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amive2567 · 3 years

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Snowy sneezes

Class 1a x GN! Reader

Quirk: Snowman ~ can produce snowmen with everything that includes water. They can't melt (only by other quirks, not through natural causes), and they do whatever the host wants. If the host doesn't give any tasks immediately, the snowman becomes a body of its own forever. Unfortunately, they can't speak :( The more water there is in the air, (or any other source of water), the bigger the snowman gets.

Warning: Crack, Fluff, mention of sexual content (because Mineta), swearing (because Bakugou), a bit OOC Midoriya

Summary: Y/n is sick, and every time they sneeze, little snowmen appear in their dorm. They are listening to music and study. Because of that, they didn't even notice that the snowmen disappeared and caused trouble.

Disclaimer: My hero academia and the characters belong to Kohei Horikoshi.

Words: about 2.489

Masterlist

Inspiration by Frozen Fever

Your head pouted, and you barely could keep your eyes open. You had a quirk about snow, so why did you get sick from a snowball fight. "L/N-san, could you please lift your head from the desk and focus on the lesson." admonished you Cementos. "I am sorry, Ishiyama-sensei." you apologized. He continued to teach, but you couldn't focus on a word he said. The lesson dragged on like forever.

After the day ended, you went straight to your dorm room to replicate the knowledge you got taught today.

After some time, the headache disappeared, and you could finally focus on your unfinished notes. Your nose started to tingle, and with a loud achoo, you sneezed. A cold shiver went down your spine, but you didn't think much of it. You were so caught up in the work that you didn't notice how a small snowman waddled quietly around the room. Since listening to music helped you while studying, you didn't hear the rustling steps on your carpet. The cute snowman watched your back and looked around your room. He investigated your plant in front of your bed. His tiny form tried to stroke the plant, but his short snowy arm couldn't reach the plant. The small snowman was determined to stroke the plant, so he tried to climb up at the plant pot. Since he didn't think about the consequences, the plant pot fell over and covered him with the potting soil. Anxiously he watched if you had seen his plight. You didn't seem to notice it. So he tried to clean himself with his tiny arms.

Another sneeze shook your body, and another tiny snowman appeared. He looked around the room and found his buddy. The two jumped happily around, and the new snowman helped to clean up his pal. The two snowmen happily discovered your room, as quiet as they could. After they were done, your room looked like you had a fight in it. They also tried to open the door, but they were too tiny. Exhausted, the two snowmen settled in front of the door.

A sneezing fit hit you, and about five snowmen developed in your room. The two snowmen got right up and wobbled to the new snowmen. They hugged each other like they were old friends. Silently the two older snowmen convinced the younger ones to open the door together. They built a ladder out of snowmen by stacking themself on their shoulders. With a soft click, the door opened, and they left your messy room.

Your classmates were occupied with their interests and tasks. Some were reading, training, baking, showering, or learning. So they were either outside, in their rooms, or in the common room area. This meant that the hallway in front of your room was empty. The snowmen waddled quietly around the enormous building.

Since they discovered their new skill, they opened another door. In the room was a blond boy, who laid on his back with a manga in his hand, called Snow white with the Red Hair. He was completely caught up in the book, so he didn't even notice that someone entered his room. The snowmen inspected his room. It has the theme of yellow and blue, and on his shelf were tons of All Might figures. One snowman got his snowy hand on a manga and tried to read it. He failed because snowmen can't read, but the pictures were interesting. He wanted to read it later, so he took it with him.

The gang of snowmen went downstairs to explore the other parts of the dorms. Loud singing caught their attention. They followed the singing and landed in a steaming environment or, to call it something more simple, the bathroom. It was hot in there, and the snowmen were happy that they couldn't melt by natural causes. Since the bathroom was really a boring place to be, they climbed on the shelves and searched through the products. After the other snowmen had left the room, the last one of them was mesmerized by a big red bottle with the label: red hair dye. He took the bottle with him and followed the other snowmen fast.

The next stop of the seven snowy figures was another room. They used their secret method again and opened the door. The room was cramped with bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Another weird thing was that there was a shelf only for tons of glasses. No one was there. The snowmen wandered around the room like it was an old museum. The two snowmen that stole something hid in the corners of the room, so their misbehavior wasn't noticed. The smallest of the snowmen looked around and climbed up on the shelf with the glasses. Unfortunately, one of the spectacles fell on the ground and broke. No one seemed to witness it, so the tiny snowman grabbed them and hid them behind his back from the others to see. After they discovered every inch of the room, they made their way to the next one.

The room wasn't much different from the first one, but it had a more pleasant atmosphere. It was bright and happy. Some snowmen were bored because of the All Might figures they had already seen, but one of them got interested by the rarest of all time. The bronze age All Might figure. Only fifty got produced, and the owner of the room had one. The snowman needed this figure, so when no one watched him, he took the opportunity and stole it.

They went into two other rooms before they finally got to the common-room kitchen. There stood a tall brown-haired boy with a tart pan. He studied a recipe and was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice how a snowman stole his eggs. After the boy wanted to reach for them, they were gone, and he questioned himself if he forgot to lay the eggs on the kitchen counter. He opened the fridge and saw no eggs. But he was sure that he bought them with Koda yesterday. They couldn't be gone, only if someone used them. And he was sure who it was. With angry steps, he walked to the room of a certain angry pomeranian.

In the meantime, the snowmen discovered that everyone had stolen something. They laid their stolen objects in the middle of their circle. The items they had stolen were a romance manga, red hair dye, a pair of glasses, a rare All Might figure, eggs, lipstick, and a book. All of the snowmen had a panicked expression on their snowy faces. The humans aren't dumb they would soon find out, so they have to hide their items somewhere. Fearfully they collected the things and quickly set about hiding with the stuff in a nearby room.

It was a dark room, and it got lit by a small source of light. Unearthly sounds could be heard from the computer screen in front of a short, purple boy. The older snowmen tried to cover the eyes of the younger ones. So they couldn't see the horrific show that played on the screen. It was dangerous to be in such a gross environment with young snowmen, but it was better than getting caught.

"I didn't steal your lame eggs. Now leave me alone fat lips." cursed Bakugou as Sato confronted him. "But I am sure you know where my manga is, don't you?" Bakugou questioned harshly with a raised eyebrow. "Why would I want a manga from you?" Sato asked him. The blond one scoffed and pushed Sato out of the way. "I bet shitty Deku got it," he grumbled and stamped in the direction of his room. Without knocking, he kicked the door open. "Oi, shitty nerd. Give it back," he yelled. But what he didn't notice that the room was messy as hell. "Ah, Bakugou, I wanted to talk to you," Midoriya spoke slowly. His expression was horrifying. Even when Bakugou wouldn't admit it, he was scared of the shorter green-haired boy. "Now, where do you have it?" Bakugou asked, unimpressed. "What should I have? I wouldn't even give it to you. You stole my All Might bronze age figure." Midoriya yelled. He activated his quirk, and before he could Detroit Smash Bakugou into nirvana, Kirishima intervened. "Wait, that's not really manly of you, bro. My hair dye also went missing. I think someone is stealing from us." Sato followed the red-haired. "I think he's right," he said. "Let's meet up with the other ones and think about it before we hurt each other." mediated Kirishima. Still, with rage in his eyes, Midoriya let got of his powerful quirk and noded. "Alright, but I am not done with you, Kacchan." proposed Midoriya. "Whatever you say, shitty nerd." scoffed Bakugou.

As they got everyone except two persons in the common room area, the yelling began. "My lipstick went missing. How can I be able to rock my hero costume." Mina cried and hugged Uraraka desperately. The short brunette patted her back, comforting. "A book of mine also went missing," noted Momo. "Did someone saw my pair of glasses? I need to find Marry the third. Without her, my collection is incomplete." Iida yelled and made his typical hand gesture. At his comment, more than half of class 1a had to suppress a burst of laughter. "My hair product also went missing," said Kirishima. "My limited All Might figure in his bronze age is missing," said Midoriya grumpily. "You look a bit scary, Midoriya. Is everything ok?" Todoroki asked. "Yeah, of course. I didn't need my All Might figure anyway." he sarcastically answered. "It's just a figure," Todoroki mentioned, and every chatter died down. "Dude, does he have a death wish?" asked Kaminari quietly. "Maybe," answered Sero noiselessly. "A figure... A figure..." Midoriya yelled and wanted to charge for a punch, but a frustrated screech interrupted the argument.

You finished the last sentence of your work. So you turned around and stretched yourself with closed eyes, but as soon as you opened them, you were met with a tremendous mess. "The sneezes and the...oh shit," you yelled out in frustration. You were so occupied with work that you didn't even notice that you let go of a bunch of snowmen. Your steps stormed to the common-room to start the search for the tiny, snowy trouble makers. The yells in the common-room got louder and louder as you got nearer. "Guys," you yelled over the screeches of Midoriya. "I let go of my quirk, and some snowmen are probably starting some trouble. We need to find them." you got straight to the point. Everyone looked at you with expressionless faces. "Why is even every one of you here?" you asked now, confused. "Your tiny snow fuckers stole our stuff," Bakugou grumbled. "What was actually stolen from you, Kacchan ?" Kaminari asked. "A manga," answered Bukugou grouchily. "Uh, which genre?" questioned Kaminary. "Shut it, dunce face," Bakugou yelled. "Just asking." waved Kaminari away.

"Do you know where they possibly went, or how we can get rid of them?" asked Momo calmly. "I don't know where they could be," you answered, a bit disappointed. "If we find them and want to get rid of them, we need to destroy them with fire quirks. They don't melt of natural causes," you explained. "Alright, I think we build two teams. One team goes with Bakugou and the other one with Todoroki," suggested Momo. "Why do I need to be in one team. I can do this on my own." Bakugou protested. "Do you want your manga back asap?" Momo asked after that the ash-blond boy was quiet but still grumpy. "I am not going with Kacchan." Midoriya angrily said. "I don't want to go with you either," shouted Bakugou. "Just like an old married couple." laughed Kaminari. "Shut it, dunce face." yelled the blond boy.

After you build up the teams, you started to search for the cold troublemakers. The team of yours consisted of Todoroki, Aoyama, Tsuyu, Iida, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu, a grumpy Midoriya, Tokoyami, Shoji, Ojiro, and you, of course. The other ones had fewer patient people in their team. Bakugou got Sero, Kirishima, Kaminari, Ashido, Jiro, Sato, Koda and Hagakure in his team. Your team searched on the second and third floor for the stolen things and your snowmen.

The third floor was clear now you searched on the second floor. "Waa, how did snowmen came into my room?" a high-pitched yell caught the attention of your team. You neared the room and opened the door. Mineta was standing in front of a bunch of tiny snowmen. Everyone in the room turned, slowly their hats to the door. "Yeah, gotcha," you shouted happily. The snowmen suddenly let go of the stuff they hoarded and ran in different directions. "We need to catch them. Todoroki, Tsuyu, Iida, Momo, and I are catching them, and the rest of you secure the missing stuff," you ordered. During this time, Momo produced earpieces for communication. The people named ran with you to catch the snowmen.

Since the snowmen were fast and not as dumb as you wished they were, you had to separate. The snowman in front of you ran fast, and you yelled after him. As the snowman had to take the elevator, you could easily catch him. "I got one. Does someone else has one?" you asked in your earpiece. "I've got one too." answered Iida "Me too," said Tsuyu. "I have already burned two," said Todoroki in his calm demeanor. "I am currently trying to catch one," yelled Momo hectically. "Thanks, guys, that means only one is missing," you said. A loud explosion roared through the dorm-building. "Now, I think only one is left." you corrected yourself. "I got the penultimate snowman," said Momo proudly. "Great." you cheered. As the elevator stopped at the ground floor, the snowman in your arms tried to wiggle himself free. "We need to met up in the common room, so we can get rid of the captured snowmen," you said to the others.

After you got rid of the captured snowmen. Bakugou stormed into the common room area. "We found only one, are all gone?" he asked grumpily. "Only one is missing," you answered as you watched the penultimate snowman melt. "I got the last one he was hiding in the fridge," said Sato and brought you the last one.

"Thanks, guys, for helping. I am so sorry that my quirk got out of hand and caused such trouble," you apologized to your classmates. "No problem, that could happen to every one of us. You don't need to apologize." Midoriya said reassuringly. A small smile spread across your face, and you were relieved that everyone agreed and wasn't angry with you. Except for Bakugou, but that was to be foreseen.

#bnha x reader #bnha #mha #izuku midoriya #shoto todoroki #class 1a #bakugou katsuki #momo yaoyorozu #tsuyu asui #sato rikido #eijirou kirishima #snowmen #mina ashido #ochako urakara #iida tenya #trouble #fluff #crack #gender neutral reader

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Dr. Mael Halvorg (Finale) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Part-Fae/Female Part Fae Additional Tags: Exophilia, Monster Boyfriend, Fae, Reader Insert, Genetics Content Warnings: Children, Pregnancy, Incubation, Birth, Babies, Surgery, Male Infertility, Mention of Cancer Words: 4233

The finale of @ivymemnoch‘s commission! The reader takes Dr. Halvorg on a weekend trip for his birthday and changes his life forever. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

The plus sign on the stick had taken you by surprise. You don’t know why, though; you knew this was probably going to happen eventually when you decided to stop your birth control. Of course, you didn’t expect it to happen so soon, since he was still recovering and potentially wouldn’t necessarily be any more fertile than he had been before, but considering how prolific your family was, it shouldn’t have been a shock.

Three months after Maël’s surgery, his test results had been not quite normal but favorable, and he was already talking to you about perhaps finding a surrogate and in-vitro fertilization, getting your opinion and making sure you’d be okay with it. You told him to wait, perhaps, and give himself more time to allow his… swimmers… to get stronger. You hadn’t told him you were already prepared to carry his child for him. You wanted it to be a surprise. A gift.

But now, after dating for six months, there it was. Right there on the ultrasound screen: a tiny little baby belly bean, no bigger than your thumb. Whatever doubts you had were always drowned out by one sentence.

He’s going to be so happy.

You went into his office after getting home from the OBGYN, having told him you were simply going in for your normal bi-yearly check-up. He was working, like always, but he looked up when you came in and smiled.

“How’d it go?” He asked you.

“Totally normal and healthy,” You replied. The both of us.

“I’m glad to hear that,” He said, putting down his pen. “No lunch with Amai? It’s Wednesday.”

“I know,” You said. “But I wanted to spend time with you.”

His smile widened and he opened his arms. You went over and sat in his lap, giving him a kiss.

“So, you’re birthday is coming up,” You said nonchalantly.

He snorted. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday in over one hundred years.”

“All the more reason to do it now!” You insisted. “I want to take you on a weekend trip. There’s somewhere special I want you to see.”

“And what would that be?” He asked, smiling at you fondly.

“A surprise,” You said, twitching his nose. “It’s in New York, though.”

His head rocked back. “That’s a ways away. Why are we going so far?”

“You’ll see. Do you want to go? Please?” You looked up through your lashes at him, being playful, hoping you weren’t being too weird and that he didn’t suspect anything.

“Well, alright. I don’t really have much work to do right now.”

You sat up and looked at him in shock, laughing. “I totally didn’t expect you to agree!”

He hugged you close and laughed too. “Well, there’s no reason not to, I suppose. And I’ll do just about anything for you if you ask nicely enough. God, it’s been ages since I actually took an actual vacation.”

“See? Perfect timing.” You bit your lip and looked at the door slyly. “Does the door lock?”

His eyes flicked to the door and back to you, narrowing them. “Yes. But the room isn’t soundproof.”

“I can be quiet. Promise.”

You thought he’d decline and say it was inappropriate to be intimate in his office, that he’d see you after he was done working and then the two of you could play back at his massive suite. Which was now your suite as well, as you’d moved in with him about a month ago.

What you didn’t expect was him to grin sinfully at you and get up, closing the blinds. He went around to lock the door and sat on the couch on the opposite side of his desk and patted his lap. Smirking, you joined him.

Climbing into his lap slowly, straddling him, you went in for a deep, probing kiss, dragging your fingernails down his chest over his shirt. He groaned against your lips and put his hands on your legs, petting under your skirt and slip, raking his fingers against the lip of your stockings. You’d taken to wearing stockings because he rather liked them. It seemed to do a lot to turn him on, especially when they were all you were wearing. He also had a corset fetish, too, but you couldn’t wear a corset all the time, especially around the children, so stockings were a happy medium.

He kneaded your buttocks under your skirt as you reached between the two of you and unbuckled his pants, unzipped the zipper, and reached in, fondling him over his underwear. His groaned deepened and he squirmed underneath you, his head falling back onto the cushions.

You started kissing his neck, pulling up his shirt and running your hands up his back. He had large, curious scales on his back, an artifact of his fae heritage. They were a lot like pangolin scales: wide, brown, and ridged. He often wore special padded shirts, because normal shirts were shredded by the end of the day. You thought they were adorable and loved grooming them for him, which he greatly enjoyed and made him almost purr, though you could cut a finger on them if you weren’t careful.

He reached under you and pulled your panties aside, lining himself up with your entrance. You sank slowly down onto him, drawing it out, and he hissed in a breath, biting his lip to keep quiet. You began to move on him, and he moved under you, thrusting up as you thrust down. He was always a very active, enthusiastic participant during sex, even if you took the lead. One hundred years of celibacy might have had something to do with that.

He flipped your skirt up and tucked it into your waistband so that he could watch himself go into and out of you, watch your thighs flex and contract, and run his thumbs up the straps of your stockings. You pulled the tie from his white-blonde hair and shook it out of it’s neat braid, letting it fall around his shoulders so that you could play with and tug on it. His pace quickened, and you matched his rhythm, the both of you beginning to pant and moan, quickly suppressed.

There was a knock on his door. “Dr. Halvorg? I need your signature on these invoices.”

He pulled you against his shoulder, muffling your sounds of pleasure, but he didn’t stop thrusting. You bit into his shoulder to keep yourself for crying out.

“What are they for?” He called through the door, his voice remarkably even-sounding.

“For the medical equipment from Broadchurch,” The assistant said.

“No, no, we never got the product, we’re not paying that,” He said, for all the world sounding like he was sitting as his desk staring at paperwork and not railing you on his couch.

“I’m going to cum,” You whispered into his ear.

“You promised to stay quiet,” He told you just as silently.

“I can’t!” You responded desperately.

“You promised.”

“So what should I do?” The assistant said, seemingly none the wiser that you were about to explode.

“Call them and ask where our equipment is. Until they locate it, they’re not getting a penny.”

You balled up his shirt in your hands and gritted your teeth as you came, gushing on him and holding your breath to stay quiet. You made a squeak, and his hand closed on your throat.

“Shh, shh,” He hushed.

“I’ll call them back, but I don’t think they’ll be very helpful,” The assistant replied. “They haven’t responded to any of the emails. The only communication is from emails.”

“Send them an email, then. I’m busy, though, so get on with it,” He said impatiently, staring at your face as your orgasm crested and ebbed, keeping a firm grip on your neck.

“Yes, sir,” The assistant said. You heard their footsteps recede.

“Oh, fuck,” You breathed.

“You did well,” He said, allowing his breathing to go fast and shallow. God, he had amazing self restraint. “Good girl. Stay still, I’m almost there.”

His pace became frenetic and bounced you high on his lap. He let go your your throat and gripped your hips, slamming you down upon him. He grunted, getting a little red in the face as he smacked his body into you.

You felt him release inside you, pulsing against your inner walls. When he was done, he flipped you over and lay you down on the couch, watching his seed well up and out of you to drip down onto the vinyl couch. He always did that, and you weren’t sure why.

You went to the en-suite bathroom to clean yourself up and brought him a wet towel so that he could do the same. When you were both done and had straightened your clothes, you spent a few minutes making out against his desk before he sighed.

“I should help my assistant contact the supply company. He’s a bit of a pushover, the poor kid.” Maël smiled down at you. “That was nice. We should do that more often.”

“We almost got caught!” You objected.

“Hey, it was your idea,” He said, grinning. “I’m looking forward to whatever you have planned for our trip. I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“It definitely will be. I promise.” You kissed him one more time, lingering for a moment, before unlocking the door and letting yourself out.

Next week, Saturday morning, you took a plane out to Albany, New York, and drove a rental car to a house in Glenmont. When you stopped in the driveway, Maël looked at you with confusion and a little bit of apprehension.

“I don’t understand,” He said. “What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see,” You replied. “Come on.”

You walked him up to the front door and knocked. A young woman in her forties or fifties answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, are you Mrs. Winston?”

“Oh, yes, you must be the young woman I spoke to over the phone!” She said. “Come in, come in. He’s in the parlor.”

“Thank you so much.” You stepped into the house with Maël following. You could feel the curiosity and confusion radiating off of him.

You were led into a sitting room where a man in a wheelchair was reading a paper at a table. He was quite old, by human standards, in his mid-eighties perhaps. He was hooked up to an IV and had an oxygen cannula in his nostrils.

“Dad?” The woman said softly. “You’ve got visitors.”

The man looked up at the two of you. Despite his advanced age, he seemed completely within his faculties.

“Are you the woman I talk to?” He asked you.

“Yes, sir,” You responded. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

“It’s no problem,” He said. He was staring at Maël.

You pulled him forward. “Dr. Maël Halvorg,” You said to Maël. “I’d like you to meet Dr. Maël Halvorg. Robert’s son.”

Maël’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped in shock. He seemed unable to speak. You smiled at him encouragingly and nudged him forward.

He cleared his throat and held out his hand. “It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you, sir,” Maël said in a small voice. “May I sit down.”

“Please,” The man, Dr. Halvorg, said, shaking Maël’s hand and gesturing toward the chairs. You and Maël took a seat.

“Do you know who I am, sir?” Maël asked tentatively.

“I do,” Dr. Halvorg responded. “You raised my father.”

“Yes,” Maël said, smiling in relief. “I loved your father very much.”

“I know you did,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “My father spoke of a lot when I was growing up.”

“Is he… is he alive?”

“No. I’m afraid he died about eleven years ago,” Dr. Halvorg said sadly.

Maël sighed and hung his head a little. “I suspected that might be the case, but I hoped.” He looked back up at the older gentleman. “Did he grow up okay? What kind of man was he? I apologize, but I just have so many questions.”

Dr. Halvorg chuckled. “It’s no trouble. Honestly, I was hoping I might get to meet you one day.”

Maël smiled. “You were?”

“Oh, yes. May father told me so many stories about you when we kids were growing up.”

“How many children did he have?” Maël asked earnestly.

“Four sons,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “He was a great father and a brilliant man, though he said he had a rough start.”

Maël nodded. “Yes, Robert had some learning disabilities that made certain things difficult.”

“He told me that many people said he was lazy and stupid, and that you were the only one who believed he could learn. You dedicated much of your time to helping him.”

“Yes,” Maël said. “Being in school made him quite frustrated and sad, so I took him from school and taught him myself at home. He seemed to respond positively to that.”

“Indeed, he did,” Dr. Halvorg replied. “It was because of you that my dad became a teacher.”

“Robert was a teacher?” Maël asked delightedly.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Halvorg responded. “He taught children much like himself, the ones who needed special attention and care. He was well respected in his field and much loved by his students. He didn’t want to retire, in fact. It was age and illness that forced him to stop.”

Maël held a hand to his chest. “I’m so proud to hear that. Robert was always a determined boy, so I’m so pleased to learn he kept at it.”

“He struggled, I’m afraid,” Dr. Halvorg admitted. “After his mother, my grandmother, left you for his biological father, things changed quite a bit. His father was not as understanding or as patient as you had been and set him back rather badly.”

