... tired?“ the slim man uttered as he rubbed his temples with his and squeezed his eyes shut. Normally he would hit himself for saying stupid a things like ‘there are plenty of fish in the sea’, because he really didn’t think so. He only said it to distract himself from former memories. And that could also be the reason he’s constantly looking at Haneuls Social Media. To distract himself from the bitterness.
„Come on, we‘ll get something in your system.“
2 notes · View notes
theladyofdeath · 5 years
Text
Lovely {ACOTAR, CH3}
written alongside the lovely and talented @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty . Look for chapter 4 coming soon. :) for previous chapters, click the link:  Lovely
Tumblr media
Azriel had changed his shirt three times. They were all in black, but different styles. He settled for a long sleeved Henley, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. When he looked at himself once more in the mirror, he took a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. His hair was still sticking up in countless directions. With a curse, he raked a hand through the dark, messy mop on the top of his head and began searching for his keys.
He debated on throwing a beanie on to cover his wavy hair, but didn’t want to look like a bum. Not on a date with a goddess.
He still hadn’t planned what he was going to do, where they were going to go. He was too nervous to think about it. He’d toyed with the idea of getting her flowers, but would a florist really want flowers?
He groaned, looking down at his black jeans and black shoes. She was beautiful and bright. How was he ever going to live up to her?
He was done overthinking. He grabbed his keys off the top of the microwave and his phone from the counter before scurrying out the door.
He’d washed his car earlier that morning. He figured she wouldn’t want to ride in the truck again. He checked her texts one more time to verify her address, typed it into his gps and was on his way.
His phone began to ring and he answered it before looking at the caller ID.
“This is Az.”
“Hey, I need you to come get Asher tonight instead of tomorrow.”
Her voice set him on edge and he began to grind his teeth.
He debated on telling her no. That he had plans.
But he didn’t want to give up a chance to see Asher.
“Okay. I’ll be there in five minutes,” he said, and hung up the phone without another word.
He found Elain’s number and pressed it, hesitantly.
“Hi,” she answered, and she sounded a bit breathless. “Are you here? I wasn’t expecting you for another 20 minutes.”
“No, no, not yet,” he replied. “You’ve still got time, don’t worry, but uhm…” He trailed off. “There’s been a slight change of plans.” He waited, wanting to see if she’d say anything. She didn’t. “My ex-.” She wasn’t his ex, just a one night stand that ended in the most unexpected surprise of his life. “Asher’s mom just called. She needs me to take him tonight.”
“Oh,” Elain said, voice a bit deflated. “That’s fine I understand, we can go out another night-.”
“No, I wanted to know if you minded if I brought him.” He quickly added, “If that’s okay, I mean.”
She immediately perked up. “No, that’s completely fine. I love babies. It doesn’t mess up your plans for us, does it?”
He tried not to think about the fact that he didn’t have a plan yet, but she didn’t need to know that. “No, not at all. I have to pick him up from her, but then I’ll come to get you. I’ll probably be there about 7:30?”
“Sounds good,” she said, and he could tell she was genuine. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay,” he breathed, not realizing he’d been so nervous. “Bye.”
“Bye, Az.”
The line went dead and he slipped his phone back onto his dash as he pulled into the upper class neighborhood.
She still lived with her parents, and he knew that they were really the ones supporting his son when he wasn’t around. He parked the car and dashed up the driveway, glad that he hadn’t thought to take Asher’s carseat out of the backseat. Knocking on the door, he leaned back on his heels waiting for someone to answer.
Her father opened the door and sneered at him.
“Can I help you, Azriel?”
He watched as his eyes roved over him, at his all black attire, at the tattoos visible on his arms and chest, at the piercing in his nose.
Azriel gazed at the man with the same amount of disdain in his hazel eyes. “I’m here to pick up my son.”
“It’s not your night to have him.”
The sound of clicking heels came down the curved staircase behind them. She appeared before them, wearing a skirt so short, even Azriel felt the need to avert his eyes. Asher was in one arm, her phone dangling from her hand, his diaper bag in the other.
Her father asked, “Ianthe, what’s going on?”
“I’m going out,” she said. “Azriel is keeping Asher overnight.”
“He is?” Her father snapped, the same time Azriel asked, “I am?”
Overnight.
He’d never kept him overnight.
“Yeah,” she said, meeting them at the door. “You’ve got a crib, right?”
He did. He had an entire nursery in his home for his son, one that he’d never slept in. He nodded.
