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libermachinae · 3 years

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Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

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Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,�� Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

#finally remembered to upload!#maccadam #transformers #prowl #jetfire #my writing #oneshot

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bullshittierlists · 3 years

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MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DANGANRONPA V3 (and probably the other games, too, just to be safe)

So, just as a heads up, I made this list a few months ago, I think in the middle of chapter 4. I was going to update it, but I realized that any feelings I had were just made stronger and the list was still relatively accurate. Here are my thoughts:

I see no god up here other than me

Kirumi Tojo - As you may know about me, I can typically tell who my favorite characters are going to be before I indulge myself in a series. This has especially rung true throughout Danganronpa, I was able to correctly guess Taka and Gundham as my respective favorites before actually seeing them in action. Let me tell you that Kirumi surprised me. I originally guessed K1-B0 as my favorite and while he’s still up there, he is nowhere near Kirumi. I realized she was my favorite the moment chapter 2 ended. Not only were her execution and plan wonderful and brilliantly done, her last-ditch plea to convince everyone to let her live sold her for me. Not only did this plea make sense, it almost worked and I kinda wish it would’ve. Her motive was almost completely selfless and she worked damn hard to escape. Her execution was the only time I cried during this game because I wanted so badly for her to escape, but I knew that all of her efforts were futile. I know her biggest criticism is that her plan from hiding Ryoma’s body was completely unnecessary, but I like to believe she was just nervous and overthought the whole thing. I mean, this had to go perfectly in order for her to save her country, of course she’s going to add a few too many steps.

Miu Iruma - Okay, I know this is going to sound fake, but I actually really love the dichotomy of her character. The way that she acts so self-righteous but is actually quite self-conscious really stood out to me. Of course she’s funny and hot, too, but I feel it’s important to really appreciate the way her character was written. It amazes me that she was written to be the least likable character in the entire series and still ended up being one of my favorites.

You’re the best

K1-B0 - Yes, I type out his name every time. As I already mentioned, he was my original guess for favorite character, but it obviously didn’t work out that way. He stayed in his position of first for a while, but I always knew it wasn’t meant to last, I just didn’t know which character would take his place. Even besides my doubts, I still love K1-B0, I just wish more could’ve been done with him in the earlier chapters. There are several opportunities for him to be a really funny character and have good interactions with Kokichi and Miu, but he just comes off as annoying. I feel like he only really started to be utilized after Miu died with Monotaro and I really enjoyed their dynamic, I just wish we could’ve had some of this side of K1-B0 before this point.

Kokichi Oma - This spot probably isn’t as subjective as I’d like it to be. Every time Kokichi was on screen, I would get visibly annoyed, but I knew I was in for a treat figuring out his deeper intents behind what he’s saying. The only reason I really like Kokichi at all is because he’s fun to analyze. It gets boring to analyze Nagito because his motivation is pretty much just a mix of “hope” and “he’s crazy.” Kokichi’s character trait of lying makes it so fun to individually analyze each of his lines to figure out whether he’s telling the truth and why or why not. Other than that, I guess he has some funny dialogue with Miu sometimes.

Gonta Gokuhara - I really don’t know. I know this is way too early to be unsure about characters, but I just know I couldn’t put him any lower, but I also couldn’t put him any higher. He’s just such a sweetheart, but that’s about where the substance ends. I adored every time he was on my screen, but everything that would’ve been fun to analyze about him just leads back to Kokichi. I still really enjoy his presence, though. I’d like a big Gonta hug.

Kaede Akamatsu - I’ll just say it, I think she would’ve made for a better protagonist. I’ll talk about this later, but Shuichi’s character development doesn’t really feel like it goes anywhere and the twist doesn’t feel worth it because of that. I think the twist should still have been incorporated, but with the roles reversed. Either way, we got what we got, and what we got was tears from Clair de Lune. But seriously, she really is a great pianist. I’ve been trying to learn the piece for ages and it’s still too complicated for me. I mean, it’s in 9/8 for God’s sake. Good for her, regardless.

Tenko Chabashira - Tenko’s a weird case. I didn’t actually care for her that much until quite literally a few lines before she died. Fun fact: I spoiled this entire series for myself before I ended up playing it and I’m still mad at myself. This meant that I was just waiting for all of the deaths to happen, especially Tenko’s. I was fully aware that every line could be her last during the seance, but I wasn’t aware that she would pull on my heart strings before she went. When she tells Himiko that she’ll do the seance in her place so she can talk to Angie, I literally almost started crying. Before this, Tenko was just kind of annoying, but not too bad, but this moment really solidified her spot for me. She really just wanted to help Himiko and I wish she had chosen a better target for her affections.

Hey, I think you’re pretty cool, I like you a lot

Shuichi Saihara - Time to elaborate on what I said for Kaede. I actually really enjoyed Shuichi’s character development throughout the first three chapters. Before coming to Hope’s Peak, he was afraid to hurt people with his detective skills. Kaede notices this and helps him through it, passing the reins to Kaito once she passes. Shuichi convicts Kaede and later Kirumi, much to everyone’s detriment, but they’re all okay with it (Nobody was really super sad about Korekiyo to begin with, lol). Then, starting in chapter 4, everyone just kinda flips on him. Shuichi + the rest of the gang - Kokichi all believe that Gonta is innocent and Shuichi tries to prove this. Instead of supporting him, everyone (especially Kaito) tries to... stop him??? from proving it??? They’re all just in agreement that it wasn’t Gonta, but don’t want to proceed with the investigation to figure out who it was instead. It’s really frustrating and made my overall experience much less enjoyable. This is bumped up a few notches in chapter 5 with Maki. I understand that she was part of the whole case, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying that she won’t let me prove Kaito was the victim. It just feels like the character development was all for nothing and every student feels like a human obstacle (except K1-B0, of course). Still relatable and emo, though.

Rantaro Amami - I would make the joke everyone expects, but I’m on my laptop and I don’t know how to get to the emoji keyboard.

Ryoma Hoshi - I genuinely don’t have anything to say about Ryoma. He’s my halfway point because I don’t have anything particularly for him and I don’t have anything particularly against him, either. Go off, funky little cat man.

Kaito Momota - He got on my nerves in chapter 4, but he was a genuinely sweet character that I really enjoyed talking to. Any time he would talk about the stars, I would swoon because he’s just such a natural romantic. Not really my type, though. Very average.

Monophanie - Legally you can’t ask me why the monokubs are where they are. She’s voiced by Natalie Hoover (Sonia) and I guess that’s my only reasoning.

Monotaro - I really just liked his interactions with K1-B0 in chapter 4. Other than that, I greatly disliked his and Monophanie’s presence in Gonta’s execution. 0/10 worst use for monokubs.

Monodam - A nice, non-distracting addition to Korekiyo’s execution. But he had so much potential and just threw it all away. Apparently I’m a basketball dad from a high school movie now.

I remember you

Angie Yonaga - Many times, I’ve found myself asking who I ship from the series and this love triangle comes to mind. Of Angie, Himiko, and Tenko... I only really like Tenko. I don’t hate Angie’s cult stuff as much as everyone else seems to, but she didn’t have nearly enough of a presence for me to latch onto outside of the cult stuff, which was funny, I will admit.

Maki Harukawa - I was so excited the whole game for her to get cool. I knew she was going to get cool, I just didn’t know when or how. But then, it was chapter 5 already and she hadn’t gotten cool in my eyes yet. I was really meh on her by that chapter anyway, but her being annoying really knocked her down a few pegs. She got a couple extra points for surprising me during the case, but not enough to bump her up any spots.

Himiko Yumeno - I was rooting for her to be crushed under the rock at the end. She was fine before chapter 3, but then they tried to develop her with the Akane treatment and it didn’t work for me at all. She just got on my nerves during the third trial and continued to contribute nothing throughout the rest of the game. During chapter 5 and 6, it’s like the writers just completely forgot that she was there. This would’ve been fine if they weren’t the last couple of chapters and she was one of about 6 people left alive. She had a role to play and didn’t play it in the slightest. The most she was utilized after chapter 3 was as Miu’s replacement post-chapter 5. Someone needed to fill the dirty jokes quota and I guess Himiko was chosen. #GiveTenkoABetterLoveInterest2021

Monosuke - The only thing I remember him doing throughout the entire game was distract me from Kirumi’s exectuion. Not a fan.

You are the worst. Literal scum. Leave this planet and never return

Korekiyo Shinguji - Okay, listen. He’s not that bad. His design is actually one of the best, in my opinion and I love his dedication to his craft. However, he just creeps me out whenever he’s on screen and I’d prefer not to be around him. It’s not even the sister thing, I honestly think that’s funny and a nice change of pace, but his overall demeanor is creepy. Not to mention he’s played by Todd Haberkorn and he’s been in one too many roles recently. Hopefully I’ll get over it, but as for now, that loses him points.

Tsumugi Shirogane - I know, not exactly an unpopular opinion. She’s just annoying and downright pisses me off a lot of the time with her “plain” shtick. I already knew she was going to be the mastermind, so most of the game was just me waiting for her to reveal it. I swear, I almost couldn’t take it every time she said something like, “What if there isn’t a mastermind?” “What?? There’s a mastermind????” Just stfu Tsumugi. You all are lucky I don’t have the energy to talk about 3-6 right now.

Monokid - Hate the tongue sprite, that’s literally the only reason he’s down here. He’s also kind of annoying, but made the best addition to an execution out of all of the monokubs. His death was one of the few things that surprised me in this game and it was a welcome twist. I was sick of him by this point, but was still incredibly shocked when he was pushed into the execution. Then, his severed head rolls out to all of the students looking on in shock at Kaede’s death. Masterful. Still hate the tongue sprite.

There we go. Definitely my least favorite cast out of the whole series, but it’s still fun to love on and hate on a lot of the characters, as per usual. There are just a few too many in the middle tier (metaphorically speaking) that are either uninteresting or just don’t get their time to shine. Maybe they’ll eventually grow on me more, but I doubt it.

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tossawary · 3 years

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Chapter 19: “Weddings and Funerals” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines with commentary because I’m doing a re-read. Not a full list or full commentary.

When Shang Qinghua told Mobei-Jun that he didn’t need Shen Qingqiu assassinated, it wasn’t because he thought everything would somehow work out if he just sat back and didn’t do anything. It definitely wasn’t because he was planning a so-called “perfect murder” and didn’t want the demon lord messing up his plans. The Problem of Shen Qingqiu has always been a lot more complicated than “just get rid of the guy potentially making my nephew’s life a living hell”. That’s why it’s a real problem!

AN: Shang Qinghua’s thought process: “Can this problem be solved by:

A) Waiting for the problem to go away?

B) Murder?

C) None of the above?

If the answer is C...

Fuck, it’s a real problem.”

Shang Qinghua thinks that might actually be possible, though he’d have to do some research and smack his head until his Author God memories hopped into line. He thinks that the youth-restoration procedure would probably do the job, but he also thinks that Shen Qingqiu would probably rather be dead than be physically sixteen again or something (super fucking understandable) and have to start the cultivation process over from scratch (ah, that would be so annoying and embarrassing).

AN: Given that I actually invented a de-aging potion for this fic (if one that’s difficult to put together), the AU of “Original Shen Qingqiu is physically 16 again” has been rattling around inside my head ever since I wrote these lines. Shen Qingqiu was like, “Wait, let me picture how unbearably overprotective Yue Qingyuan would be... hmm... no, I’ll just stay like this.”

Luo Jiahui seems a little anxious about the empty spaces at the table, but she fills the space as best she can by chattering about assorted restaurant business. At least until she abruptly takes a deep breath and says, “Hua-Ge, I have something to tell you.”

Shang Qinghua freezes in the middle of taking a drink. His unhelpful brain immediately races to guess the worst possible conversational subjects. His sister-in-law has somehow figured out that he’s a transmigrator?! His sister-in-law has decided that her son is not going to the Demon Realm under any circumstances?! His sister-in-law knows Binghe better than he does and has realized that the young protagonist is being abused after all?! Oh, fuck, what is it?

“I’m getting married!” Luo Jiahui announces, breathlessly.

“Oh,” Shang Qinghua says, heart rate going at the speed of sound. “Wait, what?”

AN: This chapter is why I didn’t go into the details of LJH/LQG in the last chapter, immediately post-timeskip. I wanted to blindside everyone with an “Oh, it’s THAT serious?!” moment. The last chapter established that “SQH is handling things”, then this chapter establishes that, as the plot goes on, “SQH is only barely handling things”. Which helps prep the following breakdown with the System World Update in chapters 20-22.

“You didn’t have any time for yourself,” Shang Qinghua agrees, following this conversation of very obvious things that he already knew so far. He didn’t have any time for himself back then either, between organizing a conference and finding a cure on top of the usual day-in-day-out of the sect. “You did a really good job looking after them all by yourself!”

“They don’t always agree with that,” Luo Jiahui says, smiling but self-deprecating.

“Aha, well, they’re young.”

The disagreements of what was best for the children is why Shang Qinghua really had to get Fanli (who didn’t see herself as a child) out of the house by any means necessary. He was at a bit of a loss at how else to help. She was never part of Proud Immortal Demon Way! Not even as a fragment of backstory mentioned in passing! Shang Qinghua struggles to compensate for these extra people who were never characters sometimes.

“Qingge was very understanding,” Luo Jiahui says. “But… well… then Fanli was gone and I had the restaurant keeping me busy, but that was all my own choice… and what good was waiting really doing us? It didn’t have to be everything or nothing. So… we talked… about what we wanted and what- what we were afraid of… and we decided to go forward slowly.”

AN: I said in the Author’s Notes on AO3 that I was going to use Jiage to shame Moshang and Qijiu, and I meant it. TALK TO EACH OTHER!!! Shang Qinghua, you need to talk to Mobei-Jun about what you want! Shang Qinghua, you can’t keep putting things on hold because of the plot!

No offense to either his sister-in-law or his junior martial brother, but aren’t love stories supposed to be a little more… fiery?

“When I was younger, I thought that falling in love was supposed to be all excitement and passion and not being able to live without someone even for a second,” Luo Jiahui admits, a little wistfully. “I thought that it was supposed to be thinking about them all the time, not being able to stay away from each other, and needing to know what they’d been doing every second they were away. It was like becoming a completely different person. I thought that being in love was about one of us getting horribly jealous every time we even talked to someone else, doing things I didn’t really understand and changing myself just to keep him happy, and keeping secrets and sneaking around just to keep things from exploding. Because love is not being able to help yourself like that, right?”

Shang Qinghua can’t really manage to speak right now.

It’s like someone has cut his fucking throat.

Which is fine!

“But that ended really badly for me,” Luo Jiahui says, with a nervous huff at her own understatement. “It was very exciting, but looking back, being in that kind of love was also very frightening sometimes… and it was a little lonely too… being in love with someone I couldn’t really talk to or trust.”

AN: This is more specifically vagueing SVSSS Bingqiu than Moshang, but it’s also shaming Moshang too. Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky wrote some extremely messed-up romances and he would have said, “Yes! It’s all super messed-up! That’s kind of the point!” But it also means that the man can’t really conceptualize (at least at first) or articulate the kind of relationship he would actually be happy to have with Mobei-Jun, especially when his relationship with Mobei-Jun had such violent beginnings

The first person he tells himself is, weirdly enough, Qi Qingqi. Liu Qingge apparently already told both Liu Mingyan and Luo Fanli before he left, so Shang Qinghua heads over to see how the girls are handling it. (Also, he wants to pump Liu Mingyan for information on her mother’s opinions on weddings and marriage, in a really pathetic attempt to ready himself for the rumble.) He makes her agree to keep the information to herself before telling and she does, like a bro!

And then he tells and she laughs in his fucking face! Eventually, she realizes that he’s looking for sympathy, he’s not just here to let her enjoy his suffering, as a form of payment after everything he and Liu Qingge have inflicted on her. Then she laughs at him again, even louder.

Sure, he’d laugh too if he was in her shoes! But not to her face! Rude!

AN: Qi Qingqi also pointed while laughing, I think. It’s funny because it’s not her dealing with Liu Family shit this time.

Shang Qinghua expected, this time last year, to be laser-focused on the plot! His attention was not going to stray even a little bit, he promised himself; he was going to be 110% dedicated to making sure that everyone he tripped into caring about made it through the least shitty version of Proud Immortal Demon Way possible. He was going to be a machine of a transmigrator! No distractions! All he wanted was for his family to make it through the quickest, least shitty bare bones of a plot! And he was going to achieve, damn it!

Instead, he finds himself planning his sister-in-law’s wedding and it eats up time he didn’t fucking know he had to give. Immortal Alliance Conference, eat your fucking heart out! Cang Qiong Mountain Sect? Did he work there? Nope, he’s never heard of the place! He’s the Peak Lord of wedding planning now!

AN: This is me telling myself I’m going to get my life 100% together and then getting into a new video game and baking cookies instead. Or ditching my housecleaning plans to hang out with friends at a moment’s notice.

At the wedding itself, Fanli tells her sister’s father-in-law that Binghe is also very into birds and Shang Qinghua’s nephew spends a good chunk of the rest of the celebrations (and his precious time away from Qing Jing Peak) held hostage by his own politeness, listening to his new grandfather earnestly tell him about the various migration habits of demonic birds.

Well! Better him than Shang Qinghua, honestly!

AN: Inspired by that time we went on vacation and one of my brothers got mistaken by one of our travelling companions for a budding serious birdwatcher instead of someone who just thinks they’re neat - and also likes to point at them and intentionally call them by the wrong name.

Also, LQG’s Dad in this fic and SY would probably get along super well.

LQG and his dad in this universe have gone out on month-long camping trips to in which they pretty much don’t talk the entire time. They stalk monsters through the wilderness and have a great time.

Shang Qinghua is too busy keeping an eye on Luo Fanli and being not talked to by Liu Mingyan, who is eighteen-ish years old now he thinks and still deeply embarrassed by the fact that he told her off for her real person fiction. (He doesn’t want to discourage her passion for writing! She’s pretty good for a kid! It’s pretty cute! Everyone needs their escapist hobbies! He just doesn’t want identifying information about his family being spread around freely, even if the characterizations of the couple are… uh… wildly reimagined, and he doesn't want to have to spend his very valuable time keeping a lookout for more illicit fiction.) It’s difficult to read her expression through the ever-present veil, but… yeah, she’s still pissed off at him.

Ugh, teenagers.

Binghe is not allowed to bring several hundred nieces-in-law into Shang Qinghua's life. Just... no. Fuck, no.

He doesn’t even get a date to commiserate about this with.

It’s a very small wedding, family only (Luo Jiahui’s shitty parents don’t count and her older brother was forced to decline the invitation), so that Luo Jiahui and Liu Qingge can keep their privacy. Madam Liu huffed about it - the battles in talking her down were both great and terrible - but her son stood his ground! Sure, people might whine someday about not being invited, but the great thing about Liu Qingge is that they can more or less just say, “Well, we couldn’t stop him from doing whatever he wanted!” And people just have to take that unless they want to claim they could take on the Bai Zhan Peak War God!

AN: Trying to imagine the AU in which SQH brought MBJ as his date to this wedding. SQH would’ve liked to be able to bring MBJ as a date, but alas, they are not dating and the groom would probably try to kill the man.

Shang Qinghua is not expecting, soon after returning from his sister-in-law’s happy and long-awaited wedding, to be solemnly informed that Shen Qingqiu’s health has only really deteriorated these past months. Wow, that’s a huge downer.

Also, he already knew that? He’s been getting Mu Qingfang all the right supplies to treat their shixiong. He didn’t actually abandon his duties to the sect for a family wedding. He knew that Shen Qingqiu had fallen sufficiently ill to need tending on Qian Cao Peak in the past month and he considered it, well, convenient timing in regards to Binghe’s permission to attend his mother’s wedding not being randomly revoked. Cold-hearted, maybe! But he had lots of other things to worry about at the time, like informing Mobei-Jun that his sister-in-law was getting married and so he’d be regrettably absent to attend the wedding.

Then he’s told that Shen Qingqiu is not expected to improve this time.

“Oh, shit, they really think he’s dying,” Shang Qinghua realizes.

This really wasn’t in Proud Immortal Demon Way.

AN: I seriously contemplated cutting this chapter in half because of this mood switch. Like, I went in intending on writing a serious mood switch, but in practice, wow. It felt like a lot more in practice.

“Our sect leader asks about the boy and his progress,” Shen Qingqiu rasps, his voice turning more and more accusing. “He’s so very concerned about the boy. We can’t have such a beloved child crying to his devoted family that he’s been mistreated or neglected, can we? How flattering these assumptions are. It makes a man wonder what exactly people think he’s going to do to the boy.”

Shang Qinghua might have an itemized list somewhere, honestly.

“Ah, I can’t speak for anyone else,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “But please don’t take it personally, Shen-Shixiong. I don’t really trust anyone. Anything can happen behind a locked door, you know?”

Some honest cynicism can go over well with the man.

Shen Qingqiu laughs bitterly now.

AN: It can be fun in media where Character A is like, “Ahhh, I hope no one discovers my secret!” And Character B is like, “So, about this extremely obvious thing that you’re doing...!”

Shen Qingqiu is as honest and open as he is throughout this scene because he honestly thinks that he’s dying. He’s determined to be blithe about it.

Shang Qinghua at least gets to see Mu Qingfang’s face journey as Shen Qingqiu accuses their sect leader of letting him think that he’d left him to die. As Shen Qingqiu yells about being treated like an unwanted ghost, as a potential blackmailer, as an embarrassing disappointment, as a petty troublemaker, as a spoiled child, as a problem to be solved, and as the last blemish on Yue Qingyuan’s reputation - anything but as someone worthy of being trusted with Yue Qingyuan’s problems and of being treated like an equal friend.

Yue Qingyuan tries to explain that he didn’t think Shen Qingqiu wanted to hear his excuses, and Shen Qingqiu shoots back that he would rather fucking die than beg the man he’d thought had forgotten about him to explain when exactly he became not worth rescuing as soon as possible.