Maël frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“As far as my memory goes, he never called that man ‘father.’ As far as he was concerned, you were his dad. But his biological father insisted on wiping you out of their lives. That’s why he had to hide that.” Dr. Halvorg pointed to a picture on the mantle. “Young lady, could you kindly retrieve that?”

“Of course,” You said, standing up and going to the mantle, where there was a black-and-white photograph in a frame. It was Maël, wearing fine early twentieth century clothes, his hair cut short and wearing a flat cap. He was standing with his hands on the shoulders of a young boy, perhaps eight, wearing similar clothes. You took it and handed it to Dr. Halvorg, who gave it to Maël.

Maël stared at the picture, his eyes bright and glittering with tears. “I never thought I’d see his face again.”

“Keep that,” Dr. Halvorg said. “He’d have wanted you to.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Maël said. “This is yours!”

“I have digital copies,” Dr. Halvorg said dismissively. “In any case, I won’t be needing it much longer anyway. Stage four lung cancer, you see.”

“I’m so sorry,” Maël said mournfully. “Can anything be done?”

Dr. Halvorg shook his head. “I’ve lived a good life. I have children, and grandchildren, a beautiful wife, a wonderful job. The one thing I wanted was to meet my father’s father. Not that other man who did his best to tear my father down. The man who did his best to lift my father up. You. And I’ve done that. I can go now content.”

Maël’s restraint cracked, and he wept. “I appreciate that very much,” He said in a strangled whisper.

Maël and Dr. Halvorg talked for hours, recounting stories from both Robert’s childhood and adulthood. Dr. Halvorg showed Maël pictures of his siblings and children. Maël told Dr. Halvorg about his life’s work in reviving dying races. You watched the two of them interacting, and it made your heart swell with gladness. You’d never seen Maël so happy and excitable.

Finally, nearing sundown, you realized that Dr. Halvorg was becoming tired. His daughter came in to give him his evening meal and medication, and the two of you said goodbye.

“It has been an absolute joy, Dr. Halvorg,” Maël said, shaking Dr. Halvorg’s hand. “You lovely daughter has my number and my email, so please keep in touch.”

“My pleasure,” Dr. Halvorg said. “You have a nice trip back with your lady, Grandad.”

Maël laughed and teared up again. “I will.”

Outside, before you could get back in the car, Maël pulled you into a tight, warm hug.

“Thank you,” He whispered into your hair softly. “Thank you so much. I love you. I love you. I can never repay you for this.”

“What about a diamond ring and a pretty white dress?” You asked, wiping his tears and smiling up at him.

He laughed. “It’s a deal.”

Back at the hotel, he sat on the bed and stared at the photograph, pointing out little marks on Robert’s face and telling you stories about them. You listened with your head on his shoulder.

Eventually he stopped and placed the frame carefully in his suitcase.

“Are you hungry? I’m starving. Let’s order something.”

“Before we do,” You said. “I have a birthday gift for you.”

He chuckled incredulously. “Honey, I appreciate that, but honestly, there’s no possible way you could have topped what you gave me today.”

“Are you sure about that?” You asked, going to your suitcase and pulling out a small rectangular box. “Here, open it.”

The second he saw the pregnancy test, he fell to his knees, sobbing loudly, his head pressed against the floor. You knelt next to him and rubbed his back, letting him get it all out. Years of despair, pain, and sadness being released. You’re sure he was overwhelmed, so you waited in silence and lay your head against him.

“Is this real?” He choked.

“It’s real,” You assured him. “I have an ultrasound picture.”

His head popped up, tears streaming down his face. “Can I see it?”

“Of course,” You said, pulling it from your purse.

“Oh, my God,” He wept, staring at the small bean in the picture. “Oh, my God. It’s mine?”

“Yes, honey, it’s yours,” You said. “We can do a paternity test if you want, but I promise you it’s your baby.”

He stopped being able to speak and just cried. He cried for a very long time. You picked him up and laid him in the bed and ordered some food. While waiting for it, you climbed into bed and held him.

“Are you okay?” He asked after some time.

“Me? Yeah, I’m completely fine. Are you okay? You were crying pretty hard there. I’m surprised you haven’t fallen asleep. I’d be exhausted.”

“That’s not what I mean,” He said, lifting your chin so you were looking at him. “Are you okay with having a baby? I know I’ve been talking about wanting to have a child for as long as we’ve known each other, but is this what you want?”

“Yes, it is,” You told him. “I stopped my birth control months ago.”

“You didn’t tell me you’d done that,” He said.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” You said, stroking his cheek.

“You. Are. Amazing,” He breathed. “I am so happy. Happier than I have any business being, and it’s all because of you.”

“You deserve to be happy, Maël,” You said. “Don’t ever thin’ otherwise.”

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

Yenuno and Amai we’re overjoyed to hear the good news, and the children also seemed to be happy to have a new playmate coming. Maël seemed unable to stop smiling. He took time off from work to take care of you during the worst of your morning sickness and was present for every doctor’s appointment, every ultrasound, every time you even texted him. If you asked, he’d drop anything he was doing to come and help you.

His little girl was born in the spring, and he named her Roberta. He took her everywhere with him, rarely putting her down for any reason, even keeping her on his shoulder when he was working. The joy that radiated from him was infectious, and everyone near him couldn’t help but smile at his brand new attitude.

You planned your wedding for fall that same year, and afterward, you and Maël were able to take Roberta up to New York to meet Dr. Halvorg. He passed away a few weeks later. You and Maël attended his funeral, and as Dr. Halvorg was buried in the same family plot as Robert, Maël got the chance to visit his son’s grave for the very first time.

“Hi, Robert,” He said softly, kneeling down in front of the headstone. You waited with Roberta asleep in your arms a few paces back.

“I’m sorry,” Maël said, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more when your mother took you. I wish I had fought to keep you, but I didn’t think I had any right. I just wanted to know where you had gone and if you were safe, but she told me nothing about where you were going and disappeared. I bribed the men at the train station and the docks to look through the ledgers, to try and find your name, but I never found it.

“I will always blame myself for not doing more, for not stepping in and making sure we could keep in contact. I should have taken it to the courts and let them decide, but I… I was scared they would determine I trying to hold on to something that wasn’t mine.”

Maël sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“I just wish I had one more chance,” He continued. “I wish I could have had a phone call, at the very least, to talk to you and hear your voice and tell you what I should have said back then. That it didn’t matter whose child you were biologically or legally. I was your father. You were my son. Nothing would ever change that.” His voice cracked further. “You will always be my son.”

After a moment silent tears hitting the grass where Robert lay sleeping, Maël straightened up an took a deep breath.

“I know where you are now, and I’ll come visit again, you and my grandson,” Maël said. He laughed. “I can’t believe you named your son after me. I’m honored more than I can tell you.”

Maël turned to you and opened his arms for the sleeping form of his daughter, his face wet with tears, and you passed her over.

“You have a baby sister, Robert,” He said, smiling. “I named her after you. She’s always smiling and happy. She reminds me so much of you when you were little that it’s kind of scary. I think the two of you would have been best friends. I’ll make sure she knows all about you.”

You put a hand on his back and rubbed gently. He kissed Roberta’s forehead and tiny little ear.

“We have to go now, Robert. You’re baby sister is going to wake up soon and be hungry. But I’ll come back to see you again, I swear. This time, I promise I’ll come back.”

As winter crested into spring again, Roberta was walking and had said her first word: “Daddy.”

You were still teaching at the facility, and had taken up the job permanently. Yenuno and Amai’s little girls were Roberta’s favorite playmates, though they had been warned to be careful, as Roberta developed more slowly than they did.

“Can we have another one? Please?” Maël asked one night as he watched gleefully as Roberta used her fat baby fists to shove raviolies in her mouth.

“Give me another year, but yes,” You replied.

“A year!” Maël whined. “That’s so long!”

“Don’t sass me,” You told him. “A year and no sooner. Besides, you still have more work to do. Did you get in touch with the Celtic Fae Council?”

“Yes, finally,” He replied, picking up his fork. “I didn’t realize how much red tape was involved. Genetic testing is underway. So far, there have been three men with similar blockages as mine. There are also a few women who were born missing one or both ovaries. We’re trying to trace back when this infertility spike started, but it could have been a millennium ago.” He laughed as Roberta threw a ravioli across the room. “I think she’s done, she’s just smashing them into her tray now.” He stood up and swept her up out of her seat, not even caring about the marinara stains on his shirt. “Come on, sweet pea, let’s take a bath. Eh? Eh, princess?”

He bounced her and she squealed.

You got up from your seat and came up behind him, circling him around the waist with your arms.

“You’re a good dad, honey,” You told him. “Roberta’s lucky. We both are. And so is our future children.”

He turned in your grip and kissed you. “If luck exists, you brought it with you. None of this would have happened without you. You are a miracle.”

You kissed him again and pushed him toward the bathroom. “She’s putting ravioli in your hair.”

He belly laughed and headed for the bathroom. You followed and marveled at how much had changed, wondering how it would change again. You looked forward to it.

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

146 notes · View notes

zigtheeortega · 3 years

Text

redeemed

pairing | m!raleigh x mc

word count | 6.6k

warnings | cursing, innuendos, mentions of sex

tags | @natesewell, @choicesarehard, @empressazura, @raleighcarrera, @pixeljazzy, @pixelsandkink [tagging people who usually ask to be tagged !]

author’s note | i’ve talked about this before but i’m not a huge fan of the platinum mc’s personality, so i’ve kind of crafted my own that’s quite a bit more rebellious than canon. i’m obsessed with the idea of an mc who’s romancing raleigh and falls into the same pattern of behavior and it genuinely concerns them – so yeah i play with that idea here! i deviate from canon some but not too much ! this is my submission for day 2 of @platinumweekend as well ! also i had no idea how to end this so i apologize for the fizzle out at the end lol

•─────────────────•

As soon as he stepped off stage, he was shuffled to his tour bus, Fiona on his heels. She looked like the human embodiment of rage in a grey blazer, a look in her eye that made him thankful he wasn’t the one it was directed at – or at least he hoped he wasn’t the reason she was two seconds away from a murderous rampage.

She slammed the door behind her, locking it, running to the windows and closing the curtains, peeking out at the paparazzi that no doubt had already tried flocking at the edges of the blocked off area where the bus was parked.

“Damn, what’s the problem? Can’t I at least get my food from craft services? Jesus,” he complained, grabbing a bottle of water from the fully stocked mini fridge, downing it while Fiona frantically ran around the bus, turning off every electrical device in sight.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She wheeled on him, a few strands of her hair sticking to her lips. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, you won’t let me go get my fuckin’ overpriced grilled cheese that I know is waiting for me,” he jabbed his thumb towards the venue. “At craft services.”

She eyed him, pupils wide, her anger nearly palpable. “It’s bigger than food.”

He ran a hand through his damp hair, some strands completely drenched in sweat. “Lay it on me.”

And the three words that fell from her lips were soul crushing, his post-show high wearing off in an instant.

“Dom’s been arrested.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He sat up, posture rigid. “What happened?”

“Not here. We’ll talk on the plane,” Fiona said, twisting the knob of the closet door, grabbing the black duffel bag on the ground. She tossed it at his feet, motioning for him to stand. “The jet leaves in an hour. I packed for you.”

“The plane? Where is she?” He was getting more and more frustrated, nearing hysterics. He should’ve felt a bit more shame about how worked up he was getting, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Fiona took notice, her fiery gaze softening at the edges, the blue flames flickering across his face. “Not here, Raleigh.”

He slung the duffle bag on his shoulder, walking to the door.

“Wait –” Fiona said, leaning over the couch to pull the curtain to the side, peering out again. “I paid off a security guard to distract the paparazzi. And when he does, we have to run to the car that’s gonna pull up any minute now – undetected,” she shot back at him, her icy gaze warning.

Within minutes, a security guard with a similar build to Raleigh sprinted towards the venue, jacket over his head, paparazzi on his heels.

With the camera’s flashing finally pointed away, they were able to slide into the back of the cab, thankful that Hank had connections everywhere. The driver rolled up the barrier without question as soon as Fiona tossed him a wad of cash that she’d fished out of a plain leather pouch.

She shook the pouch, her lips set in a thin line. “You know what this is?”

“A purse?” He asked, brows furrowed. “Is this some kind of fuckin’ trick?”

“It’s an emergency fund. Cash. Not traceable.”

She shook her head, dropping the pouch into her lap, before pinching the bridge of her nose. “When Dom first started getting into trouble, I had to pay off a few people here and there, but when it became more frequent, I had to actually sit her down with her accountant and sort this out.”

“Sort… what out?”

“How much money she needed to allocate to her… antics,” she rolled her eyes, propping her elbow on the back of her seat, hand pressed to her forehead.

She looked drained. Fiona never looked disheveled, but he sensed this was the closest she’d be to it.

“If it’s money she needs, that’s fine. Lemme call my agent –”

“There’s only so much cash I can hand people under the table before it becomes a problem. Not just financially, put publicly,” she sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I’ve been able to cover up the smaller mishaps, but this, I’m afraid, might be the start of something… much worse than disorderly conduct.”

“You gonna tell me her charges?” His jaw set in anticipation, already running through a list of the best lawyers in L.A. that got him off from potentially hefty lawsuits.

Her short locks swayed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, leaning into the corner of the cab, legs splayed wide as he tried to take a nonchalant stance. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll be glad you have a bedroom, shower, and fridge on the plane,” she said with another shake of her head.

––––

Raleigh laid in bed, aimlessly scrolling through his burner account.

He never really cared for social media under the public eye. Every post of his was either related to tour or the series of brand deals for products he never used. Each page was a personified advertisement – some shit he regretted signing up for.

One drunken night, his curiosity got the best of him and he found himself making a pretty inconspicuous profile, following some funny internet personalities and political commentators. And although he had plans to delete it, once Dom came into the picture, he unabashedly lurked.

He followed her on all platforms, and when he had the chance, he watched her stories, voted in her daily polls, and occasionally scrolled through her old instagram photos.

This time in particular, though, he was looking for something specific without really knowing if there was an answer.

He scrolled to her first post, hundreds down, smiling at high school Dom. Thick eyeliner, layered hair, brace-adorned grin – she was a poster child of adolescence.

Photos of her with Shane at pep rallies, in Halloween costumes, in prom formal wear filled the screen, later transitioning to senior portraits, graduation photos, and dorm photos. A setting of picturesque normality as Dom grew into herself, growing out her choppy layers, softening her makeup, her gleaming smile lighting up each photo.

She grew more beautiful with each year, each little phase of her life coming with a new style, a new little identity or association, Dom’s willingness to try new things the reason she was able to break free from her small town.

God, was Raleigh so fucking envious of this imperfect little portion of her Instagram. If someone were to look this far back for him, there’d be photoshoots and magazine spreads and paparazzi photos all neatly planned. The shaky off-guard photos, the unedited red eyes, the off guard photos, the expressions they made in them… it was something Raleigh never had the chance to do.

Being in the business for ten years, everything was pristine, crisp – always smiling or smoldering, no in between. Sexy and rugged or smiling and happy. Like he had two modes and he wasn’t ever able to exercise those other parts of himself because being in front of the camera was restrictive – while Dom was able to be unabashedly herself.

He was breaking shit just to feel something, to have some range of emotions even if it was a stupid fucking publicity stunt where he damaged property or made out with another politician’s daughter or attempted irreparable blows to his public image.

The more recent the posts, the more calculated her photos got, the phrase “ad” showing up more and more. But even with a skincare brand deal, her step-by-step skincare routine video was on brand for Dom, her bright smile and wit always present in everything she did.

But Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like parts of her were slipping away.

Her online persona was still pretty crisp, except for her style shift – tattoos, a couple piercings, and some edgier photoshoots signified a tonal shift in Dom’s aesthetic, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

Hell, when he used his first innuendo on his solo album, there was widespread outrage on Sunset Skatepark fan forums, ripping into him for singing about using his dick (even though he was definitely an adult and definitely not a virgin).

But other than her general style, nothing was different. Nothing to indicate this downward spiral that Fiona kept a secret.

Where’s the shift? He thought to himself as he scrolled to the top. When the hell did she start changing for the worse?

She’d come a long way from her clean songs that didn’t require a radio edit. He felt a pang of something in his chest –– regret, maybe? Was he the reason she’d changed?

The questions sent him into a near tailspin, his pulse quickening at the realization.

He was the problem.

She’d since deleted her photos with Raleigh, because their breakup was so public, but he could tell that the shift happened right around the time she started spending more time with him.

He’d been a mentor of sorts, opposite of Avery, showing her the ropes… which meant that he was teaching her how to evade the press, fuck with the paparazzi, pick out industry plants – the whole nine yards.

She was impulsive, daring, adventurous, fearless – all the qualities he liked in himself. But he never thought those traits would take a negative turn, morphing her into a rebel with an affinity for breaking laws.

He could blame himself all he wanted, but he couldn’t blame her for taking the same route he took.

He knew it better than anybody – it was hard to shift the public’s persona of you. Once you did something horrible to make them hate you, either the rebrands and ass kissing worked, or you get written off by everyone.

Raleigh Carrera was a special case, a wild card of sorts who toed the line, unpredictable, both with his craft and his behavior. The nastier his lyrics, the crazier his publicity stunts were, the more polarizing he was.

And that was no doubt the route Dom was on, heading towards an inevitable press nightmare – if people were to find out the home grown rags-to-riches Dominique Avalos dove headfirst into her rebellious phase with no smooth transition, she wouldn’t be able to Google herself for months without having a panic attack.

She’d changed drastically, but that’s what fame did to people. Some people cracked under the pressure, or they rebelled to show the public they were in control of their narrative… or that they desperately wanted it back.

He took a shaky breath, swiping out of the app.

He wasn’t sure if he could save her, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t gonna try.

––––

The moment the jet touched down, Fiona was in full manager mode, adamant on abandoning his phone, stressing the importance of going off the grid.

“If anyone finds out you’re here, they’ll be able to put two and two together. Why else would you be in the same country as Dom when you’re supposed to be heading towards New York for your next show?” She asked, hand outstretched.

“I hate it when you’re right,” he grumbled, tossing his phone into her palm. “Where are we exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” she sighed, looking exhausted. He had a gut feeling she hadn’t slept a wink since they’d boarded the plane.

“Why not?”

“It’s a bit safer that way.”

He scoffed. “You’re serious? Look, I’m not exactly thrilled to pull the A-List celebrity card, but this is borderline kidnapping.”

“Let’s just say you might be able to pick up on some of the language,” she said, turning on her heel to exit the plane.

Within minutes, they were pulling onto a dirt backroad, the small houses they passed barely casting shadows onto the ground.

The town itself was seemingly innocuous – the tiny brick houses riddled with dust, the stone paths lining the road cracked and deserted. The tiny town had turned in for the night, their old Sedan sticking out like a sore thumb despite the old model.

Raleigh squirmed in his seat, twisting the expensive watch on his wrist. He fucking hated this.

No matter where he went, he was noticed in some capacity – so wearing a Rolex and Cartier rings in a small village in the middle of nowhere just made him look pretentious.

He slipped the rings and watches off, shoving them deep into the pocket of his jeans, ignoring Fiona’s calculating side eye (one he knew all too well).

The only light, other than the gas lamp posts and their high beams, came from the building at the end of the road.

The car pulled around the side, flicking their lights off, the driver peeking around before motioning for them to exit the car.

“Throw the hoodie on, Raleigh,” Fiona ordered while slipping on a ball cap of her own, her casual t-shirt and leggings wildly different from her normal outfit.

“Sure,” he murmured, tugging the hood on.

The walk from the car to the dusty glass front door was short, Fiona breaking into a light jog to keep up with Raleigh’s brisk pace.

The makeshift “waiting room” in the front corner of the station was empty, the scratched up folding chairs in crooked rows. The front desk was occupied by a sleeping form, head buried in the crease of his elbow, snore muffled by the counter top.

The other officer stood at the back near an old vending machine, sliding coins into the slot, the clink of each piece ringing out against the brick and linoleum.

No cameras, he thought, after a quick scan of the room, shoving the hood back in its place at the nape of his neck.

The holding cells were farther back, but he couldn’t see her.

He stepped up to the counter where the man was sleeping, giving a gentle knock to the top. The man stirred, unfurling his arms, while the other man in the back glanced up from where he was, elbows deep in the snack machine as he fished out his bag of chips.

Raleigh offered a basic greeting in Spanish, frowning just a bit when both officers’ eyes lit up – the phrase “famoso” and “celebridad” falling from their lips almost as soon as they recognized him.

Yeah, he was gonna use his notoriety to their advantage, but that didn’t mean it still didn’t sting when people immediately tried gauging what they could get from him when they realized who he was.

For a long time he’d been waiting for the day where name dropping himself didn’t get him out of deep shit.

And the day he met Dom, when he assumed she knew who he was, all she did was raise her brow as if to say “Why the fuck should I care?”

It startled him, truthfully. But it was such a breath of fresh air. He couldn’t remember a time before or after that someone showed no interest in him.

The officer in the back jogged to the front, pulling his phone out of his back pocket while asking for a picture.

He looked to Fiona, who was shaking her head furiously, stepping up next to him like her 5’5 stature was enough to shield him. “Nobody can know we’re here.”

He nodded, turning back to the men, trying to negotiate with them.

Yes, Dom’s here.

No, you can’t see her.

He racked his brain trying to figure out how he was gonna get himself – and Dom – out of the situation unscathed if he couldn’t give them a photo or autograph.

“Dom bought me the Rolex and Cartier rings, right?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed. “Yes. She gifted them to you on your birthday. You know this –”

“No, what I mean is, she has the receipts? Or you do?”

“I don’t have them, but I have access to them,” she said, still confused.

“Get rid of ‘em. I haven’t told anyone she bought them for me.”

Her face lit up in recognition, and she nodded, encouraging him to go on.

He dug in his pockets, fishing out the watch and thin bands.

After a quick exchange, the officers took two rings each, and began rapid fire arguing over the Rolex. They tossed Raleigh the keys, stepping out the front door.

“I’ll keep watch,” Fiona said, turning towards the door.

“Hey –” Raleigh said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

She quirked a brow at him. “What?”

“You’re not coming with?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Why not? I’m not even sure what the fuck I’m supposed to say –”

“She specifically asked for you.”

He took a step back, resting his palm on the countertop behind him. “What the – are you… are you serious?”

She nodded once. “She might’ve been slurring, but she was clear as day. She wanted you.”

He blew air out of his cheeks, running a hand through his short waves.

Fiona’s gaze softened, her eyes still piercing. Fiona was a lot of things – steadfast, headstrong, determined – but she wasn’t soft. She didn’t sugar coat shit.

“She’s missed you. She doesn’t confide in me much, but even I can tell she’s unhappy. Be gentle with her,” she said, gaze tearing right through him.

The walk to the holding cells felt miles long – his resolve was shrinking with every step.

He wasn’t afraid of seeing Dom, not at all. He was afraid of whatever part of himself that might’ve been reflected in her.

The cell was empty, save for the curled form on the bench, long dark hair cascading over the edges of the seat.

“Dom?” He called, hearing her sharp inhale of breath as she stirred, bending into a long stretch, her limbs unfurling until she was lying on her back on the bench, tilting her head towards his voice.

God, even when she looked like life had torn her to shreds, she still looked beautiful.

“Raleigh?” She croaked, her eyes squinting to adjust to the low lights. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She arched her back, stretching again, her long frame covering the bench. It was almost the right level of distracting to stop the creeping annoyance at her question.

“What do you mean? I’m here to bail you out, obviously.”