“Great, he’ll want a bottle at some point, but don’t worry, he’ll let you know when he’s hungry.” She leaned toward him, letting him take Asher from her arms. “I packed his formula in the bag, and it’s got the instructions, so I’m sure even you can handle it.”
Azriel was seething, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just nodded.
Ianthe’s father had walked away, when she’d come downstairs, no doubt heading to find out if his wife knew of this.
After she handed him the diaper bag, she stepped back and looked at him, just like her father had done moments before. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“That’s none of your concern because clearly, your plans are more important than mine,” he said, adjusting his hold on Asher. The baby was babbling as he patted Azriel’s face.
Her teal eyes were lit up. “Oh, do you have a date, Azriel?” Her voice came out in a purr. Her fingers lightly brushed his abdomen through his shirt.
Azriel kissed Asher’s cheek as he said, “Goodnight, Ianthe. Try not to do anything too stupid.”
He took a step back, retreating to the driveway while Asher clung to the collar of Azriel’s shirt.
“Bye, Ashy!” Ianthe called. “Mommy loves you.”
Even the word mommy on her mouth made Azriel nauseous.
After buckling him in, chuckling as he noticed the tiny pair of black shoes were identical to the ones on his own feet, he backed out of the driveway and headed for Elain’s house.
He parked in the driveway, turned back to look at Asher in the mirror above his car seat, and watched as his son giggled as he reached for the toys hanging in front of him. “Be good tonight, yeah? Daddy really likes this girl.”
Asher spit up, completely soaking his bib.
Sighing, Azriel hurried around to the backseat, changed Asher’s bib, and brought him up to the front door. He knocked, trying to control his nerves.
“Coming!” He heard from the other side of the door, just before the door swung open and she graced him with her presence.
She smiled. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Azriel said, bouncing Asher. “Sorry about the change of plans.”
Her smile was kind when she said, “Don’t apologize. Really. It’s okay.” She was wearing a dusty pink dress, which showed off her long, tanned legs.
“You look… Wow.” He really was speechless.
She blushed and looked down. “Thank you.”
He continued to stare, loving the way the blush looked against her skin. Then he realized how creepy he was being, cleared his throat and asked, “Are you ready? Or do you need a minute? I’m sorry we were so late.”
She grabbed her purse off the hook by the front door and smiled, “I’m ready when you two are.”
He stepped back and watched her lock her front door before following them to his car. He opened the passenger door.
“Thank you,” she smiled, slipping into the front seat.
Azriel rebuckled Asher into his car seat before getting into his own seat, starting the car, and backing out of her driveway.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat. Have anything in mind?” She asked.
He had earlier in the evening. The new Italian place that opened in the Artist Quarter, but it was far too nice to bring a 6-month-old baby who was most likely going to start screaming halfway through the meal. An idea struck him. “Have you ever been to Rita’s?”
Though it was a bar he and his friends frequented, they also had an adjoining restaurant that was much more family friendly. The atmosphere is why people went to Rita’s, the food is why they stayed.
Her brows lifted. “No, but I hear it’s great.”
Azriel smiled. “Perfect.”
It was a nice night. The sun had yet to sink behind the Sidra, but it had cooled down as the day went on.
Azriel was having a hard time starting a conversation. Small talk had never been his strong suit.
He parked the car and unbuckled Asher’s car seat, noticing he had dozed off and not wanting to wake him. He adjusted it so he could carry it by the handles and they started for the restaurant. He heard Elain gasp as they rounded the front of the building.
The restaurant sat on the edge of the Sidra and the sky was every shade of the rainbow. Pinks and yellows and blues and oranges. It was beautiful over the water, the bridge silhouetted by the sun.
“It’s absolutely gorgeous,” she breathed.
The sunlight glinted off her hair and her eyes sparkled as she looked into the sun. The blush was still high on her cheeks. The smile on her face was dazzling. He couldn’t tear her eyes from her as he said, “Yes, it is.”
The stain on her cheeks deepened as she bowed her head and walked into Rita’s.
Azriel hadn’t been out on a date in a long time. Even with Ianthe, it hadn’t been a date, just a big, long nightmare.
He glanced down at the car seat. Asher was sound asleep.
“How many?” The hostess asked.
“Two and a baby,” Elain smiled.
They followed the hostess through the restaurant until they were out on the balcony, sitting at a table in the corner. She brought them a stand for the car seat and set down their menus. After telling them their server would be right with them she left.
The view of the Sidra was even more beautiful than before, and Elain couldn’t keep her eyes off of it. If for the only reason than it kept her from having to stare at the handsome man in front of her.