Yue Qingyuan tries to explain that he didn’t want Shen Qingqiu’s pity or to force the man to be grateful that he’d tried.

Shen Qingqiu tells the man to go fuck himself. How could it not hurt for someone he loved to hurt him and then just… move past the hurt like the pain wasn’t who they were?

“All the world could revile me… reject me… leave me to die… and I would pay their hatred no heed! What do they truly know of what I am? Of who I am?” Shen Qingqiu demands. “But if Qi-Ge could throw me away… decide that I just wasn’t worth the trouble anymore now that he’d had a taste of a better life… then I really must be wretched beyond all things at the root! If he believed it, then… then it had to be true.”

AN: Because I just wrote a Qijiu confrontation over this exact thing, like, a few days before, I thought that I could get away with writing out this entire confrontation in full. I think it works better if the audience has to imagine some of it. And because SQH is the POV character, it felt right that he not be in the room and not be a full witness to this scene. He doesn’t get to see everything.

#tossawary svsss #pride is not the word #tossawary commentary

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akawrites000 · 3 years

Text

Secrets - part 3

part 1 here

part 2 here

Ash tried their best not to show their disinterest that threatened to seep beyond their poker face. They really didn't want to be here, but supervillain had decided to gather their team because apparently the hero had been captured successfully, at long last.

In the few run ins that Ash had had with the hero, if there's one thing that they knew, it was that the hero was a really competent fighter and was almost unbeatable in battle. Ash would go as far as saying that they even respected the hero's dedication to their work. So that's why it was really weird to them that that hero could be captured so easily. They even felt bad for them, because they had nothing against them really. If life was kinder to them, then they wouldn't even be here, they might have even stood at the opposite side of all of this mess, and maybe could have even been an ally to justice.

They shake their head, ridding it of thoughts about a past that was now impossible to change. Right now, all Ash wanted to do was go home, back to that apartment where Adrian and Alex were waiting for them. Alex did say that they were going to go all out preparing dinner and Ash would be lying if they said that they weren't looking forward to it.

Just then the door to the hide out banged open, and two figures were thrown haphazardly onto the floor. Ash felt their stomach twist and turn when they got a good look at their faces- they began wiping their eyes multiple times, pinched themselves, did about anything that people generally did to check if this was some twisted dream. They wanted someone to tell them that this wasn't real- that this was all just a bad dream, a nightmare caused by over stress. Ash tried pinching a little harder but they still felt pain. Maybe if I pinch a bit more, I won't feel anything?

They wanted to scream their lungs out, because why did the two people that they cared about the most end up here, in the supervillain's hideout. Why?!

This made no sense. Nothing made any sense.

"Well well, looks like you've knocked the hero out cold." Supervillain's the first one to speak, eyes glistening with such mirth it made Ash want to recoil into themselves.

But hero? One of them was the hero all along? But who?

Their question was answered when supervillain stepped forward, bending down and grabbing Adrian's chin roughly with one hand. Ash had to hold themselves back before they ended up twisting that hand in a moment of fury.

Don't touch them! Ash wanted to scream.

Alex was the first one who regained consciousness, squirming around uncomfortably with the binds on their wrists. Ash wanted to rush forward and immediately shield them from supervillain's piercing gaze, but they held themselves back. Neither Ash nor their friends would make it out of there alive if they made a move now.

"Oh, good morning to you civilian. How unfortunate that you happened to tag along with hero when we had planned to kidnap them."

Ash watched as Alex stared at the unconscious form of Adrian in utter shock, clearly struggling to take in that piece of information. Alex's eyes darted, flustered, from the supervillain, back to Adrian, and Ash could literally see the cogs turning in their brain, Alex grappling with the piece of information thrown at them, not knowing what to do with it. So Alex didn't know either, Ash thought. They understood though, after getting to know the both of them better, Ash could confidently say now that Adrian didn't tell Alex because they wanted to keep them away from this world, and who could blame them? Ash definitely wouldn't. They looked at Alex's stunned figure sadly- watching Adrian's effort break down in front of them was heartbreaking.

Plus, the identity of a hero when compared to a villain was especially that of top priority. They've heard that the supervillain had spent years trying to uncover hero's identity- and that was finally revealed today.

Without any warning, supervillain wedged their foot right into Adrian's stomach, making them flinch awake with pain, only to scream. Alex tried to lunge forward but was held back by the henchmen. Ash almost lurched forward, again as Alex started struggling, screaming to get the henchmen to let them go, and Adrian was still out of it, clearly in pain. The entire situation screamed despair at Ash and tore their heart into tiny, pathetic pieces.

"Oh Villain, what's wrong?" Supervillain's attention turned for a meager second away from Adrian and Alex, and that made Ash more happy than they were willing to admit, " you just froze all of a sudden."

"I'm sorry, I'm a bit unsteady on my legs. I'm alright now."

Don't lose your cool. If you play this out nicely enough, you can still get them out. They don't know who you are, this is the perfect opportunity.

Having made up their mind, Ash wobbled forward, stopping right in between Adrian and Alex.

"What's wrong Villain? Do you want to go back home today after all?"

Ash wanted to puke at the fake concern in their voice. "No supervillain, that won't be necessary. I just wanted to make a suggestion, if you would let me."

Supervillain nods their head, signaling Ash to continue.

"We only need the hero right? If a civilian was to go missing, it would cause unnecessary issues and the police will begin to investigate-

The sound of skin against skin could be heard reverberating throughout the entire room. Supervillain had just slapped Ash so hard, that the force caused their head to fall sideways. From the corner of their eyes, Ash could see worry swimming in Adrian's eyes and they heard Alex gasp. Even in such a situation, even without knowing their true identity, these two still cared. That simple fact made Ash's heart warm.

"A-are you okay?"

Ash looked over to Alex and simply smiled, hoping that was enough of a response to the question. It hurt a little too much to talk right now. That slap had messed up Ash's disguise, their mask out of place, just enough to show their hair and eyes.

" Now now villain, you know better than to question my plans hmm?" Supervillain spoke with a voice that could cut.

Ash took a shaky step back, visibly flinching at the tone. This was the first time they'd seen the supervillain face to face and they were as cruel and heartless as the rumors said that they were.

"Your answer Villain?"

"Y-yes, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Adrian's breath hitched in their throat as they took in the Villain's appearance- raven tresses that stood on the thin line between wavy and curly, those honey orbs, and that silky voice- there's no mistake. Even though the villain was only showing their back to them, Adrian knew. But Alex beat them to it.

"Ash, is that you?"

Shit. Ash visibly tensed, realizing that their voice changer was knocked out of position by that cursed slap.

"Ash, it's you isn't it?"

Alex called out again, sounding surer this time and Ash just stood there, like a deer caught in headlights, unable to decide whether to lie or tell the truth. If they said the truth, they would be killed by supervillain, and if they lied, they would have to fight but in the end still be killed by supervillain. It really didn't matter either way.

Ash looked back at Adrian for a small second and the recognition in their eyes was the final straw.

If they've already figured it out, then there's no point in keeping secrets anymore.

Ash stepped forward, taking off their mask completely. Alex gasped, the same shock crossing their facial features once again, looking like a fish out of water, completely lost and desperate. Adrian just looked at them and sighed. Ash couldn't decide if they sounded relieved or disappointed- they desperately hoped that it wasn't the latter.

Supervillain cackled, clapping their hands together almost maniacally, their rough voice echoing inside the tiny room. They looked like someone who was having the time of their life, enjoying an unexpected plot twist to their favorite TV drama.

While supervillain was distracted, Adrian struggled to get back up on their feet, only to be kicked harder this time, right where they'd been kicked earlier. They fell to their side, coughing sharply, a copper like taste springing to life in their mouth. Everything ached and there was just so much pain-

And then a gentle touch, slowly pushing away sweat slicked blond locks, and then a strong arm holding them close. Another arm clutched onto their shoulder, spreading warmth everywhere. Adrian opened their eyes to see Alex and Ash by their side, both of them looking like it was the end of the world.

And for the first time in a long time Adrian didn't feel scared. They had the two people that they trusted their life with by their side. And that wasn't going to change now, knowing that Ash is a villain. All of that didn't matter. At the end of the day, Adrian is Adrian and Ash is Ash, they're just two college students struggling to complete their degree in peace, forced into hero and villain costumes.

"This is all just so touching, isn't it?" Supervillain drawled, a hand coming up to wipe fake tears as the other villains and henchmen all nodded their heads, like petty little puppets. "A villain, hero and a civilian, all trying to have their happy ending."

Supervillain sneered and Villain felt a chill run down their spine.

"But I'll be damned if I let you have it that easily!"

A blast shot out from Supervillain's hand and Adrian had just enough time to push Alex away to the opposite side, clutching Ash in their arms and rolling over to the other side, missing the blast by a hair's breadth.

Ash felt Adrian groan against them and their blood froze. Adrian is hurt, and I have to get them out of here.

"Take Alex and leave Adrian, I'll take care of this." Ash said in the most menacing voice that they could muster.

But Adrian wasn't backing down, giving them a death stare and Ash thinks that they have never seen them this angry before.

"You're dreaming if you think that I would abandon you and save just myself and Alex." Their voice threatened, like pines and needles.

"But I'm a villain, I don't deserve any of this!" Ash wailed, their voice a mix of anger, sadness and desperation and it hurt Adrian's ears to hear Ash's sweet voice sound like that.

"Adrian, Ash, look out!"

This time it was Ash who saw the blast coming first, pulling Adrian flush to their chest and rolling away to shield them from the blast. It scraped away a little bit of their costume on the back and they flinched at the sharp, burning feeling on their spine.

Adrian tensed in their arms, eyes darting up to scan Ash's body for any more injuries. Upon finding no new ones, they sighed in relief, pulling themselves up and then Ash. They hid behind a wall for a moment of rest and looked into Ash's eyes softly.

"I'm a hero and I protect people, so let me do my job okay?"

"You'll protect me, even though I'm a villain?" Ash sounded so unsure of themselves and it made Adrian's heart tug painfully. They slowly brought their hand up to Ash's cheek, fingers gently circling the bruise that was forming there. Ash sighed unconsciously, feeling safe and content, all in one moment. They didn't know it was even possible to feel that way.

"I don't know what you're talking about, you are only Ash to me. Besides, I'm sure you had your reasons, just like I have mine." Adrian smirked.

And suddenly, Ash could breathe more easily. They at least had enough fight in them to roll their eyes at Adrian's antics, "Way to ruin the moment, idiot."

They moved together, movements in perfect sync as they made it across the room to reach Alex, while dodging the supervillain's attacks. Alex looked like they were just about done with everything. Ash couldn't really blame them. Adrian chuckled playfully at the sight.

"So it takes a hero, a villain and a supervillain to finally shut you up huh Alex?"

But Alex wasn't an idiot, they knew that while Ash showed their emotions more freely, Adrian would hide them and begin to joke away their worries. So Alex stared back at Adrian resolutely, with a determined gaze.

Adrian let out a knowing sigh and ruffled their hair a little, glad that Alex was safe more than anything. Being a normal civilian in a room filled with humans who possessed superpowers was dangerous as it is. Adrian never wanted to feel so helpless again, just thinking about how they couldn't do anything when Alex was threatened with a knife to their throat made their skin scrawl.

Ash bent down, gently bopping their nose with Alex. They definitely preferred the noisy version, seeing them quiet was just unsettling. Alex smiled up at them.

"I'm going to protect you two, no matter what." Adrian said suddenly, putting an arm around each of them, giving them a slight squeeze. They were met back with the brightest smiles they'd ever seen. Adrian felt like they could win this battle with just that encouragement. Being a hero was a lonely job and you always had to look tough on the surface, no matter what you were feeling on the inside.

And that's why Adrian treasured Ash and Alex so much, because they knew that they would stand by their side, no matter what.

"Ahem" Supervillain coughed obnoxiously, "It would be nice if you three didn't forget that I exist."

It was a tough battle, and by the end of it Adrian and Ash sported many bruises and many more scars, a few of them bleeding more than the rest. But supervillain was defeated, and Alex felt like crying out tears of relief at that fact alone. Because that meant that Adrian and Ash won't be in harm's way anymore.

They ran up to a staggering Adrian, being supported by Ash, holding them both as gently as they could. The other two chuckled softly, returning the hug. The three just stood like that for who knows how long, just basking in the fact that they were all safe, alive and warm, and their hearts were still beating, just like they're supposed to and didn't just give up halfway. Alex was the first one to break the embrace, looking up and down at Adrian and Alex as if they were deciding on what wedding attire to pick.

"I'm definitely going to need a lot of first aid kits tonight."

Adrian and Ash laughed together as Alex pulled them both forward, one hand in each of theirs.

All of them stepped inside their apartment with warm smiles on their faces, knowing that they belonged with each other and they weren't going anywhere.

Okay this is the final part / this snippet is finally over / and this became long as usual / hope you all enjoyed this!! / I think it's fun to think that supervillain secretly shipped all of them so I'll leave this here

#heroes and villains #hero/villain #villain/hero #hero x villain #villain x hero #hero #villain #civilian #hero x civilian #villain x civilian #my writing #i edited this with my eyes half closing #creative writing #snippet #writeblr #supervillain

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magicalforcesau · 3 years

Text

Letters (part 2)

As Obi-Wan and Satine continue their written correspondence in the back half of their Hogwarts career, their bond strengthens to the point where it might not strictly be platonic.

ao3 link

Fifth Year Summer

Dear Ben,

I GOT MY MENTORSHIP REQUEST APPROVED! I’m going to be a peer mentor this upcoming year! Oh, I know this is going to be another responsibility when we’re already saddling quite a bit with OWLS and our duties as prefects. While it was your initial idea to join, I have no regrets. If I’m to influence the minds of thousands from the Ministry, it will do me good to have practice on a smaller and more impressionable scale. Besides, far too many first years are led astray in my opinion. Having firm and caring guidance will be most beneficial.

I hope you can write to me with the same news, even if I still believe you are pushing yourself far too hard. Just please consider your own mental health for this upcoming term. You’re already wound tighter than anyone I know. I would truly not like to partake in the bets that Fives and Echo make behind your back about when your head will explode. I believe either myself or Cody would win. We know you best.

Speaking of being wound tight, I have been dedicating my summer to the practice of enchanting muggle objects as per our homework assignments. Turns out, it truly is not that difficult. I’ve been careful not to alter anything that would come into contact with other muggles, but I look forward to showing you the results of some of my recreations. Between you and me, I’ve been constructing some that were not on the instructed list.

You’re not technically a prefect yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi, so don’t even think about making a wise remark about how you could see me in trouble.

Yours Truly,

Satine

Dear Satine,

I, too, just received confirmation that I’m to mentor a first year this upcoming school year! Regardless of your speculation and wariness, I stand by my decision. We will be kept busy, but idle minds mean time wasted. If you hadn’t agreed on principle, I don’t believe you would have signed up right behind me. As for my extracurricular activities, pretending as though I am not stressed in the slightest about the prospect of the coming year is futile, but I hope to work through it and to become a better student as a result of it. My father has relented on training by Quidditch form. There are bigger things to worry about such as OWLS, which is why I’m to be locked in all summer. No complaints there- I’d much rather read.

Speaking of reading, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the books you snuck into my trunk. Yes, I found them and they were quite a welcome surprise. A bit of relaxing education is just what the doctor ordered. Not literally, because I loathe visiting my family’s practitioner. He takes the term “witch doctor” to new levels and I will leave it at that.

You’ve always been far better at charming objects than I ever have. To be fair, I still don’t have a full understanding of what certain muggle objects actually do, but I’ve got most of the list marked off by this point. While I promise not to report you for deliberate rule breaking, I do admire your gumption. I hope you’ll one day let me see what you’ve crafted. You know I adore learning the novelties of the muggle world. I believe last we spoke, you were telling me about ‘computers’.

As always, I’d love to know more. You have a manner of speaking that simply can’t go unnoticed, at least not to me.

Best,

Obi-Wan

Fifth Year- Winter

Dear Satine,

I apologize if this owl reaches you at an indecent hour. I know how you are about your beauty sleep. It’s been strange being back home, even if for a couple of weeks. It’s only made me realize just how unreal this year has been in terms of excitement and mystery. Though I do not blame the boy for any of it, I won’t lie that it was a much quieter school without Anakin Skywalker present. I wouldn’t change any of it, of course. I believe I am making a difference in working with him. He has a bright mind, if he chooses to use it.

I still can’t get the vision of him foaming at the mouth on the floor out of my head. There’s no doubt that someone has it in for him. I can only imagine who. While eccentric, Anakin is still just a child. He’s harmless.

At risk of drastically changing the subject- my true reason for writing was to thank you again for the watch. My parents have ingrained in me the importance of writing thank you notes regardless of the nature of the gift. However, this might be the first time the sentiment has felt important in action. It may sound ungrateful, but a boy can only receive so many tie clips before he starts to sound a bit robotic in his delivery.

However, please note that every word I say, I mean through my very bones. I hope you didn’t take my silence at receiving it to be anything less than breathlessness. You always keep me guessing, Satine Kryze, and I would have you no different. I am still in awe every time I catch a gander at my wrist.

You did a marvelous job in transfixing and refurbishing it. Seriously, it is of no wonder that Charms comes easier to you than it does to me. Had I not known otherwise; I would have assumed this watch was always crafted with the intention of being magical. Even if it were just a standard watch, it would still have meant more to me than anything I’ve received simply because it came from you. My friend. I’m not sure I deserve it.

I suppose I’ve no excuse for fear of being late any longer, now do I?

It’s never coming off!

Obi-Wan

Dear Ben,

I’m no longer, by any means, insinuating that the boy is trouble. Or more accurately, I don’t believe he’s cognizant of these omens. What concerns me, is Qui-Gon seems to believe that a dark time is upon us. He won’t share his suspicions outright, but I can tell just by how he talks to Anakin with a certain level of wonder and curiosity. Surely, you see it too.

Even still, I say, when school starts up, we try and start our own investigation- off the books and away from Anakin, of course. We needn’t worry him more than he already is. Perhaps while Gryffindor has the field for Quidditch practice we can better research. There’s been too many strange occurrences this year for it to all be coincidental. I’d argue this is the tipping point.

We can further discuss a game plan back at school, but at risk of hurting feelings and potentially endangering lives, we should keep this between us.

I am, however, glad to hear you enjoyed the watch ♥

Yours,

Satine

Sixth Year- Summer

Dear Satine,

I received my OWLS results today as I’m sure you did the same. I wanted you to hear from me, personally, that I am, in fact, alive and well despite what I received as scores. I’m surprised at how alive and how well, quite actually.

For some context- I received all O’s in everything… With the exception of Arithmancy- of which I got an E. I’m not positive where exactly I went wrong in studying for it. I don’t recall the exam being particularly difficult. It’s never been a prized subject of mine as you well know, but I’ve always delivered nothing less than near-perfect marks.

My parents took the news surprisingly well. As opposed to blaming me for slacking off or being distracted by frivolous things such as friends… They were in support of me. In fact, they’re positive that the school is deliberately discriminating against me. I think it might have to do with the recent revelation regarding Anakin being the chosen one. They’ve been much kinder to me and the choices I’ve made as a result of my association with him. Where they believed I was wasting my time, I apparently “saw” what they couldn’t- even if my decision to mentor Anakin had absolutely nothing to do with the matter.

I still have not yet mentioned my pursuit of becoming an Auror. You have to space this kind of news out when you can. They’ve supported me on this, but I’m not sure they’d take that in stride. My parents have been itching to have me become a lawyer or a politician for as long as I can remember.

How were your scores? I’m sure you did brilliantly. I should know, I studied alongside you during all of this madness. I’m eager to properly celebrate with you when we next meet. My mother asked me where I’d gotten the watch the other day and I exclaimed that the brightest witch of my age crafted it for me personally… She assumed it was Ventress, but you’ve always thrived in the chaos of being underestimated, now haven’t you? I will never make that mistake.

Truly,

Ben

Dear Ben,

Don’t you ever scare me with such a dramatic introduction ever again! I nearly had a heart attack, assuming you’d gone and failed your OWLS in a fit of insanity. Given how unusual our fifth year was, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it had another anomaly to toss our way. I thought I was going to have to portkey to you and shake the living daylights out of you for being so foolish.

You landed on your feet, as you always do and seem to make it look incredibly easy to those that do not know any better. We’re matching, actually, except my E was in DADA- likely during the practical session when I wouldn’t cast that Sectumsempra spell. To have us perform such an act on a defenseless animal is cruel (even if it was a spider), particularly in the name of ‘testing’. If they must endorse the epidemic of violence, can they not simply provide test dummies?

I’m actually surprised I scored that high, since the instructor looked at me like I had ten heads. I spoke to Cody today. He passed, despite how hard he doubted himself. We both knew that he would do fine, of course.

Ventress has been around a lot more frequently, hasn’t she? I know that she’s been quite displaced ever since Dooku’s outing. She’s quite smug and entitled for someone who hardly does anything aside from being an errand girl to a Sith terror. I’m sure she’ll be continuing her tricks this year. To think your family thinks you could be as shrewd and awful as her.

How is Anakin this summer? I contemplated sending him an owl just to see how he was processing the more recent revelations, but it would most likely sound more from the heart if it came from you. You were truly excellent with him this year, if I hadn’t already mentioned it. I know I convinced you to break away from the status quo and lean into your desires to become an auror, but you’ve got a real knack for teaching and seeing the best in people. It’s truly one of your best traits. That, and the fact that regardless how much of a mess you are, you always manage to look pristine from head to toe.

Actually, that last bit is borderline infuriating. I hope to see you before the summer lets out. I understand why that might be difficult, but it seems with your parents’ investment in Anakin, you might have a valid reason to be away from the homestead more often. If you understand what I’m saying.