“Where’s Fiona?” She asked groggily, rolling off the side of the bench awkwardly, trying to gain her footing.

“You asked for me, didn’t you?” He raised a brow, sliding his forearms through the bars, resting them there.

“She told you?” She asked, voice raising in betrayal, a scoff following his silence. “I was drunk.”

“And? You still asked for me.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she murmured, crossing her arms as soon as she was balanced.

He dangled the keys between his fingertips, gently jingling them. “I’ll let you out if you tell me what happened.”

Her lip curled in annoyance. “You’d really leave me here?”

“You don’t want to find out.”

She ran a hand through her hair, blowing air out of her cheeks. “Alright.”

He unlocked the door and slipped in, the heavy door creaking as he slid it wide enough for him to fit through.

She backed up, plopping back onto the bench, arms lowering to curl around her sides.

He followed suit, sitting a couple feet away from her on the other end of the bench, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

She stared at the floor, clearly waiting for him to make a move.

“So…”

“So, what?” She grumbled.

“So… how’d you end up here?” He asked, trying to remain as relaxed as he could since she was clearly on edge, ready to tear him a new one at a moment’s notice.

“I was drunk. I got in a fight. Here I am.”

He sighed. “Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, but I can’t help you if I don’t know if you’re ankles deep or neck deep.”

She chewed her lip, chin dipping lower, strands of her hair falling forward, creating an inky veil. “Fine. I’ll tell you but… can you not… look at me?”

Raleigh’s face contorted in confusion, but he listened, swivelling until he was facing the back wall, propping one leg up on the bench.

He waited for her to speak. The break in conversation was a bit too long – but before a quip could fall from his lips, she spoke.

“I did get drunk, and I did get in a fight. I’m telling the truth but I, uh, left out some details,” she started, her voice low.

“I, uh, was passing through this town after my last show because I wanted to go to a bar without being noticed. Like the old days. I know it was stupid, but I didn’t think anyone would find me here.”

That was her first mistake. Smaller towns surprisingly had the most dedicated fans – maybe because they’re bored or nothing exciting happened in their towns, but most of his die hard fans came from the middle of nowhere.

“The first hour was fine, and I was able to drink and dance with strangers. Most of them were a lot older than me and spoke zero English – and I speak a little bit of Spanish as you know, so I could make some small talk, but I was on my own just… enjoying myself and my freedom,” she said, and he could almost see the grin tug at the corner of her lips.

“I noticed someone taking photos of me with their phone, so I got a bit paranoid and sat in a booth in the back drinking for a little while longer so I could figure out my next move,” she continued, before sighing loudly. “I guess they told the local news or something, because by the time I decided to leave, I ran smack into a reporter on the sidewalk.”

Silence ensued again, this time more deafening than the last.

“I didn’t mean to give her a black eye. Or break the camera. Or elbow the camera man in the face when he tried restraining me. I just… couldn’t think straight. I was mad. Intoxicated and wrong, but still mad.”

“I know Fiona’s trying her best to get me out of this mess but… I think I went too far this time.”

Raleigh stared at the wall, racking his brain for something. He was a little dumbfounded that she spilled to him so fast. He figured it was gonna take a bit more digging to get her to open up, but she blossomed in front of him; despite the wilted petals, he was relieved to know she still trusted him enough to confide in him.

“Are you gonna say something?” She asked, a bit timidly.

“Not if I can’t look at you.”

“Okay, then don’t say anything.”

He sighed, settling into his spot on the bench, waiting again for her to speak.

“Why did you come?”

Instinctively, he shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“But you don’t owe me anything. We’re not together.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t drop everything to come help you. I mean, I’d like to think we’re at least acquaintances, if not friends,” he joked, resting his arm over the back of the bench.

“Sure,” she said, voice straining just a bit. Just enough for him to notice.

Dom was a special kind of resilient – one trait that Raleigh was sure she didn’t copy from him.

He knew that being a woman in the industry was already hard enough – everything from beauty to body standards to raging misogyny was enough to give people reasons to hate her, as stupid as they were.

Raleigh benefitted from the standards in place for men. He was young, attractive, talented – didn’t matter what he did wrong. He’d bounce back.

But he’d seen some vile shit since he’d ascended to fame. So many celebrities fading into obscurity after one mishap. One bad album. One bad interview. One rude encounter. One rumor.

For some reason, despite diving headfirst into troubled waters, Dom bounced back every time, fire in her eyes, her jaw set in determination, her face painted with the look she got when she was ready to face the world.

But whatever she was feeling in that moment, in that jail cell in the middle of nowhere – was enough to break her.

He heard her take a deep, shaky breath, and he started to turn, but he felt her warm palm on his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

He listened to her labored breathing, likely struggling to hold back tears, while he stared at the cracks in the wall, trying to think of something – anything – to console her.

“Did Fiona seem… upset?” She asked, seeming a bit nervous.

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest. She’s pretty intense all of the time,” he laughed, not really meaning to.

He was relieved to hear a light chuckle from behind him.

“Yeah, I figure she’s pretty mad at me. I don’t blame her,” she sighed, another break in conversation ensuing. A couple beats later, she asked, bluntly, “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he answered with zero hesitation. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

She laughed again, a bit more genuine that time. “Not sure where you got that impression.”

“You wouldn’t leave me here to rot if I asked you to come, Dom. You’re not that heartless,” he teased gently, glad that things were taking a lighthearted turn.

“I’m just glad you’re not gonna lecture me. I already know I’m gonna get an earful from Fiona, not to mention the shit I’ll get from Shane and Avery. I couldn’t handle one from you.”

He grimaced. “Uh, well, you’d rather hear it from me than Fiona, right?”

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled under her breath.

“You know I normally don’t care what you do, because it’s your life, and you should be able to do whatever the fuck you want, but Dom…” he trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully.

“I know I fucked up, Raleigh. I don’t need you making me feel more guilty than I already am,” she said defensively, voice raised.

“I’m not gonna make you feel guilty. Just offering some advice.” God, did those words feel foreign to him. Offering advice. He never did shit like this for anybody.

He took her silence as a green light. “You’ve just gotta slow down, Dom.”

Whatever impact his words made, he couldn’t see it, since he was still facing the damn wall. “Can I please turn around? I can’t talk to you like this.”

“Sure.”

He adjusted himself on the bench, trying to look attentive without staring. She was stunning, even with the smudged makeup, the dark circles, the red eyes “You don’t have to do anything and everything you’re asked to do, but you gotta find some kind of balance.”

She wrung her hands in her lap, picking at her cuticles absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean balance the good and bad, Dom. There’s a line for people like us and you can’t cross it often. You can get close, but you can’t just dive over it and not expect there to be some fallout.”

“I know,” she said, bluntly, looking a bit more annoyed with each word that came from his mouth.

“You can cause some chaos, but some of it isn’t acceptable,” he said, watching her expression contort in anger. “For them. Not acceptable for them. The average person, I mean.”

“Oh, you’re one to fucking talk!” She rolled her eyes. “How are you gonna sit here and tell me that your brand of shit stirring is okay, but mine isn’t?”

“I’m not the one sitting in a jail cell right now, Dom,” he said, calmly but firmly. He wasn’t used to being the rational one, but he had to be level headed. He was trying to save her.

She ran a hand through her hair, leaning back against the back of the bench. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You’re hypocritical.”

“Not necessarily,” he said, propping his arm up on the back of the bench. “I was in the industry for years before I started dirtying up my image. You just got here.”

“And you’ve been here too damn long to act the way you do,” she nearly spat, lashing out.

“I’m too far gone,” he simply stated, keeping surprisingly calm through it all.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I’ve been here for a long time, which means, I’ve got a lot more fuck ups under my belt. Irreparable damage, if you will.”

“People love you,” she said, matter-of-factly, like that solved it – it honestly relieved him. A bit of Dom’s naivete from when they first met was shining through.

“People also hate me, because I’m a little shit who sets fires for fun,” he grinned. “For legal reasons, my lawyers insist I clarify that I’m joking.”

She rolled her lips, trying to suppress a smile. “People who hate you don’t know you.”

He nodded. “You’re right, and you’re so close to the point I’m sure you can taste it.”

“I’m too far gone to save. No matter how hard I try for the rest of my career, I can never get away from the wild card label. Plenty of people don’t wanna work with me. I’ve damaged business relationships. Lots of artists don’t want to collab with me because of how it’ll make them look.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because I know you don’t want this. You’re too good for whatever baggage comes with being a ‘rebel’, Dom. I don’t want to see you turn out like me.”

For the first time that night, she stared at him – really stared at him. Her deep brown, nearly midnight eyes searched his for any sign of insincerity.

“You’re… serious?” She asked finally, brows furrowed in confusion.

“One hundred percent honest,” he said, nodding.

She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip, contemplating.

“Can you turn back around again?”

He nodded, wordlessly facing the wall again.

“I left out a few details,” she said from behind him.

“I’m listening,” he affirmed.

“I, uh, was pretty hammered by the time I left, so it was even harder for me to understand what people were saying,” she said before he could speak. “I heard the reporter say ‘Raleigh’ and ‘novio’ and I saw red… so… I, uh… swung.”

His chest clenched, tightening until it was difficult to breathe. He was thankful she’d asked him to face the other direction, because he knew his reaction betrayed his cool demeanor.

“I guess I’m not over it,” she laughed humorlessly.

He ran a hand over his face, racking his brain for a response, but coming up short.

“You, um, don’t have to say anything if you don’t feel the same. I shouldn’t have gotten attached. It’s on me.”

That made him turn, swivelling around before she could finish speaking.

She flicked her head towards the bars of the cell, raising a hand to cover her face. “I said ‘don’t look at me’, Raleigh. Goddamn.”

Years and years of PR training and interviews and he had no idea how the fuck to console her. Partially because he was trying to get a grip on whatever the hell was going on in his brain as well.

Instead, he answered her with a question of his own, a tactic he’d used anytime he wanted to deflect in interviews.

“Why can’t I look?”

Dom tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, slowly rotating to meet his gaze. She sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Fuck,” she cursed, rubbing the backs of her hands under her eyes, the dried black mascara under her eyes beginning to liquidate again. “Because I’m crying, Raleigh. And I don’t cry.”

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I know there’s more to it than you’re telling me,” he asked, holding up two of his fingers in a solute. “No judgement.”

She sighed, crossing the room to put some distance between them. She began pacing, taking slow steps as she spoke.

“I might’ve fucked up my career and I keep letting people down and I’m destructive because this whole fame thing isn’t what I signed up for and I didn’t think I’d cave under pressure like every other mid twenties child actor who goes through a premature mid-life crisis, but here I fucking am,” she said, nearly out of breath by the end.

His legs carried him across the room before he could think twice, pacing towards her while she strode across the room in the opposite direction.

“God, I’m so fucking stupid –”

“Stop. You’re not stupid.”

“I am,” she said, wheeling on him. “And – and I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed that my manager and – and my ex –” She stopped in her tracks, rubbing a palm over her forehead, shutting her eyes.

He reached out to her, but let his hand fall almost immediately.

“My acquaintance had to fly out to a fucking village in the middle of nowhere to bail me out –”

“Dom, stop –”

“– because I fought a fucking reporter over not being able to handle my fucking feelings –”

“Dom –”

“– like an adult with a functioning frontal lobe all because I love someone who –”

Her eyes popped open, her expression horrified. “Oh my god, I’m – I –”

She dug the heel of her hands into her eyes, dropping into a squat. “Fuck, fuck, Goddammit –”

“Did you just –”

“Yeah, Raleigh, I did. Don’t make me feel worse, alright? I know I fucked up,” she groaned from her heap on the ground.

“You just said you love me, Dom. I think I’m allowed to react,” he said, a slight teasing to his voice.

She glanced up, glaring. “Okay, then, react.”

Her gaze was fiery, her deep brown irises challenging – something else a bit more vulnerable lying beneath.

She was terrified.

He leaned down, gripping her around the waist to pull her back up, wrapping his arms around her upper back, hugging her to his chest.

She melted into his arms, relaxing and leaning into his embrace.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” she murmured into his chest.

“So do you?” He asked, chin gently balanced on her head.

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, voice small.

“You don’t have to know. I don’t know either,” he said, just as earnest, feeling her tense in his arms. “But I do know that I like you enough to want you around, and that counts for something, right?”

She laughed (as genuine as he’d heard it), leaning back to look at him. “Yeah, it does.”

Their bodies were still pressed together, Dom’s chin tilted upwards towards him, their faces nearly touching.

“If this gets out, don’t let anyone make you feel like you’re a bad person,” he said, voice low. “You’re the best person I know –”

Dom closed the gap between them, capturing his lips in an intense kiss. He cupped her face in his palms and held her in place, moaning into her parted lips.

God, there was nothing that compared to kissing her. Nobody matched up. He’d made out with a lot of people since he was flung into stardom at sixteen, and no one – absolutely no one – left him in a daze like she did.

She gripped the strings of his hoodie, pulling him closer, sighing contentedly against him.

The smell of her shampoo mixed with the sweet scent of her skin and the warmth of her hands and her chest flush against his – it was the next best thing to being inside of her.

He pulled back, trying to catch the dreamy, half-lidded look she always got when they parted.

“So… did you take your jet here?”

He smirked and rolled his eyes. “Out of context, that sounds so superficial.”

She grinned, her first genuine smile that night. “Oh, but you’re not? Hanging around a rising artist to cling to relevancy?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating off of the walls. “I really am rubbing off on you, aren’t I?”

“Yep. The good and bad,” she agreed, still smiling at him.

“The good?” He shook his head. “Nah, I’m not so sure about that.”

“You’re literally the reason I haven’t walked out on my label and moved to bum fuck nowhere and lived off the land,” she said, shrugging. “You taught me how to have fun. You were the only one keeping me sane.”

He thought he was the one encouraging her to leap over the edge, but he was the one tugging her arm back.

The whole time he was convinced he was a bad influence, but he was doing some good – for her.

But with that revelation came the guilt at her words.

“‘Were’?”

“Well, we don’t really talk anymore. I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“Yeah,” she chewed her lip, stepping back, unraveling herself from his embrace. “I’m sorry.”

That was a slap to the face. Dom rarely apologized, because if she felt she was right, she wasn’t going to budge. She was stubborn as hell.

“Huh? Why?” “I don’t want to guilt you into spending time with me… or feeling things for me,” she said, rubbing her arm. “I didn’t mean to corner you.”

“You didn’t. I wanted to come.”

She glanced up, blinking at him. “No, you didn’t –”

“I did,” he emphasized, slipping her hand into his, intertwining their fingers. “I kinda missed being forced to hang out with you. Feels like old times.”

She couldn’t stop the laugh from ripping from her, this one louder than the last. “Oh, shut up.”

“No, but seriously, I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Always.”

“Thank you.” With her free hand, she punched his shoulder lightly. “You’ll regret that sooner or later.”

“Nah,” he said, lip curling into a smirk. “I don’t think I will.”

––––

#playchoices #platinum #raleigh carrera #raleigh carrera x mc #platinumweekend #my fic #jade writes choices fics #tbh i really loved writing this one - it's really special to me !!

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here4theheartbreak · 3 years

Text

A Calculated Risk (VHope)

⭒ AO3 Link Here!

⭒ Relationships: Hoseok x Taehyung ⭒ Genre: fluff, strangers to lovers ⭒ Final Rating: General Audiences ⭒ Word Count (Chapter): ~5.1k

⭒ Tags: fluff, getting together, strangers to lovers, anxious Hoseok, art student Taehyung, pre-slash

⭒ Summary: When Hoseok sees the crying young man on the plane next to him, he wonders if the calculated certainty of his life is really worth the loneliness.

⭒ A/N: This fic was written for our lovely sunshine Hoseok’s birthday!

Hoseok was good at staying out of trouble. He kept his head down, his nose out of business that wasn’t his, and his hands clean. It was how he’d gotten to become the youngest sales manager in his company. At twenty-six, it was unheard of to be such a powerful figure in the industry. Yet there he was, flying to a variety of countries, meeting with powerful men and women, convincing them to sign up, make contracts, do business. He liked his job okay. He did it well, he was charming, and he enjoyed being the face of a business that did good things for the world. But a part of Hoseok felt like there was something missing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Rather… He knew what it was, but he didn’t want to know. He was lonely as hell. Random one night stands in a variety of hotel rooms that started to all look alike across the continents, a series of failed relationships with every gender and sex – most of them summing up to a singular thing. You’re too nice. There was never any excitement in Hoseok’s life, and he liked it that way. Excitement, the unknown, these were variables that did not turn out guaranteed positive results. And that’s what Hoseok’s life was built on. Taking risks was not in his vocabulary.

So, when Hoseok found himself seated next to the stunning young man with dark eyes and big ears on the way home from Canada, despite that fact that he desperately wanted to say something… He remained quiet. And he intended to remain quiet the entire way back to Korea. It was for the best. This man looked like a risk taker. Someone that Hoseok could never make happy.

Hoseok let his eyes slip shut, tapping out a rhythm on his arm rest. They’d been in the air for about an hour, and the young man had been staring at his phone the whole time. Easy then, to avoid contact, he figured.

He heard a sniffle, and grimaced; hopefully the boy wasn’t sick. He couldn’t afford to catch cold. He’d need to pick up some vitamin c just in case. Another sniffle, and a shaky sigh. Hoseok scowled. He cracked one eye and peeked over.

The young man was still looking at his phone, his blondish hair hanging down. But in the part of his exposed face, Hoseok could see tear tracks; he’d been crying. He was crying.

Hoseok shut his eyes again, his mouth forming a fine line.

‘Stay out of it, Hobi. Not your problem. Stranger on a plane. Stranger danger. Avoid risk. Crying handsome boy is a risk.’

“Are you okay?” The words were out of Hoseok’s mouth before he was even aware of asking

The boy looked over, sniffled, and nodded. His chin began to quiver and he shook his head no, but quickly yanked his hood up over his face, pulling his knees to his chest.

“I’ll be more quiet,” he whispered. His voice was low and rumbly, immediately sending chills of the good variety down Hosoek’s spine.

“No, I—That wasn’t it. You just look sad. Can I help?”

The boy shook his head no. “Just a breakup.”

Hoseok winced. “I’ve been through a lot of those,” he whispered, nodding. “I know you’ve probably heard it a lot from friends, but it does get easier.”

“I know. I’m sure it will. I just can’t believe I was so stupid… Coming all the way across the world to see him and he just—” He broke off. “Sorry.”

“No, continue.”

‘What are you doing, Hoseok. This is a risk. Risks are unnecessary in your life. Stop it.’ “It helps to vent sometimes. And we have plenty of hours.”

The boy nodded and chuckled weakly, swallowing hard. “He—We met online. And we hit it off and he promised… He promised me so much. So I saved up for years while we dated.. To come to Canada. To meet him and he just… One weekend and he dumped me.”

“Did he say why?”

“He found someone else. Someone who lives there. Turns out he’s been dating him for about six months… Didn’t tell me.”

“Oh God, what an asshole,” Hoseok muttered, his face twisting up in anger. “That’s fucking low, if you don’t mind me saying. Sure, breakups happen, but to be cheating, and to not tell you before…”

“He said he only wanted me to come so he could try to get a threesome in before we broke up. Figured I’d be happy to get his dick in real life once.” The boy gasped then and closed his mouth fast enough that his teeth clicked. “Oh God, I’m so sorry – that was way too much information.”

Hoseok chuckled. “A bit, but it’s okay. You didn’t sleep with the jackass did you?”

“God no, I’m not wasting my time. He can sleep with his creepy little affair on his own.”

“Good on you.” Hoseok hesitated before sticking his hand out. “My name’s Jung Hoseok.”

“Kim Taehyung. Are you from Korea?”

“Mhm, I live in Seoul. I was in Canada on business.”

“Really? What do you do?”

“I work for a company that helps supply hospitals with different equipment. We have contracts with a lot of countries. I go and sorta try to sell them the products, make sure they’re happy with what we’re doing, contracts, deals, all boring stuff.”

“But you get to travel? All over?”

Hoseok nodded. “Pretty much. It’s one of the perks of the job. Busy, but it’s nice to be on the move. What about you? You look pretty young.”

“Says you. All that stuff, sounds like you should be forty.”

Hoseok chuckled. “I should be. I’m lucky to have this position so young. I’m twenty-six.”

“I’m twenty-four. I just finished college. Art school. So… I’m unemployed.” Taehyung shrugged, looking down at his lap. “My friend says the coffee shop he’s working at is hiring, so I’ll check that out when I get back to Seoul.”

“What kind of art do you do?” Hoseok asked.

“All kinds, mostly drawing and photography. Uh…” Taehyung turned and grabbed his carry on. He pulled out a large black binder and held it up for a second. “You probably—Is this weird?” He asked.

“What?”

“I’m a stranger to you. You don’t really care about this. Or me…”

“I saw a handsome guy crying next to me. And, in talking to him… He stopped the tears. I care.” Hoseok held out his hand, letting Taehyung hand him the binder. He went through it page by page, blown away by the talent he saw encased in thin plastic sheets. The young man had an eye for detail, and for beauty. His photography in particular was absolutely stunning. Everything from piles of rocks to buildings to people, both posed and candid. His drawn art was unique and abstract, making Hoseok turn the book this way and that to really take in everything that was going on.

While he looked, he could feel Taehyung watching him, and could nearly sense the anxiety rolling off him. He cared what a stranger sitting next to him on a plane thought… It was sweet, and sad.

He finally closed the book and handed it back. “You’re only twenty-four?” He asked.

Taehyung nodded, chewing his bottom lip. “That work is stunning for your age, Taehyung. You’re really going to go a long way. I encourage you to look at companies you might not consider originally. Bigger tech companies and others that may not delve into the arts. They’re always looking for designers and photographers, and I bet your portfolio would really impress some of them. It’s probably not what you want to do long term, but a contract with a powerful company could really get you moving in the right direction. At least get you some funding if you wanted to do your own business or something similar.”

As Hoseok spoke, he could see Taehyung’s smile growing. It warmed his heart. Taehyung’s phone buzzed on his lap and he looked down, the smile that Hoseok had just put there drooping.

“The dickhead boyfriend, huh?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Taehyung emphasized, and Hoseok nodded. “He’s trying to make up with me.”

“And what do you want?”

“Him to go the fuck away. Forever. He broke my heart, he’s not allowed to do this.”

“Then ignore it.” Hoseok shrugged. “Turn off the phone. Let me buy you a drink.”

“Wh—What?”

Hoseok motioned to the stewardess that was making her way down the aisle. “Let’s keep your mind off the jerk, at least until you land. I’ll buy you a drink and we can watch some movies together.”

Taehyung smiled again, his eyes seeming to be searching Hoseok’s face for something. Hoseok motioned to the waitress, handing over his card. “I’ll have a beer, if you have any, and then whatever my friend here wants.”

She nodded. Taehyung smiled shyly. “Uh, I—I’ll take uh… Something sweet?” She nodded.

“I could make you a pineapple rum, if you’d like, it’s pretty sweet.”

Taehyung nodded as well. “I like pineapple.” She handed Hoseok his bottle and his card back after popping the cap off, as well as a cup to pour it in if he wanted. She set to work mixing Taehyung’s drink and passed it to him as well before continuing down the aisle. Hoseok reached out and tapped the screen in front of Taehyung.

“What genre gets your mind off idiot boys? Whatever you want.”

“Uh—I don’t know. I don’t watch movies that much, I guess…”

“Hm.” Hoseok flipped through the screen. “Not romance… Not drama. Tragedy. We could do comedy? Uh.. Action. Uh…”

“That one,” Taehyung pointed at an image of a cover. Hoseok hesitated. “That’s horror.”