His hair was messy and though she’d always dated sharp, clean cut men, she had to admit that the way his waves fell where they wanted was attractive to her. The way his tattoos were peeking out from the top of his shirt was mesmerizing. He wasn’t her usual type at all and Elain was excited by that.
Their server came over and took their drink order and asked if they wanted an appetizer, and after they declined, she looked over at Asher, still soundly asleep. She looked at Elain and asked, “How old is he? He’s absolutely precious.”
Elain hesitated. “Oh, I, um-“
“Six months,” Azriel smiled, looking at Elain as he spoke. “Almost seven.”
“He’s adorable,” the server smiled, not even noticing Elain’s discomfort.
“Thank you,” Azriel said, inclining his head.
She left and Elain shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel blinked. “For what?”
“This must be awkward for you,” she said, “if people think I’m his mother.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, it’s fine. In case you haven’t noticed, his mother and I aren’t on the best terms.”
“Why?” Elain asked, then quickly added, “Don’t feel like you have to tell me, only if you want to.”
“No, it’s fine.” He looked at his son, sleeping in the seat next to him. “Asher wasn’t exactly planned. And I didn’t exactly know his mother.”
She asked, “You mean you hadn’t been together long?”
“No,” he said, cringing slightly. “I mean I didn’t exactly know her before the night Asher was conceived.”
Elain’s eyes opened in surprise and her cheeks were burning once again. A one-night stand. She breathed, “Oh.”
“That’s not like me,” he followed, quickly. “I mean, I’m not one to do those kind of things. That has been my only one night stand, a lot of alcohol was involved...it's not my proudest moment.” His eyes softened when he looked back down at Asher. “But I’d do it again. If it led me to him.”
Elain’s face had softened and she looked at Asher, too. She ran a careful finger over his cheek, his skin soft to the touch. “I can tell how much you love him.”
His eyes hadn’t left his son’s face. “He’s my whole world. Everything I do, I do for him.”
Their server brought their drinks and they ordered their food, falling into a comfortable silence. Elain couldn’t help but stare at Asher, marveling at him. “He looks so much like you.”
It was Azriel’s turn to blush. “Yeah, he does. He got his mom’s lips though.”
It was true. Elain noticed that his full lips did not match those on Azriel’s face. Azriel’s lips were a bit thinner than his son’s, no less kissable though-.
Elain coughed as she was taking a sip of water, stopping her thoughts in their tracks.
As she coughed, Asher woke up and began to cry.
“Shit, are you okay?” Azriel asked, eyes on Elain, even as he carefully lifted Asher out of the carrier. He soothed almost the second he was nestled in his father’s arms.
“Yeah,” she coughed out, eyes watering. “I just…wrong pipe.”
Azriel nodded, still watching her to be sure.
Elain took another drink, and when her voice was back to normal, she asked, “Does he stay with you often?”
Azriel shook his head. “No, it’s actually my first time having him overnight. His mother is...difficult. But, I’m excited.”
Elain smiled. “I love babies. I’ve always wanted a big family.”
Azriel raised a brow. “Yeah?”
Elain was pretty sure her face was eventually going to ignite into flames from all the blushing she was doing. “Yeah. I’ve always been close to my sisters. I think a big family would be nice. Someday. With someone.”
Azriel laughed softly, at her nervous chatter. “I agree. I never had any brothers or sisters. A few half brothers, but...well, they’re no good. My friends have always been like family to me, though, and I agree. That bond is important.”
She nodded and watched as Asher grabbed at the open collar of Azriel’s shirt. His phone went off and flipped it over on the table, allowing the screen to light up. He groaned. “That’s his mom, do you mind?”
Elain shook her head. “No, of course not. I’ll actually run to the restroom, I’ll be back.”
Azriel smiled and nodded gratefully as Elain picked up her purse and sipped inside the doors.
“Yes?” He answered, not bothering with pleasantries.
“Ooh, she’s pretty, Az.”
He immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Did you follow me here?”
“It’s just a happy coincidence,” she purred. “It’s clear that I’m not welcome at The Sultry Bat anymore. I had to find a new place to hang out. Lucky for me, you’re here, too.”
“Leave me alone, Ianthe,” he snapped. “If you ruin this night for me, I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” she crooned. “Everything you do determines how much time you spend with our son.”
Our. Azriel wanted to puke.
“What do you want?” he asked through gritted teeth.
“Can’t I just call and say hi to my baby daddy?”
“Are you drunk?” Azriel asked. “Shit, Ianthe, the sun hasn’t even set yet.”