Best,

Satine

Sixth Year- Winter

{A draft from the desk of Obi-Wan Kenobi}

[Boldened text in parenthesis] = out loud thoughts

Dear Satine,

How do I say this without sounding like a damn fool? You kissed me!

It’s been brought to my attention by literally everyone that we have a certain noticeable chemistry. [Why am I saying what everyone else thinks when I should be saying what I think?] Usually, when we are together, we argue. A lot. Sometimes, I’m surprised we haven’t strangled each other yet by how heated some of our debates become. You have this ability to get under my skin in a way that no one else possesses. Truthfully, I love [Too strong! Don’t go scaring her off now] truly appreciate that about you.

But there are times when I get this feeling… And it’s come on more and more the longer I know you… Like we could get beyond the possible strangulation phase and onto something… Better. [What is wrong with me?] You challenge me and I think sometimes I’m able to challenge you as well. I think having people in your life that push you to be the best you can be is a sign of true companionship friendship. You’ve become a constant in my life that I wouldn’t shake even if I could. Looking back, it’s only natural for me to grow feelings for you.

Where I tried to convince myself those feelings were simply an intense comradery, I cannot deny that I do not notice how the light casts on Cody’s hair or linger on him as he walks away [Blast that makes me sound like a pervert] wonder what his hand would feel like in mine. My heart doesn’t quicken if Cody touches my shoulder or laughs at one of my jokes. Cody doesn’t sit incredibly close to me at the dining hall, but if he did, I would be more confused than completely entranced. Cody is my other best friend, but my entire day is not made or broken by seeing him smile.

I wouldn’t be jealous if the seventh year boys decided to notice that Cody was beautiful.

And you are disarmingly beautiful, but I’ve always known that, even if I try to ignore it.

You can imagine how terrifying all of this is to realize at the remarkable hour of 3 in the morning- a mere 3 hours after you decided to kiss me under the mistletoe. How am I supposed to think of anything else now or ever again? Which leads me to think [Don’t be presumptuous] wonder… If you share these feelings. And if you do, we’ve got quite a predicament there. Because if I could blissfully convinced myself that we could never be, I’d be able to bury that deep within me, but even the idea of hope that you could see me in that light… I fear that would be all too tempting. The evidence says that you might. You’ve always been a better investigator than myself, but I can’t shake this feeling that we have these spellbound moments where everything slows down. And it’s just you and me. During those moments, everything is alright.

Usually, when I’m troubled as I am now, I do not hesitate to reach out to you. You’re my co-conspirator, my fellow prefect, my best friend. However, given the situation, that’s not very easy to do. Even if Qui-Gon speaks of it like it is . I wish it were, because now all I can imagine is the mark you’ve left with your kiss. It’s the same sort of feeling I get every time I touch the face of the watch you gifted me last year.

Should I ever muster up the courage to send this letter to you, which I definitely shouldn’t, because you deserve the sort of man that would bare his heart in person, please understand that while I’ve dedicated my life to studying magical text, I’m not nearly as well-versed in the subject of love. Since I’m so certain you’ll never read this, there’s no point in denying that it’s anything less than love.

Love,

Ben

Seventh Year- Summer

Dear Ben,

I wanted to ensure that you were on the road of being okay, all things considering. I tried to wait to give you space, but I couldn’t make it more than a week without knowing you weren’t going mad locked up in that house of yours. I’m not even positive you’ll write me back, which is infuriating, but understanding since Qui-Gon’s passing is not one to be taken lightly by anyone, but especially you. I wish I could alleviate the pain you must be feeling in any way.

I’m relieved just a little bit, knowing that Anakin is in your care. It was very surprising of your parents to offer him refuge, as he’s currently got no one else to possibly lean on. Hopefully the two of you can find some solace in each other during these difficult times. I care for both of you very much and my heart aches knowing I am virtually helpless in making this any better. I know you are likely placing an immense amount of pressure on yourself to distract you from addressing your own mentor’s death, but while your parents might encourage this behavior, it’s not a true way of coping. You need to let someone in.

Stay safe. Do not hesitate to reach out (no matter how cliché that sounds). Even if you talk to Cody instead, that’s fine. Just… Don’t lock yourself in that head of yours and go rogue. I’d miss you far too much.

With Love,

Satine

Dear Satine,

I’m not okay, but I’ll have to be soon. Anakin is safe and on the same boat. I’ll write later with a real reply. I’m not quite in the spirit right now. I just wanted you to know that I haven’t gone completely mad in absence.

~Obi-Wan

Dear Satine,

I’m sorry to be writing to you so late in “true” reply. I’ve been quite busy with Anakin this summer. It has been helpful having someone else around. While a gray cloud still seems to follow him around, I’d say he’s faring better than expected. It’s alarming how resilient the boy is, but also incredibly depressing that it needs to be that way. We’ve discussed the matter of Qui-Gon’s death a couple of times. While you won’t like this, I think there is some closure to knowing that Anakin’s attacker, who became Qui-Gon’s murderer, is dead.

Meanwhile, I must confess that it still haunts me every night. I haven’t said anything to Anakin, because like you rightfully assumed, I’m not about to unload that burden onto him. He feels it’s his fault just as much as I do. We’ve taken to playing Quidditch outside. My family owns several acres of land, so we are able to get out of earshot every now and then. Anakin actually gets on quite nicely with my parents, which is a massive relief. Getting back to school for our final year will be a good way to get back into routine. On the other hand, I’m dreading trying to attempt adjusting to a school without Qui-Gon.

I suppose studying my brains out for the NEWTS alongside you will provide for ample distraction. You, alone, are admittedly very distracting. I am referring to your character of course. A general statement.

There’s always Quidditch, unfortunately, which isn’t nearly as fun and carefree as playing with Anakin in the yard. Despite how massively competitive he is? He’s just turned 13 and he’s loads better than me already. I still hate the flying aspect.

I’m writing you, of course, because we just got notified that I’m to be the Head Boy to your Head Girl. This incredibly tragic time has truly made me appreciate the people I have in my life. You are, without a doubt, shining at the top of that metaphorical list in bold and underlined print. I wouldn’t be Head Boy had it not been for you.

A lot has changed thus far, Satine, and I’m growing tired of being afraid. Life is too short and it’s always going to throw negatives at us- some that are absolutely debilitating. However, there is always the light, which has made me think that perhaps this year, some changes don’t have to be bad. There are many things I’d like to discuss with you, in person. Because this sort of conversation should be the kind that happens face-to-face.

Would you like to meet before school?

Truly Yours,

Ben

#obitine #Obi-Wan Kenobi #satine kryze #the clone wars #star wars #hpau #magical forces au #fragments of the garden

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attackonmyself · 4 years

Text

Beat the Heat--NSFW

Inspired by a prompt from @voltage-vixen‘s Summer of Smut Writing Challenge but took waaaaay too long for me to complete, and I missed the deadline. Anyways, thanks to @voltagesmutter, @passagesthroughpages, and Lia_Jones (all amazing writers themselves!) for all your help! Dedicated to all Victor stans, and my Discord family!

Please see this amazing artwork that inspired my fic!: https://m.sg.weibo.com/user/2173912080/4472175635540915

And also this Karma owned by MLQC:

Link on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654276

I sprinted into the LFG lobby, out of breath. I was late. Again.

Cindy spotted me, and quickly gestured towards the stairs. “He’s been waiting for you, go on up.” I groaned, still out of breath, then crossed the lobby. Great, I thought as I ran up the stairs. Another lecture on punctuality, coming right up. I stopped before the office door, taking a moment to catch my breath before knocking.

“Come in,” came the clipped reply. Even better, it sounded like he was already in a bad mood. This should be fun. I entered, closing the door behind me. Victor was sitting at his desk, skimming something on his computer. He looked up, removing his glasses and placing them next to his desk calendar. “It is 2:33.”

I grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

His normal poker face had been replaced with a scowl. “What time did I say to be here?”

“2:30.” It didn’t matter how close we had become, some things never changed. When at work, Victor was always in prime CEO mode, any trace of my shy and sweet boyfriend disappearing the moment he walked in the office doors.

“It seems your memory is indeed working today, despite all evidence to the contrary. So perhaps you like to explain why that was not the time you entered my office?” Being on the receiving end of a Victor-Li-is-irked glare was never a good experience, but unfortunately, that was often the position I found myself in.

“Our printer jammed at the last second, and wouldn’t print a contract that my 1:30 client needed to sign before they could leave, so I was stuck there calling maintenance and then waiting for them to show up, and then waiting for them to fix it, and then--”

“Stop. I’ve heard enough.” He rubbed his temples, eyes closed. “You do realize this is the modern era, yes? Contracts can be sent over email, and signed digitally. We will need to discuss your company’s disturbing lack of adaptation to current technology at another time; you have wasted enough of it already. Begin your report.”

“Right.” I pulled out my newly purchased tablet and cleared my throat. “As you can see, we exceeded our predicted revenue this month. Views that we lost last week were not just recovered, but doubled.” I fidgeted a bit under his intense stare.

“I implemented the ideas we discussed last week, and they were successful For future consideration, I’d like to bring to your attention--”

The soft whirring of the air conditioning of the building sputtered to a startling halt. I paused, and looked at Victor for direction. He sighed, and picked up the phone on his desk when it began to ring. “Speak.” I heard a hurried voice on the other end, and watched Victor’s frown deepen. “What?” More frantic explanation from the voice, trying to appease him, and then Victor hung up.

“Something wrong?” I asked, hoping that an urgent matter had come up, so that I could move my report to later when he would hopefully be in a better mood.

“The air conditioning stopped working. It will take a few hours to fix.” I groaned internally. It was the middle of July, peak season for hot days, and Victor’s office was directly in the sun’s path at the moment, the windows offering no protection from its heat. He shed his suit jacket, draping it over the arm of his chair. “Continue,” he commanded.

“Uh,” I scrambled to remember my place. “For future consideration, I’d like to bring to your attention trendlines predicting future revenue on episodes based on current events.” I began to sweat, already missing the almost too cold climate I had complained about in the past, and vowed to never do so again.

“Our most popular episodes to date have been ones related to current issues in the news. Our recent collaboration with Loveland TV gave us access to topics and resources that we might not have had otherwise. Therefore, I propose that we begin a new series to be aired in conjunction with local news stations beyond just Loveland TV that would cover oddities addressed in daily reports.”

Ok, the heat had officially become unbearable. I took off my white cardigan, putting in on top of my bag. Victor did a double-take, eyes widening. Uh oh. I forgot how casual my dress was. I tried to distract him with the report. “The series would cover not just super powers, but also delve into the psyche--”

“Stop, stop.” Crap. He was still staring at my dress. “What do you think you’re wearing?!”

“Uh, a sundress?” I responded dumbly. He glared at me. I fumbled for an excuse, though not knowing why I needed one exactly. “It’s the middle of July. I know it’s not formal business attire without the cardigan, but it’s hot in here without the AC. I thought you would understand that and be ok with me not wearing it considering the circumstances.”

He gaped, apparently shocked. “You thought wrong. Do you seriously not realize how alluring that dress is?”

Wait what? “Huh?”

He shook his head. “Dummy, you are astoundingly naive sometimes. Wearing that to any presentation, including this one, leads the audience to focus not on your proposal, but your physical assets.” I blushed, and covered myself a bit with my arms. He continued. “For example, I missed everything you presented after taking off your cardigan. Be thankful this was only a weekly report meeting, and not an official proposal for more funding with the entire board present.” He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk.

I looked down, ashamed. “I really am sorry, Victor. That would have embarrassed both Miracle Company and you; I understand now and I will do better in the future.”

“No, you misunderstand me.” He stood, and strode quickly towards me, crossing the room in a few broad steps. He grabbed my shoulders and forced me to look him in the eye. “The only person who should see you in outfits of this nature is me.” It was the hunger in his eyes that made me realize I was no longer talking to the CEO of LFG, but Victor Li, my protective and now aroused boyfriend.

Desperate lips met mine, taking my breath away. I was always weak for his kisses, this time literally. My knees gave in a bit, and I held onto his arms as he pushed deeper. I eagerly reciprocated, a need for his touch growing rapidly under my navel. We broke apart for only a moment, before he claimed my lips again and ran strong fingers up my neck and into my hair, gently nudging my face closer to his.

Victor was not a man of many flowery words, but he made up for it in his actions. Every kiss we shared was so fervent that you would think it was going to be our last. Even in moments of raw passion, it was obvious how deeply he cared for me, and I fell more in love with him each time our lips united. This kiss was no exception; I sank into his yearning for me, throwing my arms around his neck.

Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around my thighs, and I felt myself being lifted into the air. I scrambled to wind my legs around his waist, holding him tighter. We were intimately closer than before, and I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. It amazed me that I could have such an effect on the seemingly stoic mogul, that I could be the one to break his cool. His lips captured mine once more, then he impatiently moved us towards his desk.

“Hold tight,” he instructed, using one arm to awkwardly clear off the desktop, sending pens and his mouse flying. He set me atop it, beginning to suck at the pulse point above my collarbone, when reality hit me.

“Wait, stop,” I whispered harshly. He immediately backed away, arms to his side.

“What’s wrong?” Concern overtook ardor, and he scanned my figure. “Did I hurt you?” That thought seemed to shake him a bit.

“No, nothing like that,” I quickly reassured him. “But...should we really be doing this in your office? People might hear, or worse, what if someone came in?”

His confidence immediately returned, desire resuming its place in his eyes as I mentioned others overhearing our stolen moment of passion. He smirked, leaning in close.

“Let them hear.” He continued his attack on my neck, but I wouldn’t be swayed just yet.

“Victor,” I chided. “I’m not comfortable with someone catching us in your office. That wouldn’t look good for either of us.” He stopped, judging my sincerity, then walked away.

“Wait, where are you going?” I asked, reaching out an arm towards him needily, missing his warmth already. Had I angered him?

“Relax, dummy.” He strode up to the door and turned the lock, its satisfying click signaling his intentions. He turned and smiled devilishly. “No one is going anywhere until we are finished.”

He hastened back to me, as if I were his prey, strung up and waiting for him on a platter. He kissed me again, and loosened his tie to quell the sweltering heat. I grabbed for his shirt, undoing the first few buttons before he stopped me with a lick to a particularly sensitive area behind my earlobe. He undid his tie the rest of the way and set it down beside me on the desk. I finished unbuttoning his shirt, untucking it roughly. I gulped upon being met with the sight of his broad chest. As if controlled by some unknown force, my hands ran over his torso, brushing his collarbone and hips alike, searching for any point of contact with him.

He placed feather light kisses all over my face and neck, brushing my cheek; my eyelids; the small v formed by my collarbones. As lovely as his display of affection was--and it truly was; not often did we get a chance to bask in the other’s devotion--it wasn’t quite enough. I needed more.

I ran my hands down his abdomen, grabbing for his belt buckle, but he caught my hand in his and tsked.

“Someone needs to learn to be patient.” His hands left me, and I let out a whine. He picked up the flimsy piece of fabric that lay beside me and wrapped it around my face, covering my eyes.

“Is this okay?” I heard a soft whisper beside my left ear.

His breath tickled me a bit, paused in anticipation of my answer. I hold absolute control over him at this moment, I realized with a small gasp. The power was a heady feeling; Loveland’s most eligible ‘bachelor’ was all mine, treating me as if I was some queen to be worshipped. Although he was leading most of the action, I held the ropes. And I would be ever so careful not to abuse this gift. What’s more, after years of having to take care of myself on my own, I now could trust him. Completely.

“Yes.”

That one word spurred him back into action. He quickly fastened the makeshift blindfold behind my head, careful to avoid knotting my hair with it. I heard a low groan, and then my skirt was pushed up, warm hands rubbing slow circles on my inner thighs.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his lips brushing mine, sending shivers down my spine. "There is nothing I would not do to keep you safe and happy."

I bucked my hips towards his, searching for any friction to relieve my need. Suddenly, I felt a hand over my underwear, massaging my clit leisurely. I let out a breathy moan. Finally. His steady fingers ran back and forth across the fabric, gentle yet firm in their ministrations. "Faster, please Victor," I gasped, spreading my legs. He obeyed, for once, going faster and faster until all fear of others intruding disappeared. I could only think about him, his touch, and my palpable desire to become one with him.

I could feel a flush rise in my cheeks, the sounds coming from my mouth garbled and brimming with pleasure. I reached blindly for him, needing to touch him for stability; so that I could hold off my climax a little longer, but was met only with air. I let out a whine. I heard a chuckle from somewhere in front of me. Seconds later, strong hands guided mine to his shoulders; his warm body moved closer, parting my legs further.

I was already beyond wet by this point, and I felt ready for him but knowing Victor, he wouldn't enter me until he was sure I was relaxed and ready for him. "Please, hurry up, I need you, now," I urged.

Surprisingly, he decided to grant my request. I heard the soft clink of a belt buckle being undone followed by a rustling of fabric. I hooked my ankles behind him, wanting, no, needing him in me as soon as humanly possible. A hand ran through my hair, and then my underwear was pushed to the side; in one fluid motion he had both lifted me into the air and entered me with a soft moan. I gasped, throwing my head back and digging my fingers into the well-defined muscles of his shoulders.

The sensation of him inside me was more intense in the dark. I felt so safe, protected and satisfied in his arms. It was as if all my fears and worries had melted away. I knew that he would shield me from any incoming darkness that dared to threaten me. He pulled back for a moment, then slowly slid inside me once more, giving me time to adjust and savor the feeling of us, united as one.

We maintained a comfortable rhythm, my hips grinding down to meet his as I panted against his neck. There was no need for words; anything that needed to be said was communicated through movement and small gasps and moans. I realized that I could no longer hear the ticking of the wall clock, its telling absence revealing that time was no longer in motion.

I drew in a breath to mention it, but he suddenly changed to a different angle, shifting me in his arms, and sparks burst behind my eyelids. “Don’t you dare stop, right--right there!” I practically screamed. He hummed in confirmation, building speed. I let out a series of whines, bouncing down into his thrusts in desperation to add to the surging, rising tide of pleasure that's only just out of reach. I could hear Victor’s pleasure as well in the short, cut off breaths he let out.

“Are you close,” he ground out, ever the gentleman in refusing to come before me.

“Very,” I replied, concentrating on my climax, adding a finger to my clit. A few more strokes, and it hit me--hard. I screamed out his name and clenched around him. He gasped, and I felt a warmth inside me as he tightened his grip on me. The waves of pleasure taking hold of me ebbed slowly; suddenly, I could see again, tie dropping to the floor.

Victor cradled me close and kissed the top of my head. We remained entangled in each other’s embrace for a few moments longer, catching our breath. He slid out of me, but didn’t let me go. I buried my face in his neck, flushing at the whispered “I love you” that came from beside my ear.

Suddenly, the ticking resumed and the space that was only ours returned to being shared with the rest of the world. I was gently set down on the desk, and I grabbed a tissue to clean myself up. We began to redress and had almost finished when there was a knock at the door.

“Sir, the mechanics from Four Seasons Heating and Air have arrived,” Goldman’s voice came from behind the solid wood. “Would you like to direct them or should I handle it?”

Victor gestured at my cardigan, “That goes on; tightly,” he said in a low voice, then he grabbed his suit jacket and approached the door. I buttoned it quickly, barely finishing in time before he swung the door open.

There was an awkward silence as Goldman took in our appearance. He did a quick double take, then stammered an apology. “Sir, I--uh--”

I flushed brightly; there was no way to conceal what we had been up to. Only Victor stood stoic as always, not caring about our disheveled state or the smudge of my lipstick on the corner of his mouth. “Mark me as booked for the next two hours,” he announced, glancing at his watch. “I expect the air conditioning to be up and running when I return.”

“Next two hours--but sir! You have the meeting with the investors from--” Goldman was cut off with a glare. Typical. I felt sorry for him.

“Did I ask for any feedback? I said that I am booked for the next two hours. Make any schedule changes necessary in my absence.” He put an arm around my waist and led me out of the room in the direction of the elevator.

“But sir!” Victor paid him no mind and as the door closed, he pulled me into another kiss.

“How do you feel about lunch at Souvenir?”

“Mm, sounds great!” I replied, smoothing down his slightly rumpled shirt. Oh! Pulling back with a smile, I suddenly laughed. “Victor!”

He frowned. “What.”

“You forgot your tie!”

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc victor smut #mlqc writing #my writing #this took way too long

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lelitachay · 3 years

Text

Frozen fanfiction: Søsken

Summary: An accident in the North mountain forces Elsa to spend several weeks in her brother’s apartment under Anna’s care. And during this time, Anna begins to notice there are peculiar things about Elsa’s life she wished she could understand. Everything starts to make sense after a family reunion.

Modern AU. Kristanna - Frohana - Kristoff & Elsa BrOTP.

Chapters 1 to 10 - Here

Chapters 11 to 20 - Here

Chapter 21 - What to do

Chapter 22 - What’s there to lose?

Chapter 23 - Seek the truth

An abrupt end

Anna looked at the letter in her hand and smiled. Thinking what was best to do with it until she saw her mother, she picked one of the books Elsa had returned earlier that day to save it. She was placing the letter inside, when she heard Marshall's voice coming from the front door and she thought it was the perfect time to thank him.

Even if she had no idea what Marshal had said or done to change Elsa’s mind, she believed it was best to show him her gratitude. She was convinced Elsa would still be avoiding her mother's letters if it hadn't been for the mountaineer.

Once the letter was safely placed inside the book, she hurried to the door to greet and thank the man; but, as she was getting closer, she heard Marshall’s request. I need Anna's phone number. Anna looked at Kristoff who was walking by her side, and he looked as confused as her by the request.

"She's here if you need to-" Elsa tried to say before she was interrupted by the mountaineer.

"Is she?” He stepped inside the house before Elsa could invite him in. His attitude told Anna something was definitely off. It didn’t matter how much Elsa insisted, Marshall always waited for an invitation to set foot inside her house. “Tell her I need to talk to her."

"Marshmallow, are you okay?" asked Elsa, who had sensed something was wrong too.