Taehyung nodded.

“You like horror, eh?” He clicked it, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. Good to know he figured – more proof this insane… Whatever the hell he was trying to do… Wouldn’t work. Those who liked horror took risks. And risks—

“I hate horror,” Taehyung said.

“So why watch it?”

“Because it’s scary and I hate it. It’ll keep my attention so I won’t be thinking about him.”

Hoseok hesitated, thinking for a moment. He had to admit, it was pretty sound reasoning. He nodded.

“Do you have headphones?”

Taehyung pulled out a handful of wire from his bag and nodded. Hoseok waved over the stewardess. “Do you have a jack splitter?” He asked. She nodded and dug around for a moment, handing one over to him.

“Thank you.”

They got set up with the splitter and Taehyung pulled down the window shield. Hoseok lifted the arm rest so they could sit a little closer, sharing the same small screen as the movie began. Hoseok hated horror so much. Within twenty minutes he was gripping the other armrest, his leg bouncing nervously. Taehyung had moved almost direction against his side and was gripping his other arm tightly, his eyes wide as he stared at the screen.

Each jump scare Hosoek and Taehyung would both jump, sharing a nervous glance and a giggle afterward.

Hoseok reached up at one point, taking Taehyung’s hand and twining their fingers. When Taehyung blinked at him, he smiled. “Easier to squeeze if you get scared. Less likely to scream.”

Taehyung grinned that bright grin again and nodded, looking back at the movie.

They made it through the rest of it, jumping and squeezing each other’s hands. Hoseok finished his drink and was tempted to order another, but figured sobriety would be an easier state to tackle scary movies in. When it finished, Taehyung reached out, finding the sequel and grinning at Hoseok.

“Another?”

Hoseok hesitated, but nodded. That smile… It was something else entirely. The way his heart picked up a few beats when Taehyung rested his head on his shoulder again, twining their fingers on the seat between them. The waitress came by and smiled softly. “Can I get you two anything?” She asked.

“We’re okay, I think. Taehyung?”

“I’m good. Thank you,” Taehyung smiled up at her and she nodded. The two turned their attention back to the film.

Six hours and three sequels later, Hoseok heard a soft snore. He shifted as gently as he could to see, smiling a bit when he realized Taehyung had fallen asleep on his shoulder. His heart still did that little pitter-patter. This was a problem. How could he let himself fall for a guy he’d just met? A guy who was willing to fly across the world to meet a stranger? A young, handsome guy who probably took risks like Hoseok changed socks and thought that going out without properly re-lacing his shoes every morning was totally acceptable. As Hoseok sat in silence, no longer needing to focus in order to potentially distract Taehyung as needed, his mood soured.

What was so wrong with him that people wanted nothing to do with him? He was safe, sure. And he was peculiar… But he wasn’t a bad man, he thought. Just because he didn’t take risks didn’t mean he was no fun. Or wasn’t a good person to be around. But time and time again that was the message. Not good enough. Not fun enough. Not exciting enough.

And this – this foolish idea that had begun formulating in his head, the fantasy that maybe this young man would be willing to give him a chance – it was frivolous at best. It was an unnecessary risk. The statistics, if Hoseok were to crunch them, were sure to show that the chances of Taehyung saying yes were low enough, staying with him beyond one date even lower, and staying with him long term statistically insignificant. So he was best just getting it out of his head now, before it sat and festered like a wound.

The film ended, as the others had, with a “dead” monster and a jump scare to leave it open, and Hoseok was too unhappy to even startle. He tugged the earbuds out and turned off the screen, sinking down a little to try and rest. And – despite his bitter mood as he drifted off to sleep – he couldn’t help but notice just how nice Taehyung felt on his shoulder.

Hoseok awoke with a good, hard stretch, blinking up at the roof of the plane. “Rest well?” Taehyung’s voice was soft and deep, and Hoseok felt goosebumps rise to his skin.

“I did. Did you?” He asked.

Taehyung nodded, leaning his head on the back of the seat. He shifted over and pulled his legs up into the seat so he was facing Hoseok directly. “Do you have a partner at home?”

“A what?”

“You know… Boyfriend or girlfriend.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Just me on my own. I work too much for dating.”

“Not true, necessarily,” Taehyung argued.

Hoseok half smiled. “That, and all my exes have told me I’m too boring.” He reached out and tapped the screen; fifteen minutes until they were set to land.

“Boring?”

“I don’t like unnecessary risk,” Hoseok explained. “I don’t like being surprised and I prefer to plan things so that they will – in as much statistical assurance as they can – go in the right direction.”

“I don’t see that as such a bad thing.”

Hoseok laughed. “You’d be one of the few. Most leave because I’m just too safe.”

“Sometimes people… Some people… Need safe,” Taehyung argued. He rested his chin on his knees. “I need safe.”

“You’re quite wounded,” Hoseok agreed, wondering if he was reading between the lines in the way Taehyung meant – or if it was wishful thinking.

The two sat in a comfortable silence as the plane descended. At least Hoseok figured it was comfortable. He was anxious, as he tended to be in social situations where he wasn’t sure what the other party was thinking. But Taehyung seemed relaxed, sitting next to him, flipping through his phone. Hoseok wondered if he was reading messages from the ex, or someone new. Did people move on so fast? He didn’t know. Usually other people asked him out, and he calculated the risk based on how well he knew them – not the other way around.

The two got off the plane and headed to the luggage carousel together, not purposely, but also not purposely straying from one another’s side either. As they waited, Taehyung looked over.

“ Am I right in thinking you’re gay?” He asked abruptly.

Hoseok blinked, hesitated… Then nodded. “You are.”

“And single. And a sweet guy who helped a crying stranger on the plane.”

“Wouldn’t you have?”

“I don’t know,” Taehyung admitted, shrugging. He snagged his suitcase from the belt. “Let me give you my phone number.”

Hoseok took his own bag. “Why?”

“So we can go out on a date.”

Hoseok smiled sadly. “Taehyung…”

Taehyung’s smile drooped a little. “Oh. I misread.”

Hoseok shook his head. “Yes and no. You are a handsome young man, and I do find you interesting and fun to listen to. But we don’t know each other. And because of that, I can’t calculate the risk of going out with you.”

“So why not get to know each other? That’s what the point of dating is.”

“True. And I could, except even only knowing you for this short time… I can say with relative confidence that you would have minimal interest in me beyond a date or two.”

“And why is that?” Taehyung asked.

“I’m not your type.”

“Shouldn’t I decide that?” Taehyung chuckled. “You’re cute, nice, independent.”

“And utterly boring. While you’re the type that watches horror movies to feel better, and flies across oceans to meet a stranger in the hopes of finding true love. I could never take such risks. Or any risks, really. That’s why I’m not good for you.”

“Yeah, well look how good taking risks did me.”

“This time, maybe. But that’s the thing about risks. They can end badly. I don’t like that. I don’t like things ending badly.”

Taehyung sighed softly. His head drooped a little but he nodded. “I wish that wasn’t your answer, but I appreciate you being honest.”

Hoseok smiled weakly. “Look, Taehyung. You’re young, you’re handsome as hell, you’re talented. You’ll find a person to treat you right. That’s a good match for you.”

“I hope he’s like you, honestly.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough to know you’re smart and thoughtful. I hope he’s the type of person who’d help a crying stranger on a plane.” Taehyung reached out and grabbed Hoseok’s wrist. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Risks are scary, but the only way to truly be happy sometimes, is to take them. Just remember that. You took one today and you changed my whole mood – Possibly my whole week. Risks don’t always end badly, but you’ll never know unless you take them.” He let him go and sighed, pulling the handle up on his bag. “Have a good life, Hoseok. Maybe I’ll see you around one of these days.”

“Same to you, Taehyung. Keep your chin up.” Hoseok watched Taehyung walk off before heading off himself. Strangely, as he rode the bus back to his apartment (he’d calculated that the bus was far safer at this hour as opposed to a taxi), he felt… Not so sure about his decision with Taehyung.

He’d weighed his options, and saying yes to Taehyung had seemed like the riskier option. And risk equaled bad news. That motto had always worked for Hoseok. So why did it feel so bad?

As the days passed, turned into weeks, Hoseok thought less of Taehyung. He sometimes wondered where he was, what he was doing, if he found a good job or a nice boyfriend. If he ever thought of the strange, kind stranger on the plane who turned him down in the airport. Doubtful, Hoseok figured. He wasn’t memorable enough.

Whenever he did think of Taehyung, a small, painful knot formed in his stomach. The internet had said it was probably cancer, as those sites are apt to do, but his best friend, a med student, had ruled it as simply regret. Impossible, really, Hoseok didn’t have regrets. That was the great thing about calculating risks. He was confident in his choices and therefore had no need for regrets. Except this one, maybe.

Two and a half months after Taehyung and Hoseok had departed the airport, Hoseok was having a bad day.

He’d woken up late – something he never did. He’d been forced to take a bus because it was safer than a taxi at the hour he’d be on the road, but it also made him an hour late. On the way to his office, briefcase and coffee in hand, he’d tripped – having tied his shoelace haphazardly – and spilled his coffee down his front in an attempt to prevent himself from face planting into the wall. Which meant a trip to the nearby mall – this time walking distance – to get a replacement shirt, seeing as he had a presentation… That he was three minutes and fourteen seconds late to.

After the fiasco of the presentation, Hoseok sat outside for a few minutes during his lunch, attempting to re-gather his bearings and finish his day strong. It was working too. He felt calmer, he felt like the rest of the day would be great. Just a quick pop over to one of the quick eateries to grab a bite before his lunch hour was finished. He flipped his wrist to check the time, scowling when nothing but tanned skin peeked out of his shirtsleeve. Right. He’d forgotten to put on his watch in his rush this morning. No problem, the world was technologically advanced for a reason. He opened his briefcase and pushed some papers around, hunting for his phone. It was tucked away in the pocket. And absolutely dead when Hoseok tried the power button.

He huffed and snapped his briefcase shut.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he called to a middle-aged woman walking across the sidewalk in front of him. He bowed politely. “Sorry to bother you, but do you have the time? My phone is dead.”

“Oh, of course. It’s one forty-three.”

Hoseok’s eyes bulged. He scrambled to his feet, startling the woman.

“Sorry!” He cried, bowing again. “Late back to work. Thank you so much.”

He rushed off toward the office once more, feeling even more frazzled than when he’d left for lunch. How had he sat there for a full hour and fifteen minutes nearly? He never lost track of time like that. His days were simply too busy.

Hoseok berated himself as he turned into his office building. How had his day turned out so badly? He hadn’t done anything different the night before. There was no change in diet or weather or season or schedule to throw him off. So what the hell was going on?

Hoseok was so up in his head that he failed to see the young man turning the corner as he did. The two collided, and Hoseok went down, skidding on his butt as his briefcase, not shut firmly from his earlier panic, opened and scattered papers across the hall. The man in front of him swore then gasped as he fell as well.

Hoseok looked at him, his eyes bulging. “Taehyung?!” He spluttered.

Taehyung gasped, yanking his headphones from his ears. His hair was shorter, a little neater to his head, and he was wearing a nice dress shirt and slacks. He had a black binder under his arm. “Hoseok!”

He scrambled to his feet, setting the binder down and going to help Hoseok gather the papers.

“How have you been?”

“Good, what are you doing here?” Hoseok asked, piling them back in his briefcase.

“I’ve got a job interview. I mean I had one. For my art. This place is looking for a new marketing team member and I thought my photography and art might be good. Plus, I’ve improved my computer art skills too. What about you? Why are you here?”

“I work here,” Hoseok said, standing up straight and brushing himself off.

“No way, what a crazy coincidence,” Taehyung said, grinning. “They really liked my stuff.”

“We’re in desperate need of some fresh blood in that department,” Hoseok agreed. He hesitated, his heart doing a strange little stutter step now that they stood so close to one another.

“How have you been?” He asked after a second.

Taehyung smiled a little distantly. “I’m okay. I got over the breakup. Took some time, but I’ve moved on.”

“Yeah? Found a new partner?” What a strange feeling, Hoseok thought. That clench in my chest. I hope it’s not heart trouble…

“No, still single.”

Ah, it’s released now, probably just a fluke from my crazy day.

“I see,” Hoseok replied lamely.

“And you? Found someone perfectly safe?”

“Not really looking,” Hoseok admitted. “I mean, not opposed, but… I tend not to ask people. Ah…” He shrugged awkwardly. “When do you find out if you get the job?”

“They’ll call me later this week.”

“Ah, good. Well. Maybe I’ll see more of you around then. Must be going now…” He hesitated once more before moving past Taehyung toward the stairs. Taehyung grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“Hoseok… The airport. When you refused me…”

Hoseok swallowed hard, lowering his gaze.

“I’m glad you did. I needed time to recover mentally from the breakup and get myself back together.”

“Good. I’m glad. You’ll be all the better for it.”

“But,” Taehyung pressed, still not letting his wrist go. “But I haven’t stopped thinking about you. And my interest in you hasn’t faded.”

“Taehyung…”

“I don’t want danger right now, Hoseok. I want you to know that. I want calm. I want peace and relaxation and a steady, firm ground. Someone to support me, that I can support just as much. Someone who isn’t going to go wild, and would rather stay inside playing a board game or snuggle on the couch with a good action movie than go run a marathon. Just so you know.” Taehyung let him go, his face pinching for a moment.

Hoseok hesitated, not sure how to respond. His hesitation must have told Taehyung something though, because Taehyung tugged a pen out of his pocket. He walked over to the entrance desk, thankfully unmanned for lunch, and snagged a sticky note from it. He scrawled on it and slapped it into Hoseok’s palm.

“It’s a risk. I know that. But think about it. I’m free this week… Pretty much all week.”

Hoseok nodded, taking the paper. “I will. Be safe… The cars…”

“I will. Enjoy work.” Taehyung put his earbuds back into his ears and grabbed his portfolio before he headed out the door.

Hoseok watched him go before looking at the sticky note in his hand. Taehyung’s number was written on it, along with his name. Hoseok’s chest clenched again, and his stomach knotted up in that little twist. So maybe he did like Taehyung. He sighed and tucked the number into his pocket before hurrying up the stairs to try and get some work done before he ended up staying late.

Unfortunately, the events of lunch did not lend themselves well to an atmosphere of hard work and focus. Hoseok’s mind kept drifting. To Taehyung, to the number in his pocket, to what he’d said. He wanted safe. He described exactly the type of man that Hoseok was. Safe, boring in the eyes of so many, and said that was his ideal. Was he being honest? There was no reason for him to lie, really, Hoseok figured. So why not be honest. Would it change? Maybe. Probably, if he was being honest with himself. Most of the time humans did change. But was that such a bad thing?

Of course it’s a bad thing. Change is uncalculated… Change is a risk.

“Shut up,” Hoseok whispered to himself. He scooped up his desk phone and dug Taehyung’s number out of his pocket.

Taehyung picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Is this Taehyung?”

“Hoseok? Yeah it’s me.”

“I’m free tomorrow night. I thought I’d be free tonight but… I seem to be quite distracted and will likely not be leaving the office in time for dinner.”

“Tomorrow night,” Taehyung repeated. Hoseok could hear what he thought was a smile in his voice. “Dare I suggest… I could pick you up something for dinner. If you wanted. Since I know where you work.”

Hoseok hesitated. What if he was late tomorrow because of it? What if he couldn’t sleep? What if he said something silly to Taehyung because he was tired? “I—”

“Too big of a risk?” Taehyung offered.

“Yes. I’m sorry. Was this a mistake? I’m so strange.”

Taehyung’s laugh was bright, and Hoseok’s heart skipped a few beats. “You’re not weird. You are. But I like it. Tomorrow night is fine, but please remember to eat tonight, okay? Even if it’s something quick. You’re going to feel worse if you don’t.”

“You are likely correct.”

“Is this a cell phone?”

“No, office… My cell phone is dead.”

“Well, when it charges, why don’t you text me. You can pick a place, I’m not really all that picky about food except I don’t like super spicy things. We can decide the best way to meet up and the details then, or tomorrow morning and afternoon. Does that work?”

“That sounds good. Very planned… Thank you for being patient and understanding.”

“I want this to work out, Hoseok.”

Hoseok hesitated. “I’d say… It’s a calculated risk.”

“How are the rewards?” Taehyung asked, a grin in his tone. “Do they greatly outweigh the risks?”

Hoseok smiled a little to himself. “No. Frankly, they are… Probably pretty balanced. But with great risk comes great reward, or whatever the daredevils say, right? This reward seems too good to pass up.”

“And what reward is that?” Taehyung teased.

“Oh, one of a kind. A beautiful boy. Even better, one that is okay with me being weird and boring.”

“Sounds like a good reward.”

“I agree. So… I’ll text you when I get off work and charge my phone, okay?”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Goodnight.” Hoseok hung up, staring at his phone for a moment after he did. What a risk. That was a huge risk, who was he kidding?

He turned back to his computer, working on spreadsheets while going through a mental list of good restaurants for a first date. It was a risk, no denying that. But sometimes, every now and then, the reward is worth the risk.

#vhope #thebtswritersclub #bangtanarmynet #btsguild #networkbangtan #bangtanxm #fluff #taeseok #taehyung x hoseok

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trudy-shams · 3 years

Text

What we become - Part 8

Time is a difficult concept to understand.

Sometimes a night or a day may feel too long and at the same time, years pass you by in a blink.

Making your way through the baggage claim, looking for Nat, it felt like it was just yesterday when you were picking her up, seconds away from that dreadful moment when everything shattered. Your heart bled out right at the airport. Like always, your mind wandered to the sweeter memory you had of the airport, the kiss - a pair of lips you could still feel on yours. Sometimes, when you couldn't sleep at night, you revisited that memory, strangely able to detach it from the harsh truth. It felt like yesterday when those soft lips pressed against yours and at the same time, you felt like you were that girl eons ago. Maybe if your past self walked next to you, you wouldn't even recognize her. You had changed so much, you had grown so much.

Time is indeed a difficult concept to understand.

But looking at the girl, who was barreling towards you at full speed, you knew it had been a really long time.

She smashed into you and crushed you in a bear hug and all you could manage was a muffled 'oof'.

"I missed you peanut" Nat's voice held so much emotion you had a hard time keeping your tears at bay.

"Not as much as I missed you" You leaned back after a deep breath and beamed at her.

Nat was wearing a muted grey sweatshirt and sweats with large sunglasses and a really stupid looking that covering most of her face. Nobody was paying any attention to her and you were really glad about that.

"It's my favourite disguise, works like a charm every time" She said as she hauled your bags up and handed it to a man who appeared out of nowhere and disappeared in the crowd again with your bags.

"This is so weird, you have people picking bags for you" you shook your head and spotted Nat's face in a huge billboard as you existed the airport "Seriously, this is why I have missed you more, your face was plastered everywhere!"

You both got into a waiting SUV and spent the entire ride falling back into the easy rhythm you two shared. Nat and you spoke very frequently on the phone but you both were busy. She was one of the most successful models in the country now and you had made great advancements in your career. She filled you in on the lastest news and gossip about your family and friends.

You were lounging by the pool in your suite, when Nat came back after speaking to her manager who had dropped by.

"You remember Sam Wilson?" Nat asked and you nodded, of course you remembered, he was Steve's friend "I have to attend a launch party for one of his product lines today since I am their brand ambassador and all, we need your dress size"

You quirked an eyebrow " Why do you need my size? I am not wasting my precious vacation hours making small talk with complete strangers"

"Well, you have to come because this has been planned for ages and well... I want you to meet someone"

That got your attention "Natasha..do you mean I finally get to meet your super secret boyfriend mr."pea" that I had to pretend doesn't exist?"

"Yes tha... what?" Nat was surprised. No one knew about it, no one even suspected anything. The paparazzi had nothing on her.

"You can't hide stuff from me babe, we are sisters and well...I still remember your personal email and social media password, you really need to change those '' You squealed as Nat ran after you.

"You little shit, come here"

You spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and drinking expensive liquor.

Both of you were dressed to the nines in glamorous dresses, perfect hair and makeup - thanks to Nat's team of professionals, you didn't even have to lift a finger.

When you looked into the mirror after they were done, you couldn't even recognize yourself. Was that really you? This momentarily distracted you from the bigger worry festering in your heart since Nat announced you were going to the launch party. You knew Sam was friends with James and Steve. There was a high probability you would run into them tonight.

You were sure you had it under control, it had been 5 years since that fateful day, You were not that person anymore. Nat was not that person anymore - she appeared to be unbothered but you knew something had her worried. You didn't bring it up but you felt like it was probably the prospect of seeing James again but being in the same city, you didn't know if Nat had run into him before today. You tried to tamp down your nerves and give yourself some internal pep talk.

You were not a young girl working at the bar anymore, you were so much more.

Steve probably didn't even remember you.

Both statements were proven wrong the moment your eyes met a pair of cerulean blues that you had never truly forgotten.

Steve definitely remembered you if his wide eyes and open mouth were anything to go by.

And you were still that girl, who couldn't look away from the prison of his eyes.

You broke out of your trance when a loud voice greeted Nat.

"There is my sweet pea" the masculine accented voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Here I am Mr. pea"

PETRO!

MAXIMOFF!

What the hell? Peitro Maximoff is Mr. Pea - or Mr. P now that you think of it.

"Well he is" Peitro was sheepishly smiling at you now and you realized you said the last statement out loud. "Although,your sister has plenty of other names for me but those are usually reserved for a more private setting" he added with an exaggerated wink while Nat smacked him on the chest with a roll of her eyes.

You didn't know how to react to THIS? How could she not tell you? This guy was a douche. He always was. He was only with Nat for publicity. You wanted to drag Nat to a room to scream at her for hours.

But at that very moment, a smiling Wanda along with a happy Sam Wilson and a grumpy James Barnes made their appearance.

"There is my beautiful future sister in law" Wanda was smiling a toothy fake grin at Nat. "Not again Wanda" Pietro and Nat said at the same time and laughed. You eyed her fingers there was no ring. You would have murdered her if she got engaged without telling you. Was this your life? Your sister going from one douche to another?

You looked at James's grumpy face.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

Nat could not have found a better man for herself. What better way to rub it into James face then date his own brother in law? This was epic! You never thought Nat could come up with such a scheme.

You were surprised but also kinda proud.

You tried your best to hide your smirk at James's scowl and glanced at Nat. God! She was playing the part so well, even you were surprised by her skills, she was gazing so lovingly at Peitro who now had his hands in the small of her back and talking animatedly with Wanda.

Nat introduced you to everyone and Pietro gushed about how much your sister loved you and mentioned you all the time.

You smiled politely and kept up the small talk.

Just then, you got a whiff of a cologne which spiked your heartbeat and a second later a throat cleared and the deep voice you were longing to hear rang out.

"Hey guys"

Followed by another voice which your nightmares were made of.

"You looked so beautiful up there Nat" Sharon, still attached to Steve's hip.

"It's Natasha actually" Nat spoke airily. She did not like Sharon, you wondered why.

"Oh my sweetpea really likes her name" Petro was whipped. This was going to be so good.

You were never the bitter kind but being around these people,with all the memories,it just..changed you.

You didn't know if it was a natural pull or your instinct but you made the mistake of looking at Steve again.

You willed your heart to quiet down. He was looking at you as if you were a ghost. He barely blinked and you could hear his broken breaths as his eyes captivated you.

Why was he doing this? He was with Sharon still and he was looking at you like.. that.