She laughed. “Be careful with her tonight, Az. You’re awfully fertile.”
This.
This was the mother of his child.
He hung up as Elain was walking back out. “Is everything okay?”
He was tense, too tense. She would be able to tell something was wrong. Still, he lied and said, “Yeah, she was just calling to check on him.”
Elain smiled and said, “That was sweet of her. I’m sure it’s hard, but she only wants what’s best for him, right?”
Azriel only nodded, though it was a worse lie than the one he’d just told, and carefully laid Asher back into his carrier. He tried not to make it obvious as he looked around the restaurant, into the windows and through the door when it opened and their food was dropped off.
The conversation was easy between them. He asked more about her sisters and she told him about them. He decided before she’d finished telling a story he didn’t want to meet her hellcat of an older sister. She asked about his shop, when he’d opened it, how he got into tattooing. He’d asked if she had any tattoos and she immediately started shaking her head.
“Why not?” He asked, taking a bite of his burger.
“My mother would roll over in her grave, she never liked them. She’d be scandalized to know Nesta has one, though she only got it because our mother hated them.”
He laughed and said, “If you ever change your mind, I might know a guy who will give you your first one for free.” His hazel eyes were sparkling again, the frustration of whatever Asher’s mother had said leaving him.
Her eyes went wide. “Really? Are you serious?”
Her enthusiasm made his smile widen. “Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. I’ve done some nice flower pieces I could show you.”
Before Elain could open her mouth to reply, Asher began to cry. A much different cry from the one when Elain had woken him up.
“Shit, he’s hungry,” Azriel said, wiping his hands on his jeans, but Elain was already up, lifting him out of the carried. Azriel stopped and watched her.
“Does he have a bottle?” She asked, carefully patting his back as she bounced him.
Azriel checked in his diaper bag, reading the canister. There was a bottle prefilled and all he had to do was mix in the formula. He was shocked by Ianthe’s care in doing that for him. After adding the powder and shaking it up he reached for Asher.
“No, you eat, I can feed him.” She was smiling and the tone in her voice was so genuine that he didn’t fight her and handed her the bottle. She sat back in her chair and cradled Asher in her arms.
She was so natural with him. It wasn’t a shock that she wanted a large family. She would be the best mother.
Azriel didn’t eat another bite. Instead, he watched her. Asher liked her, too. His eyes fluttered shut as he ate, his little fingers grasping her dress.
Azriel could get used to this.
____
Feyre loved the farmers market right when it opened in the morning.
There was something about the fresh air, the risen sun that wasn’t too hot yet, and the people just coming in to see what they could find.
Tamlin knew that she had been trying to sell her art at the market lately. Hopefully he wouldn’t try and come.
She hadn’t talked to him since his betrayal, since she’d told him that they were finished. She was sick of him, sick of how he treated her.
She deserved better than that.
A few people stopped by to look at her pieces, and a couple talked about commissioning to do a specific piece, but by lunch she hadn’t made a single sale. She let her head fall into her hands as she sat at the table behind her art and sighed.
“Feyre?”
Her head shot up. Rhys was standing there.
“Rhysand. Hey. Hi.” She stood. “What are you doing here?”
He held up a brown sack. “Lunch. Can’t say no to the food truck options so close to the bar.”
Her stomach decided to let her know that it knew it was lunch time, too. It had been a long few hours since she’d had her bagel and black coffee.
Rhys laughed. “If you can close up shop, have lunch with me. My treat.”
She knew she could, she’d gotten to know the neighboring stalls and knew they would keep a diligent eye on her art. But she wondered if she should. Even though Rhys wasn’t asking her on a date, it had still only been a few weeks since they’d broken up. She hesitated.
He raised a brow, sensing that hesitation. “I promise not to come on to you. Innocent lunch. I promise.”
Feyre let loose a slow, shaky laugh. “Alright. If you’re buying, I can’t say no.”
He grinned and Feyre couldn’t deny his beauty.
She told her friend in the stall next to her that she’d be gone for a half hour. It was an elderly man selling hand-woven tapestries. His name was Van, and Feyre had grown fond of him in recent weeks.
“Your work is amazing,” Rhys said as they began their walk to a row of food trucks. “How long have you been painting?”
“As long as I can remember,” she admitted, a small smile on her lips. “I’ve always loved it.”
“I’ll have to buy one that way I can say that I’ve got a ‘Feyre Archeron original’ from before you get famous.’
Feyre blushed. “Yeah, sure. Like that would happen.”