Marshall ignored Elsa and walked until he was standing in front of Anna. She soon noticed his disarray hair and, more importantly, his frown and tightened fists. He looked nothing like the Marshall she had gotten to know in the past few months, and the sight was truly unsettling. She often referred to him as someone intimidating, but truth was, up until that moment, Anna had never found a reason – beyond his size and serious demeanour – to consider Marshall frightening. Not once had he looked as threatening as he looked right at that moment.

"Anna," Marshall called her attention, bringing her back to reality. "I need Hans' address."

"I’m sorry, what?" She was still very much distracted by his dishevelled appearance to understand coherently what he was saying.

"Hans." His harsh tone showing he not only looked angry, he was in fact raging. "He’s your ex-boyfriend, isn’t he? I need his address."

"His address?" The last thing she wanted was to anger him further but she was still having a hard time understanding what was going on. His demand didn’t make much sense to her. Doesn’t he work for his father? Why not ask him? she wondered.

“Yes,” he said, little by little losing his patience. “Do you know where he lives?”

"What do you need his address for?" Kristoff asked, standing in front of Anna.

"I just need to know where he lives." Marshall answered the question but didn’t pay Kristoff much attention. Any information Anna could provide was more important to him at that moment.

Anna was about to answer when she noticed Elsa's worried expression. Her sister’s gaze was fixed on Marshall, as if she was trying to read what was wrong with him. It was clear she had never seen him so mad before, and that increased Anna's curiosity.

Elsa closed the door and quietly walked to his side. "Won’t you tell us why?"

He shot her an impatient side-glance. "No. I don’t want to talk."

Anna's eyes widened. Never had she imagined Marshall giving Elsa such a cold reply. Something definitely was wrong. The mountaineer could be impatient at times, but Anna had never seen him act that way around Elsa. Not knowing what to do, she shared a quick look with her sister, who was growing more concerned by the minute.

"Calm down, Marshall." warned Kristoff, showing he was not going to tolerate that kind of behaviour. "What the hell happened to you?"

Marshall glared at Kristoff, and for a moment Anna wondered if they had said or done anything to annoy the usual mild-mannered man.

"Marshmallow," Elsa called his attention by gently holding his forearm. "Tell me what’s going on, please."

Anna watched him close his eyes and take a deep breath. For a moment, she thought he was going to ignore Elsa's request, but to her relief, he answered, "I just need to know where I can find Hans and then I'll be on my way."

"I understand that." She caressed his arm with her thumb, trying to appease him. "I just want to know why… Is everything okay?"

Anna's mouth quirked at the intimate gesture. She was surprised to see Elsa so calm and collected given the situation; it was clear Elsa trusted him more than she let on.

The mountaineer averted his eyes and his frown deepened. He stayed silent looking at the floor, trying hard to avoid Elsa's gaze. He didn't say anything until Elsa tilted her head to lock eyes with him again. "I was fired," he muttered finally.

"What?" Anna and Kristoff asked.

"What happened?" Elsa knew there was a problem. Marshall was Petter's more dedicated and responsible employee. The idea of him being fired didn’t make sense, at all.

"My boss thinks I stole money from him." His tightened fists showed how angered he was with the whole ordeal.

"And did you–?" tried to ask Kristoff, but Marshall’s murderous look stopped him.

"Of course I didn’t!" He barked. "Hans told his father I took the money!"

"Why would Hans say something like that?" Anna had seen the disrespectful way in which Hans treated Elsa and Marshall, but part of her still wanted to believe he was not capable of doing something so despicable.

“Because your ex-boyfriend is a piece of shit! That's why!” A cold hand grabbed his, and Marshall stopped to look at Elsa. She then asked for a better explanation and he complied. “Remember the day you and Anna stopped by? Hans paid me for the things I repaired and to keep his party or reunion, or whatever, a secret. Apparently the money he used for the party and the one he gave me was from the resort’s income.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Kristoff knew a thing or two about the youngest Westergaard, he knew he was an unscrupulous person. But stealing and making a man lose his job was more than he had ever imagined Hans capable of.

“I fixed everything in a day, kept his stupid reunion a secret, and this is how he pays me! I want to rip his head off!”

Elsa could feel him shake with rage and tried to offer a solution before he completely lost it. “Can’t you go back and talk with your boss about this? Explain what happened? Anna and I were there. We saw him.”

He shook his head. “Petter kicked me out and wouldn’t give me a chance to explain myself.” He turned to Anna and asked for a third time. “Anna, I need to find Hans so we can talk. Can you give me his address?”

Now that she understood his problem, Anna couldn’t refuse. “He lives in-”

“Don’t,” Kristoff interrupted her. “I don’t think he wants to talk.”

“Let her talk, Bjorgman.”

“Do you really want to talk to Hans?” Kristoff countered. “By the looks of it, you want to beat the crap out of him.”

“He wouldn't do something like that,” said Elsa in disbelief. She turned to Marshall for confirmation but he averted his eyes. “Please, tell me you don't want to find Hans just to beat him up,” she exclaimed, shocked to realise her brother’s suspicions were correct.

It was clear by the way he was avoiding her gaze he wasn’t entirely proud of his idea. “Someone needs to teach him a lesson. I don't mind being that person.”

“Are you insane?! Hans is your boss’s son.”

“Petter's no longer my boss.”

“You won’t get your job back like this!” Elsa let go of his hand before he noticed how cold it was getting. She had remained calm until that point but the idea of Marshall doing something so incredibly stupid irked her.

“I don't want my job back,” Marshall admitted. He knew losing his job was going to be a headache in the near future. But at that moment, he couldn’t care less about working for the Westergaards again. “I want Hans to admit what he did and clean my name.”

“Let’s go talk with your boss if that's what you want. Anna and I saw Hans that day,” she suggested. “I’m sure there are more people out there who saw him too.”

“No,” he grunted.

“Marshmallow!”

“I'm not going to beg Petter,” he said, raising his voice. “He wanted to believe the word of his lazy-ass son, then fine. But I won't let Hans get away with this.”

“Please, think about it for a second,” she tried to reason.

“No, Elsa!”

“For heaven's sake, why are you so stubborn?!” Elsa countered in a loud voice, surprising Anna and Kristoff.

“You're one to talk!”

Something told Anna it wasn’t the first time they argued about their shared stubbornness, and so she thought it was best to stop them before they said things they could regret. Anna agreed a hundred percent with Elsa, but fighting with an angered Marshall didn’t seem smart either. “Guys, calm down. Yelling at each other won’t solve anything.” Anna said, standing between the two. The way Marshall towered over her made her regret her decision for a moment, but if her sister trusted the mountaineer then she would too.

“Elsa’s right. You won’t get anything out of beating Hans to a pulp,” Kristoff said, trying to talk some sense into him.

“I’ll get inner peace,” he murmured.

Anna, who had been standing close enough to hear, smiled and whispered back, “I can’t argue with that.” She then cleared her throat and offered her own opinion, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I agree with Elsa and Kristoff, this is not the right way.”

“Will you tell me where he lives?” Marshall asked Anna once again, not caring about her or anyone’s opinion.

“No,” answered Kristoff. “No, she won't.”

“Let her answer herself, Bjorgman.” He glared at him once again.

“I won't let Anna become your accomplice.” Kristoff looked at Anna, letting her know he was not kidding. “Do you want to kill a man? Do it on your own.”

“Fine,” said Marshall, turning around and walking towards the door. “I’ll find his address some other way.”

“Marshall, stop,” begged Elsa, stopping him from leaving the house by blocking his path.

“Let me out, Elsa.”

“I won't let you go and do something like this.”

“Elsa,” he said, exasperated. “I won’t kill the man. Can you please move?”

She held his hand once again, hoping he would listen. She only wished he didn’t notice how freezing her own hands were. “Can I talk to you? Alone.”

Anna watched Elsa try to convince Marshall and, by the way Elsa's eyes found hers, she realised the request was not only for him, but also for Kristoff and herself. Thinking it was best to let Elsa try to talk him out of it, she called her boyfriend's attention. “Kristoff, can you help me for a moment?”

"What?"

"Just come with me." She grabbed his hand and began pulling him into the kitchen.

When Anna heard the front door open, she turned around and noticed Elsa giving her a small smile before pushing Marshmallow outside. By the mountaineer's tired sigh, Anna noticed he was not in the right mood for a conversation, but Anna was relieved to see he had at least agreed to it.

"What are we doing here?” asked Kristoff as soon as they stepped inside the kitchen. “That guy is out of his mind right now." Kristoff seemed ready to follow his sister outside but Anna stopped him before he could.

"If there's anyone who can calm the big guy down, that's Elsa.” She was sure her sister could placate Marshall. It was only a matter of time until he began to listen. Or so she wanted to believe. “However, in case she can't change his mind…” said Anna as she began putting her things inside her bag. “I'll go to town with him."

“Excuse me?”

“I'm going with him,” she declared. “He may leave any second so I need you to help me gather all my things.”

"You’re not going with him." Kristoff stopped her by putting his hand on top of her books. "He’s planning to travel all the way to Trolheim just to give someone a beating. He'll probably end up in jail tonight, Anna."

"That’s exactly why I’m going with him. He’ll find his house one way or another. If I go with him, I'll have forty extra minutes to talk him out of it." She hoped Elsa could do her charm and change his mind before it came to it, though.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kristoff tried to remain calm to convince Anna to give her idea a second thought. “You just said Elsa is the one who knows how to calm him down. What makes you think you'll be able to do it if she can't?”

Anna knew he had a good point. If Marshall didn’t listen to Elsa there was only a small chance, he’d listen to her; still, she needed to try. She felt pity for Marshall and the way Hans’ family had treated him. “Hans and his family can easily send Marshall to jail for less than a beating — no matter how well-deserved the beating is.” She murmured as an afterthought. “There’s no-way they’ll listen or try to understand Marshmallow’s situation. Well, maybe Jonas would, but we can't rely on Jonas alone. It's best to stop Marshall.”

“Who is this Jonas again? Wait, no. That doesn’t matter, what matters is you travelling with this madman.”

"Madman?" Her eyes opened in disbelief. "He was wrongfully fired and accused of a crime he didn't commit. You'd be livid too."

"I guess… But the way he’s acting does nothing but make me uncomfortable."

"You know he's a good man, Kristoff."

"I also know he's a temperamental loner."

"So what? Should I stop helping people just because they are somewhat different? Or simply because they make you uncomfortable?” Not giving him enough time to answer her questions, she continued, “What would have happened to Elsa if your parents didn’t give her a chance just because she made them uncomfortable?”

Anna noticed his expression change from surprise into a frown, and for a moment she felt truly guilty for using such a cheap trick against him. She waited for an outburst or an answer of some kind, but it never came; so, she continued putting her things away — making sure she took the book and the letter with her too.

Opting to avoid a confrontation, Kristoff let Anna off the hook. He massaged his temples and released a tired sigh. All he had wanted was to spend a quiet night with his sister, and somehow Marshall and Westergaard had managed to ruin it. “I want a peaceful day off for once. Am I asking too much?” he said to no one in particular.

Ignoring her boyfriend, Anna hung her bag on her shoulder and turned towards him once again. “Let’s see if Elsa convinced him, maybe all this conversation was for naught.” She walked out the room, happy to see Kristoff following close behind. She knew he couldn’t deny his curiosity to see if their sister had been successful.

Anna wasn’t sure if Elsa had had enough time to change the mountaineer's mind, but truth was she still needed to get home before her father’s associates arrived and the sooner they could solve Marshall's problem, the better. She stepped outside just in time to hear one of Elsa’s frustrated demands…

"If you would at least listen to me for a second-"

"No,” Marshall interrupted. “I said I’m leaving.”

To Anna’s disappointment, instead of finding a solution, they were no longer listening to each other. No wonder they had quarrelled about their stubbornness before.

Anna was about to suggest going with him, when Elsa tried to stop him one last time. “Marshall…”

“Listen,” he said, turning around to face Elsa. “I didn't come here for you to change my mind! Just stop it!”

The man was furious, that much was obvious. Yet Anna felt it was unfair to let the anger get the best of him, especially when her sister was on the receiving end.

“Fine,” Elsa answered in a low tone of voice. “Have fun acting like the brute everyone thinks you are.”

Anna and Kristoff watched from the top of the stairs Marshall curse under his breath and begin to walk away.

Anna wondered if there was a point in trying to help Marshall herself. He had certainly made up his mind about finding Hans and giving him the beating he deserved, so there wasn't much she could do… Yet, somehow, she couldn't stop feeling bad for the man. She had clearly seen regret and pain written on his face after Elsa's retort. And maybe, just maybe, she could use that to her advantage. She wasn't sure she could change his mind, but at least now she had an idea of what to say to sow doubt in his mind. She only needed to try.

"You still want to go with him, don't you?" asked Kristoff, distracting her from her thoughts. He had noticed the way Anna kept biting her lower lip. Something he only saw her do whenever she was pondering over one of her crazy ideas.

"I know you think I'm crazy. But I need to try something…"

"Anna…" Kristoff tried to stop her, but Anna climbed down the stairs two at a time, and began running in Marshall's direction.

"Anna, stop!"

"I'll call you once I get home," she yelled back, trying to reassure him.

Elsa was still focused on her powers, trying hard to tame them before they could manifest on their own, when she saw Anna run past her and she heard her brother yelling by her side. She had been so absorbed in her argument with Marshmallow she had failed to notice Anna and Kristoff had joined them.

"Where is she going?"

"To try who knows what," he answered. "I've got to go after her. I know you trust Marshall, but he's not thinking straight right now."

Elsa let a long sigh escape her lips. "Would you mind telling me what's wrong with them?"

"I stopped trying to understand people a long time ago,” he admitted. “I'll get my keys and go after them. Are you coming with me?"

"I guess I don't have a choice." She wanted to be there for her friend, even though it was hard to stay level-headed when her powers were uncomfortably dancing under her finger tips. "So much for a peaceful evening."

---

The moment Anna came up with her plan, she had been thinking in a way to help Marshall change his mind. For that reason, she had impulsively run after him. But now that she was in the old rattletrap SUV with the quiet man, she realised she had no idea how to start a conversation with him, making her whole idea almost impossible to achieve. By nature, Marshall was a person of few words and to Anna’s dismay — she was only now realising — it was even worse when he was mad.

Anna discreetly looked from the passenger seat in his direction and tried to read his body language. Tightened fists held the steering wheel, as he kept his eyes on the road. And sadly, he was still frowning — even deeper than before. Something told Anna he was doing his best to remain civil, knowing well she was not to blame for his problems; but no matter how hard he tried to hide it, his awful mood made him look like a beast ready to attack whatever crossed his path. And what was worse, said mood was acting like a giant brick wall between them. Impeding Anna from getting close to him and talking things through.

It was only when they were a few kilometres away from the outskirts of the city that Marshall surprised her by starting conversation.

"Where does Hans live?" He was being gentler than when he demanded the information in Elsa's house, so Anna felt confident enough to try and deflect the question.

"You know, I want Hans to learn a lesson too, but I-"

"Are you suggesting I beat the crap out of him in your name too?" he interrupted, not giving Anna enough time to finish her idea.

The seriousness of his answer made Anna worry for a moment, but she tried her best not to get distracted. "Not exactly. I'm not-"

"Should I throw him out a window?"

A shudder ran through her body and she made a mental note to never be on the receiving end of Marshall's wrath. "I'm not sure I agree with your teaching methods. And it is not nice to throw people…"

Marshall waited for her to suggest something since his ideas didn’t seem to be of her interest.

Thinking it was best to stop beating around the bush, Anna confessed, "I'm not here to give you any ideas on how to make Hans pay."

"What are you doing here, then?" asked Marshall after letting out a tired sigh.

Testing the waters and his humour, Anna playfully said, "I needed a ride."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He gripped the steering wheel harder and looked at her. "You said you were going to help me!"

That was clearly a bad idea, Anna thought to herself. But still tried to act tough around him. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He glared at her and growled before returning his eyes to the road.

Under any other situation, Anna would have laughed at his annoyance, but she didn't want to test how long his patience could last. "I am going to help you. I intend to stop you from doing something you’ll regret. I know Hans, you'll end up in prison if you do any of the things you suggested. Hans’ family has contacts"

"I won’t end up in prison."

"In his father's eyes you're a thief. You don't want Petter to think you're a violent man too," she warned. "He'll make sure you do if he needs to."

"I am not a thief," he clarified with anger. "And I am not violent."

"I never said you were. Though, you were suggesting throwing Hans out a window just now." She cleared her throat when she noticed he wasn’t particularly enjoying her comments. "I'm trying to help you see the whole picture here."

Taking a deep breath, Marshall tried to get rid of his anger for a moment. "I appreciate your concern, but you don't need to worry. All I want is Hans to know I won't let him get away with the things he does anymore… I'm not going to murder him," he clarified, with a small laugh.

Anna felt relieved to notice he had let his wall down, at least for just a moment." Marshall, you are too mad to think straight. Things can go out of hand before you realise, and you'll regret it. Why don't you drop me off as soon as we get to the city centre and you return home?"

"I won't return home." He scowled again.

"Beating Hans up won't clean up your name."

"That prick can't live his life doing whatever he pleases. He needs to learn a lesson!"

"Do you really think he'll learn anything from this?" She hated being the one to show Marshall the unfairness of it all, but she needed him to understand he didn't have a chance against him. "He'll play the victim part like he always does. In his father's eyes you would have broken his nose because he exposed you, not because he framed you. You won't get anything from this."

"The arse takes advantage of my good predisposition, steals and lies to his father, and gets me fired," he listed patiently. "Please give one good reason why I shouldn't fight for what I think is right!"

"Fighting, literally speaking, won't solve anything. You'll be responsible for everything that happens."

"Because I'm the brute mountaineer, is that it?"

The bitterness in the way he said brute didn't escape Anna, making her feel truly bad for the man but excited at the same time. Without realising it, he had tackled the topic she had been waiting for. "Well… yes."

"Is that the way everyone sees me?" the sadness in his voice almost made Anna regret her plan. But she had come this far, she had finally been able to get real, long and well-constructed sentences out of him. She couldn't let the opportunity slip. Especially when it meant he could avoid a bigger problem.

"No. Not truly," she declared. "There's one person who has never seen you that way before." Even she had to admit she had had certain reservations towards him at first. "Elsa has always thought the world of you. And earning Elsa's trust is- Well… It's one of the hardest things there is.” The corner of her mouth raised, thinking back to those first days she had spent with Elsa, long before they found out they were sisters. It had been a challenge to get her to open up. “I don't know how much you know about her childhood, but trust me when I say she's been to hell and back." The way his eyebrows raised let Anna know he didn't. "It’s for that reason she analyses everyone she meets in a careful, almost methodical way. She rarely let people in. Yet, you managed to earn her trust. She must have seen the kind and caring person you are.” Thinking it was best to be honest with him, she confessed, “Something the rest of us couldn't do.”

"I guess that means you think I'm a rough man…"

"No, I don't," she assured him. "Elsa wouldn't let me believe it — not even for a second. I've got to admit you are intimidating when you're angry, but I know the kind of person you are, thanks to Elsa."

He knitted his brows and kept his eyes on the road, trying to process everything Anna was telling him, but offering no real response.

After a few moments in silence, Anna pushed him a little bit. “Let me ask you, is it worth it?”

“What?” he asked, not looking at her.

“To throw away her trust just to beat Hans up.”

“Elsa knows she can trust me,” he said sure of himself. “This doesn't change anything.”

“No offense, but look at you,” said Anna tentatively, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “You've barged into Elsa's house, demanded I give you Hans' address and yelled at Elsa for trying to change your mind and help you – something incredibly stupid if you ask me.”

He looked at her for a fraction of a second before returning his attention to the road. Anna swore she had seen guilt in his eyes. Proving she had been right. Elsa was Marshall's weakness, in a way, and part of her was certain he was going to stop himself just to avoid upsetting Elsa. She only wished it was enough for him to do an u-turn and return home.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" He looked at her. His seriousness showed he actually wanted an answer this time. “Should I let people like Hans walk all over me? Should I accept being treated like garbage?"

“If you had listened to us, you'd have realised we weren’t suggesting you forget about this. We’re merely asking you not to act without a second thought.”

He opened his mouth to contradict Anna but she stopped him. “You were accused and fired unjustly. We know that. But hitting Hans will take away your credibility. Every argument you can come up with will banish.”

Sighing in defeat, he admitted, “I guess you're right.”

“Yes!” She couldn’t stop herself from cheering out loud. “Does that mean you'll go back home?” To her disappointment, her happiness was short-lived.

“No. I still need you to tell me where he lives.”

“Wait, what?” Anna had been so close, but she guessed her sister was right, he really was stubborn. “Didn't you just said-”

“I changed my mind about beating him up…” He reassured her. “But I need to talk to him, Anna. I've been able to withstand Hans' abuse before - more times than I should have. This time he went too far. I can’t let it go. So, please, tell me, where does he live?"

Maybe she needed to trust his word and expect the best outcome. She had been able to make him understand her point of view at least. Now the responsibility of what he did was his alone. “786 Southern St."

---

Kristoff cursed under his breath when a car blocked his view of Marshall’s SUV. He had been following him close behind since they left the mountain, and the last thing he needed was losing him when they were so close to the city. He had no idea where Hans lived, and something told him Anna was not going to be able to change Marshall’s mind.

He looked at the passenger's seat wondering if his sister was still awake. Even if he couldn’t picture his sister sleeping in that situation, she had been so quiet during their journey he thought it was best to check on her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She had been looking out the window, not really paying attention to her brother until he spoke. She looked at him and at that moment realised maybe he could help her make up her mind. An idea had been roaming in her head for weeks, and finding out about Marshall being fired only fuelled that idea. “Is it nuts to ask Marshall to work with me?”

“The two of you working together?” If he was honest, Kristoff wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he asked Elsa what was on her mind, but for sure that was not it. “Where did this come from?”