A nudge on your elbow from Nat gave you the push you needed. You excused yourself and rushed to find the ladies room.

You needed to get your heartbeat and breathing under control. What was wrong with you? This guy straight up lied to you, on your face, for so long, led you on and here you were falling apart just because he looked at you a certain way.

You really needed to talk to someone. Keeping this all in was definitely driving you nuts.

You decide to come clean to Nat. Maybe it will give you the closure you needed, letting it all out.

You patted your cheeks a few times and turned to open the door of the ladies to go back out when you bumped into Nat.

"You ok?" Nat put a hand on your shoulder and ducked her head a little, forcing you to meet her eyes.

Nope! You couldn't tell her anything. This wasn't important. She and you both had better things to discuss.

"Yea, I just needed to use the ladies for a bit" you tried to sound extra cheery but one look from Nat was enough to tell you that it wasn't working.

"You can tell me if something is bothering you you know" you wanted to squirm under Nat's gaze.

"Pfft.. me? Why would anything bother me? I am great. You know what we should have drinks, I think I saw an open bar" You clasped her hand and dragged her behind you. --------------------------- "Ugh..I think I am dead" you opened your eyes with a groan "Did you let a car drive over me Nat?"

"You know, on several occasions last night, I almost wanted to do exactly that but... well Pietro stopped me" Nat pulled you into a sitting position and pressed 2 pills in your palm and a bottle of water "I didn't know you were such a lightweight"

"Well I usually don't drink so much" you ingested the pills and gulped down the water.

"So why last night? Something is bothering you?" Nat was eying you like THAT again.

You squinted at her and shook your head getting up to go to the bathroom. Did she know anything? Why did she keep saying that?

Nat opened her mouth to say something when her phone went off. She smiled looking at the screen and you slinked away to the bathroom quietly.

Nat was slumped on the bed when you came out of the bathroom

"Pietro has invited us for dinner at his place tonight. Are you ok with that?"

You nodded your head "But no alcohol for me. I have had enough for a week"

Nat hummed "It will be just a small circle of us. I would like for you and Pietro to get to know each other better"

"yeah yeah sure since you will be the future Mrs Maximoff '' you said mockingly and laughed at your own joke and tried to get some more sleep.

In your hungover state, you missed to notice the lack of matching laughter and quizzical expression on Nat's face.

#steve x reader #steve reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #au!steve x reader

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th3okamid3monart · 4 years

Text

Ya no estoy aquí, another take on immigrant stories.

(This will have SPOILERS for Ya no estoy aqui, I recommend watching it first. It is very touching and heavy tale of belonging and loneliness)

Sinopsis:

Ulises takes is the leader of the cumbia loving group Terkos in Monterrey, Mexico. But when he gets involve on a gang related accident he has to leave his home so his family and him can be safe, taking up a new home in the distant city of New York.

Writing-Directing-Acting

This piece of media was one of the best made in Mexico so far. Mexico has been growing in the production and creation of different movies which resonate with a diverse of groups. This time it was the turn of one of the most negated states and music genre ever.

Ya no estoy aqui has a well done balance in the writing, expressing and pointing out different subjects that plague the world; from immigration to corruption, from cultural sub groups to violent gangs and, in the background, the injustices a society faces when they are being neglected by the government or the violence has grown into an out of control normality.

The point of view we follow is from Ulises how he works around and moves to survive, but we can also see how the people around him reacts like the ones he left behind in Monterrey, how their lives have changed so much due to him being away and how the situation in his city is changing.

We can also see the point of view of other people who are in the same situation as Ulises, although they’re not face with as much difficulty as him due to knowing the language.

It explores how the mindset changes, how the characters experience life in the new places and how those places change them. It brings up the hardships of being an immigrant and how awfully homesick they feel, and yet we can also see how those people can act so harshly between each other, respectively how 3 of the tertiary characters treated Ulises just for the way he looked. It’s very clear they are from Mexico as well, it shows how people in general can treat each other as bad if not worse than people from a different country.

Ulises is a very well made character, it shows he is a whole person with feelings, hardships and desires. The actor, Juan Daniel García Treviño, makes a great job by showing the difference between him living in his home, being happy, bright and engaging, and living in big city, where he begins to act isolated, serious and having little to nothing of humor. The change of tendencies and attitudes can be quite hard, since you’re told you need to practically change the character. You need to change who you are. That’s exactly what happens to the character and Juan Daniel does is amazingly.

The idea of being ripped away from your home, your family, your culture and being thrown into the shark tank that is, not only other country, but the most violent and cynical city in the whole country (fighting for the 1st place is Los Angeles and Texas in my inexpert opinion).

There were some odd acting moments, mostly during the group parts where Ulises is with the Terkos. And curiously, it’s not the dancing parts. It’s their interactions at times, they are a bit stiff and awkward. There are other shots where they are seen laughing and playing, and those look very natural. Maybe those shots were the first one they were doing.

The director Fernando Frias understands the importance of belonging somewhere. The whole film is about that and you can perceive it everywhere the character goes. The concept is a very important and powerful one among the sentiments of loneliness and sadness which are used as well.

Seeing the character struggle in a world that he doesn’t fit in, that he doesn’t feel its home is the main and most important thing everyone can relate to. Even if you aren’t an immigrant, you can understand how awful feeling alone and feeling an absence or emptiness in your being can feel. We can sympathize with that and maybe get a more understanding view of the people surrounding us. We only want to be understood, we only want to be seen as part of something or somewhere where one can be themselves without being a mocking or something.

Photography

Amazing shots by Damian Garcia. Another work I’ve seen from his is La vida Precoz y Breve de Sabina Rivas. Between this two you can see he tends to work with darkness, not all the time just very commonly. And he does it VERY well. People have a bad habit of underexposing their scenes, to the point of ABSOLUTE DARKNESS (I’m looking at you, fucking USA horror movies that only woRK ON FUCKING BLUES AND GRAY TONES AS WELL MY GO-). Mr. Garcia does it perfectly and balanced, you can see the silouttes in the dark, you can see the movement.

The shots are very active, by this I mean they are sequence shots. Sequence shots follow the character around, there are also zoom outs and zoom ins mostly used in the flashbacks, which makes it have a more nostalgic feeling. There’s a specific shot where Ulises is dancing with los Terkos and the camera zooms out to make the shot a perfect square, showing them in the center while the rest of the screen is in almost pitch black. That scene is perfect, it doesn’t need a slow mo, it doesn’t need music, and it only needs the energy, the laughs, and the music coming from the radio to give us what Ulises want.

The colors are balanced, not oversaturated but still bright enough. When it comes to viewing cities and towns, photographers tend to use a very cliché color scheme. For a city like New York it’s always kind of red, grey and blue tones that can also look very opaque, meanwhile for Mexican towns, they always use the yellowish, orange tones. One can get very tired of those you know? Which is why I’m very happy to observe this photography specially coming from a Mexican. There are very amazing photographers and Mr. Garcia will go even bigger soon with his amazing work.

Sound

Awesome work, capturing the essence of what the parties and dance spots sound and feel like is a complex thing to do. Not many manage to capture something that isn’t describe as only noise. It is an experience, it’s something you feel not only hear. The music is a very important part in this movie so the way it is listened from radios, the transition from being in the plane of the character and then to a type of score, while also giving us the personal taste of Ulises is a well done edited piece.

Yuri Laguna has done a lot of works, I don’t personally know many but I did get a very good experience with this movies sound, music and effects. The sound effects sounded like something for the movie and not taken from somewhere else and sounded exactly where they are intended to do so. From the foot-steps to the mumbles between characters when they are inside a store.

I really like the scene where Ulises is at a store and he is about to buy a speaker that reminds him of his home. You can hear the boss and Ulises talking and making hand signs but you can’t understand what they are saying. It’s a little detail I really enjoy. I will have to keep an open ear for any other work of Mr. Laguna

Make up, Art and Costume design

I don’t even know where to start. I’m very sure most of the places they went to are the real ones, so scouting was done very, very well and amazing to get those lovely and breathtaking shots from a high place. But the makeup?? The clothes? THE SPACES? They entire art department did so well! There are so many details that can tell you about the characters. This is what is called subtle storytelling. The scenes that stick a lot to me were the ones that took place in the home of one of Ulises friends. The whole room is dark, and her and her family are watching TV. They have anguish in their faces, and when the shot is flipped to see their backs, you can see 2 things: her phone ringing, because Ulises is trying to contact her, and the TV. Now the one thing that could caught your eye would be the phone BUT the TV has more information for you, which is how Monterrey is having not only an increase of gangs but also an increase of poverty and police violence.

The clothes are very distinguish, I don’t know much about many sub-groups. I didn’t heard of Kolombia before this movie so this is a nice look into the culture that has been popular over there. The main actor is actually from the state so maybe the costume design team got a little info from him and obviously do their own investigation. The clothing’s pop a lot, mostly due to the style (very big and long shirts and pant, and the signature white shoes of los Terkos). The hairstyle is what you would get at first sight though, it being so obviously made by the own character.

In our own modism: Se la rifaron.

I have seen very detailed works, and this one didn’t go underappreciated since the people who work in it got a nomination for an Ariel (the most prestigious Mexican film prize).

Custom design: Magdalena de la Riva y Gabriela Fernández

Make up: María Elena López y Itzel Peña García

Art design: Taísa Malouf Rodrigues y Gino Fortebuono

I didn’t found more info about this people but I’m sure they will go far if they keep up their amazing work.

Editing

I’m pretty sure the final product is what the director intended. It has clean transitions and well done jump cuts, although I think they used a lot of black ins I think the rest is fine. You don’t need to do super specific or out of the box editing when it comes to a solid story that is intended to be realistic. The pace is good and going back and forward between the flashbacks and the present gives you a more dynamic story. There are some confusing points when it comes to the dream sequences, but I think that’s mostly the point of those. The character would get into points he can’t differentiate what’s real and what’s fake. His desires are interfering with his present to the point of confusion.

Editor: Yibrán Asaud and Fernando Frias.

Conclusion

Immigration is an overused theme, a very well-known subject and a problem that has been happening for years. Problem that hasn’t been fix, if countries were at least trying to fix the problems there wouldn’t have to be so many people putting their lives in danger to travel to a safer place. Then again, people have the power and sometimes power corrupts the person (which is why I think a lot of gangs exist too). Even though it is an overused them, many writers and directors have tried to make compelling stories and characters so the subject is not only forgotten but also inspiring for the people to help others, to sympathize and to understand this people.

Ulises is not a 100% good person, nor a bad person, he is a kid who just wants to spend time with his friends and have fun while doing listening to something he loves and feels a connection with.

Another story of immigration that I really enjoy is Guten Tag, Ramon but that story is way to idealistic, while Ya no estoy aqui is more realistic. There’s also La jaula de Oro but that has a very, very dark ending, realistic non the less but still with a more pessimistic and hopeless ending. This movie kind of stands in a middle ground, where the character just comes back to a changed home.

I’ve read some people saying this movie doesn’t have a resolution, but I think that’s the point. The resolution is that life doesn’t stop. A movie with an anticlimactic ending is not a bad movie (at least not all the time), it just makes you think.

Ulises returns to his home which has changed. He didn’t had the opportunity to see it change and change with it. He will have to start from 0, it’s like going to New York all over again. Life is about change and sometimes that change can come from us or others. Things will impact you one way or another, and sometimes life goes on without you.

You have to decide what to do when you are faced with harshness. Although this movie is mostly about belonging somewhere, the ending teaches you about decisions and choosing.

Ulises chooses to return home, he chooses home even when his friends have move on from him, even if his family has turned their back on him, he chooses to come back because he missed it there and not all is bad. There’s a lot of bad going, but at least he is home now. At least he is here. (Al menos el está aquí)

Sincerely moved, TOD.

#writing #movie #2019 #movie 2019 #festival internacional de cine de morelia #ficmorelia #ficmorelia2019 #nominada al ariel 2020 #ganadora fic morelia #ganadora fic el cairo #piramide de oro #ya no estoy aqui #mexicana #mexican movie #pelicula #critic #critic?#criticism?#criticism

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muselover1901 · 4 years

Note

Re: prompts. “Quarantine.” Alternatively, something based off urban legends. Thanks!

Well it took me forever, but hey, the world is crazy and I am just so proud of myself for finishing this Quarantine AU for you! It’s definitely WAY bigger than a drabble (at just over 2700 words) but I had a lot of fun writing it and it really pushed my abilities as a writer. Thank you for the ask! Enjoy :)

Edit: Now posted to AO3

Here With(out) You

“Are you getting close to finishing? It’s almost eight o’clock and we haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Zen says as he plops down beside Shirayuki—well, not exactly beside her, but just outside the orbit of her ever-present sticky notes, journal articles, and scratch-paper lesson plans. She acknowledges his presence with a noncommittal hum before continuing her vigorous typing on the laptop balanced on her knees. Even before the pandemic, it wasn’t totally unusual for Shirayuki to work late—she is a graduate student, after all—but lately she has been spending every waking hour on either her lab’s vaccine research or creating online lessons for her introductory biology students.

Zen’s work-life balance honestly hasn’t been much better, but since most of his work as the Mayor’s Chief of Staff involves writing reports and attending video call meetings, he can turn off his computer at the end of the day and walk away from work. Shirayuki, unfortunately, does not have the same luxury.

His stomach growls, upset at the lack of food this late in the evening. Zen reaches over, guiding a stray hair behind her ear before setting his palm against her shoulder to get her attention.

“I can make us something easy, if you want. You really should take a break to eat something.”

Shirayuki doesn’t respond. He squeezes her shoulder gently and dips his head to try to catch her gaze, but she reacts with naught but a firm pursing of her lips as she scrutinizes her screen even more. Zen gives her a small shake, as if to wake her.

“Hm?” She blinks up at him, broken from her trance, her voice sounding thin and tired. “Sorry, Zen, I really need to get this done tonight.”

She gestures vaguely to the smudged sticky-note to-do list by her laptop keyboard, the usual tasks of exercise, meal prep, and do something fun with Zen and friends crammed between terms he half-recognizes as different types of data analyses.

“We have our Friday meeting tomorrow and I need to have the preliminary results ready to present.”

“It’s fine,” he says, rubbing his hand up and down her arm and offering her a tender smile as she turns back to her spreadsheet. She is such a hard worker, and right now she’s both working to save lives and to educate the next generation of scientists. Now was not the time to be selfish—even though he misses spending time with her, they just have to push through. And if that means Zen has to cook meals by himself, without Shirayuki’s incredible culinary talent for support, then he will gladly put his limited skill to use.

“How about I make pancakes?” he suggests, “I think we still have some eggs that need to be used, so I could scramble them too—if you want?”

Without looking up, Shirayuki murmurs a dry, “Sounds great, thank you.”

Zen stands and makes his way to their kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. Even after three years of living together and countless Sundays spent chopping endless armies of vegetables as they prepped meals, there are few dishes he trusts himself to cook properly. It’s Mitsuhide and Kiki’s fault, really. When they were his roommates sophomore year, he tried his hand at a simple vegetable stew to feed Mitsuhide’s hockey team at their annual fall party. The final product honestly wasn’t half bad, but he forgot to peel the vegetables, which gave the soup a mild dirt-like aftertaste.

He honestly thought he would be able to laugh it off and learn from such a minor culinary mistake, but it turned out almost no one was willing to let him live it down—even Shirayuki couldn't resist the occasional jab when they cooked together. Indeed, one of the last times they enjoyed quality time together was during a massive day of meal prepping after their first pandemic shopping trip. Hours of chopping and grating and sautéing had driven them a little crazy, and Shirayuki had broken out in giggles while he diligently peeled his seventeenth potato.

It had taken some prodding, but eventually she managed to hold back her laughter enough to snicker, "It’s nice of you to actually peel them this time."

He’d responded with the most convincing glare he could muster before selecting a particularly long piece of peel from the pile on the counter, turning to her with a dangerous smirk, and depositing said peel on top of her head. This only served to bring back her laughter in full-force, the contagiousness of it gripping him and dragging him along until their whole house reverberated with the ridiculousness of it all.

Unlike vegetable soups, Zen had yet to mess up a batch of pancakes in his lifetime, a fact which he was quite proud of. That’s why he’d chosen to make them for Shirayuki the first morning after she stayed the night at his place. They’d groggily rolled out of bed, blushing furiously as they realized that their late-night study session for Advanced Composition had ended with both of them passed out on top of Zen’s covers with their laptops discarded by the foot of the bed. He’d insisted on making her breakfast before she left, partly because he felt bad about their awkward start to the day, but mostly because he’d been smitten with her for months and he just wanted to keep doing things with her.

Zen smiles at the memory as he gathers the ingredients and begins measuring out the flour. Even after all this time, he still treasures every moment together. And now, as they are stuck working from home for the foreseeable future, he misses her more than he did before they moved in together. Although they are around each other nearly all day, every day, they hardly interact outside of breakfast and a kiss goodnight. He sighs and forces his focus back to mixing the batter. Shirayuki is working hard and here he is being selfish again. He should be stronger.

Pushing down his loneliness, he flings himself into scrambling eggs and flipping pancakes with gusto. He quickly finishes the first set of pancakes, butters them, and stacks them neatly on Shirayuki’s plate next to her portion of eggs. For the final touch, he sprinkles a hint of powdered sugar across them and places a little dollop of fruit preserves on top. Hopefully these would look appetizing enough to entice her into taking a break from work to eat. With her plate in hand, Zen makes his way back to the living room and sets her meal on the coffee table.

“Food’s ready,” he announces. “Please don’t forget to eat.”

Shirayuki pauses, tired eyes flicking away from her screen to meet his and offering all the gratitude she can muster. “Thank you, Zen. I promise I will eat as soon as I finish this analysis.”

Zen offers a quick smile in return before heading back to the kitchen to make dinner for himself. He’d better check on her soon, just to make sure she doesn’t get sucked into her work despite her promise—although it is never intentional, her basic needs often fall by the wayside when she is hyper-focused like this.

Fifteen minutes later, Zen returns to the living room with his own stack of pancakes (chocolate chip) and scrambled eggs (sprinkled with his friend Obi’s homemade hot sauce, because the pain was always worth the flavor). And just as he feared, Shirayuki hasn’t touched her food.

“How’s it coming? Are you going to eat soon?” Zen settles into his spot on the couch next to her and cuts into his pancakes with his fork.

“Hm? Oh yes, I figured out why that regression was behaving unexpectedly, I had just flipped the variables.” She bites her lip. “I guess after I fixed that, I just moved on to the next thing.”

Zen reaches out to tenderly place a hand on her cheek and guide her eyes away from her screen and to his own. Her eyelids droop a little, and he notices a small crease between her eyebrows—she looks so tired. He drags his thumb across her cheekbone and her eyes flutter shut as she relaxes into his hand.

His heart skips a little at the intimacy of their position; after all, it had been weeks since they had really shared a moment like this, just comfortable in stillness with each other’s full attention. Eyes still closed, Shirayuki reaches up to hold his hand against her cheek and sighs as she turns her head to press her lips against his palm. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, she releases him and turns to exchange her laptop for her plate.

Although she continues working while they eat, Zen is relieved to see her diligently taking bites between bits of code. It doesn’t take long before she cleans her plate entirely. With a yawn, Zen stretches and rises from the couch before collecting their dishes and returning to the kitchen to clean up. The clock above the stove reads 10:08pm.

How did it get so late? He’d just have to head right to bed after this. Dozing off during his morning call with the Mayor was not how he wanted to start his day tomorrow.

After finishing the dishes and changing into his sleep shirt, he returns to the living room to let Shirayuki know he’s going to bed—apparently she still has a couple hours of work ahead of her, but she promised she’d come to bed as soon as she was done. With Shirayuki resigned to her work for the night, Zen heads to their bed and does his best to get comfortable. As the weight of the blanket settles over him, he melts into the mattress and takes the deepest, most relaxing breath he’s taken all day. Despite his body giving in to its need to rest, Zen’s mind still races with thoughts of the meeting tomorrow morning and of the latest case counts in the city. God, he can’t wait for the day when all of this chaos is over. He and Shirayuki could take a weekend off and hike Mount Koto just like they did senior year after finals. He sighs at the thought.

Visions of them packing their picnic supplies into his old backpack flash through his mind. He’s smiling as he makes Shirayuki’s sandwich with the mustard by the meat and the veggies under the cheese, just the way she likes it. The sunshine warms their faces as they walk along the trail, and Shirayuki is a vision in her button-up hiking shirt and sunhat, all glowing skin and bright smiles. He reaches their picnic spot first, so he spreads their blanket and sets out their food. Shirayuki’s still a ways behind, but she’ll be there with him soon, he tells himself. She will. He busies himself smoothing the blanket and making sure her sandwich is arranged just so with a nice serving of chips and a gleaming red apple.

He’s just about to polish her apple for a second time when he realizes he doesn’t hear the crunch of her footsteps on the trail anymore. Panicked, he shoots up from his seat and runs over to the trail to try to find her, to no avail. Maybe she went off-trail to relieve herself? No that can’t be it, she’s taking way too long, and she would have told him if she was going off trail, right? Oh god—what if she hurt herself and she’s stuck somewhere down the trail? Zen abandons the picnic and runs as fast as his legs can take him down the trail, until—

He hears the faint tapping of fingers on a keyboard. Looking across the trail, he sees the edge of a laptop screen poking out from behind a tree. As he approaches it, the sound gets louder and louder, until it feels almost deafening and Zen has to cover his ears to avoid the incessant din. He looks around the tree’s thick trunk and sees Shirayuki in front of the screen, her hair disheveled and eyes unblinking as she types away.

She’s absolutely overworking herself! Zen can’t let her keep doing this. He should have caught it before it got this bad, he should have pulled her away from work and made her take care of herself. Regardless, he refuses to let this go on any longer. He takes a deep breath, removes his hands from his ears, and reaches out to set his hand on her shoulder as he always does when he needs to get her attention. His hand goes right through her, as if she were a ghost.

He wakes to find her side of the bed empty.

Zen’s sleep shirt is clinging to his sweating chest and the sheets are tangled up in his legs. He kicks them off and rolls over with a groan. So much for getting a good nights’ sleep before the meeting tomorrow morning. He reaches for his bedside lamp, trying to feel the small switch in the dark. It takes him a minute, fingers clumsy and sleep-addled, but he finally finds it with a click and squints against the soft, yellow light. He yawns and drags his phone towards him by its charging cable and groans again when he sees the time. 2:37am.

With little desire to return to the stifling sheets, he decides it’s best to just get out of bed and have a glass of water before trying to sleep again. He shuffles out of the bedroom, and as the door clicks behind him, his tired mind peripherally registers that the living room light is still on. But with water being his body’s primary goal, he drowsily continues on to the kitchen and downs a full glass in three big gulps when he gets there. With his mind cleared from the coolness of the water, he realizes that even though the living room light is still on, Shirayuki’s persistent typing is absent.

When he reaches the living room, he finds Shirayuki on the couch, slumped to the side with her lips parted and a quiet snore escaping her with each exhale. Her laptop is open and teetering dangerously close to the edge of her lap, but the screen has long since shut itself off. There’s still a pencil behind her ear, too.

With as much gentleness as he can muster this late at night, Zen extracts her laptop and moves it over to her desk so it can charge overnight. He removes the pencil from behind her ear and brushes her hair away from her eyes.

“Shirayuki, come to bed.” Her eyes crack open ever so slightly, and she grumbles but does not stir. Zen sighs. Even in sleep—no, especially in sleep—she’s as stubborn as ever.