Rhys stopped walking as they reached the trucks. He noticed the look on her face, saw that she really believed the amazing artwork that he’d seen in her stall wasn’t remarkable. But he didn’t push her, because he knew he wouldn’t have wanted anyone pushing him.
“Pick your poison,” he said, gesturing to the options.
Feyre didn’t hesitate as she headed for the taco truck at the end.
She ordered three chicken tacos and a side of rice before joining him on a bench next to a fountain in the middle of the square.
“How long is your lunch?” she asked.
He shrugged. “As long as I want. The bar isn’t very busy at noon. So, what else do you do? Or, do you paint for a living?”
Feyre snorted. “I wish. I was going to school, but I stopped after this past semester. Decided it wasn’t for me. So, now I’m painting while living off my savings until I find a job.”
Rhys raised a brow. “The bar is hiring. You should come by.”
Feyre took a big bite of her taco before saying, “Oh, I’ve never served.”
“Well, if you can carry a tray full of food without dropping it, you’ve pretty much got all the credentials you need,” he said, laughing softly.
“I can’t make drinks,” she said matter of factly.
He smirked, “Oh, I’m a very good teacher, Feyre darling.”
Feyre only shook her head and continued to eat.
“Think about it,” he smiled. “You don’t have to, but if you need some spare cash, I could always use an extra set of hands.”
Feyre pursed her lips, taking a sip of her lemonade through her straw. “I’ll think about it.”
“Fair enough,” he said, and dove back into his sandwich.
They finished their food and made their way back to Feyre’s stall. She leaned on her table and gestured around. “Pick one. It’s the least I can do. You bought me lunch and you listened to me bitch that night. I appreciate it. It’s...been a long time since I’ve been able to talk to someone like that.”
“Any one I want?” He asked, taking a close look at each one.
Her eyes narrowed, watching the little grin he kept on his lips. “Yes.”
He stopped at a painting of the night sky above the Sidra and tilted his head. “I’d like this one. To hang in the bar.”
Her cheeks heated but she nodded. “It’s yours.”
He picked it up, carefully. “I don’t have any cash, but I’m paying for this.”
“I told you that it’s a gift.”
He met her eyes, his smile softening. “You’re good, Feyre. I was going to buy one, anyway. All of them, if I could.”
She looked at her hands, believing every word he was saying. “You’ve been too kind to me.”
“You deserve all the kindness, Feyre.”
When she looked back up, he was closer. Close enough that all it took was him simply reaching his arm out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.
A feeling of electricity shot through her as his fingertips skimmed her cheek.
“Let me wrap that for you,” she said breathlessly. She walked behind her table and pulled out a roll of brown packing paper. He handed her the painting and she carefully wrapped it, ensuring it would be protected in case of unexpected weather.
“I’ll see you later?” He asked, as she handed it back to him. She nodded. “Why don’t you come by the bar later? Pretty sure I can put in a good word with the owner for you.” He winked and damn her, she was blushing.
She watched him walked away, wrapped painting in his hands as he became lost in the sea of people.
“He likes you,” Van sang from behind his table of tapestries.
Feyre snapped out of her daze as she glanced at the elderly man. And she couldn’t stop her smile as she said, “Shut up, old man.”
______
Nesta walked down the hall of the music wing. Her heeled boots were clicking against the marble flooring as she walked, and she hoped the music was enough to drown out her approach.
As she got closer she realized how low the sound of the instruments was.
“Come on, guys,” she heard him say. “If you don’t play loud enough for me to hear, I don’t know if it’s being played right. Remember, if you’re gonna crash and burn, crash hard!”
She leaned on his door frame and cleared her throat. “Mr. Nazari?”
He glanced up and she watched the gleam enter his eye as he looked at her. She was wearing tight jeans, but a modest shirt. It didn’t stop his eyes from exploring and it didn’t stop her from feeling hot all over.
“Ms. Archeron,” he grinned. “Always a pleasure. How can I help you? My sixth grade percussion group was getting started on a new piece for the Autumn Concert.”
“They sound great,” Nesta said, smiling uncomfortably as the classroom glanced in their direction.
“Come to ask me to lunch?” he asked, sitting up on his desk with a head tilt.
Nesta’s cheeks burned. “No.” She heard a few of the students whispering and even a few giggles. “I need to ask you a favor. You have a free period after this?”
One of his eyebrows had raised and he nodded.
“Great. Come to my studio, please. I’ll see you then.”
He smirked and said, “It’s a date.”
Nesta scoffed and headed back towards the dance wing. She heard the music begin again as she was leaving the hall, much louder than before.