“Marshmallow lost his job,” she answered, matter-of-factly. “He's angry right now, but soon he will be down in the dumps. He loves what he does. He put up with Westergaard just because he enjoyed his work and the mountain too much to leave.”

“I guess that makes sense... ”

“We've always understood each other well,” Elsa continued explaining her idea. “He's a good instructor – better than most. And an excellent climber too. I think maybe we could complement each other well.”

He could understand her reasoning, still, he was surprised to see Elsa willingly choosing to spend more time than necessary with someone who wasn’t part of her family - with someone who didn’t know about her powers, to be precise. “I get what you’re saying. Yet, I think you shouldn't make rush decisions just to help him, Elsa.”

“It's not rushed,” she declared, surprising her brother once again. “I've been thinking about it for a while now. The accident made me realise I can't do my job alone anymore.”

“I thought you wanted to get a different job this coming season. In one of the resorts.” As far as he knew, it was the sole reason she had started studying once again.

The corner of Elsa’s mouth turned up as she remembered the conversation with Anna a few weeks back. “Anna may have had something to do with me changing my mind about it… She says I need to be more optimistic and give my business a second chance.”

Kristoff offered a small smile in return. He was still amazed by the way Anna kept encouraging Elsa to grow and work on what she loved.

“Do you think continuing to work independently is a good idea?” she asked, still unsure.

“I guess it sounds good.”

“What about Marshmallow and I working together?”

He wanted to encourage his sister the way Anna did. He truly did. But he couldn’t ignore what Anna was failing to see every time she put ideas into Elsa’s head. Her powers. “My only concern is… Are you sure you can do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The two of you will need to be together for hours on end. What will you do about your powers?”

“Keep concealing them, I guess.” She shrugged, not giving it much thought. “There isn't much I can do.”

“You once told me you couldn't stand the city because suppressing your powers was physically exhausting, didn’t you?” He watched her nod her head once. It was clear she didn’t feel comfortable talking about it. “Are you sure it won't be hard to conceal them? What about the snow? You don't own a snow gun yet, he'll be suspicious.”

“I'm still not sure what to do about that…” Elsa admitted in defeat. Kristoff was certain she had gone over her options several times before talking about it, and by her disappointment it was obvious she hadn't found a solution to that particular problem.

"Just think about it for a little while longer, okay?" he suggested. "Take your time. Try to think what's best for you."

"Maybe you're right…"

Kristoff watched her look out the window once again, and he smiled. By her serious expression she was clearly trying to come up with reasonable excuses for the things she did with her powers on the slope on a daily basis. After all, they were the only reason she had been able to prepare such an amazing place on her own. Without them, things could get harder. But maybe, Marshmallow's help would be enough for them to start a proper ski school together.

But for that to happen, they needed to make sure Marshall didn't kill Hans, or else Elsa would need to find a new colleague to work with.

---

Okay, this took forever to write.

Sorry for the delay you guys, but this chapter not only took way longer than I imagined, it also came out way too long in the first draft. So long I ended up splitting it into two. This is the first part. Luckily for you, that means I’ll be updating chapter 25 sooner than you imagine! Right now you may be wondering why I included Marshall’s problem in the story, but do not worry, this part has a purpose. You’ll understand the bigger part in the next chapter and then the rest by the end of the story! As always, comments and reviews are always welcomed! Tag time:

@swimmingnewsie @melody-fox @kristoffxannafanatic @kristannafictionals @neptrabbit @skneez @ellacarter13 @wondering-in-life @who-i-am-8 @fanfictionrecommendations-com @815-allisnotlost @khartxo @joannevixxon @betweenthedreams @burbobah @rileysfs @earlvessalius @blood-jewel @disneydreamer8901 @the-sky-is-awake @disneyfan103 @the-magic-one-is-you @anamaria8garcia @welovefrozenfanfiction @bigfrozenfan-archive @bigfrozenfan @frozen-snips @deisymendoza @zackhaikal123 @cornstarch @roostercrowedatmidnight @showurselfelsa @fuzzyelsalikeiduna @when-dawn-arrives @drafteedragon @snowycrocus @tare8chan @localarendellian@wabitham @roostercrowedatmidnight @just-your-local-history-nerd@dontrunintofirexoxo @daphmckinnon @poketin @bruni-is-love @luna-and-mars @anotherpersondrawing @lovelucywilde @shimmeringsunsets @aries1708 @wabitham @agentphilindaisy @anotherpersondrawing @spkfrozen @thegeekogecko

#søsken #sosken #frozen #frozen fanfcition #frozen fanfic #Elsa #Anna #Kristoff #Frozen AU #Frozen modern AU #Kristanna #Kristoff & Elsa BroTP #frohana #chapter 24

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 110

I am so excited that so many people liked Nixe’s appearance in the last chapter. I seriously, seriously cannot credit anyone but @dierotenixe and @catolicabuena for that match made in heaven.

For this chapter, I want to thank my beta readers, @zazen-rabbit, @baelpenrose, and @charlylimph-blog. Bael gets credit for both the story and the person who tells it, while Zazen-rabbit and Charly get credit for the byplay of Tyche and Charly, because I really do believe that is how it would work out if they met in real life.

P.S. I am in the U.S, so if you have early voting in your state, please go vote now so you are exposed to fewer people. If you are still able to register to vote, please do. If you can’t vote in person, please vote by mail-in ballot and check local regulations on how to turn it in.

After our resident mermaid vanished with a near-silent splash, we made our way back to the campsite. Shortly, we were carving into the gigantic vegetables Sam had grown for us. While some - like Conor and Coffee - had no issue scooping out the contents, I was soon leaning so far over that I had to kick my legs to get them back on the ground. Maverick started to laugh one time, but a glare from Tyche killed it before it could get very far.

My ribs were starting to hurt from bouncing up on the rim of the pumpkin, when suddenly I heard my sister start swearing. When she finally stopped, I saw her glance at Charly and arch a brow. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinking?” she asked cryptically.

Apparently Charly understood completely. “Yep,” was the only response before both climbed on top of their respective pumpkins and started ripping out the contents until they could stand inside to get the rest. I was actually jealous…. There was no way I would be able to do the same thing, seeing as I was about half-again the size of my sister, at least.

Instead, I decided to take a break and let those better suited to hollowing out our victims take care of the work. I wasn’t the only one, I noticed, as I sat next to Arthur and took the water he handed me. “I would ask when we start telling ghost stories again,” he ventured, staring past the light emitters as Simon and Grey approached, “but something tells me Nixe got a head start on all that.”

Simon shuddered as he crossed his legs to take a seat. “Shouldn’t there be a rule against Sirens singing spooky songs about drowning people?”

The three of us stared blankly, trying to process that question. “Simon.” Grey spoke so slowly that I felt like I was hearing them through molasses. I had honestly never heard my fellow Councillor sound so uncertain of what they were saying. “I hope your suggestion is meant to be humorous, as even I would find myself profoundly disappointed to find the closest thing I will ever know to a merperson, singing in the middle of the night, during a camping trip, ostensibly during a holiday season dedicated to being scared, and find they were singing about anything else.” The sight of them slowly ticking off each part of that scenario was too much to bear, and my laughter distracted everyone else in our group.

“Are we talking about the mermaid song?” Charly asked as she took a seat and started digging through the carrier with our dinner. As she started passing out hand-held meat pies, she glanced at Simon in confusion. “I noticed that last time… Simon, you hate scary stories. I get not knowing last time that we were going to tell any, but I made a point to specifically mention about - I dunno, every time I had an excuse to - leading up to this trip.” Politely left off was the implied question: So why did you come?

He hung his head and shrugged before Conor gently hit him on the shoulder and grinned. “Leave him alone, Charly. If you aren’t scared, what’s the point?” Tossing a wink to Maverick, Conor handed a pie to him before handing one to Simon. “Just keep in mind, they’re all stories, no matter what anyone else tells you.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “Or they were true once, but it was a very long time ago, back on Earth.” He ignored the glares from Conor and Maverick as he contradicted their attempts to calm Simon. “Once, when I was on my own in the After, I was looking for books - Sophia, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t use most of them for kindling - and I found this old journal stuck behind several encyclopedias. And when I say it was an old journal, I mean really old. It dated from around the time of the United States Civil War.”

“Most of it was pretty average, everyday stuff, even nearly two-hundred years later. But that last entry…” He shook his head like he was trying to forget something. “I don’t even know what his name was, he obviously never mentioned it in a journal he never meant anyone else to read. But I think even I would have been terrified if that happened to me.”

After a prolonged pause, I elbowed him. “Seriously? You aren’t going to tell us what it said?” I scowled, knowing how aware he was that bringing something up and then not telling me would drive me crazy, even if I was better off not knowing. “You can’t tell Simon that some stories are true, bring up a story, then not tell it.”

Somewhat smugly, he looked like he was about to argue when a small knife landed between his feet with a thunk. Snapping his head up in the direction it came from, Tyche and Charly looked suspiciously oblivious to the projectile. With a tug, Arthur freed it before giving it a once over. “Give this back to your sister later, but if another one shows up, I’m not telling the story.” Handing me the knife, he started reciting what he had read in the journal.

“My old friend Kilmore had sent me a letter, just as my wife and I were attempting to find a suitable home for our family - she was pregnant, you see. He asked for my help in a small matter, ridding him of a dangerous and unhinged tenant, and while I’d heard some troubling rumors about how Kilmore dealt with people who caused trouble on his lands, I was eager - he swore to me that he would give my wife and I the cottage he was evicting this man from once it was cleaned if I was willing to give him a hand. The land around the cottage was lovely, idyllic, and thus, despite our misgivings about helping him with his dirty work, my wife and I headed to my old friend’s land.”

“Kilmore was a widower, but his sister lived with him still, and while she and my wife enjoyed one another’s company, I went out with him to go deal with the tenant. I saw a great deal of strange markings on the trees around the cottage - strange, dark symbols and sigils. Kilmore rolled his eyes at them, and rapped sharply on the door.

"Sir,” he called. “You’ve not been paying rent, and you’ve been setting fire to parts of my woods, and only last week you assaulted one of my groundskeepers - the poor fellow was hurt. I’ve had enough of your boorish activity, and am going to cast you off my lands.”

“The large fellow in the cabin - strangely proportioned, with a massive black dog sitting at his feet, made no move. Kilmore spoke again. “I am speaking to you, you lout.”

“The man made no reply, but this time simply stood up, grabbed a powerful bow of some strange white wood from the wall, nocked an arrow and sent it winging through the open window by which Kilmore and I stood.

“Kilmore cursed, and spoke again. “Very well, you utter madman. We’ll have to smoke you out.”

“With that, we set about blocking the man’s chimney and windows and set a fire near the open one - a fire that quickly spread and caught part of the cabin ablaze. Kilmore cursed, and assured me that he’d pay for my wife and I to remain in an apartment in the manor proper until the cottage was rebuilt, but the man came out, staggering and swearing in a tongue we didn’t know, and swiping at us with a hideously curved knife before Kilmore struck him hard on the temple with a cane.

“The man spat, still speaking that strange tongue, and then abruptly started speaking in a civilized language. “My dog, my dog!” We realized then that the dog hadn’t emerged - and when we realized that nothing could have survived that inferno, Kilmore began attempting to apologize, but the man simply struck him across the mouth, said a little more in his own language, then screamed madly and fled into the woods.”

I started to open my mouth to insist this couldn’t be the entire story… Nothing like that would have terrified me, much less Arthur, after everything that was survived in the After. When I opened my mouth, before any words could come out, he shoved a second meat pie between my teeth to stop the objection. Even Coffee smiled, despite the story, as Arthur continued. “I was skipping the boring stuff in between, because I doubt anyone here cares about how many barrels of ale they made, or how much apple cider they kept to drink fresh instead of setting aside to ferment. Although, either there were several Missus Grossmans, or the woman was as fertile as a rabbit… Anyway.”

“It was a year later when my wife and I finally moved into the rebuilt cottage. The servants helping us bring our things in kept stepping strangely over the threshold, and my wife, our baby swaddled in a blue blanket in her arms, asked why.

“The madman who lived here - he buried his dog over the threshold. Laid a curse. We’re trying to avoid waking it.” I ignored the commoner’s superstition - my wife and I were too learned to fear such things.

“Still, my wife heard strange growling that evening, waking me about it repeatedly, and I didn’t know what to make of it. The next day, Kilmore and I set out for a short time - the madman had well and truly crossed a line, murdering a stableboy with that same knife we’d seen, and we went to hunt him down.

“We finally did so, the crazed man stumbling and swearing at us that the spirits of the wronged would have their vengeance, even as he charged and Kilmore’s flintlock roared. The man still managed to drag himself over and bury his knife in my friend, who the servants helped back to the house while a doctor was summoned. I was told to go home by Kilmore’s sister.

“When I arrived, my wife was screaming, sobbing wildly and desperately tearing at the threshold of our house. “What’s wrong!?”

“The dog. The dog. it…it took George! We have to get him back!”

“I didn’t know what to make of that, and cast desperately around my house for my son, but I didn’t see him…just large, muddy pawprints and I joined my wife in the mad scramble at the threshold..only to see a speck of color that I frantically clawed at, recovering a scrap of fabric - a bloodstained shred of George’s blue blanket.

“At the sight of it, I knew, and my wife knew, that our son was dead. We couldn’t stay in the cottage after that, and we left. My wife continued hearing padding, the breathing of a large dog, occasionally a growl, but I never did. About a year later, she told me that I had to go to Kilmore, see what he could do to perhaps put the spirit of the dog and his mad master to rest. I arrived at Kilmore’s door, and rang it.

“The butler answered, not my friend, nor his sister. I asked after him, and the Butler looked at me oddly. “My lord, Kilmore’s been dead for some time now.”

“Did his wounds from the madman’s blade fester?”

“They seem to have. They fully recovered, but his sister swore one night she heard a dreadful growling, and a snarl, and when she went in, the scars had burst open and rot had poured out.”

“I shuddered at the thought. “Then may I see my friend’s sister, and give her my condolences?”

“The butler shook his head. “No sir. She’s given orders that she’s not to be disturbed. She isn’t well - believes she’s being haunted by a demon.”

“What kind of demon?”

“She speaks of a massive black dog, but it’s little more than the grief-stricken raving of a woman who’s lost her brother to tragedy.”

“I left, shaken, knowing that the curse would continue. It’s been another two years since then. My wife died, mercifully, a few weeks ago, tormented by growls and padding in the night until her mind and body could bear it no longer, and her heart gave out. I have never seen the demon dog pursuing us, though I got word some months ago that Kilmore’s sister was found barefoot and in her nightgown in the woods, with her throat torn out by something.

“I hear padding now, though. Sometimes the growls. I know it has finally come for me. And even now I hear scratching at my door. Soon it will be inside.”

The clearing rang with silence. After a few minutes, Arthur cleared his throat again. “Unsurprisingly, that is where the journal stopped. There were more pages, but what wasn’t chewed was clearly blank. Termites, or mice maybe?”

I was astounded to hear Simon speak more calmly than I had ever known him to in my entire time on the Ark. “If Grandma Kim and Lyric suddenly decided to take a stroll in the woods, I am going home and none of you can stop me.”

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

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For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

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Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Warning: This chapter contains themes of bullying, especially in regard to one’s appearance.

Chapter 4: The Boy Who Couldn’t Give More

Lei’s POV

When I turned twelve, I was officially cast as an S.M. trainee. For many reasons, I would rather not describe every trial and hardship. I don’t want to tell you every high and low, so I will just tell you about what stands out as the worst and (somehow) the best day of training.

I’m sorry if you think this approach isn’t entirely honest. There are just some things that I would rather not remember. Plus, I worry that if I detail everything that ever troubled me, you won’t be able to understand that I was, in my own way, happy. I hope you understand me. I hope you believe that I am happy— that I have always been as happy as I can be.

I was probably naïve to believe that I would find a real friend in the training rooms full of people closer to my age. Environments like the one in which idols are trained aren’t exactly conducive to healthy relationships, if you know what I mean. Everything was a competition. Everybody wanted to be the best dancer, the best singer, the best rapper, the best visual.

Everybody except Mark Lee, who was content with being his best. I would never tell him this because he would probably get the wrong idea, but I admired him first. It was never a crush. I just wanted to possess his passion, his optimism, his ability to smile through every challenge.

Because of Super Junior’s influence, I didn’t struggle with dancing, singing, and rapping as much as some of the others. By no means was I perfect or anything. My pronunciations were always weird because of my accent and my braces. I could probably count on one hand how many times an instructor praised me. Talent-wise, I was average. I could have passed on to my debut under everyone’s radar if I didn’t look so different.

Even though I was among the youngest trainees, I towered over the other girls. While they were petite, I was naturally muscular, and my dedication to taekwondo only added definition to those muscles. My hair, although long and dark like everyone else’s, fell in tangled curls over my shoulders. While my braces were closing the gap in my front teeth little by little, my teeth were still way too big for my face. At age twelve, the only beauty standards I met were credited to my cartoonish eyes and pale skin.

Anyway, there was never a moment for as long that I can remember that I didn’t feel different because of my appearance. At twelve years old, I think the last thing anybody wants to do is stand out— especially for looking the wrong way. It was uncomfortable enough when I cursed myself for looking the way I did; it was worse when others noticed the differences and started to point them out.

I guess I always knew that I wasn’t popular. Because most of the girls were older than me— and none of them were quite as inviting as Taeyeon or Amber— I didn’t quite know how to befriend them. Heeding Sehun’s advice, I didn’t talk to the boys under any circumstances. Everybody probably thought that I was mute or that I didn’t understand the language well enough to speak.

Still, even though I didn’t have any delusions about my popularity, I wasn’t quite prepared to hear what they— the girls— thought of me.

I looked like a chipmunk. I was a giant. My hair looked like a bush. My pale skin made me look like a vampire— and apparently not in a cool way. I was fat.

That last one always bothered me because in all my years of self-criticizing, I never once thought I was fat. Yeah, my cheeks were full and I wasn’t crazy about looking like a super tall baby because of that, but my body— I wasn’t overweight. And even if I had been, why should that warrant commentary from people who never bothered to say a word to my face?

The most insulting part was that the girls would drop their voices just slightly into half-whispers. They would speak Korean quickly, obviously assuming that I didn’t know the language, assuming that I hadn’t lived in the same country as them for most of my life.

Trying to follow Sehun’s advice, I reminded myself that some people wouldn’t like me. I told myself that was okay. I fixed my eyes on the shiny wooden floor and kept them there through every practice. Just keep your eyes down, I told myself, and they will stop staring.

Even when they kept staring, I knew that I wouldn’t stand up to those girls. How could I have argued when I agreed that (visually, at least) I was as far from perfect as an idol could be? I think that if I could have disagreed with them, even internally, their voices wouldn’t have followed me.

Mark didn’t want to argue with them either, but he must have heard them too. Every day that we had co-ed training, he would sit next to me and, between stretches, say, “You’re beautiful, Lei.”

At first, I eyed him cautiously, unsure of what to do with the attention. Nobody who wasn’t Mom or Super Junior or any of those “safe” people had ever called me beautiful before Mark did.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Mark. There was always something endearing about the obvious fact that he couldn't have lied even if he wanted to. The issue was just— what did it matter if Mark thought I was beautiful if I couldn’t smile at my reflection? What good were Mark’s compliments when his voice didn’t follow me into the dark?

Sehun told me that it doesn’t matter if people dislike me. During trainee days, I learned that it didn’t matter if people liked me either. Maybe that’s toxic. Maybe it’s untrue. But it’s what I believed for years.

The mean girls’ voices followed me because they spoke my insecurities. If I could have learned to admire myself, then Mark’s voice would have followed me. Even then, at twelve years old, it was clear that Mark’s admiration was no substitute for self-love, so — please don’t judge me too harshly for this— I didn’t want him to look at me with little hearts in his eyes. His feelings served no purpose, and, to my absolute horror, everybody noticed how Mark looked at me.

Everybody noticed that we spoke exclusively in English. Everybody who couldn’t understand us misinterpreted our very casual friendship as a young budding romance— even our dance instructor, who warned us once when we were partnered together, “Be mindful never to meet each other’s eyes while performing for an audience. Be mindful!”

Mark and I flinched as we heard for the first time, “You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted because she was distracted by romance!”

No, I decided then as the instructor looked solely at me, I didn’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted.

Squirming under scrutiny whenever I stood too close to Mark, I understood why Sehun warned me to stay away from boys. It doesn’t matter what your intentions are; people see only what they want to see or whatever will justify their hatred. That’s another lesson I learned as a trainee.

Anyhow, I think I was doing a pretty good job of hiding the fact that I was absolutely miserable behind a carefully crafted blank stare until the day I overheard one of the girls saying, “You know, she’s only becoming an idol because her mom is a manager!”

That was true enough that, even if I had the nerve to bicker back, I couldn’t have truthfully argued. I lowered my head so I wouldn’t catch my blush in the mirrored wall.

I hadn’t even lowered my backpack before another girl said, “Yeah. I bet she’ll get to debut before all of us because—” She glanced over to see if I was paying attention. Satisfied when I broke our eye contact to stare down at my sneakers, she continued, “her Mom has been sleeping with Heechul for years. Who knows how many executives rely on her for favors?”

When I looked up from my feet, I saw red. Before I even processed the words, I had grabbed the girl around her shoulder, fingers digging small bruises into her bare skin exposed under her tank top, and growled, “Who are you talking about?” as if I didn’t know.

Even if she hadn’t been trembling like a leaf as she stared up at me, too terrified to speak, I wouldn’t have let her answer. “Just go back to calling me chipmunk cheeks or bush head or vampire or fatty or Mark lover or whatever makes you feel clever and better than me.” My entire body flushed, and I hoped that I was burning her with my fingertips. “Don’t say another word about my mom ever again, or I’ll—”

I didn’t even get to threaten to knock her crooked teeth down her throat. Johnny, who was my senior by about four years, carefully pried me off of the girl, tutting, “Ladies, ladies, isn’t training challenging enough without all this fighting?”