“I’m going to pick you up, okay?” She mumbles something unintelligible, but’s all the affirmation he needs. He pushes his arms underneath her knees and shoulders, steels himself, and scoops her up. At first, her head lolls to the side, but then she turns and nuzzles against his chest. He can’t help but smile down at her as he carries her back to the bedroom and slowly places her on top of the sheets.

“Shirayuki, you should change out of your clothes,” he says.

She stirs a bit before slurring, “Don’t wanna. Wanna sleep.”

“If you don’t change now, you’ll regret it in the morning. You know you will.”

At this, Shirayuki groans and pushes herself up off the mattress. She insists he help her take off her clothes, which makes him laugh and blush in equal measure.

It’s only after she is changed and settled under the sheets that he finally lets himself sink into their bed again, mind and body finally relaxed with the knowledge that she’s next to him and already half asleep. He turns off his bedside lamp with a click and lets the rhythm of her breathing lull him back to sleep. Just as the last remains of his consciousness are about to slip away, he feels the delicate press of fingers against his shoulder, the tickle of a whisper against his ear, and the softness of a kiss against his temple.

“Thank you, Zen. I love you.”

#musewrites #zenyuki #prompt #akagami no shirayukihime #fanfiction

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ofscxrlet · 3 years

Text

The Test

In a small pod meant for one, Faye navigates through the stars, in search of her mother. The SOS signal was not new, it’s been at least a few weeks since it was sent out, but still, she would float through space, completely alone for the first time in her life, just to find that planet.

The SOS signal has been repeating for days, but Faye refuses to turn the terminal off. She sits in the single chair in that pod, knees pressed to her chest as she listens to the ringing.

Three short. Three long. Three short. Over and over and over.

She’s sent a few coded messages out, to keep her mother from thinking she’s been abandoned-

“Hi, Mom. I’ll be there soon.”

“Hey, you’re doing alright, right? Right?”

“I’m almost there, just hold on!”

“Please don’t die, mom. Weird request, because I know how strong you are, but... Please don’t go.”

No answers, yet. But she must be in a pretty tight spot, so Faye forgives her.

She’s never learned how to operate a ship, of course not, she’s lived on Vautox for all of her life- so thank goodness for autopilot.

The only thing that worried her now was that autopilot was taking her straight towards what looked like a nigh inhabitable, desert planet.

Faye leant forward, messing with the controls a bit, fumbling with the high-tech software.

Population, population, population- There.

There... was scarcely any life?

That couldn’t be right. The signal was coming from this planet.

The small amounts of life could be her mother and whatever crew she collected during her time out in the depths of space, but it made no sense for them to be scattered across the planet itself...

No, this pod’s radar must be defective. Of course a product of Vautox, a planet where no one leaves, would have garbage tech.

She flicks autopilot off and listens to the SOS signal again, shakily grabbing hold of the lever with one hand and a wheel with the other. She cursed herself for worrying, her mother was fine, after all- she probably didn’t even need her to come rescue her. Her signaling system could be broken- Vautox ships were hot garbage.

With a bit of struggle, Faye piloted the pod down into the atmosphere, bracing herself for a fit of the queasies- if there was anything that made Faye sick, it was space travel, her brother’s crappy politics, and Garbog milk. Eugh.

It was dark here, she quickly realized, barely being able to see through the fog and the darkness of night. She near crashed onto a rock nearby, but thankfully, only minorly scratched the gaudy, yellow paint job.

Gazing outside would confirm that it was a desert planet, sands stretching out for miles on end, rock formations every few steps, no water as far as the eye could see... And a ship.

The same gaudy yellow as her pod, but much bigger, fit for a crew. It’s lights were dimmed, flickering every so often- but this was definitely where the signal was coming from.

Faye quickly got out of her seat, grabbed the small blaster pistol she found in the little compartment under the control panel and rushing out. She could have broken the entrance’s door panel controls with how much force she put behind clicking ‘Open’. Taking the first step, she was greeted with strong winds, sand whipping through, making everything into a blur.

The air was breathable, thank goodness, maybe she should have checked before impulsively throwing herself out of the pod, but what’s done is done.

She was hardly dressed for a sandstorm- neither for a desert, or even just space travel at all, little skirt, puffed sleeves, heeled boots and a little tiara on her head- but. Well, at least she was wearing pants with it.

Faye braced herself against the winds, stench of gas leaking resonating from the battered ship, bits of sand getting in her eyes.

Although she could hardly see it, the ship was missing a very special component: It’s door.

On closer inspection, it was blown in from the outside, sliced clean in half by... something. Maybe one of those sabers she’s heard so much about.

…Not good.

“Mom!” Faye hollered, cupping her hands by her mouth. She coughed up the dust she’d inadvertently inhaled from outside, advancing slowly, one step at a time. “Mom! I’m here! Mom, I’m here to get you!”

Nothing.

“Mom...”

The ship was big, but not that big. She heard the signal echo throughout, hollow sound bouncing off of the metal walls.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Faye’s grip tightened around her little pistol. She held it out in front of her, knuckles turning white as she rapidly flicked her head around, suddenly feeling... wrong.

There was nothing here, maybe, but it felt wrong. It was all wrong.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

She took baby steps down the hallway to what would hopefully lead to the steering terminal, where her mother could be hiding. Every step was slow and measured, she even took great care not to make clicking noises with her heels. Her fingers shook around the trigger, and she was starting to worry, in the back of her clouded mind, that she would accidentally fire from how much she tremored.

The lights flickered on and off. Brief light, brief darkness. But still, that ringing-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Faye began to walk a bit faster, letting her heels click against the metal flooring.

“Mom. Mom! Mom!” She cried out, like when her mother would play little pranks on her as a kid, and she’d fear that her mother had been hiding away for good, and then she’d jump out and startle her, saying she’ll never leave, never ever ever-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Faye made it to the terminal. It was mostly empty. All the panels were darkened, no longer glowing like it should, with the mapping and the population and the messaging system- no. Everything had been shut off.

No, no, on closer inspection, everything had been broken.

Another one of those slashes down the middle of the paneling. Clean in half.

Yet it could still repeat those same incessant little beeps.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

Over and over and over.

Faye glanced around the room.

Nothing. No crewmates. No supplies. It’s like everything had been- had been-

Her fingers loosened, and the pistol fell from her hands with an obnoxious clatter. Her arms went limp at her sides. Knees near gave out beneath her, but she stayed upright, legs wobbling.

At the side of the ship was a few shelves. Some trinkets, heirlooms from Vautox, things to keep someone from getting homesick, all slashed to pieces-

And her mother’s lifeless corpse.

Like a robot on autopilot, Faye trekked across the control terminal and fell to her knees at her mother’s side.

“Mother.” Faye mumbled, a nothing expression on her face. She reached out and shook her shoulders a bit. “Mother. I’m here. It’s ok now.”

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“Mom.”

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“...Mom.”

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“MOM!”

Her eyes stung as tears welled up, arms lip at her sides once again. They streaked down her face with no abandon, no decency-

“Mom, this isn’t funny. Come on. Phoebe and Cadmus miss you,” Faye choked out, throat drying up, voice hoarse from congestion.

Her mother said nothing. The blood surrounding her was dried up, darkened from age, the blood from her mouth, dried up, darkened from age- the gash across her stomach, a gash with so much depth Faye thought it had cut her in half- it’s blood had dried and darkened from age, too.

This signal-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

This signal-

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“I miss you!” Faye barked out, hunching over her mother at this, hands clenching into fists, so tightly it ached.

But it didn’t matter how much her body ached, it was her heart that hurt the most.

That damn signal. That damned signal.

Three short beeps. Three long beeps. Three short.

“Shut. Up. Shut up. Shut up!” With speed she’s never reached before, Faye sprung up and slammed her fist into the screen where the sound came from, shattering the glass with the force.

Shards splintered into her delicate skin, blood erupting from the many little cuts, and it stung, it stung so much, like fire, like fire- She slammed her fist into it again, still hearing the glitched audio play- she kept bashing her fist into it until it stopped.

Blood covered the now completely shattered audio processor, it going silent- and finally, she could breathe again.

She collapsed to the ground, hand full of bits of broken glass, blood streaming onto the ground below.

If she died here, so be it. She would die with her mother.

Even on this nameless, nothing planet, she would die with her mother.

She hunched over and began to weep.

.....

........

..........

“Do not weep, child.”

Faye jumped, slamming her head back into the terminal behind her, thankfully, not into the broken glass.

“What? ..What? ....Mom?”

“...I am not your mother... But I knew her. I was with her when she met her end. But she decided to hide me away, despite the power I gave her- knowing you would come find me. And so, you have.”

Faye sniffled, face red, hand still bleeding and probably broken.

“This doesn’t make any sense. Who.. Where...?”

“Come to the wall, where your mother lies. Come to me.”

Faye shook her head.

“C- Can’t. Can’t. I can’t,”

“You can. Come to me.”

It was then, despite her aversion to the idea, that Faye felt herself lifted off of her feet, compelled to go to where she was told- even stepping over her mother and lifting her functioning hand to the wall.

“Good. Press down.”

She did.

In an instant, the wall began to break into smaller metal chunks, sliding away to reveal another, secret hallway- dark, but lit up by small yellow lights on the ground.

It felt... alien, to be compelled this way, as if by magic- but it felt comforting, all the same.

The feminine voice said nothing more, and Faye stepped in, continuing down the lengthy corridor.

At the end of it was a transparent pod, and inside of it was a rather... complicated looking mix between a halberd and a staff, floating above.

It was... iridescent, shining with the glow of many different colors- silvers, reds, greens, purples- every pretty color she could name.

“You... Mom carried you. I remember. She... She always had you. Everywhere.”

Faye continued to come closer, placing her palm flat on the pod, nearly falling in when the walls fell away, leaving her with no obstacles-

Faye gingerly reached out her hand, brushing her fingers against the smooth metal. It sent a shiver down her spine, through her entire being. It wasn’t cold- it was warm, like there was a heart beating inside- like there was a person to behold.

She closed her hand around her, and near instantly, a jolt of crackling, pulsating energy filled her body. She winced, letting out a grunt- seeing the iridescent crackles form onto her arm, spread through her skin, burning all the way- Without thinking, Faye brought her other hand to grab hold of it, despite the glass making it difficult, the pulsing energy slowly making it’s way throughout her veins, her arteries, everywhere it could touch.

The burning continued, crackles forming on her face, the power coursing through every part of her.

As she lifted the halberd, eyes flashing with energy, every little piece of glass in her hand began to shiver- until all of it ejected itself from her skin, pattering to the floor.

Every cut on her hand sealed itself before her eyes.

She lifted the axe from the pod and took it into her arms, and the pain ebbed away, the marks fading from her skin.

Faye nearly collapsed, letting out a breath she thinks she’s been holding for that entire ordeal, using the staff as a cane.

“Forgive me for that pain, starling. I had to ensure you were worthy. You passed the test.”

“I... Passed? What test?... You must be... An ancient being. You’re not going to hurt me?” Faye tremored, looking to the halberd in consternation.

“To wield me, you must be able to withstand my power. You withstood. You are worthy... And so, you may call me ‘Laatora’. I am your guiding star, child.” The voice was soothing, like a mother’s- with no malice nor underlying meaning.

“Laatora... What do I do now...? Without mother, I’m...” She wouldn’t complete that sentence. It hurt her too much.

“We will find the wielder of the scythe who fell your mother. The foolish human thinks he is the holder of the star that will guide him to ora, hence his rampage throughout space, claiming it to be in the name of Demaxia and his emperor... The scythe is a deceiver. I am not. i am the voice of Ora.”

As Laatora spoke, Faye’s expression darkened, hands tightening around the handle as she silently seethed.

“So it was a Demaxian who killed her. I’ll never... I’ll never forgive him! I’ll- I’ll go to Demaxia and destroy those who have wronged me- wronged her- lay waste to their army- I won’t stop until I find him, whoever he is! I don’t care if she was a deserter, she was my mother! She- She didn’t have to die on this nothing planet!” Faye began to stomp her way back to the main area of the ship, Laatora listening to her rant on, until-

She stopped in her tracks, looking over her mother, eyes beginning to water.

Faye waltzed over to open the compartment under the terminal, and pulled out one of the blankets that was brought for warmth in the cold nights. She went back to her mother, sniffling and wiping tears away, before laying the blanket over her.

Now it looked like she was sleeping. So... peacefully. It was perfect.

“Laatora...?”

“Mm?”

“I’ll find the one who did this. I promise.”

“Your resolve is noble, girl. It was the same as your mother’s. ....Now, go. You must return home to collect supplies. It will not be an easy journey. Are you prepared for this?”

Faye gave a somber smile, glancing back to the ‘sleeping’ woman behind her.

“Anything in the name of mother.”

#Books… How I love them|Drabbles #Princess of the galaxy….almost|Odyssey #just thought i'd write something :)#tw death #tw: blood

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silvokrent · 4 years

Text

Slings and Arrows

Some wrongs cannot be righted. It’s a lesson Pietro learns a lifetime too late.

[The rise and fall of Dr. Arthur Watts, M.D., PhD.]

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number—” The rustle of papers was followed by a sigh. “—test number sixty-four. Initiating.”

The monitor on his desk whirred to life. Pietro watched the numbers on the holographic screen climb as the program ran the simulation. Thirty seconds without anomalies. A minute. He knew better than to get his hopes up, but the longer the systems operated without rejection, the harder it was to suppress the mutinous optimism at the back of his head. Maybe, this time, he’d finally found the right—

The monitor let out a dejected-sounding beep, and the screen flashed.

Insufficient variables. Analysis results too unstable for implantation.

Only when he slumped back in his seat did Pietro realize how tightly he’d been gripping the arms of the chair. He tapped at his scroll and activated the audio function.

“Test number sixty-four was unsuccessful. The simulated Aura was deemed too structurally unstable to survive grafting to a biotechnic lattice. Recommend recalibrating the values for ω, λ, and ρ to increase viability. Describe what mistakes were made.” Pietro contemplated the scroll in his hand, before lifting it to his face and smacking it into his forehead. Repeatedly. “My mistake was deciding to pursue a degree in bioengineering, followed by the even bigger mistake of my alma mater handing me a diploma. All other setbacks are incidental. End recording.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Pietro called up the diagram from earlier. The hologram cast his office in various shades of blue light that, while it had a calming effect on him, unveiled the minefield of loose papers, folders, and post-it notes that had become his workspace.

For a moment, he considered setting aside a day in his schedule to reorganize his desk. Only when he couldn’t find his calendar did he remember why it had gotten so bad in the first place.

His calendar was buried somewhere underneath.

Brokenly, Pietro stared at the untamed bed of chaos before him. On one hand, he needed to clean his desk. On the other hand, incineration was faster, and the chemistry lab had a blowtorch.

“You look desperately in need of this,” said a voice from behind.

The unexpected drawl startled Pietro out of his thoughts. He swiveled around in his chair to the sight of Arthur Watts leaning against the doorframe, a steaming mug in each hand. Judging by the amused smirk, he’d been there for some time.

“Arthur!” Pietro minimized the program with a wave of his hand. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

His friend stepped inside and carefully kicked the door shut with his heel. He strode across the room and reclined into the vacant chair opposite of him, ankle propped on his knee. He held out the second mug. “Kuo Kuana roast. Extra cream, and enough sugar to give you every cardiovascular disease known to man.”

Pietro accepted the offered drink, and for a moment simply held it to his face. The aromatic scent was blue water and white sand, and it never failed to make him nostalgic for the coast. He let out a long, quiet exhale that took some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he said, “but how did you—?”

“I saw the lights on under the door and took an educated guess,” Watts said. He took a draught from his own mug before continuing: “The janitors left at the end of the day, and no one else is unhinged enough to stay after hours.”

Pietro arched a brow. “Apart from you?”

Watts snorted. “I had a meeting that I couldn’t reschedule.”

“At ten o’clock at night?”

“I made the mistake of postponing one too many times. They couldn’t be dissuaded.”

They lapsed into companionable silence. Pietro indulged in his coffee while Watts picked up a folder and flipped through it at random.

The company was a welcome respite, and not just because it came bearing gifts.

Their office arrangement had started off rather unextraordinarily, all things considered. Handing off paperwork, returning a piece of equipment, passing along department memos—the sort of banal normalcy one would expect between colleagues. Pietro hadn’t begrudged the unexpected interruptions from Watts (quite the opposite, in fact), and Watts never protested when Pietro ventured into his space long enough to drop something off.

Only a few months after becoming acquainted did Pietro notice the shift in their interactions. It had been subtle at first: an animated conversation during a faculty meeting that led to Pietro following Watts back to his office to continue the topic. A request from Watts for a second opinion on a patient chart, which led to Watts loitering in Pietro’s office long after he’d humored him. A day where Watts had cleared his schedule to allow Pietro to vent about his latest experiment following an incident in the labs.

It hadn’t taken long for the intrusions to devolve from legitimate reasons to half-contrived pretenses. The reed that broke the Dromedon’s back had been a memorable afternoon where Pietro’s office door swung open, and Watts—bag strap slung around one arm, a stack of documents tucked under the other—announced that he needed somewhere to hide from his interns, and no one would think to look for him here.

There were, admittedly, more unconventional ways to start a friendship, though Pietro hardly minded. Especially not after Watts had treated him to dinner as an apology for the inconvenience.

It was an aspect of their relationship Pietro was both fond of and deeply appreciated, though he was tactful enough to not comment on it aloud. Watts wasn’t exactly the sentimental type. (Though the steaming mug in his hand begged to differ.)

He watched as the other man returned the folder to its original spot in exchange for a file.

“No luck, I take it?” The question was as much rhetorical as it was a tacit invitation to brainstorm. Pietro gladly accepted.

“I had a thought after yesterday’s meeting: ‘What if it’s quantitative rather than permutational? Maybe we only need to adjust the inputs rather than the sequence.’” He shot a rueful glance at the monitor. “You can imagine how that went. It feels like the answer’s staring right at me and I’m too stupid to see it.”

“If you were stupid”—Watts turned the page, not bothering to look up—“we wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation.” He took another sip from his mug. “Sleep-deprived, on the other hand…”

“Can you blame me?” Pietro asked.

This time, Watts did look up.

“We’ve been at this for six months and have nothing to show for it. We’re running out of time.”

Watts set the file down. “James never stipulated a deadline,” he murmured.

“No,” Pietro agreed, “but he’s not the only person we have to justify ourselves to.”

“If this is about the lien, I wouldn’t fret. As long as our funding comes from the military, they’re not going to pull the plug.”

Pietro frowned at the drink in his hands, at the contemplative reflection that mirrored his own. “James may have greenlit the project, but that doesn’t change the fact that the military budget comes from tax revenue. The other councilors get a say in how that money is allocated. And if they think our research is a waste of public resources…”

An uneasy quiet fell between them, and it was telling that Watts didn’t immediately refute him or attempt to assuage his concerns.

For lack of anything constructive to say, Pietro sighed. “For thousands of years we consumed willow bark as an analgesic. When people learned that salicin was the culprit, a chemist learned how to make it from scratch. Pharmacies around the world now manufacture and distribute that medication to millions of people.” He leaned back into his seat. “How is it that we figured out how to make an artificial compound, but we can’t figure out how to make an artificial Aura?”

“Well—” Watts motioned with his drink in a vague sort of gesture. “That might have something to do with acetylsalicylic acid being a synthetic chemical, and Aura being the manifestation of the soul. They’re not exactly analogous.” He stroked his chin. “It would also be remiss of me not to point out that up until a few centuries ago, pneumatophysicists were regularly executed for heresy. It’s not as if we have the breakthroughs of our predecessors to build upon.”

A weak, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. Reflexively, Pietro combed through his hair.

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” Frustrating might have been putting it charitably. Pietro still had half a mind to fetch that blowtorch.

A knowing look crept across his handsome features, though Watts deigned only to shrug in response. Obstacles and setbacks were held in a similar estimation to success; they seldom bothered him. Nonetheless, he offered, perhaps by way of consolation, “Nothing worth doing is ever easy.”

“I’m not looking for easy. I’m looking for possible,” said Pietro, “and right now, we’ve hit a dead end.”

The holographic diagram from earlier rematerialized over his desk—a simulated Aura field superimposed atop the three-dimensional render of an android. He parsed through the accompanying schematics with a wave of his hand, calling forth and highlighting relevant segments of data.

“We know that Aura is related to the sum product of a person’s neurological pathways, because it’s the same system responsible for generating consciousness.” Pietro activated the synaptic filter. A branching web of neurons lit up the hologram in tandem with the Aura field. “Here’s the problem. Functionally and behaviorally they’re similar, so you’d think replicating one system would mean the simultaneous generation of the other, right? But it doesn’t work like that.” His brow furrowed. “Not only is Aura’s reliance on this system facultative, but it verges on metaphysical. It means that we’re missing something. You can break down the physiology of the CNS and PNS into all the various electrochemical signals, but the second you try to do the same thing with Aura—”

He dismissed the hologram with a flick of his wrist, and slumped in his chair.

“I’m starting to think James picked the wrong proposal,” he quietly admitted. “At least yours didn’t hinge on reconciling a decades-long conflict between pneumatophysical models and—”

“Self-pity doesn’t become you.”

The brusque statement startled Pietro out of his rambling. It only took a second of being subjected to Watts’ flat, unimpressed stare before Pietro ducked his head.

Watts snorted under his breath. “For better or worse, the general picked your proposal. You have an obligation to not fail, so I suggest you pull yourself together.”

Embarrassment quickly faded to mild annoyance. “You’re as sobering as a cold shower. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Watts’ expression softened. “Sometimes a little cold helps to clear the head.” There was thoughtful pause before he unhooked his ankle and leaned forward, elbows braced against his legs. “You know,” he began, “success isn’t always contingent on understanding.”

Coming from the man who actively condemned ignorance, that surprised him. Pietro stilled with the mug halfway to his lips. “True,” he conceded, lowering the coffee back to his lap. “But I don’t think we’re in a position to trip over the answer like it’s a sleeping cat.”

Another pause followed, longer than the one that preceded it.

“What if we had a way to circumvent it?”

“What do you mean?”

With a soft thunk Watts set his mug on the desk. “Your proposal requires grafting an Aura onto a mechanical vessel. It never specified where that Aura came from,” he said. “Whether it was artificially created…or acquired from somewhere else.”

He laced his fingers together.

“Someone else, perhaps.”

He’d been told more than once that he had a terrible poker face. Clearly that hadn’t changed, if the way Watts pursed his lips was anything to go by.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I’m not suggesting we go abduct people and harvest their organs in a back alley.” He rolled his eyes. “I would hope you’d have a somewhat higher opinion of me.”

“You have a way with words, Arthur. A questionable and slightly terrifying way with them.” Pietro fidgeted with his tie. “Let’s, for the moment, ignore all of the potential obstacles involved. Like receiving an extension on our funding to cover any unanticipated costs. Or getting approval from the Atlesian Ethics Committee to perform an unregulated and untested surgery on a patient. Or even finding a candidate who would willingly consent to such a procedure. Even if we hypothetically resolved all of those issues, we’d still be left with a problem.”

“Only the one?” asked Watts. He arched a slender brow. “Very well, I’ll bite. Enlighten me.”

Another frown tugged at his lips. “Even if we found a way to perform such a surgery, removing even a fraction could be fatal. You can’t survive without Aura.”

“That’s not, strictly speaking, true.” The mug had made its way back into his hand. Watts idly traced the rim with a finger. “I’ve treated patients with Chronic Aura Degradation before. It’s not uncommon to see cases where up to 45% of the Aura was eroded. And in every one of those cases, the patient survived with weekly EMF-DS therapy.”