He had a lot of nerve.
Flirting with her like that was annoying in itself, but in front of a classroom full of students? So unprofessional.
The hour was almost up as Nesta fell back into her studio.
“Sorry about that,” Nesta said, watching her dancers go through the beginning of their practice routine once more. “Class is almost up. I’ll see you all again tomorrow and we’ll start on our recital piece, so review what we’ve been working on the last few days.” The bell rang and her students began gathering their belongings as she said, “Have a great day!”
She sat down at her desk and was looking at her planner for the upcoming weeks when he heard a light knock on the door. She looked up and found Cassian grinning at her as he leaned against the open door.
“So what exactly could you need me for, that requires me to come see you during our free period?” He winked. “Should I lock the door?”
She groaned and stood, snapping her planner shut. Not only were her classroom assignments in there, but so were her personal plans. He didn’t need to see those.
She leaned on one of the storage tables by the door. “Are any of your kids participating in the Autumn showcase? Your juniors?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not that I’m aware of. Most of mine hold out for the senior showcase in Spring.”
She nodded. She knew this from her own showcases in high school. The music kids had never participated in the autumn. “I need musicians. A few of my girls are dancing in the showcase and don’t want a track. I was wondering if you had any juniors or seniors who’d be willing to help for extra credit.”
Cassian began nibbling on his bottom lip, considering. “I have a few that I think might be interested.”
“Great,” Nesta said, “just have them come by-.”
“If you come with me to dinner on Friday night.”
Nesta blinked. “Sorry, What?”
“I’ll ask them if they’re interested if you come with me to dinner on Friday night.”
She wanted to slap that insufferable grin right off his face.
“You’re an ass,” she spat.
He just continued to grin at her.
She lifted her chin a little higher and said, “Fine.” The smug look of satisfaction faded when she said, “I’ll find my own musicians.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, Mr. Nazari, I am.” She turned to walk back to her desk, but suddenly his hand was gripping her wrist. His fingers were overlapped, and she still had room to wiggle free if she wanted, but she was struck by the size of his hand compared to her own.
His voice was near her ear as he said, “First of all, I’ve told you to call me Cassian. Preferably Cass. Secondly,” he took a step closer and she could feel the heat of his body. “It’s that bad? You really don’t want to go out with me that badly?”
She found herself reacting to his closeness and she was frozen in place. His hand on her wrist was warm. It was calloused from his years of playing so many instruments, but it was comforting on her own skin.
“I don’t need to give you the satisfaction of my presence in exchange for finding me musicians when I am perfectly capable of finding them myself,” she said, with a little less bite, her voice becoming quieter.
His fingers stayed around her wrist. He looked to his fingers, then back to her eyes. “Fair enough. I’ll ask some of my kids in my next period to come by after school. Then I’ll just take myself out Friday night.”
It was meant to be a joke, but his voice had lost its usual tone. It was far more...rough.
She swallowed. “Thank you.”
He nodded, finally letting her wrist go.
She walked back to her desk. She could feel his eyes on her every step of the way.
“If you change your mind,” he said, “I take lunch from 1:00 to 2:00.”
They had the same lunch period. She never ate anywhere but her studio, so she’d never known
“Thank you, Cassian,” she said, not turning around, laying her palms flat on the surface.
She heard his footsteps as he walked away.
Sighing, she dropped into her desk and heard her phone chirp from inside her desk. She opened the drawer she kept her purse in and fished it out. A text from Feyre lit up the screen.
What are you doing tonight?
She typed back a quick reply.
Nothing planned. I figured I’d work on the quizzes I’m giving next week on theory. Why?
The dots instantly appeared, letting her know her youngest sister was waiting for her reply.
You’re coming out with me and Elain. I have a new place for us to try, you’ll like it, I promise. It’s pretty low key.
Nesta rolled her eyes. Her sisters knew she didn’t go out on weeknights.
Can’t.
She knew Feyre wouldn’t take that for an answer, though. You’re coming. Me and Elain will pick you up at eight.
And that was that. She tossed her phone back into her desk.
At exactly 7:59, Nesta heard a knocking on her door. Before she could even leave her kitchen, the door opened and Elain and Feyre were coming in.
“Are you ready?” Elain called, rounding the corner. Her eyes widened as she saw the half empty wine glass already in Nesta’s hand. “Or you got started without us.”
She shrugged as she took a sip. “Just in case I don’t like the wine choices. Where are we going again?”
She was asking Elain, but she was engrossed in a text that had just come through on her phone and was completely ignoring Nesta.