It was.

“Can’t we all be friends?”

No. I never could have been friends with those girls, and I said so plainly, snatching my hands out of Johnny’s gentle grasp to cross my arms over my chest. You’ll find that I can hold a grudge like no other. I’m not saying that’s a good thing; it’s just a fact.

“We don’t want to be your friend either,” the girl spat at me. “We don’t want anything to do with the daughter of a glorified hooker! Just look at you.” Her glare trailed from my head down to my toes. “You’re wild. I don’t wonder where you got it from, but at least your Mom knows how to hide—”

Had Johnny not been standing there as an insurmountable barrier, I would have punched that girl, and I probably would have been kicked out of the agency, and my behavior would have reflected poorly on Mom. Fortunately, while I was too furious to think clearly, Johnny was there to wrap me in an almost suffocating hug, trusting that I wouldn’t strike him in my rage.

“Just take the day off,” he urged quietly. “I’ll tell the trainers you got sick, and—”

I started to shake my head and insist on peacefully standing my ground before a sharp pang of nauseated hunger pierced through my stomach. Owing to my lack of appetite those days, I hadn’t eaten much for dinner the night before, and I had woken up too late to eat breakfast that morning.

Johnny promised, “I’ll take care of these girls. Just go and take some time to yourself, please.”

When he wiped my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, I realized that I was crying. I ran out of the room purely to escape the embarrassment of having been reduced to scalding tears by something so stupid in front of so many other trainees. It was a failed attempt; embarrassment followed me into the hallway.

Eager to try again to make me feel better, Mark chased after me, calling my name. “Are you okay?”

As I slumped down at the table by the vending machine, I thought the answer was obvious. Still, I took the chance to lie. “Yes.” When I brought a hand up to touch my cheek, I was relieved to find that I wasn’t crying anymore.

I had an epiphany: even if I’m not strong, I can pretend to be. Clenching my jaw, forcing my hands into fists under the table, I said, “You should go to practice, Mark, and you should stay away from me.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because,” I forced myself to look away from his pained expression, “you don’t want people like those girls to talk about you. They’ll bully you if you keep being nice to me.”

“I don’t care.” Mark stood across from me, but he wouldn’t take a seat. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

I said, “Well I care.” I really did. I didn’t want to put the target on Mark’s back. “I don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted,” I swore without knowing her whole story.

Mark scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I just know that I like you, and I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t to please anybody.”

Too annoyed by Mark’s stubborn resolve to like me without knowing me to feel flattered, I kind of rolled my eyes.

“Does that mean you don’t like me that way too?” Mark wheezed, and I understood that he had a crush on me. On some level, I guess I had always known, but I tried to ignore it because I didn’t want to hurt him.

No, I didn’t like Mark like that, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him— not when he looked so sad. Thinking of Sehun (as usual), I mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to like anyone like that.”

Slowly, Mark nodded, and I think he understood that I would never return his feelings. “Well, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just keep liking you anyway.” Without waiting for me to reply that I didn’t think feelings worked that way— I didn’t have to give him permission to like me— he bowed and ran back to practice, carrying most of the burden of his unrequited feelings.

I was sitting there, feeling small because I had given in to my temper, feeling cruel and cold because I rejected Mark’s pure infatuation, when Sehun sat across from me. I didn’t meet his eyes as he laid his head down on the table.

He asked, “What’s up with your face?”

For some reason, that question set my eyes watering again. I tried to wipe the tears before he could notice, but nothing got past Sehun. His eyebrows twitched. “What’s wrong, Lei?”

My chin dimpled as I lied, “I’m just hungry.” Well, it wasn’t quite a lie. My stomach growled loudly enough for him and everyone in the building to hear.

Perhaps eager to believe that I wasn’t troubled by anything too serious, Sehun nodded. “That’s nothing to cry about.”

I watched him spring from his seat and pound a fist against the side of the vending machine. A pack of chocolates fell out without payment. “Here you go.” He tossed the candy before me. When I only stared at it, he said, “If that’s not enough, and if you’re not busy, I was about to go to McDonald’s. You can come if you want.”

That must have been the first time that I didn’t burn to be in Sehun’s company. I didn’t exactly want him to rush to leave, but I also didn’t want him to stand there looking at me that way— like I was falling apart. It’s impossible to please me when I’m upset. I frown if you try to talk to me about my feelings, and I frown more if you try to act like everything is okay.

More than anything, I wanted to be alone in my room where nobody could see my flaws. I couldn’t even console myself with the thought that these feelings would pass within a few years by the time I debuted because it was starting to sink into my mind: the realization that every day for the rest of my life, people would try to tear me apart with their eyes. They would try to weigh me down and drown me with their expectations. There wasn’t any way to eradicate that overwhelming sense of dread because it was rooted too deeply in reality.

I would just have to try to silence it— the dawning knowledge that I would always be more human (a wounded one, at that) than idol— until Mom found me at the table by the vending machine as she always did at the end of long days. Then, I would be too afraid to say anything on the ride home. And then, not too long after we walked through the door, she would probably fall asleep on the couch again, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell her about the unnamed monster tearing me apart even if I miraculously found the courage to string words together. I would just turn the television off, drop the remote on the coffee table, run upstairs to my room, and tuck my radio into bed so I could fall into restless sleep while listening to SHINee because they were real idols. I would comfort myself by imagining that my voice could become for others what Onew’s, Jonghyun’s, Key’s, Minho’s, and Taemin’s— especially Taemin’s— were for me: inspiration and healing.

I wouldn’t have wanted to repeat those girls’ insults to Mom anyway. Imagining her disappointment if I confessed to almost punching someone, I sank. It was best to just keep biting my tongue. I would get used to the taste of blood, and soon the pain would scar and numb.

Looking back, I can see that I kept too much to myself. I went through too many trials alone because I was determined to become strong and self-sufficient even if that meant being forged by fire. In some ways, now I think that strength is a little overrated. Maybe I could have been happier— maybe my shoulders wouldn't have felt so heavy had I talked to Mom or Heechul or Yesung or Donghae or anyone. But I couldn’t. I just couldn't.

Once upon a time, I prided myself on my honesty, but it’s easy to be honest when your feelings are simple. It’s easy to be honest when you feel the right things— happy when you’re supposed to be happy, excited when you’re supposed to be excited, sad only when you’re supposed to be sad. It was too hard to shake the fear of being a burden. I never wanted to be a burden.

Despite deciding to carry my own weight, I wasn’t strong enough. That's why I dropped pieces of myself left and right to become something like the blank canvas my instructors wanted.

Sehun broke through my spiraling thoughts with the promise, “I won’t make you talk about it. I just—” he gnawed on his bottom lip— “I’ll feel like trash if I leave you here alone when you’re hurt.”

Sehun rarely talked about feelings first. His shoulders were tense; the muscles along his jaw were protruding. Obviously, he was making himself uncomfortable in an attempt to console me. Half numb with shock, moved by his concern, I nodded and (after grabbing the candy) followed him outside where we boarded the bus.

This is a little embarrassing to admit following my promise to work through my feelings alone: our bus wasn’t even five minutes down the road before I blurted, “I almost punched somebody today.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but he tried to hide his surprise and/or disapproval behind his natural stoic expression. Taking the candy from my hand, he opened the box, popped a colored chocolate into his mouth, and asked, “Why?”

“A girl called my mom a hooker.” I tried to replicate Sehun’s calm, even tone.

Sehun choked, and I felt somewhat vindicated in my rage when his pale face flushed crimson.

“I tried to be good. I tried to be a proper lady,” I promised. “I tried to be strong like you said. Remember my tenth birthday, when you explained that some people are just gonna dislike me, and I can’t shed tears for everyone?”

“Yeah.” Sehun nodded once he noticed that I was looking to him for a response. He returned the candy to me. “I remember.”

“So I tried not to shed tears when they made fun of my hair, my teeth, my skin, and my weight. I told myself that even if they’re right—”

Sehun interrupted to say, “They’re not,” in a tone so stern and authoritative that I never could have argued back.

I nodded, cheeks burning pink. “Well, even if they were, and I’m not saying that I believe them,” I added when Sehun cut his dark eyes at me— “I told myself that being pretty isn’t that important anyway.”

“It’s not,” Sehun agreed instantly. “Being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all.”

Without thinking, I grumbled, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the most handsome person on the planet.” I didn’t care that he gave me that warning glare. I was telling the truth, not flirting. Heart pounding, I maintained, “It’s easy to say that beauty doesn’t matter when you’re beautiful.”

Sehun frowned at me. “I didn’t say that beauty doesn’t matter. I said that being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all, and I’m right. Superficial beauty is overrated, and nothing as subjective as the words ‘pretty’ and ‘handsome’ can ever define a person.” Turning his gaze out the window, he concluded, “Or, at least, they shouldn't. Those words are too small.”

It occurred to me that Sehun was right. I was in danger of becoming the kind of person who couldn’t look past my reflection long enough to find anything worthwhile inside. Shame washed over me, and hot tears spilled onto my hands, which formed fists around the candy box.

“Please don’t be disappointed in me, Sehun. I promise that I’ll work harder to believe what you say.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I swear that I never would have tried to fight about anybody’s opinions about my appearance. I’m not that shallow. It’s just— they talked about my mom, and she—” my voice wavered— “she’s everything to me. If my whole world was just one person, it would be her. She— you know, there aren’t many people who only deserve compliments, but she’s one of them.”

It didn’t matter that those girls were probably too cowardly to ever talk about Mom where she, Super Junior, or any of the many idols who loved her could hear. They had no right to insult Mom when she worked to the point of exhaustion, when she greeted everybody with her sparkling smile, when she treated everybody with kindness, when she was the most beautiful person in the world— inside and out. They had no right to ridicule her when they wanted to hurt me.

“I know,” Sehun said softly.

When I looked up at him, he was looking down at me, eyebrows knit together in anger or concern, and for half a second, I thought he was mad at me. My stomach sank until he swore, “I’m not disappointed in you, Lei. I told you not to care what people say, and I also told you not to be a pushover. I’m—” He wrestled with his words before deciding, “I’m proud of you. Not just for following my advice, but for working so hard to become an idol. I know it’s not easy.”

He raised his hand, and I held my breath because I thought he was going to hug me, but his hand stopped short and landed atop my head. He patted my hair twice. “Maybe just— um— try to avoid fist fights. It won’t be good for anybody if I have to get involved.”

At first, when Sehun retracted his hand, his protective anger was real and frightening. It lit a fire in his eyes. But then he made a spectacle of popping his knuckles, and we broke into a fit of laughter that lasted so long that we missed our stop.

It wasn’t often that I heard Sehun’s laugh. It sounded more youthful and golden than you can probably imagine. Still, as happy as I felt even with our mistake, I apologized as I finally stuffed a piece of chocolate into my mouth. “I’m sorry we missed the stop.”

“Don’t sweat small stuff like that,” Sehun instructed, shrugging. Moments later, he said, “I’m sorry too.”

I cocked my head to the side and wondered aloud, “For what?” but Sehun didn’t respond with words. He gave me this look that I had never seen before— one that held about a thousand foreign words that I wanted desperately to understand, but my conscience whispered that it was wrong to ask for a translation.

It seemed that Sehun was sorry for a lot, but I couldn’t understand why. From the day we met, he had been an unlikely sort of friend— a protector— and all crushes aside, I truly loved who he was in my life. Beyond the childish infatuation that made my heart race and painted my pale cheeks pink, there was a warm love that shaped every memory of him— a love that shaped aspects of my own character.

It didn’t matter that he would never look at me the way I looked at him; maybe no two people ever look at each other in the same light anyway. He didn’t have to love me or stay by my side as an almost imaginary Prince Charming. I was just grateful that we crossed paths, even if the way we met determined that he would always see me as a gap-toothed nine-year-old. I was beyond happy to sit beside him for a moment where I could admire him up close. I was content, knowing that I would always remember my first crush as a good person.

Of course, I didn’t tell Sehun anything like that. He didn’t appreciate that sort of sentiment. While talking to Mark, I decided that I would never date because I couldn't stand the whispers or the stares. Looking at Sehun, though, I knew that I would forget that decision in an instant if ever we woke up one day (when I was older, of course) and Sehun wanted to love me.

If that day should come, I wouldn’t notice any stare because I would be too busy admiring his every feature. I wouldn’t hear any whisper because I would be too busy listening to his every word.

For that moment, however, I was fulfilled just by smiling at him because I believed that feelings don’t have to be expressed with words to be real. Feelings don’t have to be reciprocated to be real. Sehun didn’t have to give me permission to love him; I always had, and I always would, and nothing could change that.

“I’m about to say something very mushy,” Sehun grimaced, “and I have a feeling that you’re really gonna like it, so write it down or record it in your memory because I won’t repeat myself no matter how many times you beg.”

Holding my nose up in the air, I asserted, “I never beg.” Sehun laughed, and my heart swelled, and I prayed with all of my soul that someday somebody with a warm, gentle touch and a kind, bright smile would make his heart swell too.

“You’re like your mom,” he said, meeting my eyes. He didn’t say it as an insult like those girls did. He said it with a faint hint of a smile— the smile that imprinted forever on my heart. “You’re one of the people who only deserve compliments.” Then, as if he couldn’t tell from my unrestrained smile that he had given me the greatest praise imaginable, Sehun turned his gaze back out the window and mumbled, “I’m really sorry that I can’t give you more.”

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violetsmoak · 4 years

Text

The Specter at the Feast [1/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556579/chapters/59300599

Summary: A tragic incident as a child left Tim Drake with the ability to commune with the dead. It’s a skill he’s used to close some of the most confounding cases to come across his desk at Gotham City’s Major Crimes Unit. But when he learns of an apparent murder-suicide that could link to a very personal case he’s been working for ten years, he might need more than a connection to the afterlife to solve it. Especially when Detective Jason Todd, a man in denial about his own psychic abilities, is assigned lead on the same case.

Sparks immediately fly between the two detectives—and not necessarily in a good way—as they are forced to work together to take down a macabre serial killer before it’s too late.

Disclaimer: This story uses characters, situations and premises that are copyright DC Comics, Inc. No infringement pertaining to graphic novels, television series or films is intended by violetsmoak in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author’s own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Author’s Note: Here’s one of the stories I’ve been working on for JayTimWeek. As I mentioned on tumblr, I got hit by a big blast of inspiration for one of my original stories and have kind of been working on that like mad for the past three weeks, so unfortunately I didn’t have time to dedicate to the prompt fills for JTW as I wanted to. As soon as I run out of steam for that, I’ll get back to filling the prompts. So, bad news I probably won’t post anything else during the event, but eventually my prompts will all crop up once I recapture my attention span :P Huge thank you to strawberyjei for taking the time to beta-read this chapter!

_______________________________________________________________

“That stuff will kill you one day.”

Tim Drake frowns and glances to his right, noticing the half-amused and half-exasperated smile playing on his best friend’s face.

“Will not,” he retorts with the instantaneity of an oft-repeated argument and leans more securely against sun-warmed stone. He takes a defiant sip from his jumbo travel mug, enjoying the bitterness of his favorite morning indulgence—slow-brewed light roast with three shots of espresso. “Besides, how else do you expect me to be awake enough to drive out here at this hour?”

He doesn’t have to see Kon to know he’s rolling his eyes.

“You don’t actually have to—you’re the one who keeps showing up; I just wait here.”

There’s something buried in the joking tone, and Tim shifts in discomfort as he detects the unspoken scolding. Choosing to ignore it, he swallows another mouthful of coffee and stares past the well-kept shrubbery, observing the gentle waves on the river.

From a distance, Gotham’s elegance is deceptive. By daylight, the riot of architectural styles jutting into the horizon appear whimsical instead of grotesque, and the layers of filth and decay suggest character as opposed to rampant corruption. Even on a Sunday, it teems with energy.

I guess that’s what still convinces people to move to the crime capital of America.

Tim knows from experience that the city’s grandeur is not as noticeable when combing her streets for the criminal element.

That knowledge doesn’t stop him from digging out his cellphone and snapping a few lazy photos. The quality won’t compare to shots taken with the Nikon he has at home, but it’s rare to perceive the city of his birth as something other than sinister; he won’t squander the opportunity.

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” Tim suggests in a light tone. “I could just be out here, minding my business, taking in the scenery—”

“Hah!”

“—and you’re stalking me.”

“Stalking’s your thing.”

“Is it really stalking if you get paid for it?”

“Whatever you say, detective,” Kon sneers without true malice and crosses his arms across his chest. Despite the chilly early spring air, he’s wearing only a black t-shirt with a red Superman symbol. Tim gave it to him for his birthday a few years ago, but the sight of it these days still elicits a nostalgia-induced lump in his throat. “Either way, you’re the chump who showed up here on his first day off in forever. Sunday, remember? You’re supposed to be spending the day lounging at your fancy estate, getting ready to gorge yourself on Alfred-made dinner, not bumming around with me.”

“That’s not for hours,” Tim dismisses, “and to be honest, I’d rather skip it.”

Kon glances sideways at him. “Haven’t you missed it all month?”

“I was working the entire time. Everyone in the family has to do the occasional weekend rotation, Alfred knows that. Besides, I see them all at some point or another every week.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kon taunts. “I thought we agreed you needed to stop isolating yourself?”

The furrow in his brow is one that Tim recognizes as a prelude to concern, though, and he suspects he won’t be able to deter his friend.

“I’m not isolating myself.”

“That so? When was your last date?”

And there it is.

“I left myself wide open for that one,” Tim sighs.

“You know I’m right.”

“Here it comes…”

“I’m serious—you can’t still be carrying a torch for your ex—”

“There are no torches.”

“—hoping it’ll work out—”

“I’m not!”

“—because that ship has sailed,” Kon concludes. “She’s dating your sister for God’s sake.”

“I’m aware.”

“And it’s been two years.”

“I’ve been on dates in the last two years,” Tim protests.

“Cassie doesn’t count,” Kon replies.

That earns a wince. “We agreed never to speak about that.”

“And I told you I was fine with it, man, it’s not like I was there.”

There’s a heavy sensation in Tim’s chest at that reminder, and he scowls at Kon for bringing it up. That usually earns a shrug or palms-up gesture of surrender, but today Kon squares his shoulders and raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“I already told you it meant nothing. We were both hurting and just…needed someone,” Tim insists.

Kon ignores him. “Which I’m okay with—relieved, even. I know you guys wouldn’t have looked at each other if circumstances were different. Which brings me back to Cassie, not counting.”

“She was there for me as much as I was there for her—can we please talk about something else?”

“Depends—do you have a better example than my last girlfriend?”

“Hey, I’ve been with other people! Remember Tam?”

“Yeah, your dad’s former business manager’s daughter,” Kon deadpans, “who you only started dating because everyone thought it was convenient. And she left you because you weren’t interested enough in the relationship.”

“What are you talking about? I was interested!”

“You didn’t even get to second base with her, man.”

“Are you seriously using the baseball metaphor?”

“Then there’s Bernard Whatshisname for the occasional booty call.”

“I regret ever telling you about that.”

“And don’t even get me started on that cop from Hong Kong that you hooked up with last month.”

“Okay, that one was a mistake,” Tim admits.

“But none of those were actual relationships. You haven’t had one of those since Steph.”

“I don’t recall you being this judgy before.”

“You’re one of my only sources of entertainment,” Kon deflects. “It’s like binge-watching Netflix and yelling at the idiot hero to stop screwing up his life. Except in this case, the idiot hero can actually hear me and have to listen.”

“‘Have to’ is debatable…”

Kon pushes off the stone they are both leaning against and turns to face him. It always annoys Tim when he pulls this, given he’s three inches taller and has twice the upper body strength.

“This is what you do, Tim. You keep people at a distance and on the rare occasion where they disappoint you or hurt you, you close yourself off,” Kon sighs. “You need to relax, man.”

Tim’s phone rings, granting him a welcome distraction.

“The last time I relaxed, I got stabbed,” he reminds Kon as he glances at the device. He blinks in surprise when he recognizes his brother’s scowling face and phone number flashing up at him. “Speak of the devil.” He swipes at the screen and answers, making a face at his best friend. “Gremlin.”

“Timothy,” is the terse answer, and Tim can almost hear the scowl in the younger man’s voice.

Huh. First name today. Either something bad happened, or he wants something.

Tim ignores the tiny edge of worry blossoming at the thought; if it were a family emergency, Alfred or Dick would call him, not Damian.

It must be the second thing.

“What do you want?”

“Where are you this morning?” the younger man asks, ignoring the question.

“It’s Sunday, where do you think I am?” he shoots back, deciding two can play ‘answer-with-a-question.’

Except Damian seems to have no intention of following the usual script.

“Of course,” he says instead, sounding distracted. “Then you should be close enough.”

“…For what?”

There’s a beat of hesitation, and then Damian says, “I may have stumbled upon something you’d find…interesting.”

Because that doesn’t sound ominous…

“Define ‘interesting’.”

“I’m at work,” Damian says. “Securing a crime scene.”

That moves Tim along the spectrum from wary to defensive at once. He goes to substantial lengths to avoid working with any of his siblings in a professional capacity. It’s a necessity in a family where law enforcement is all but synonymous with the name Wayne. Even if their older brother Dick hadn’t started the tradition of downplaying that link in the professional sphere, Tim has always been diligent in establishing professional boundaries. So far, his family has respected them. Damian, in particular, has always been gleeful—almost militant—in keeping to that maxim; for him to break it, something must have upset him.

And for him to reach out to me instead of Dick is…I don’t think it’s ever happened.

“Are you sure you should have called me then?” Tim queries in a careful tone, wanting to make sure he’s not misreading the situation. “Dick might be a better option.”

“Richard wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t view it the same way.”

“The same way,” Tim repeats, the words sparking something—a flicker of suspicion begins to take shape.