Pietro shook his head. “You, better than anyone, know that ‘survived’ isn’t the same thing as ‘cured.’”

“Of course not,” he agreed. “Forgive me if I insinuated otherwise. I only meant that regular treatments resulted in a negligible impact on their quality of life.”

“I’m not denying that.” Only when Watts stilled his hand, and began circling the rim in the opposite direction, did Pietro realize he was staring. He snapped his head up and cleared his throat. “But that’s an archotheronotic disease. You’re talking about using Auratic intercision to create a manmade version of CAD. There’s no telling what that would do to the donor, or if the amount of Aura donated would even be enough to sustain an entirely new person.”

Watts conceded with a sigh. “It’s just a thought.”

It wasn’t the most outlandish thing Pietro had heard—the staff breakroom regularly churned out weirder ideas on a weekly basis, and gods knew he’d contributed to quite a few of those himself.

Still…

“I’m not opposed to alternatives,” he replied at last, “but I can’t imagine anyone condoning a surgery that mimics a Grimm-based illness. The controversy alone would be a nightmare.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Though I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted.”

Watts made a noncommittal noise as he stood.

“Scientific progress has always been controversial. What matters is how we deal with it.” He lightly clapped a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. The residual warmth from the mug lingered; it was oddly soothing. “Do me a favor, and try to get some rest?” He smirked, and the hand retreated. “Sleep on my suggestion. See if you’re not better disposed to it in the morning.”

Pietro sipped at his coffee, eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll pass on the sleep for now.” He motioned with the cup. “Keep these coming though and you might just persuade me.”

Watts let out a low chuckle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He turned on his heel for the door, tossing a parting glance over his shoulder. “Good night, Pietro.”

Pietro smiled into his drink. “Good night, Arthur.”

“—has to be something we haven’t thought of yet.”

“We could give the pneumatograph another go. Run the Dust vortex generator with different configurations.”

“And waste more Dust in the process. Repeating the same tests isn’t going to get us any closer to generating an Aura.”

“Okay. Well, what about Grimm exposure trials? We could map out field fluctuations and look for any biopenumatic discrepancies.”

“After what happened last time? We’d be lucky if the Grimmoire loaned us a bloody paperclip, let alone a Boarbatusk. Try again.”

Will pulled a face as he crossed out a line on the clipboard, before tossing the pen back to Watts. He cast the cages lining the wall a glum look. “I guess we could go back to rodent models,” he said.

The mice Pietro was feeding began to squeakily protest. He lapsed into momentary silence before agreeing, though not without some reluctance. “It couldn’t hurt.” Not in the technical sense, anyway. But if the thought of their work regressing back to animal trials didn’t sting a little. Given the dwindling list of alternatives, however, he wasn’t about to object.

One of the mice nosed at his hand, and Pietro obligingly scratched it between the ears. “I’ll fill out the requisition forms. It shouldn’t take more than a day to get the approval.”

“As long as the technicians remember to give us an Aura-active batch,” Will added. “Last time they forgot.”

Their conversation petered out, replaced by the high-pitched din of the mice and the clink of the pellets in their food bowls. Pietro sealed the latch on the enclosure and placed the dispenser on the nearby counter, thinking.

“Even in a worst-case scenario, if the rodent models end up not working out, we could always repurpose our findings for later studies. Once the Penny Project is over”—though whether or not they succeeded, he chose not to theorize on—“if we can get the grant money for it, well, who knows? Apothymetics is relatively uncharted territory, and it’d be a shame to see all those mice go to waste…”

Watts slowly lowered the chart in his hands, and pinned him with the full intensity of his stare. “You want to run tests…on the mice…to see if you can unlock their Semblances,” he said. He broke apart his sentence as if he were running it through a translator.

Pietro shrugged. “It’s theoretically possible. If an animal can unlock an Aura, by extension it should be able to acquire a Semblance. Haven’t you ever wondered what that would look like?”

Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to speculate on the possibilities of the hypothetical. Sometimes, he liked asking questions because it was fun to see what sort of face his friend would make. Watts had yet to disappoint.

He watched with delight as Watts squinted his eyes, as if the mere idea were an affront to common decency. “No,” he said, “I haven’t wondered what that would look like. Perhaps my imagination isn’t as vivid as yours, but I’d rather not contemplate the horror of a 700-kilogram polar bear learning how to run at Mach 1, let alone a lab rat.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur,” Will chimed in, in a voice far too casual to be anything but. “Think of all the possibilities. Telekinetic service dogs. Self-cloning chickens.”

“We could solve world hunger,” Pietro said. This time he was unable to suppress a grin.

It took a second for Watts to register the look on his face; his expression evened out, and he let out a loud sigh. “Stop enabling him, Will. He doesn’t need a co-conspirator.”

“I thought you were my co-conspirator,” said Pietro, feigning a look of wounded betrayal.

“No. I’m your impulse control. And I seem to doing a rather poor job as of late.” Watts jotted something on the chart in his hands, his brow momentarily furrowed in concentration. “Those mice are supposed to be euthanized anyway. I doubt they’d let you repurpose them for another project, even if you pitched it as a financial incentive.”

Pietro considered. “I can be persuasive.”

“That’s what concerns me.”

Will set the clipboard next to the dispenser and leaned back, his amusement tempered with intrigue. “I know you were kidding—mostly—but eventually, someone else is going to ask the same question, and they won’t be. Sooner or later, it’s going to be proven or disproven.”

“With any luck, they’ll disprove it,” Watts replied. “It’s already bad enough when people unlock their Semblances.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Huntsmen need those.”

“Huntsmen, certainly. Their line of work requires it.” Watts glanced up from the chart. “The average person, on the other hand, would frankly be better off without.”

“Come off it, Arthur. I know we’re supposed be scientists and demystifying this stuff, but…” Will shrugged. “You can’t deny that it’s a little exciting for someone to try and imagine what their Semblance might be.”

“Oh, no, you’re absolutely right. It’s very exciting when someone with no training accidentally unlocks their Semblance, only to discover they now wield the power of fire, and proceed to give themselves a second-degree burn.” He clicked the pen, and pocketed it in the folds of his lab coat. “That was last Tuesday, by the way.”

Will crossed his arms. “I take it you wouldn’t want to find out what yours is?”

“If I was going to do something that permanent and that irrationally stupid, I’d get a tattoo on my left—”

A scroll dinged. Will jumped like a tasered cat, and fished through his pockets until he found it. “It’s Meg.” The sudden tension eased from his shoulders as his eyes darted over the screen. “She just wanted to let me know how the appointment went.”

Pietro’s eyes lit up. “How is she?”

“Good. She’s due in another nine weeks.” Reluctantly, he pulled himself away from his scroll. “Since I need to call her, now seems like as good a time as any to take a lunch break.” He started for the door. “I’m heading to the cafeteria. Do either of you want anything?”

“Pastrami on rye. Toasted,” Watts called after him.

“If they have any tuna salad left, I wouldn’t say no,” Pietro added.

Will gave a parting wave as he slipped out the door, the scroll already held to his face.

There was a brief silence, filled by the squeaks of tiny mice.

“So.” Pietro side-eyed the other man. “Where did you say you were putting that tattoo?”

Watts swatted him with the chart.

With nothing else to distract them for the time being, Pietro dug out his scroll and consulted his schedule.

“Busy this afternoon?” Watts prompted.

“Nothing too exciting. The hospital wants me to review some patient files and see if I’d be willing to consult on them. And around three I’ve got an appointment with a new client needing cybernetic optimal implants. The insurance company approved her for a fully-integrated interface, similar to the model James has.”

“Which reminds me…” Watts turned his attention to his own scroll. “I need to notify him about his follow-up. His prostheses are due for inspection.”

“Good luck getting him out of his office.” At his inquiring look, Pietro elaborated: “The Vytal Festival’s next month. He’s been busy overseeing the travel arrangements for his students.”

“Damn it. I forgot that was coming up.” Watts pinched the bridge of his nose, before skimming back over his calendar. “Well, at least I’ll have one appointment today that won’t be akin to pulling teeth.”

“Oh?”

“A new client by the name of Rainart. It seems he needs treatment for acute Dust poisoning.”

“Collier?”

“He didn’t say.”

Pietro tagged a file on his scroll and dismissed it from the queue. “We’ll need to meet with the rest of the team and make sure our schedules are coordinated,” he stated. “I think tomorrow would—”

“Hold on.” He hadn’t realized Watts was reading over his shoulder, and didn’t register the proximity until he felt a puff of air on the side of his neck. The sudden presence startled him. “Go back to the last tab.”

He shot him a puzzled look, but obliged him all the same. “This one?” He tapped the screen and enlarged it.

“Why did you pass on this case?” asked Watts.

Pietro peered at the text. “‘Name: Mia Atelier. Age: 19. Patient is in a hypothermia-induced coma and has been unresponsive to all attempts to resuscitate.’” He frowned. “There’s nothing I can do that the hospital staff haven’t already tried, I’m afraid.”

Watts took a step back, his eyes narrowed. After a moment he returned to his scroll. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Phase-II trial of Auratic synthesis, test number seventy-one. Initiating.”

The monitor gave a powerful thrum as the simulation booted up. Other than the pneumatic hiss of the internal fans, their silence was uninterrupted. A hand reassuringly squeezed his shoulder, though Pietro didn’t bother to find out whose it was. He didn’t dare look away.

As quickly as it began, the program aborted. An all-too familiar error message flashed counterpoint to the readouts on the screen.

The team let out a collective sigh.

Pietro willed himself through the motion of activating the audio function on his scroll.

“Test number seventy-one was unsuccessful. The recalibrations based on the gravid murine analysis didn’t provide the missing variable for the Aura simulation. It’s possible that the in-utero pneumatographic scans failed to identify the unknown factors necessary for generating and implanting an Aura. Recommendations for subsequent tests are…” It dawned on him midway through that he didn’t know where to go next. “…The team will reconvene to discuss further options. End recording,” he finished.

For lack of anything better to do, Pietro buried his face in his hand. Around him the voices of his colleagues stirred, their chatter sounding strangely far away.

“I really thought we had it that time.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. We modeled it after a gestating animal. What the hell could we have possibly missed?”

“Maybe the issue is what we’re modeling. What if we replicated the scans on a more complex organism?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure the guys in obstetrics would love that. ‘Can we borrow one of your patients for nine months? We just want to run some non-invasive tests.’”

“Hey, Will, how do you feel about offering up your firstborn child in the name of science?”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do?”

“I suggest we go down to the pub on Baker Street and put our funding to good use.”

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to do that after you succeed, not before.”

“What about you, Arthur? You’re being unusually quiet.”

Pietro peered up from between his fingers to where Watts stood, inspecting the hologram of the simulated Aura field. Light from the projection struck the side of his face, carving out the angles in shadows.

“I think,” he said, “we should consider alternatives.”

It wasn’t an opinion shared by the majority of the faculty, but Pietro liked the distance between the buildings.

Admittedly, there were drawbacks to the layout. For example, when back-to-back classes were scheduled on opposite sides of the campus, it was fairly common to see students and professors alike sprinting between lecture halls.

Personally, Pietro enjoyed the sweeping courtyards. The altitude of the city meant a steady supply of brisk air, along with an unobstructed view of the stars that no amount of light pollution could diminish. If nothing else, the long walk between buildings gave him a chance to declutter his thoughts after hours spent cooped up in his office. Given the excuse, he gladly jumped at any opportunity to walk the grounds.

Not that he really needed the excuse, he mused, as he approached Watts’ office.

Pietro went to knock, only to be stilled by a snippet of conversation that filtered through the door.

“—understand your concerns. Rest assured, the surgical theater is still reserved for then. I spoke with the administrator at the medical center this morning, and received confirmation for the private transport. Everything else has been taken care of.”

Pietro was careful not to cause too much of a disturbance as he slipped into the chair across from him. Watts greeted him with a nod, before turning his attention back to the call.

“Certainly. We can discuss your daughter’s treatment plan afterward. I’d rather not burden you with undue stress in the meanwhile. If you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

He set aside the scroll on his desk. “You’re here earlier than usual,” he noted. “Either something went extremely well, or horribly wrong. Which was it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.” The joints in his shoulder popped as Pietro stretched. “Remember those parts I ordered? The shipment was delayed another week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I presume there’s a silver lining?”

“Well,” he said, “the original plan was to spend the next three days working on the rotary cannon for the Colossus prototype. But seeing as that’s no longer possible…” He leaned forward, hands clapped on his knees. “I know you’re not usually a fan of ‘that hideous blood sport,’ but the doubles rounds start tonight and the matches have been pretty good so far. Everyone’s getting together later in the staff breakroom to watch. The betting pool this year is pretty sizable, too.” He offered a sheepish grin. “Not that I would know anything about that.”

Watts smirked. “Of course not.”

“But—if you’re still opposed to watching the Tournament—” Pietro shrugged. “My weekend’s free. We could make plans to do something. If you’re interested.”

Watts inclined his head, green eyes half-lidded in thought. After a pause he averted his gaze to his hands, neatly folding them atop one another. “As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I have a flight this evening. I’ll be out of the capital for a day or two.”

That caught him off-guard. “You didn’t tell me you were heading down to Mantle.”

“That’s because I’m not. I’m heading to Argus.”

“You’re leaving the country?”

“Hardly. With how much the city relies on trade with Atlas, it might as well be part of the kingdom.” He dismissively waved his hand. “But, yes. I’m overseeing a procedure there.”

It took Pietro a moment to conceal his disappointment behind a consolatory smile. “Well, what can you do.” He scoured his brain for any recent mention of traveling during the last few conversations, and surprisingly drew a blank. “I’m guessing this was last-second on your part. A new patient, I take it?”

“Something to that effect.”

“Well”—Pietro hopped to his feet—“if you’ve got an airship to catch then I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you want to get out of here and pack.” He quirked a brow. “Just so you know, I’ll be very upset if you don’t bring me back a souvenir.”

Watts rolled his eyes. “I’ll stop at the hospital gift shop on my way out,” he drawled, without a hint of sincerity.

Pietro laughed. “I’ll hold you to it.”

He made it as far as the threshold when a voice called him back: “Pietro.”

Watts was shuffling a stack of papers on his desk—a pointless gesture, with how meticulous his workspace already was. He spoke without meeting his gaze: “When I return, I’d like to discuss some ideas I had for your project. I might have found a solution.”

His pulse quickened. “Are you—are you sure?” Pietro asked.

The rearranged stack was pushed off to the side. “I will be after tomorrow.”

When he got the news a week later, Pietro stared out his office window, and didn’t move for a long time.

“That girl’s blood is on your hands.”

“Don’t you dare say I took a choice away from her.”

Pietro hesitated outside the imposing metal doors. Announcing his presence would have been the right thing to do—something he should have done ten minutes ago—but a sense of dread, morbid curiosity, and some other nameless instinct stayed the impulse. Instead he leaned closer, only just able to discern the pair of muffled voices on the other side.

“She was dying. What was I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for the hospital board to convene and debate the ethics? They would have wasted precious seconds wringing their hands and fretting over indemnification, while I had a chance to save her life.”

James’ voice was taut with the tension of a fraying rope. “And you failed.”

“People die from surgical complications every day,” Watts snapped. “We can’t save everyone. But we can try, and I did. She may be dead, but the contributions her death made have advanced our understanding of—”

“‘Contributions’? Do you hear yourself?”

Pietro nearly forgot to breathe in the deafening silence.

“You didn’t do this out of some misguided altruism,” James said. “You did it to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“I did it because she was running out of time and options. A transfer of consciousness by incising her Aura and siphoning it into a receptive vessel was the only way to ensure her survival. What other options were there?”

“Hospice.” The word was ground out through clenched teeth.

“If you’re waiting for me to grovel to you for clemency,” said Watts, “then you’ll be waiting for some time. I did nothing wrong.”

“Oh, really? Is that you why you had your patient shipped to a hospital in another kingdom so you could perform an illegal surgery?”

Pietro flinched.

“As I’ve explained to you numerous times, the procedure is illegal under Atlesian law. Mistral, on the other hand, has no such qualms when it comes to the implementation of pioneering medical research.”

“Hiding behind a loophole doesn’t change the fact that you manipulated her emotionally-compromised parents!” A fist slammed against the desk. “You knew they were desperate, and you knew they would say yes if there was even the slightest chance they could get their daughter back. Their consent was based solely on the premise that your theoretical procedure might work.”

“It’s not theoretical anymore.” The words saturated the air, like the ozone that preceded lightning. “I proved that it can be done. My efforts, while unsuccessful, weren’t a failure. We can take what I learned from her death and repurpose it—”

“That’s enough.”

Pietro recoiled from the shout. Then he realized what he’d done, and quickly repositioned himself next to the door.

“Did you know…” Shoes scuffed over the tiled floor, across the sunken dais. “During the height of the Great War, Mantle oversaw the detainment of captured soldiers. In time, their wardens saw little benefit in expending resources on them if there wasn’t some use for all of those people.” The pacing stopped. “Eventually, Mantle did find a use for them. They were experimented on. When the war came to a close, hundreds of people had perished. The textbooks never fail to recount that.”

Watts took a steadying breath. “What they often conveniently omit is that many of the technologies we have today were born from those experiments. Analgesics, psychotropic drugs, new surgical tools…and neuroprostheses.”

A pause.

“The metal grafted to your body exists because prisoners of war bled for it. You can’t ridicule my work and absolve yourself of hypocrisy.”

When James’ reply came, it was dangerously soft: “For better or worse, we have that technology.”

“For better or worse, we could have had one more,” Watts retorted. “How does condemning my choices justify yours?”

James exhaled through his nose, and his tone evened out into something approximating his regular speech. “Because I don’t condone the loss of lives, or the dehumanization of people. I didn’t participate in the atrocities that brought us those advancements.”

“No. You only benefited from them. Tell me, James. How many more people do you think will suffer needlessly in the future because you stymied my research? Inaction will deprive future generations.”

“Whereas action will slaughter the current one,” James shot back. “The ends don’t justify the means. You know that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gambled on asking for forgiveness over permission, had the girl actually lived.”

Neither man spoke into the yawning chasm that filled the space between them.

“…I didn’t want her to die, James.” An unfamiliar emotion crept into his voice.

James sighed. “I didn’t call you here to debate your motives. What’s done is done.”

When Watts spoke again, the question was accompanied by unease: “Then why did you arrange this meeting?”

“To discuss the consequences with you.”

“Am I being arrested?”

“Not presently, no,” James said. “The Council hasn’t formally issued any charges, and they won’t until they meet to discuss the matter in-depth.”

“If I’m not being arrested,” Watts ventured, “then what consequences are you talking about?”

The general’s reply was delayed. “I spoke with the Medical Board. Your license has been suspended.”

Pietro’s blood ran cold.

“On what grounds?” His voice was nearly inaudible.

“Malpractice.”

“You can’t place me on probation for a law I didn’t break—”

“Arthur.”

The interruption killed whatever momentum he’d gathered. When no more protests were forthcoming, James continued: “It wasn’t my call.”

Another gap in the conversation followed, shorter than the ones before it.

“If the Board’s intention was to simply strip me of my license, they could have easily done so without involving you. If the Council plans to do nothing yet, then this meeting is a waste of our time.” His confusion faded, replaced with wariness. “Why am I really here, James?”

“…I want you to understand,” James began, “that I arranged this meeting as a courtesy. I didn’t want you to be in the dark about events going forward—”

“Why am I here?”

Pietro could picture James steepling his hands, tightening his jaw.

“As you’re aware, the Penny Project is a classified military project. Your surgery appropriated that research, and you performed it on a civilian.”

“My research”—Watts bristled—“was based on an archotheronotic disease. Where I drew my inspiration is irrelevant.”

“The other councilors might not have letters after their names, but they’re not idiots. They saw the parallels. It’s not a coincidence that your procedure and the project both focus on Aura.”

“The difference,” Watts spat, “is in the intent. The project’s goal is to create an Aura from scratch. Mine was to separate and transfer an already-existing one. If we can separate a host’s Aura and place it within a new receptacle, then that proves we can also remove a portion of it and do the same.”

“Even if you’re right, that doesn’t change the fact that the girl’s parents went to the media and took their story public,” James said. “Soul-based research is already controversial. How long do you think it will take for people to start asking questions? That’s a scrutiny we can’t afford right now.”

The chair legs scraped over the ground as James stood.

“The reason why I called you here is because the Council believes that your actions jeopardized that secrecy. The unauthorized disclosure of classified military intelligence is a potential security breach. Which is why, until they conclude their investigation, your passport is being revoked and you will be confined to the Kingdom of Atlas.”

James sounded tired.

“The charge they intend to level against you is treason.”

Nervously, Pietro rapped his knuckles against the wooden frame.

“Arthur? May I come in?”

Watts stood with his back to the room, an outstretched hand removing several books from their shelves. At the sound of his name, he stiffened. “If you must,” he answered flatly.

“Thank you.” He was careful to avoid tripping over the boxes stacked by the entryway as he closed the door behind him.

The other man had never been particularly materialistic, but even so, his decorating was far from sparse. Awards and accreditations had hung from the walls, while shelves with medical tomes lined the perimeter of the office. Occasionally, projects from the lab migrated into the room, and had taken up tablespace by the windowsill where a lone bromeliad sat.

It was jarring to see those possessions packed away.

Watts didn’t immediately turn to face him. Instead, his head sunk between his shoulders. “…Are you here to yell at me as well?”

“Yes. No.” He ran a hand through his hair. A thousand different thoughts colored his mind like a fractured kaleidoscope. There were plenty of things he wanted to say, each worse than the last. Pietro ruthlessly shoved those thoughts aside. “Look, I’m upset, but right now you need a friend, not another detractor.”

“How considerate of you.” His words were devoid of inflection.

“I’m not going to pretend I know how you’re feeling right now, but I still think you should—” Pietro glanced at one of the cardboard boxes on his desk, only to do a double-take. “What are you doing?”

“Vacating the premises.” Watts resumed packing. “Seeing as I’m no longer tenured, the institute felt this room could be put to better use.”

“I already know that. That’s not what I meant.” Pietro gestured to the lacy scrawl on the side of the box—Free to whoever wants it. “Why are you getting rid of your things?”

“I have no reason to keep them. It’s not as if I’ll be able to use them again for another employer.”

“You don’t know that—” Pietro began to protest.

“No one in their right mind would hire me. And that’s assuming I won’t be spending the rest of my life behind bars.” He folded the box flaps with slightly more force than necessary. “Seeing as you’re already here, help yourself to whatever you like. I’ll be taking the rest of these downstairs to the breakroom, once I’m done. I know Will was always partial to my microscope.”

“I’m not taking your things!” Pietro let out a long, deep exhale, forcing himself to calm down. “I want to talk to you.”

“Very well.” Watts finally turned to face him, and Pietro was struck by how ill he looked. A gauntness clung to his features, though whether from a lack of food or a lack of sleep, he couldn’t say. Stubble had begun to creep in below his jaw, and his clothes were far more disheveled than he could ever recall them being. “Talk.”

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts. “You need to get a lawyer.”

“And what good will that do me?” His eyes were dull. “Even if the odds weren’t overwhelmingly stacked against me, what lawyer would touch my case?”

“I’m sure someone would, if you asked around.” Pietro hated the idea, but he willed himself to say it: “What about Jacques Schnee? You’re acquaintances, right? The SDC settles lawsuits all the time, so they’ve got to have legal experts on retainer. Maybe you could arrange something with him—”

“If you think I’ll let myself be indebted to that myopic narcissist—” As quickly as it flared, the fire in his eyes faded. Watts’ posture folded in on itself as the anger drained from him, leaving only fretful cinders behind. “I’m sorry,” he said, with a hard blink. “I was out of line.”