Feyre rolled her eyes. “She met someone, in case you couldn’t tell. And it’s called the Sultry Bat. I met the owner a few weeks ago. He’s nice. I promised him I’d come in tonight, so I’m dragging you two with me.”
Nesta heard the rest of it, but was hung up on the first part. “Wait, you met someone? How? Where? When?”
Feyre raised a brow. “You have to come with us to find out the details.”
Nesta sighed, grabbing her clutch off the counter. “Fine. Let’s get this over with, then.”
The bar was close enough to Nesta’s place that they walked. Elain and Feyre talked the entire way, babbling on about Elain’s date a few nights before.
“He’s got a kid?” Nesta asked, as they came up on the Sultry Bat. “Hmmm.”
“Yeah, but he’s only a baby, and he’s so sweet. His name is Asher. The sweetest thing.” Elain sighed. “We’ve been talking pretty much all the time since then. Our schedules aren’t really matching up to go out again, but I think I may invite him over for dinner Friday night.”
“At your house?” Nesta asked.
Elain nodded. “Where else would I cook him dinner?”
Nesta shook her head. “You’ve only seen this guy a few times. You barely know him, except that he’s got a cute kid, at 25. Very responsible. He could be a serial killer for all you know, and you want to invite him to your house? I don’t think so.”
They had reached the bar and Feyre opened the door.
Elain just glared at her sister. “You don’t know him like I do, because Azriel is a- Azriel?”
She’s cut herself off mid-sentence and was staring at the bar.
He set the bottle he was drinking down and smiled. “Elain. Hey.”
Nesta’s eyes had zeroed in on the form sitting next to him though.
“Seriously? What the hell are you doing here?”
Feyre and Elain both raised their brows at their sister as Cassian grinned. “Ah, Ms. Archeron. A pleasant surprise.”
She blinked. “Yeah, I’m leaving, have fun-“
“No, you’re having a drink with your sisters,” Elain corrected, grabbing Nesta’s arm and pulling her toward the bar.
Elain sat down next to Azriel, who was next to Cassian. Nesta sat next to Elain, and Feyre next to her. Rhys stood behind the bar and looked at the three sisters and his brothers.
“Sooo…” he began. “How do we all know each other?”
No one answered, so Feyre took the lead. “These are my sisters, Nesta and Elain,” she said, motioning to the two women. “And I don’t know them,” she inclined her head down the bar. “But I’m sure you do.”
Elain jumped in. “This is Azriel,” she said to her sisters. “He’s the guy I went out with the other night.”
Feyre asked, “With the cute kid?”
Azriel immediately blushed.
Rhys asked, “And you two?” He motioned to Cassian and Nesta. Cassian was grinning.
“I am lucky enough to work in the wing next door to her Majesty. She teaches dance at the Academy,” he said, winking at Nesta. “We’ve become fast friends. I think she may be in love with me.”
Nesta scoffed. “He’s an ass who is obsessed with flirting with me, actually.”
“You like it.”
“Keep convincing yourself of that,” Nesta muttered.
Although, he’d done as he said. Nesta had an entire group of kids come into her studio after school, interested in playing for her dancers.
She’d given each of them the name of the dancer they’d be working with, and even had to turn a few away, but she promised them they’d get some sort of extra credit for volunteering.
Nesta looked at Rhys and said, “I’ll have the house red and a shot of vodka.”
Five pairs of eyebrows raised.
“You realize it’s a Tuesday, right?” Feyre asked.
Cassian added, “And a school night.”
The glare she sent his way could have leveled a building.
Cassian cleared his throat. “Just saying.”
Rhys did as he was asked, though. He also was migrating too close to Feyre for Nesta’s liking.
“Wait, are you all related?” Elain asked.
They all lightly chuckled. “No,” Az answered her. “We’re definitely family, but we’re not related. We’ve known each other our entire lives.”
“Cassian and I have known each other since we were kids. Az moved here in middle school,” Rhys said, setting a Jack and Coke for Feyre and leaning on the bar in front of her. Nesta tracked the motion like a hawk.
“Let me guess,” Cassian said, taking a drink of his whiskey. “Nesta is the oldest.”
She turned to face him. “And why exactly do you say that?”
His laugh was quick. “I don’t think you want me to answer that, sweetheart.”
Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Another shot of vodka.”
Rhys obliged.
She took it, slamming the shot glass on the bar top.
Rhys said, “I think Feyre darling is the youngest.”
“Feyre darling?” Nesta asked.