“I shouldn’t even be telling you this,” Damian continues, “so you’d better be appreciative—”

“Spit it out, Damian.” Tim doesn’t have the patience for the adult version of ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’.

“Murder-suicide. Apparently. The bodies were posed,” Damian says, voice low as if he doesn’t want someone to overhear him, “And all the victims are holding hands.”

Tim’s mouth goes dry and his entire body tenses. “All?”

“Five,” Damian tells him shortly.

That makes Tim close his eyes in dismay. “Other than the number it’s the same MO as the others?”

“The crime itself, yes. Don’t your files say the last one was five years ago?”

Tim knows it should irritate him that Damian’s been poking around his casefiles—he always considered office protocol as more guidelines than law. But the infraction pales next to the knowledge blossoming into being.

It’s happening again.

“If you want to see for yourself, get here before whoever they assign as the lead detective does,” Damian is saying.

Torn, Tim’s eyes flick to Kon, who clearly knows what is being said and whose expression is all-too knowing for Tim’s liking.

“Where is it?” Tim asks at last.

“Diamond District. Gotham Tower Apartments.”

“That’s unusual,” Tim grunts, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. Only one of the earlier cases took place in what either of them would consider an upper-class neighborhood. “Also, outside of my jurisdiction.”

“That wouldn’t stop me if I were in your position.”

There’s a click and then a dial tone.

Tim gives a slow exhale, closing his eyes.

He and Damian were never the closest, but once the early friction between them eased, they developed their own dynamic. And one specific shared understanding that they bonded over in secret, away from the prying and often unintentionally judging eyes of family.

“How is he a jerk even when he’s trying to be helpful?” Tim mutters more to himself than Kon. He’s already calculating how long it will take him to get across the bridge from Metropolis.

Half an hour, with no traffic.

It will be cutting it close, assuming Damian holds off giving his own precinct the details until the last second.

He must be serious about this if he’ll risk being called up on discipline for not following protocol.

Tim turns to Kon. “Sorry, but I need to head out.”

“Like I won’t see you again next week,” Kon dismisses with a grim smile. “After all, you’re always here.”

“You say that like you don’t want me to be,” Tim replies, suspicious.

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You’re my best friend, I obviously want you to visit. But you need more in your life than work, checking in with me and—I dunno—chasing some white whale.”

“Really?” Tim deadpans. “You, of all people? You want me to give up trying to get justice—”

“Not what I’m saying,” Kon interrupts. “I’m just trying to tell you there’s more out there and you deserve to find it.” He pauses. “And agrees with me.”

Tim cuts off a curse with a hiss. “That is a low blow, you two ganging up on me.”

“What can I say? You’d better listen, or he’ll do something impulsive, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim grumbles, keying the coordinates of the crime scene into his phone’s GPS.

“Remember,” Kon calls after him, “ ”

“Always do,” Tim replies. As he heads for the gates of the cemetery, brushing his fingers against the headstone that reads: Connor Kent, Beloved Son, Brother, Friend—Brave Fireman of the Metropolis Fire Department.

⁂

“Six days,” Jason Todd fumes, glaring down at the muddle of papers and file folders in front of him. “I’m gone for six days, and you jerks decide to turn my desk into an episode of Hoarders.”

“Relax, Todd, it’s just paper, not toxic waste,” Detective Adams drawls as she passes by, unapologetically grabbing a few of the offending folders on her way.

“This? This is not just paper, it’s a potential biohazard.”

His desk, usually the immaculate outlier in the chaotic, open concept dumping ground of the 12th Precinct, is now covered in empty coffee cups, old take-out cartons, and other detritus.

“Says the man who filled my desk drawer with a cubic foot of golf balls the last time I was on leave.”

“None of which were covered in saliva—I mean, come on!” He holds up several crumpled napkins. “It’s just common fucking courtesy!”

“Take it up with Rayner.”

“Of course it was him. Guy has it out for me…”

“You did shoot him.”

“One time! And it was a shoulder wound! If I hadn’t, both our covers would have been blown and we’d both be dead.”

“Cry me a river, Todd,” Adams snorts. “I’ve got a lead on the Kirano case and don’t have time to wipe away your tears of manly angst.”

She stalks away, totally missing how he flips her the bird. Not that his heart is in it; he’s actually fond of Onyx and would even work with her if she could stand him. But the one time they were partnered together, it ended with them running away from an exploding truck and a two-inch-thick shard of metal through her shoulder.

Still trying to figure out how I got the blame for that one…

It’s not like he goes into a situation intending to get the people next to him injured. For some reason, he just happens to be better at intuiting incoming threats, whether it be a perp taking a swing with a knife or stopping just short of being shot.

It happens, sometimes, this inexplicable intuition. Roy always called it a sixth sense, but Jason takes issue with any of that hokey paranormal crap. He gets hunches—gut feelings that have served him extremely well in his career and helped him rise quickly through the ranks.

But he doesn’t like to think of himself as psychic.

He likes thinking of the possible reason for his “hunches” even less.

Finally getting the worst of the garbage into the trashcan beneath his desk, Jason starts on the wayward papers, pleased that most of it can be shredded and won’t require a trip to the file room. There’s one folder, however, that doesn’t fit anywhere: some arson report that has nothing to do with any of his ongoing cases.

He skims through the particulars of the folder and notes the name on the CSI report—B. Allen—which suggests it isn’t even recent. He’s been friends with the new ME, Stephanie Brown, for two years now, and never met the guy that was here before her.

Maybe someone’s trying to find a pattern or something.

Jason decides to bring it to the captain; if anyone’s missing a file related to their case, she’ll have a better idea.

He skirts around uniformed officers moving to and fro, some leading handcuffed offenders to the holding cells at the back of the building, others talking over their cases with each other or on the phone. He passes the office corkboard, filled with everything from sketches of perps at large (it seems Dr. Pamela Isley is up to her usual eco-terrorism) to reminders about the Gotham General Blood Drive (anyone who donates in uniform gets the rest of the day off, as well as the next one).

By the time he reaches the captain’s office, he’s sweating. It might be crisp outside, but inside there are so many bodies moving around that it might as well be the hottest day of summer.

Raising his hand to knock, he’s surprised when the door opens inward and the captain steps out.

“Todd,” she says with a blink, then nods to herself. “Right. You’re back today. That works. Get in here—I’ve got a case for you.”

He’s too used to Artemis’ brusque manner to be bemused; instead, he ducks into her office and closes the door behind him.

“It’s not another missing kid, is it?” he asks apprehensively; the last case involved a fourteen-year-old girl. “No promises I won’t break some scumbag’s teeth again if that’s the case.”

“You’d better not break anyone’s teeth,” Artemis chides him, a warning glint in her eyes. “Especially since you just got off suspension.”

And that for using “unnecessary force” in apprehending a drug dealer selling his shit to a bunch of kids.

“But no,” she continues, sitting behind her desk and reaching for a file, “it’s not. The officers on the scene are reporting it as an apparent murder-suicide.”

“And you thought that’s how I wanted to spend my first day back at work? I’m touched. Whatever made you think of me?”

“The fact that you were conveniently in front of me when I opened the door.”

“Aw, here I was expectin’ you to say something like, ‘well, you’re a constant pain in my ass, but you’ve also got the best record for closin’ cases in this department’.”

“You don’t need the ego boost. Now either take it and be grateful, or I’m giving it to Adams as I planned—”

“Gimme,” Jason interrupts, snatching the file folder from her.

“That’s what I thought.”

He settles into one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk and opens the folder.

“I want this one looked into and closed as soon as possible,” Artemis goes on.

“Why?”

“Because of who the victim is.”

Jason frowns, scans through the preliminary report to see that the victim—victims—have, in fact, been identified. His eyebrows shoot upward.

“J. Devlin Davenport.” He looks up at Artemis, askance. “The investment guy? The one being investigated for embezzlement?”

“Fraud Squad’s been building a case against him for six months now,” Artemis confirms. “The guy set up a fake company and defrauded his investors out of 200 million. They’re still trying to track the stuff he funneled through the Bahamas.”

“If they find it, send it my way,” Jason says, still skimming through the papers.

“Could you sound any more cliché?”

“If I tried, maybe,” he replies, distracted as he slides the folder he brought to one side of her desk.

“What’s that?” Artemis asks.

“Dunno. File was on my desk. Arson, I think. Figured someone left it there.”

“We don’t have any arson cases ongoing at the moment, but I’ll ask around. Maybe someone’s doing case research.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason murmurs. He taps the paper in front of him. “Listen, if they’re saying this is a murder-suicide, that’s probably what it is.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Look at the transcript from when it was called in.”

“‘Bodies of the deceased were…arranged around the dinner table’,” Jason reads. “What the… ‘lack of struggle might suggest sedation before they were removed to the dining room and posed’—posed? Like a photographer does?” He makes a face. “Kind of a lot of effort for someone who just committed suicide right after…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that would be the thing that needs investigating.”

Jason ignores the sarcasm, checking to see who called this in.

Al-Ghul. Huh. Well, at least he’ll keep the place from being overrun. Kid’s scary good at keeping the rubberneckers away.

And pissing off the MEs by lurking around while they work.

Jason knows the new officer just wants to learn, but he also tends to be a bit of an entitled know-it-all like most of his generation. It’s a trait he’ll lose the longer he walks a beat and works up through the ranks, but right now it makes most people want to punch him.

Jason might be one of those people if it weren’t for the fact Al-Ghul is meticulous about taking statements, prompt in securing crime scenes, and entirely willing to go the extra mile to help a detective close a case even when he’s off the clock. He recognizes the ambition and the need to prove himself from his own first years as a cop.

If he adjusts that attitude a bit, I might even put in a recommendation to put him on detective track…

Jason closes the folder and grins at Artemis.

“So, who’s the unlucky bastard you’re pairing me with today?”

He doesn’t work well with a partner, given his tendency to ignore rules in favor of his gut instincts. Especially since it’s never steered him wrong. Most other detectives can’t stand that, with the exception of his last partner, Roy Harper, who transferred to Star City six months ago to be closer to his daughter. Then again, Roy always considered rules arbitrary anyhow.

Since then, Jason’s been cycled through almost all the detectives at the 9th Precinct, all without finding a decent fit.

Pretty sure it’s Artemis’ way of torturing me since plenty of other guys work their cases solo.

It’s a blatant implication that he needs a babysitter.

“Rayner wrapped up most of his cases last week,” Artemis replies without even checking the duty roster on her desk.

“Hell no.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I giving you the impression you have a choice?”

“Unless you want me back on suspension, you’re not putting me with that asshole.”

“Well, Jason,” she says, finally looking up at him with an expression that suggests she’s fully ready to call his bluff, “you have this tendency to either piss off or sleep with whoever gets assigned to you. At least if you’re working with someone that pisses you off, I’m less likely to need to fill out the paperwork to reassign them afterward.”

“And if they happen to fall into both categories?” he leers at her in an exaggerated manner. She was one of his partners once, both on the job and briefly outside of it. He prods at the plaque on her desk that reads Captain A. Bana-Migdhall. In retaliation, she reaches over and raps him on the knuckles with it. “Ow!”

“You’re not helping your case right now.”

“You know, it’s not my fault Eddie decided he’d rather play Bond Babe for the scary CIA chick with the one eye. And Miguel’s the one who couldn’t keep his hands off me, so…”

“Just…go find Rayner,” Artemis sighs, waving her hand in dismissal. “I need that crime scene checked over and wrapped up quickly. The Mayor’s office wants an answer on this pronto.”

Jason sneers at that. “Of course they do. Because the Waynes and Davenports are old country club buddies, right?”

“Maybe fifty years ago. But Bruce Wayne spent more time as a cop than some rich college co-ed. He got elected based on his tough-on-crime stance, so it’s more likely he just wants to make sure the high-profile target of a class-action suit hasn’t been the victim of foul play.” Artemis pauses. “Especially since, having met the man, I’m pretty sure Wayne would have liked to beat the truth out of Davenport personally.”

“Now there’s a reality show I’d watch.”

“On your own time. Now go do your job.”

“Or Rayner.”

Artemis drops her pen and stares. “What?”

“Well, from what you said before, I figure if I fuck Rayner, it means you won’t ever make me work with him again, so—”

“Get the hell out of my office!” Artemis barks, throwing her tissue box at his head. Jason ducks and slips out of her office with a grin on his face.

There are a few good-natured laughs from his coworkers—“In trouble again, Todd?”—and he heads across the room to Kyle Rayner’s desk.

“What do you want?” the other detective demands, nose wrinkling at Jason like he’s just smelled something rank. It’s his default expression whenever they cross paths.

It’s also the expression that drives Jason to mess with him whenever he can.

Time for a bit of payback for the desk thing.

“Not me,” he says, affecting a nonchalant shrug. “Captain wanted to know if you could head down to the 7th.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Apparently her opposite number there has something she needs to be sent over and doesn’t want to wait on official channels to slow everything down.”

“What do I look like, a courier?” Rayner growls, but Jason can see from the way he smooths a hand through his hair that he’s got him.

It’s not exactly a secret that Jason’s workplace nemesis has a thing for Precinct 7’s Captain Troy, or that he’ll take any excuse to go flirt with her.

It’s unrequited, of course, and Jason’s bound to get an earful from Donna the next time they run into each other, but worth it to get Rayner out of his way.

“Whatever, man, I just work here,” he says, only half-pretending irritation. “You want to tell Captain ‘no’, it’s your balls in a vice, not mine.”

“Yeah, that’d be a switch, wouldn’t it?”

But the other man pushes back his chair and grabs his jacket.

Jason smirks at his retreating back and spins on his heel, returning to his own desk to grab his car keys.

Maybe the day’s looking up a bit.

⁂

There’s a gaggle of reporters already on the scene when Tim arrives, and he wonders not for the first time just how many of them have their own inside sources in the various police precincts of Gotham. There are also two ambulances on the scene, but thankfully someone had the foresight to park them in a way that shields the entrance of the high-rise apartment.

Officer Kelley, Damian’s partner of six months, is walking back and forth along the police tape to ensure none of the intrepid rubberneckers can get through. Head down and dark glasses firmly in place, Tim hurries past the press before they can recognize him (it thankfully doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it’s a pain in the ass) and approaches Kelly. Though they’ve met before, he flashes his badge and identifies himself.

All of Tim’s official identification name him as Timothy Drake-Wayne and have since he was about seventeen, but he only uses the latter name if he absolutely must. With regards to work, he’s only ever used it during official meetings with the Commissioner or during obligatory police ceremonies.

Or when Bruce makes up some official sounding excuse to check up on me when he feels he hasn’t heard from me in a while.

He's endured at least one of those this past month.

Kelley barely raises an eyebrow, suggesting Damian must have warned her who he was calling and waves him through. It speaks to how much they trust each other as partners that she’s going along with what’s clearly a personal issue. Most other cops would question the need for two law enforcement officers from the same family needing to be at the same crime scene.

There are two elevators in the lobby, one of which is already open with a sign posted to warn residents from using it. Another officer Tim doesn’t recognize is waiting beside it, and Tim once again flashes his badge before heading up.

He’s subjected to a brief interlude of elevator muzak, before the doors open to the foyer outside of what has to be the victims’ apartment. Two ambulance techs are just exiting, carrying with them tools that are clearly useless here. He waits for them to pass and slips inside, taking in the stylish décor of the hall and nearby living room. Inside the latter, there’s a small woman speaking to another EMT, a blanket over her shoulders as she tries to speak through sobs.

Damian is watching the scene from across the room, mouth pulled into his habitual frown; this deepens when he sees Tim. Undeterred, Tim strides over—he was invited, after all.

“So, are you going to tell me why I’m risking Cassie’s wrath this morning?” he asks as he joins the younger man. Tim's friend might not be the type of captain to fire him for the flagrant conduct unbecoming, but she can make his life miserable for the foreseeable future.

“The bodies were found this morning by the cleaning lady,” Damian says, also not bothering with such trite pleasantries as a greeting. “No signs of break-in or struggle.”

“Cleaning lady? This early on a Sunday? They must have been paying her overtime.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “Pennyworth works Sundays.”

“Only because it would take the same amount of phenobarbital to stun a moose as it would to make Alfred take a day of rest.” They exchange a wry look of agreement, and Tim returns to the subject at hand. “So, she identified the bodies?”

“Yes. Joseph Devlin Davenport, his wife Lina, and the three teenaged offspring—Neil, Irene, and Roderick.”

Tim’s eyes go wide; he’s met every one of them before. “Shit.”

“Indeed.” Damian flips through his notepad, though they both know it’s for show. “All the victims were executed by two gunshots to the head, except Davenport himself; the medical examiner was here, and her preliminary findings suggest the husband shot his wife and children first, then turned the gun on himself. There are no signs of struggle, no bruising, or markings on the bodies…”

“None of that’s particularly extraordinary though.”

“And then there’s their hands.”

They share a look.

“Did you mention that when you called it in to your superiors?”

“No, when I called it in I gave them the basics. Since then I’ve noticed a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the fact a firearm was discharged several times in a residential complex and no one heard anything,” Damian says. “Yet I didn’t find a suppressor anywhere on the scene; just the weapon itself.”

“Is the penthouse soundproofed?” Tim asks.

“No. When I spoke to the downstairs residents, they told me they had even made several noise complaints to the building management in the past. Nothing ever came from it, of course—money talks—but someone should have heard something.”

“Assuming they recognized the sound of gunfire. This isn’t exactly Burnley. Which…could be a good thing. Buildings like this tend to have good security systems.”

“Obviously that was my next thought,” Damian drawls. “While Kelley was calming down the help, I went to speak with the security guards in case the camera system caught sight of anyone suspicious.”

"And did they?"

“No. They apparently had to run a routine update on their software, which knocked out the feed between 2 a.m. and 3 a.m.”

“And you think this is when the shooting took place.”

“I imagine Brown will find the time of death to be around that point,” Damian agrees with a smug upward quirk of his lips. “For Davenport to decide to kill himself at the exact time when the security feeds go offline is rather coincidental.”

Tim shakes his head. “Maybe, maybe not. Anything else?”

“What about the fact Davenport was left-handed but shot himself with his right hand?”

Tim blinks. “And how do you figure he was left-handed?”

“Please,” Damian dismisses with a snort, “I’ve been forced to attend enough fundraisers with Father in the past, and Davenport was often present. Even you would remember that ham-fisted troglodyte trying to sip from a champagne flute had you ever deigned to attend.”

Tim tilts his head in acknowledgment of both the barb and the observation. “Fair. Though so far all of this sounds pretty circumstantial—nothing really screams 'second shooter' here. And other than the hand thing—”

“Go see for yourself. The bodies are in the dining room. I imagine your specific talents will confirm my suspicions.” Tim starts into the apartment. “By the way, if you’re still here when the lead detective gets here, I’ll deny knowing you.”

Tim snorts. “As expected.”

“And you are not to tell Richard I was involved in this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tim has to hold back a chuckle at that; Damian is even more acquainted with Dick’s mollycoddling than he is.

“Noted. Let Alfred know I might be a bit late for dinner tonight.”

“It’s not Alfred you have to worry about.”

Tim heads down the hall, accepting a pair of plastic gloves from one of the passing investigators. As he pulls them on, he takes note of the doors to the bedrooms that remain open, and the photographs and paintings hanging on the walls. Nothing is disturbed, no signs of a struggle like there would be if the victims had been dragged from their beds, and there’s no sign of blood on the floors leading from the rooms or even the hallway itself.

That means the victims either walked voluntarily—which is unlikely—or sedated and carried.

It’s looking like Damian’s instincts might be on-point here, but it’s not until Tim steps foot in the dining room that he realizes just how much that’s the case.

He freezes in place, hit with a familiar jarring of his senses at something not meant to be perceived.

Davenport was a man in his mid-forties, tall and with the look of a skinny person that’s suddenly gained a whole lot of weight, and not in a healthy manner. Tim remembers meeting him at some dinner with his parents when he was younger, and his mother disparaging the man behind his back as a social-climbing schemer.

And that was before the Ponzi scheme.

The man’s blond hair implants are now plastered with blood and brain matter that oozes down the left side of his head. His eyes roll in wild fear, tears and snot running down his face, which is immobilized in a stiff smile from regular Botox injections. That mouth is now twisted in a grotesque scream that makes Tim wince even in its silence, the unsettling sensation of nails on a chalkboard traveling up through his nervous system.

Tim is careful not to draw the attention to himself, not just because of the crime scene team still milling about the scene, but because the last thing he needs right now is a panicked ghost latching on to him. Davenport’s spirit is still in too much shock for rationality and may fixate on Tim if he discovers he can see him. Which he knows from experience is not fun.

The newly dead are like drowning victims—if they catch hold of you, they’ll drag you under with them. Best case scenario, Tim experiences a few seconds of possession and a week of dissociative identity issues; worst-case scenario, he could die from the same trauma.

Unfortunately, given the lack of control newly dead spirits have, the latter is most likely.

The ghost is luckily far enough from the dining room table that Tim can edge past him without ostensibly acknowledging its presence; instead, he studies the actual bodies and tries not to regret his coffee that morning.

The five victims have not yet been moved, but the placement of tarps over them suggests the crime scene photographers have already been by. Going from one body to the next, Tim lifts the sheets carefully, trying not to disturb anything too much in his investigation. The victims are all dressed in their nightclothes, seated around the table on wooden, cloth-back chairs.

Damian wasn’t lying; all of them holding hands.

The dining room table is fully laden with dishes and cutlery, glasses filled with orange juice and bowls with the soggy remnants of cereal and milk. Other than the angry red entrance wounds on their foreheads—two shots each—there are no other visible injuries. Only the body of the presumed shooter, based on the position of the gun and his hand, is splayed out unnaturally across the table, ostensibly from the force of the gunshot.

Otherwise, it looks like they were all just sitting down to breakfast at the time of death.

His stomach roils a bit at the notion, not only because of the clearly depraved mind behind arranging the tableau but because the scene is familiar to him in a way he wishes it wasn’t.