Pietro worried his lower lip. “What can I do to help?” he asked. “Do you want to go out? Get something to drink?”

“I—” Watts cut himself off with a sigh, and shook his head. “No. Thank you. I have plans to meet with one of my former patients later. He wants to discuss alternatives for his Dust poisoning, seeing as his treatments have been…discontinued.”

Pietro cast his gaze helplessly about the room, trying to think of something. With an unpleasant lurch in his chest, he realized that he couldn’t. “I’ll leave you to it, then?” he said.

“That would be for the best.”

Despite the overwhelming urge to protest, Pietro turned to leave. He stopped with his fingers on the door handle, and glanced back. “You’ll come and get me if you need anything, right?”

Watts opened another box, and began writing on the side. “Of course.”

Save for the occasional fleeting glimpse, Pietro saw little of his friend over the next two weeks.

While his presence on the campus was a necessity, Watts seemed to be doing what he could to minimize it. Only the administrators—who refused to speak about it—and his former clients—who spoke too much about it—spent any length of time with him. His public avoidance did little to deter the gossip, which varied in accuracy and failed to account for all the details, given the clandestine nature of his termination. It didn’t help that Pietro staunchly refused to contribute to it, and told off anyone bold enough to press the subject.

When their paths did cross, Watts didn’t linger long enough to chat. He had a faraway look on his face, and his appearance was unkempt.

It worried Pietro that he no longer seemed to care about himself.

It was early into the evening when Watts visited his office.

“Forgive me for the intrusion.” Pietro glanced up from his paperwork to see Watts hovering in the doorway. Strangely, he was carrying the bromeliad. “Might I steal a moment of your time?”

“Certainly!” Pietro pushed aside the document stack and gestured warmly to the chair. To his dismay, Watts remained standing. “What can I do for you?”

Watts adjusted the potted plant in his arms. “I was wondering,” he began, “if I could ask for a small favor.”

“Go ahead.”

Pietro didn’t know what to make of the unexpectedly calm expression on his face, so at odds with his recent emotional state.

“I need someone to look after this for me.” Watts took a step forward, and set the plant on the edge of the desk. “If it’s left unattended for a day or two it’s not an issue. Any longer, though, and it begins to dry out. The care required for it isn’t overly involved; the soil simply needs to be misted with distilled water every so—”

“Wait a second,” Pietro said. “Why does it sound like you’re going somewhere?”

Watts hesitated. “I’m travelling to Evadne for a few days.”

Pietro started to rise. “Arthur—”

He held up a hand. “I’m forbidden from international flights, not domestic. The southern coast of Solitas is under Atlesian jurisdiction, is it not?”

Slowly, Pietro sank back into his chair. “It is,” he agreed. “But why are you travelling now?”

Watts closed his eyes. “I want to see the coast one last time.”

He frowned. “You shouldn’t talk like that. You don’t know what’s going to happen.”

His friend didn’t comment. He merely stared at him.

“Fine,” Pietro relented, “I’ll watch it for you. But just so you know, I’ve killed plants before.”

His lips twitched in a faint smile. “That’s quite all right.”

Pietro reached forward to move the pot, only to be taken aback when his hand was intercepted by Watts’. The contact startled him, so much so that he didn’t react when Watts lightly squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Pietro forced his jaws to move. “For what?”

“For more than I care to admit.”

The hand retreated.

“Enjoy your trip, Arthur.” Pietro tried to sound cheerful. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

Watts opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. He dipped his head in a polite nod, before turning on his heel.

He wasn’t sure why he was here.

It was the second day after Watts’ departure for Evadne. The office was unrecognizable without any of its usual décor—walls now stripped bare of his possessions, floorspace empty save for the generic chairs and desk pushed off to the corner. The open space was dissonant with Pietro’s memories of the many times he’d spent in this room, either with other members of the team, or by himself. Almost as soon as the thoughts formed, they were accompanied by a pang of nostalgia. His fingernails dug into his palm.

Adjusting to the new normal was a prospect he dreaded, not just for the uncertainties at play, but simply because he didn’t want things to change. In truth, Pietro didn’t know what the Council’s verdict would be.

And he would have been lying if he said the thought didn’t keep him up at night.

It was as he was looking around the room that he noticed something glint in the waste bin. Intrigued, he bent down and pushed aside the crumpled papers partially obscuring it. When he lifted it from the bin, Pietro was surprised to see his reflection staring back at him from the plaque’s glassy surface.

The Atlesian Institute of Technology is honored to present the Rigel Award to Arthur Watts in recognition of his contributions to the fields of archotherology and pneumatophysics.

“I know things are bad right now, Arthur, but you shouldn’t just throw things like this away…” He’d been at the reception where the award had been presented; it had been a milestone in Watts’ career.

Carefully, Pietro wiped away a smudge with the hem of his shirt. A stubborn resolve seized him.

“It’s not breaking and entering if you have the spare key,” Pietro told himself, as the lock clicked.

The first thing he noticed, as the apartment door shut behind him, was the immediate onset of cold. Ice cold. The sort of chill that settled in a person’s lungs, and caused their breath to fog as they gasped for air.

“Gods above.” Pietro wrapped his arms around himself. “I know you like it cold, but this is ridiculous. What’s the temperature in here?”

Not intending to trip his way through the room, Pietro reached for the light switch.

Nothing.

“The bulb must have blown out.” He resorted to the flashlight on his scroll. Mindful of where he stepped, Pietro moved into the hall where the thermostat was. The last thing his friend needed was to return to a drafty apartment.

Understandably, he was confused when he tapped the screen, only for the thermostat to not respond.

“Surely this isn’t broken too…?”

A nagging suspicion prompted him to reach for the next light switch in his path. The hall remained dark, even after Pietro flipped it several times.

Something wasn’t right.

The next three lights he tried remained unresponsive to his attempts. Pietro stopped in the kitchen, his scroll in one hand, the glass plaque grasped loosely in the other. What else wasn’t working?

His gaze fell to the sink. With a slither of incredulity, Pietro turned the handle on the faucet.

It was cold, granted, but not cold enough to freeze the pipes. And he refused to believe that all of the utilities simultaneously stopped working. Even if they did, Watts would never have knowingly allowed them to remain in disrepair.

His mind discarded one possibility after the next, trying to identify a pattern, an explanation.

Pietro lifted the plaque to eye level.

For the life of him, he couldn’t fathom why he’d want to get rid of something so important. It was a question he’d have to ask him when he came back—

His eyes widened.

Glass skated over the tiles as the plaque shattered against the floor. Pietro fumbled with his scroll, cursing, as he bolted back down the hall.

James answered on the second ring. “Pietro? What—”

“Where are you?” he gasped.

“The Academy,” he said. “Is something—”

“Meet me in your office!” The door slammed shut behind him. “We need to stop him!”

“And you’re sure about this?” James gravely looked on as Pietro paced.

“Why else would he have gotten rid of his things?” He gestured wildly. “He already believes his life is over. He had no reason to keep them.”

Those words had taken on an entirely new meaning, one that made Pietro feel sick.

“I understand, given the circumstances, how you would've arrived at that conclusion. But is it possible you’re wrong?” He spoke with the calm, patient authority of his rank, with a pragmatism meant to ease. All it did was agitate Pietro even more. “Arthur is a lot of things, but suicidal? It doesn’t seem—”

“You haven’t seen him the last few weeks!” His voice shot up an octave. “He’s hardly eating, barely sleeping, he isolated himself from nearly everyone. I knew he was depressed, but I didn’t think…” He trailed off, at a loss for words. “James, please. We need to do something.”

James leaned back into his desk, hands braced against the edge. “We should consider every possibility before we act.”

Pietro halted in his tracks. “What other possibilities?”

“Consider what you’ve just told me. He disposed of his personal belongings—things that would have encumbered him. He distanced himself from other people—social contacts that would have tied him to the kingdom. He canceled his utilities—lien he no longer has to waste.”

Pietro turned to face him. “What are you suggesting?”

“Given the pending criminal charges, it’s possible that he’s trying to flee the kingdom.”

Pietro tensed.

“Think carefully about your last conversation.” James watched him closely. “Did he indicate that he planned on coming back?”

Mutely, Pietro shook his head.

“If he wanted to leave without drawing attention to himself, Evadne would be the logical choice,” he said. “It’s a small town on the water frequently used as a stopover between the interior cities and Anima’s northern coast. It has a comparably smaller military presence, and most of its visitors are tourists. He won’t look out of place. And if he’s brought lien with him, it wouldn’t take much persuasion to stow away on an airship or a boat. Dust smugglers regularly make use of those tactics.”

Pietro started to shake.

“Both possibilities are upsetting in their own right, and I’d prefer for neither to be true. But the evidence isn’t something we can just ignore. Right now, the latter seems more likely. I didn’t notice—”

“Of course you didn’t notice!” Pietro shouted. “You were so busy trying to end his career that you didn’t realize you were ending his life!”

His words echoed around the room. In the stunned silence that followed, Pietro continued to yell.

“‘I want to see the coast one last time.’ That’s what he said to me when he left! He didn’t mean before he was arrested; he meant before he died. And why wouldn’t he? What did he have left? Either he was going to waste away in a cell, or he was going to spend the rest of his life unable to rebuild it. No one in the medical community will speak to him, no one on the team will look at him—” He doubled over with a strangled cough. “I know what he did was wrong. I think it’s wrong. But I don’t want him to die because of it! I don’t want to be right, but with everything I’ve seen we can’t wait around to find out if I’m wrong. James, please, we have to—”

A hand fell on his shoulder. Pietro wheezed.

“We’ll find him.” James’ grip tightened. “I can have an airship ready in ten minutes.”

The night was alive with the weaving bands of the auroras.

A distant part of his mind tried to find comfort in the emerald and indigo light, as it rippled through the sky amidst a backdrop of stars.

“We should be there in a few hours.” From the seat across from him, James consulted his scroll. “Our ETA will be about 6:00 AM.”

Pietro turned away from the window. “What are we going to do when we get there?”

“I have a special operative who’s currently stationed in the area. Her name’s Caroline. I radioed her as we were boarding. Her team’s going to meet us when we land and help with the search.”

He nodded.

“Before Arthur left”—James glanced up from the screen—“did he tell you where he was staying?”

“No, I’m sorry,” he replied. “He didn’t.”

“That’s all right.” James returned to his scroll. “If he checked into a hotel, the transaction will be on his bank statement. I should have access to his account history in a minute.”

“James.” Pietro steeled himself. “If I’m right…about…” He drew in a shuddering breath. “How are we going to handle this?”

“It depends on what we find, and what—condition he’s in.” James’ face was pinched. “The plan is to make sure he’s not a danger to himself or anyone else.”

“‘Anyone else’?”

James’ expression darkened. “I’ve seen situations like this before, with soldiers and Huntsmen. Sometimes they lash out.”

Suddenly, Pietro was grateful for his friend’s long military career, and the experience that came with it.

That went doubly so a second later when his scroll chimed, granting him clearance.

James read over the information as it poured in. “Well, this confirms what we already suspected—he canceled his utilities a few days ago.”

“Did you find out where he’s staying?”

“Let me see—got it. I have the name and address. It’s…” He scrolled through something on the screen. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Pietro leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “What is it?”

“Right before he left, he emptied his account.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Hang on. I might be able to trace where it went—” James trailed off.

“What is it?”

“He—” James peered at the records. “A large percentage of it was made out as a check. To the Ateliers.”

Pietro didn’t speak. If he opened his mouth now, he’d vomit.

“The remainder appears to have been withdrawn, though I’m not sure why.”

The cabin was mercifully silent as James immersed himself in parsing through the records. With nothing to do and only his thoughts to preoccupy him, Pietro returned to the window. It was several minutes before James spoke again:

“It’s going to be a while before we land. Try to get some sleep.”

When he trusted himself to not be sick, Pietro answered. “I’m okay, James.”

It was a lie. And judging by James’ expression, he didn’t believe it either.

“General Ironwood.” A woman of remarkably short stature saluted them. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

“Likewise, Caroline.”

She fell in step beside him while her two subordinates took up positions at the rear. For every one step James took, Caroline had to take three.

“Anything to report?” he asked.

“We’ve been monitoring the building from afar for the last half hour. We haven’t seen Dr. Watts enter or leave.”

James didn’t comment. Rather, he quickened his pace.

“Do you have any orders for us?”

“The manager will be expecting us, although she wasn’t fully informed as to why. I want you and your team to start in his room, then sweep the premises while we interview the staff.” He stopped with his hand on the glass doors, and gave her a hard stare. “Do not, under any circumstances, harm him. If the situation becomes dangerous, you are to either deescalate it or wait for me to join you. Do I make myself clear?”

She grimaced. “Yes, sir.”

A woman with a sheet of long, violet hair stood waiting for them in the lobby. “Welcome, General Ironwood. Dr. Polendina.” She offered a shallow bow. As she rose, she registered the accompanying operatives, and her eyes flickered with unspoken questions. “How may I assist you?”

“We’d like to speak with you, along with any staff that may have interacted with one of your guests.”

The manager glanced at Caroline. “Are we in danger?”

“No. Not likely,” said James.

The manager didn’t look reassured, but she didn’t protest. “Very well. Please follow me.”

She guided the small group to the front desk where the receptionist sat, their eyes wide in bewilderment. “May I have the guest’s name?” she asked.

“Arthur Watts,” James said.

Without prompting, the receptionist keyed in the name. “Uh. He’s in room 3A.”

James turned to the manager. “May I have your permission to send my team upstairs?”

“Go ahead.”

He nodded. At once Coraline and her subordinates dispersed.

The manager waited until they’d filed into the elevator before she spoke: “You said you had questions for me?”

“Along with any staff that interacted with him,” James clarified.

“I’ve interacted with him.”

The receptionist seemed to regret that decision the moment three pairs of eyes turned on them. Nevertheless, they continued: “The guy with the mustache, right?”

Pietro’s pulse stuttered sharply. “When did you last see him?”

“This morning. He left over an hour ago. Said he was going for a walk.”

It took every shred of willpower Pietro had to not run out those doors.

“Did he leave with any belongings on his person? A bag, perhaps?” James asked.

The receptionist shook their head. “No, sir. Just his wallet and his room key, like he usually does.”

Pietro swapped a look with James, before turning back to the receptionist. “What do you mean by ‘usually’?”

“This is the time when he usually goes out. He stops to talk to the receptionist—well, me, I guess—and then heads out for a few hours. Comes back around noon, grabs lunch in the dining hall, heads back upstairs. Goes out again around five o’clock, and comes back some time after seven.” They gave a helpless shrug. “I—I guess he has a routine.”

Some of the tension left James’ shoulders. “It’s possible Arthur did in fact come here just to destress,” he said.

What should have been a reassuring thought made Pietro want to sink into the ground in mortification. He could only imagine what Watts’ face would look like when he returned to the hotel, to find that Pietro had brought along the entire cavalry. All because he assumed his friend had a death wish.

Pietro was dragged out of his pity party by James’ next question: “Do you remember anything specific about his behavior? Anything that might have looked or sounded strange?”

To his surprise, the receptionist looked guilty. “Well…” They glanced at the manager.

“Whatever it is, you’re not in trouble,” she said.

The receptionist hesitated a second longer, before heaving a reluctant sigh. “You get a lot of guests in a place like this, right? So you don’t always remember all of them. Not unless they stand out in some way. He…” They paused. “He’s been nothing but polite and friendly to all the staff.”

“That doesn’t sound particularly noteworthy,” James observed.

The receptionist fidgeted. “No, it’s not that. It’s not just that. He tipped us well.” They swallowed. “Like, really well.”

The lingering dread from earlier resurfaced. “How much did he tip you?” Pietro asked.

They averted their gaze. “Ten thousand lien. Each.”

The dread beat savage wings against his ribs.

Out of his periphery, James stepped off to the side with a finger pressed to his earpiece. A second later his face went unsettlingly blank. “Excuse me,” he said. “I need to speak with my team.”

Pietro dimly registered his departure. He looked between the two hotel staff, his mind frantically scrambling for an explanation other than the one he didn’t want to hear. “Did he say anything?” he asked. Begged. “Anything that you might remember could help."

They considered his words with renewed thoughtfulness. “When he’d come back from his walks, I’d ask him how he was—the regular sort of small talk you’d make with guests. He told me that he went down to the beach. When I asked him, ‘Did you do anything while you were there?’ he said, ‘Not today. Perhaps I will tomorrow.’”

“Pietro.”

James had returned.

Coraline and her team hurried through the lobby; he could just make out “mobilize search-and-rescue” being barked into her earpiece as they rushed past.

He regarded Pietro with pale, haunted eyes, before slowly holding out his hand. “I’m sorry.”

A note hung from his fingertips.

After four days of searching, Arthur Watts was declared dead.

James scrubbed at his face. “I already told you, Camilla,” he sighed, as the doors slid open, “I’ll have it resolved once I—oh, Pietro. I didn’t realize it was you.”

Pietro managed a weak smile. “Disappointed to see me?” he asked, as he strode into the room.

“Relieved, actually.” James set aside some manner of document he’d been working on. “I was half-expecting another lecture.” Pietro accepted the tacit invitation to join him, and eased into the chair. “What can I do for you?”

Pietro tapped his fingers against the armrest. “I need a favor. A big one.”

“Why do I get the impression I won’t like what you’re about to ask me?”

“Because you won’t.”

Predictably, James wasn’t amused, but he didn’t try to bodily throw him out of the room, so that was a good start. “All right,” he said. “I’m listening.”

This conversation had sounded so much easier in his head. Pietro contemplated which option to take, before deciding on the direct approach: “Did you ever look over the report Arthur wrote after the surgery?”

It was brief, but Pietro didn’t miss the flash of regret James very neatly concealed behind unwavering calm. He steepled his hands. “I did,” he answered.

“Did you see the post-op notes?”

“I did.”

“But did you read them?” he pressed.

There was a hint of humor in his reply: “I read them to the extent I could understand them.”

Pietro braced himself. “I took another look at his work on Auratic intercision. He did it, James.”

When the other man said nothing, he hurriedly launched into his speech. “Even though the initial attempt failed, he managed to deduce what went wrong during the procedure. I won’t waste your time with all the technical mumbo jumbo, but I did the math. Split-Aura transfer is possible.”

He held James’ gaze. “We can finally build Penny.”

For a moment that stretched into eternity, James remained silent. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and opened them again. “You want my permission, to use the same research that nearly got him arrested, to complete your project.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Pietro said.

“I can certainly appreciate the irony, if nothing else.” He narrowed his eyes—thoughtfully, not in anger. “This wasn’t an idea you came up with overnight. It’s been nearly two months. Why did you wait this long to bring it up?”

“It’s as you said: it’s been two months. The last of the journalists have retired the story. People are no longer fixated on the proceedings. No more controversy, no more public backlash. The scandal died with him.” It hurt to say, but Pietro pushed onward: “Synthesizing an Aura has proven impossible, but now, we have a viable alternative. We can’t bring Mia Atelier back. But perhaps we can give someone else a chance at life.”

He waited.

At last, James nodded. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding left him. “You have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Pietro said.

“There’s just one problem.”

James regarded him intently. “The procedure requires a donor, does it not? You need a volunteer.”

Pietro straightened. “You’re looking at him.”

It had been a while since he last had the chance to sit and diagram.

A combination of blueprints, tablets, and holographic projectors were scattered about the desk. Other than the sleepy hum of the generator, and the scratching of pen against paper, his office was silent. The ambiance gave Pietro a pleasant rhythm to work to as he alternated between mediums.

He was in the middle of diagramming the thrusters when a voice spoke up from behind: “Burning the midnight oil?”

Pietro gladly accepted the mug James offered him, as he occupied the empty seat. “Just getting a little more work done before I call it quits.” He grinned. “I just finished the template for her skeleton. It’s on the tablet to your right if you want to see it.”

“This one?” James picked up the tablet in question.

“Swipe left, it’s the first file.”

The device lit up in his hands. James made an appreciative noise in the back of his throat as his eyes darted across the screen.

“What do you think?” Pietro asked.

“I think”—he continued to skim through the files—“I picked the right proposal.”

He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear those words until he felt a hot, stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes. He tried to discreetly dab it away.

Not discreetly enough, it seemed. James shot him an inquiring look.

“Oh, don’t mind. I’m just a little sensitive right now.” Pietro ducked his head. “It’s not every day you get to become a father.”

James wore a knowing, if somewhat bemused smile, but he was considerate enough to not say anything. He turned his attention back to the files in his hand.

“A lot of those are aesthetic mock-ups. I haven’t finalized anything, so if you want to throw in your two cents on the design input, you’re more than welcome to.”

“Did he know?”

Pietro’s hand stilled over the parchment. When no elaboration was forthcoming, he lifted his head to deduce one for himself.

His pulse beat painfully beneath his skin.

The file on the screen was one of the earliest drafts for Penny’s design. It was also one of the only files to have received a color palette. Red hair hung in thick curls about her pale face. Her cheeks were flecked with freckles that contrasted just enough to be visible, just below her eyes.

Eyes that were a very familiar shade of green.

He didn’t say anything for several moments. He debated saying anything at all.

But there was no judgment on James’ face, no hint of contempt in his voice. Only sympathy.

“No,” Pietro answered. He let out a tired sigh, and set the pen down. “And he never suspected. I made sure of that.”

“You didn’t want to tell him?”

“I wanted to tell him for a long time." He closed his eyes. "I’ve spent the last four months regretting every day that I didn’t. And on every one of those days, I wondered if telling him would have made a difference.”

“It’s not your fault,” said James.

“I know.” Pietro reached for the photo on the edge of his desk, and gently lifted the frame into his hands. It was the last picture the team had taken together. “It doesn’t change the fact that he’s gone.”

He lifted his eyes to the file in James’ hands, to the image of the young girl staring back at him.

“But maybe, through someone else—someone new—he can still be here.”

“Dr. Watts?”

Watts lifted his head from the chart he'd been reviewing.

At the entrance of his lab stood Hazel, his expression as impassive as ever.

“We have a meeting to attend.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” Watts smoothed down the front of his coat. “Tell Salem I’ll be right there.”

Guess I've got some explaining to do. For anyone curious about my RWBY worldbuilding and headcanons:

Pietro not being disabled prior to the start of the series - We have no confirmation of this in canon, but I think that donating a percentage of his Aura to Penny has slowly chipped away at his health. I based this partly on the fact that in the show, the areas on his body where his Aura has been excised most prominently are over his legs and lower torso. If donating too much of his Aura is fatal, then it stands to reason that there are intermediary complications between points A and D - loss of mobility in his legs, chronic respiratory illness, worsening vision, and so on.

Archotherology (Gr. archo-, ruler, + -thero-, beast, + -logy, study of) - The study of Grimm.

Pneumatophysics (Gr. pneûma, soul, + -physics) - The study of the soul and its physical manifestation, Aura.

Apothymetics (Gr. apo-, derived from, + -thym-, soul, + E. -ics, from [?] Gr. -ikós, pertaining to) - The study of Semblances; a subdiscipline of pneumatophysics.

Auratic disease - An adverse condition that typically affects a person’s Aura, and by extension, their Semblance. Auratic diseases are generated by plague-type Grimm, and then transmitted to people through proximity. Watts' research simulated an Auratic disease, which is why Pietro later acquires a manmade version of CAD. You can click here to read more about them.

Evadne - A coastal city in southern Solitas. Named after the Greek figure Evadne, the wife of King Argus.

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