“Nes,” Feyre murmured, a warning in her tone. She may have been her older sister, but she wasn’t her mother.
“Is Asher with his mom tonight?” Elain said, resting a hand on his arm.
Azriel nodded, his gaze softening when he looked at her. “Yeah, she has him.”
“How’d the other night go?” She asked.
He longed to rest his free hand on her leg, but didn’t want to make such a forward move in front of her sisters and make her uncomfortable.
He smiled. “It went well. He only cried, like, 80% of the night and I’ll consider that a success.”
Elain giggled.
Rhys was getting Cass another drink and Feyre took advantage of the lapse in conversation to try and catch Nesta’s eye.
She wasn’t having it.
Nesta stared at her wine glass.
“Wanna dance, Ms. A?”
Nesta’s eyes shot to Cassian before a slightly terrifying grin contorted her lips. “As long as you pay for my drinks tonight.”
Feyre mumbled a string of curses beneath her breath.
“Rhys, another shot for Ms. Archeron,” Cassian ordered, keeping his eyes locked with hers.
Rhys shook his head as he did what he was asked.
Azriel called as they walked away, “Remember, you only have a teacher’s salary!”
“So, how old is your son?” Feyre asked, taking a sip of her drink. She nodded to Rhys in appreciation.
Azriel’s smile softened as he talked about his son. “He’ll be seven months next Wednesday.”
“Oh, he’s so young, he’s still, like, a baby baby.” Azriel and Rhys laughed. “Do you and his mom share custody or what?”
The quiet laughter stopped. Azriel cleared his throat. “No, she has full custody. I just her visitation rights.” He paused and took a drink of his beer. “We’re actually in the middle of a pretty nasty custody battle right now.”
Feyre’s smile faltered. “Sorry to hear that.”
He shrugged, his smile returning when he looked to Elain. “It’s alright. It’s all going to work out, I believe that.”
“Do you want to take a walk with me?” Elain asked, quietly.
Azriel nodded and followed her lead out of the bar.
Feyre turned to Rhys. “I guess it’s just you and me, bartender.”
He winked. “Wanna learn how to make a drink?”
——
Nesta knew how she’d ended up in Cassian’s arms, but what she didn’t understand is how she’d ended up with her back pressed against the wall in the back hall, her legs around his waist and his lips on hers.
It had only taken a few minutes of dancing before she felt his lips against her ear, then her neck.
He tasted like whiskey and bad decisions, his hands warm and rough against her smooth skin.
Nesta’s head was spinning.
He felt good. So, so good.
Her fingers became tangled in his hair, his teeth pulling on her bottom lip.
“I want you,” he whispered. “I want you.”
She couldn’t ignore the pounding between her thighs, the utter need she had for him.
“I live like 5 minutes from here,” she breathed, her head thrown back as he kissed up her neck.
“I can’t drive,” he said.
“No, we can walk,” she said, pushing on his shoulders to put her down. She grabbed his hand and led him down the hall to the back exit. “We can walk, it’s not far.”
His eyes were glazed but Nesta had a feeling he would follow her to the end of the world if she asked him to.
The night air was cool as Nesta stopped outside of the back exit to collect herself. She looked left, then looked right, then decided on left.
Her house was left.
She held his hand as she led him home. They didn’t speak, the air between them electric, and as she saw her front porch, she picked up the pace.
“You weren’t kidding about being close,” he said, as she fumbled to get her key in the lock. The second the door was open, he was lifting her up and her back was once again pressed against the wall. He kicked the door shut behind them and breathed, “Where were we?”
“You were telling me how badly you wanted me,” Nesta said, tightening her legs around his waist.
“Very, very badly,” he growled, his fingers lifting her tank top over her head.
He admired her breasts, tracing his fingertips along the outline of her bra.
“Then take me.”
Cassian didn’t need any further permission. His mouth crashed against hers and he tore the lace bra from her body. One of his hands palmed her breast, rolling a nipple between his calloused fingers.
Nesta didn’t remember too much after that. She only remembered his hands roaming her body, his whiskey coated tongue hungrily brushing along her own, and the fact that her back never left the wall as his impressive length pushed in and out of her.
She remembered the way her heart pounded in her chest, how she had felt completely alive while making love to him.
They’d laid down on the couch in the living room, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. He drew small circles on her back, his finger following the path of her spine. The combination of his hands on her body, the haze of the alcohol and the post sex high pulled her into the most restful sleep she’d had in a long time.
When she woke up at 2:30 in the morning, Cassian was gone.
364 notes · View notes