Teeth clenched, Tim digs out his phone and starts to take his own pictures, not wanting to have to contact the lead detective and beg for copies. In the periphery, Davenport’s ghost continues to spasm and flail, making it hard for Tim to concentrate.

His eyes rest on the spot where the murder weapon fell and is struck by a sudden idea. Hoping he’s right, he takes a quick tour of the rest of the apartment but makes deliberate stops in the bedroom and the home office.

It’s another fifteen minutes of taking pictures and lightly rummaging through the belongings of the dead before he finds something. Striding out of the office and back toward the scene of the murder, Tim shoots a text message off to his friend Victor at the ATF.

Running gun serial numbers might be a little more complicated than on TV, but the guy owes me a favor. And if I’m right—

His thoughts cut off as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye, a movement that belongs to someone living this time.

There’s a newcomer on the scene, and from the way he flashes the badge, Tim would guess it’s the detective who’s actually supposed to be here. He’s redheaded, wearing a leather jacket and a loose tie that looks like he threw it on in a hurry. Even from this distance, Tim can make out a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his chin and the edge to his mouth that’s inherently challenging. The man’s whole esthetic reads scrapper, but his posture and carriage inarguably declare cop. Tim would know, his family is made up almost entirely of them.

Pretending like he hasn’t noticed the stranger, Tim shifts to face the scene once again, continuing to study him under his lashes as the man exchanges words with Damian.

He blames Kon entirely for the way his attention rests on the man’s muscular thighs, before the man turns toward Tim and starts forward, conversation with Damian clearly over.

Well shit…

⁂

Jason has an uneasy feeling in his stomach even before he even arrives at the Davenports’ penthouse apartment.

It’s not an anticipatory reaction to seeing the aftermath of a murder—he’s worked homicide long enough to have developed a means of distancing himself from the crimes he investigates. The feeling is more like expectation, a nagging sense that something huge is about to happen.

Never a good sign in my experience.

“Detective Todd?”

Jason pauses as he finishes putting on a pair of plastic gloves and glances up at the speaker.

“Officer Al-Ghul,” he replies, more formal than usual as he tries to shove the weird feeling to the back of his mind. “What’ve we got?”

The kid excuses himself from the small, tearful woman he’s speaking to and strides over.

“It seems to be a murder-suicide,” he says and launches into a report that’s almost word-for-word the transcript of what he called into the precinct, with a few extra additions. Jason lets the words wash over him, keeping an ear out for anything that deviates too much from what he already knows while casting his eyes about the apartment.

Geeze, you could fit three Crime Alley families in the living room alone. Who the fuck needs all this space?

His eyes fall upon someone across the room that he doesn’t recognize.

Young—maybe a bit younger than Jason—with an athletic build and good looks that, despite being clean-cut, give no clue as to whether they’re male or female. Whoever it is, they’re not dressed as a CSI or in an officer’s uniform, but they’re studying the crime scene with the eye of someone in the business. When the stranger notices Jason, he or she turns around, apparently fascinated by the photographs on the living room wall.

“Who’s that?” Jason interrupts Al-Ghul. “New CSI?”

Al-Ghul scowls in annoyance, either at the interruption or at the subject of the question, Jason isn’t sure.

“Major Crimes,” he says after a beat.

That immediately puts Jason’s back up. “What the hell is MCU doing here?”

Al-Ghul shrugs, as if to say, ‘that’s your problem, not mine’, and returns his attention to the woman from before. Deciding this is a welcome distraction from his own unease, Jason stalks toward the stranger, ready to rip them a new one.

“Hey, buddy—wanna tell me what you think you’re doing at my crime scene?”

“Just taking a look around,” the detective replies, not turning around immediately.

Jason’s eyes flick to the photos on the wall, wondering what seems so captivating.

Most of them are glamor shots, professionally done, but some are clearly personal photos. Davenport and his wife on a golf course, the teenagers lounging around against a tropical beach backdrop, and another of Davenport sitting in a bed surrounded by his kids. Though his surroundings seem comfortable, he’s hooked up to some kind of IV stand, and despite the smile on everyone’s faces, there’s a haunted edge to it.

Oh yeah, now I remember.

A while back there was something in the news about him undergoing treatment for some kind of blood cancer. He actually tried to use that to discourage his case from being investigated. Just proves what kind of scumbag Davenport is.

Was.

Which brings him back to the present.

“I’m gonna need a bit more than that unless you want me making a call to the brass up at MCU,” Jason warns.

The detective turns to offer Jason what is clearly intended to be a disarming smile. “No need for that, I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

Jason prides himself on not being susceptible to that sort of thing, but—

Holy shit, he’s hot up close.

And yes, that’s definitely a male face studying him with an air of appraisal, in spite of the deceptively delicate features. The guy is mostly clean-shaven and wearing a smart-looking peacoat that offers a compliment to his eyes, which are very blue. It’s the intense color you don’t see very often outside of newborn babies, but with a pronounced gleam of intelligence that feels almost penetrating.

There’s also a confident set to his shoulders and a stubborn bend to his lips that instantly puts Jason’s mind on the defensive (and other parts at attention).

“Detective Drake,” the guy goes on, offering a hand to Jason. His voice is warm and smooth, the kind that’s more suited for phone sex than reciting Miranda rights. “Major Crimes, as you already seem to be aware.”

Jason refrains from taking the hand. “Detective Todd. 12th Precinct. Homicide. There a reason you guys are sticking your noses into a murder-suicide?”

“There’s reason to believe this may actually be the work of a serial murderer,” Drake replies, looking unbothered by the rebuff.

“Really,” Jason says flatly. “And what are you basing that on? Because the report I got is leanin’ pretty hard on this guy killing his wife and kids, then himself. That’s probably how the city’s going to record it. This isn’t a scene that needs in-depth investigating and there’s no need for one lead detective here, let alone two—especially not a guy who’s clearly out of his jurisdiction.”

‘Detective Drake’ doesn’t appear to notice the clear marking of territory.

“Have you been in there yet?” he asks instead.

“No, because I’m wasting my time explainin’ protocol to a smart-ass out of his jurisdiction.”

Drake smirks at that, sharp and unwavering. “Well, when you get around to it, you’ll probably cotton on to the fact the murder weapon was a .32 automatic with the serial filed off.”

“So?”

“So, first of all, the neighbors would have heard the discharge if it was fired without a decent suppressor, but there’s no evidence of one at the scene of the crime.”

Which, Jason can admit, is out of the ordinary. Most people committing suicide don’t care about how loud the shot will be that takes them out, but if they did use one, it would still be attached to the gun.

“Second, Davenport was an ardent supporter of gun rights. I remember seeing a clip of him on the news, going at it with the Mayor over his proposed gun-control laws.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Your point being?”

“My point is that generally, gun rights activists own guns. Which Davenport did—you’ll find them in his closet and his study, next to all the relevant paperwork: 9mm Glocks. And they have serial numbers.” Drake levels a challenging stare at Jason. “What’s the point of procuring an unregistered weapon when you have your own within easy reach? And why chisel the number off if you’re just going to commit suicide? It’s not like you need to care about it being traced once you’re dead.”

“The guy was rich—rich people do weird things. Probably some convoluted insurance thing,” he suggests.

“Or it wasn’t his.”

“So maybe he was holdin’ it for a friend. It happens. Still doesn’t change the fact this tool offed his own family.”

“And what about the fact that the same model gun has been found at the scene of at least fourteen other murder-suicides in this city in the past ten years?”

“It’s Gotham. Play the probabilities game long enough, you’ll get a bunch of seemingly random crimes that resemble each other.”

“Maybe. But in the ninety-something years before that—in fact, as long as the city’s kept records on this sort of thing—there have been only two murder-suicides that could fit that pattern, and those had enough additional evidence to solve immediately. But in the past decade, we've got two particular years where a series of murder-suicides were committed using an unregistered .32, where neighbors didn’t hear any of the gunshots and yet there was no sign of a suppressor. Five years ago, and ten years ago,” Drake tells him grimly. “Both those years there were exactly seven incidents, and then they stopped. None of those have been solved.”

“That says more about the investigating cops than the crimes themselves. You don’t solve a murder-suicide—the evidence is right there,” Jason insists, though what Drake has to say is uncomfortably close to what his own gut was telling him when he walked into the apartment.

“And the fact that in each situation, the victims are found holding hands?” Drake challenges, with the air of someone presenting a winning argument.

And, yeah, that’s a bit of a weird coincidence, but still not an argument for a major investigation.

“If that’s an actual detail in all these supposed cases of yours, it would have been noted.”

“Not if no one thought it was worth noting,” Drake retorts. “Not if whoever made those reports just thought it was some kind of death pact or…cult related suicide. They weren’t looking for it.”

“But you are.”

“Clearly.”

Jason peers at him another beat and then shakes his head. “Look, I have about seven other cases of actual homicide that need my attention, so if you could just—"

“Seriously?” Drake demands, losing some of his smooth calm at last. “You don’t find any of that compelling enough to—”

“To what? Start imagining serial killers where there are none? No, I don’t,” Jason snaps. “All I see so far is some rich bastard got caught running a Ponzi scheme, so he decided to take the easy way out and dragged his poor family with him. It’s what rich people do when things get hard; because if they can’t have it, no one can.”

That earns him a cold look. “Out of the other fourteen cases, only one of them involved a couple who could be considered rich.”

“Fourteen other cases where only you seem to notice the pattern. I dunno what you want me to say, buddy. Clearly, you got an ax to grind, so do me a favor and grind it away from my scene.”

Despite his words, it’s not a suggestion, and Drake recognizes it.

Scowling at Jason in something like disgust, he straightens up. “Fine. I’m going. But when another family is slaughtered by this nutjob—and it will happen—you’ll remember this discussion. Hopefully, before you have to answer another six homicide calls.”

Drake spares Jason one final judgmental look and heads for the front door.

Jason watches him, briefly admiring the man’s ass as he walks away, and then puts the encounter out of his mind. He’s got a job to do, and Artemis said she wanted this sorted out today.

Squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another grim sight—he hates crime scenes that involve kids—he heads out of the living room toward the back of the apartment and the scene of the crime.

Crossing the threshold to the dining room, Jason’s earlier disquiet morphs, evolving from nervous apprehension to a full-blown dip towards dread. He barely catches a glimpse of the tarps draped over the bodies, when his stomach pulls tight, shoulders tensing as if waiting for a blow from the right, but there’s no one there. Something far too close to fear chokes at his throat, forcing him to pause in the doorway and put a steadying hand on the doorframe.

Spots appear across his vision, a chill winding up his spine, and—

—sobbing, hysterical tears, please don’t do this, please just let them go, heart racing, blood thundering, please no, I’ll give you anything, someone help, click, bang, agony, nothing—

Jason shudders as he comes back to himself, reeling back a step.

The sensations ebb a little but don’t completely vanish, and he has to take a few breaths to regain his control. Now that he expects it, it won’t be too hard entering the room, but the fact it hit him like that...

Jason glances back to the entrance of the apartment, mouth setting into a grimace. He’s cleaned up plenty of suicides, and they never hit him with that degree of dread before.

He has a bad feeling that Detective Drake might have been right—whatever happened in the apartment, it wasn’t as simple as it's meant to look.

________________________________________________________________

I want to know what you think of my story! Leave kudos, a comment or if writing comments isn't something you're comfortable with, as many of these (or other emojis) as you want and let me know how you feel! ❤️️ = I love this story!

😳 = this was hot!

💐 = thank you for sharing this

🍵 = tea spilled

🍬 = so sweet and fluffy!

🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good!

😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER

😢 = you got me right in the feels

🤯mind blown

🤬god damn cliffhanger

😫 whyyyyyyy?!?!?

#JayTimWeek2020 #JayTimWeek #jaytim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #DCU #batman #casefic #day 5 #detective!jason #detective!tim #psychic!jason #medium!tim #mystery #romance #drama

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fandom-collective-writers · 4 years

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Reader x Jihyun Kim {MysMes} - Letters to Heal a Broken Heart

Title: Letters to Heal a Broken Heart Fandom: Mystic Messenger Character: Jihyun Kim Genre: bittersweet? romance Warnings: spoilers for his good ending! Intended Gender Audience: Neutral Audience Word Count: 2040 words POV: second person Other comments: no smut but im proud of this! please note that everything with the push back is a letter! i think its pretty clear, but i wanted to make sure it’s understood <3 Written by: @mythiica Req:

Dear –

I’ll admit, it feels a bit strange writing a letter for you, but my therapist recommended it. He told me to explain my emotions with words, saying it would help me become more confident.

See, the reasoning behind it, at least from what I remember, is that there is no pressure to think quickly. Writing allows a flow, a sense of movement between the words before you pick which one you wish to use. Talking is different because it follows a completely contrasting rhythm. To keep a conversation going, you have to speak rather quickly so the person stays engaged in the topic.

It’s all really interesting, and my therapist has given me a book over the fundamentals of other practices like this. I read half of it on the plane to Japan.

To clarify, I’m writing this from my hotel room in Tokyo. I landed a few hours ago and the jet lag has yet to hit me, so I decided to take advantage of this time to write.

I think you’d like it here – the sakura are in full bloom and I have three days dedicated to photographing the sea of pinks as they ripple in the wind. Until now, I’ve only seen pictures of the famous parks, and I never thought that I would be able to witness them in person.

I didn’t think I’d

I never conside

Ah, I should mention, I’m not allowed to erase or cross out sentences I start. Another confidence booster? It’s a bit sillier, but it’s meant to force me to say what is on my mind, rather than letting it fester. I’ll try again:

During my years under Mint Eye, my vision was narrowed, and I had only one duty. However, I am learning to broaden my horizons and expand my mind to encompass everything. The urge to explore bubbles in my chest, waiting for the moment to come out. There are so many chances to do anything, and I’ve got all the time to do all of it.

I’ve also realized that I went over my word limit. I have to stick to 300 words or under. Confidence booster #3! Express yourself with less words. Take a guess of how many times I’ve opened the thesaurus, looking for better synonyms for words? At least seven times in the past five minutes. It’s crazy!

For now, I’ll sign this off and try better next time.

よりご多幸を祈って

Jihyun Kim

PS, I’m practicing my Japanese! That says best wishes… I think.

नमस्कार

Hello and greetings from India! I took a long nap on the plane, and forgot to write. Although I’m only passing through, I ate some delicious food (that I should really try to replicate for you). India is absolutely beautiful – from the sunrises to the bustling markets to the colorful fabrics hung at every corner. I’ll inhale the air and smell six things at once, albeit, not all of them are the best, but I embrace it nonetheless.

More about what I’ve been doing: funnily enough, my phone died on the bus ride, but I made a new friend named Sunmi, and she was kind enough to lend me her charging cable. Instead of ending the interaction there, we spoke for a few hours at least. I learned she was traveling with her friends on a photography excursion. She gave me all the information, and I’d like to look into it when I have wifi again.

You wouldn’t believe what they’ve seen! Last year they went to Antarctica through South America. She got to pet a penguin! Apparently the company also takes people to Greenland and New Zealand – some places I’ve been dreaming of visiting since I was a young boy.

I’ll use my last 100 words to mention that… I’ve gotten a bit homesick. I miss the RFA – well, the people from the RFA minus…

Don’t tell Jumin about the company though, he’ll insist on flying me around with his private jet. I want to experience for myself. Saeyoung is somehow messaging me when I don’t have service? I don’t… understand. Anyways, I also saw Zen landed a huge international role (someone had a magazine on the plane). Otherwise, I hope Jaehee and Yoosung are well. And Elizabeth the 3rd of course. Send them my wishes.

I didn’t forget about you though! The keychain you gave me reminds me of home every day. It might have lost an eye, but I found a button and stitched it on. And I also wanted to ask you–

Ah, I’m over again.

Next time.

Jihyun Kim

Iyi günler! I am in Turkey now and actually writing this on a boat. The sun is setting over the horizon, making the sky change colors with every passing minute. It’s breathtaking, but I wish you were here with me. The other passengers and I take turns standing at the front of the boat, and I sometimes linger, trying to take pictures.

Good news! My vision is getting better. I’ve been taking some Greek herbal remedies, and the seem to be helping. Either that, or they have a wonderful placebo effect. Has that ever happened to you? To think something is working, but you’re just imagining things?

I apologize, maybe that stirred bad memories for you.

Back to Turkey: I stepped out of my comfort zone and spent a night camping. Honestly? I was terrified of doing so, but now I want to do it every night. It is the perfect temperature for hiking, even though I am a bit sunburned.

So many people have been commenting on my hair. Good things mostly, and I started styling it with a bit of gel to keep it out of my eyes. It feels good to look people directly rather than through a curtain.

What are you up to? Hosting anymore parties? I imagine that you are keeping busy, as always of course. My therapist said it would be best to wait messaging you until I return home. I nearly called you a week ago, but I didn’t want to break my vow. It’s like lying to myself, and I know better than that now.

Still, it doesn’t stop me from dreaming.

Sending love,

I’m genuinely angry, but writing to you always calms me. Someone stole my bag – I luckily didn’t have much in it, but your keychain… can you make me a new one please? Now that I don’t have it, it’s almost like I’ve lost a part of you. It hurts a lot, but then I wonder if I am being silly. It’s just a keychain.

Otherwise, France is nice. I didn’t want to go to Paris, so instead I traveled through the countryside to visit a few wineries.

Yes, I did… drink a bit, but I wasn’t impaired when my bag was stolen!

You would laugh at me if I told you what happened, so I will save the story for another time. Before coming to France, I went through Germany and visited some of the most beautiful castles I’ve ever seen. They all looked like they could be straight from a fantasy movie set, and I was convinced one – Neuschwanstein Castle – actually was.

I’ve barely written anything despite so much happening.

I got a haircut (finally), because it was becoming a hassle to tie it back at night.

One evening, I fed some stray cats and they followed me home.

And a drunk (?) tried to play cards with me. But he didn’t have cards. He was dealing an imaginary deck.

Other stories will have to wait until I see you again, and I feel better now. It’s okay to be upset, but it won’t hinder my trip any more.

Je t'aime,

Jihyun

Alaska doesn’t have a night.

That’s not exactly true, but it’s basically true. The hotel has special curtains that block the light, and it is only dark for a few hours.

It has been many miles since I last wrote, but I was caught up in visiting show after event after party after exhibit through America. Their art has given me a new perspective on point of view and emotions, so I hope that the ten camera chips I’ve filled with photographs will be able to convey the same sense of awe.

I’ve also been mistaken for an idol? Like – multiple times. Interesting to say the least, maybe I’ll say yes to the next person that asks. What should my stage name be? I’ll spare you the embarrassment and not share my ideas. They are all very silly and no one would believe me if I told them my name was Cam Ra. Do you get it? It’s bad, I know.

I’ll be returning home soon, unless I get distracted or impulsive and go down to California and Hawaii before coming back. I want to – it doesn’t feel right to return just yet. But that doesn’t mean anything about you!

Really, I think about you and everyone else each day.

Have you met new people? We’ll exchange so many stories…

See you soon,

J K

You pace around, waiting for the last guest on the list to appear. The party started an hour ago, but he still has not arrived. Then again, it has been three months since anyone heard a whisper from V, and you start to lose hope. Swallowing hard, you remind yourself that V is having a wonderful time exploring the world and finding himself.

Taking a handful of your dress, you turn and head through the doors to the main room. Jumin tries to pull Saeyoung away from Longcat, Yoosung explains his most recent surgeries to a group of nurses from his work place, and Jaehee receives many compliments for her majestic cake.

Everyone is happy and has moved on.

You hope V has too.

Maybe all the wishing and praying finally paid off, because you hear his familiar voice calling out behind you. It’s a long shot, but you turn around nonetheless, thinking it is a different guest.

Instead, you see Jihyun, wearing the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen, running towards you. He’s carrying a folder filled with papers, but that doesn’t stop him from embracing you. He smells rugged, like his voyage has transformed him, but you rather like it.

“Jihyun!” You melt against his hug. “You’re.. Here… you’re here!”

Your squealing draws everyone’s attention, but he focuses on you and only you. “Of course I’m here. I missed you more than I can verbalize.”

His stance is open, welcoming, and confident, much different from two years ago. He is a different person now, brave and proud. Jihyun offers you the folder. It is strange to gift something in the middle of a party, but you accept it anyways, happy he has returned.

Jihyun’s heart races as he explains. “I wrote you letters every time I went somewhere new. These are just a few of them, really I have so many. But each shows something I’ve learned.” He takes a breath and laces his fingers with yours. “This is sudden, and I’m sure you will need time to think about it, but I’m trying something new: asking without being afraid. Over the past two years, I’ve… longed for you. Art has shown me the power of friendship, joy, perseverance, and most importantly, dedication. I want to dedicate my art to you, if you’ll stand by my side.”

You can’t find the words to express yourself because you are so awestruck. He truly has changed, but he has embraced himself and his life. Tears start to roll down your cheeks from the overwhelming surge of emotions. Jihyun brushes them away and presses his forehead to yours.

“I still have much to learn, but I want to do it all with you.”

“I’d like that a lot, Jihyun,” you whisper, captivated by his intense gaze.

“And I can finally say this without fear–”

You tip your head up, and Jihyun kisses you the next moment. His lips are chapped and the warmth radiating from his skin envelops you. He doesn’t need words to communicate it, because you understand perfectly what he is trying to say.

#mysmes #mystic messenger #mysmes v #mysmes jihyun #jihyun kim

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bnhavibes · 4 years

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Like You (Shinsou x !musician Reader) Part 4

The clock seemed to be torturing you as you lay in the bed, and to your chagrin, nodding off about every other minute while Hitoshi started a bath.

10:17pm.

You were kicking yourself for being so tired despite still having another twenty-five or more minutes with your new lover.

He came out with a gentle smile he was growing to like the feel of on his face, especially with the way your eyes would light up when you’d see it.

“C’mon, kitty, let’s get you washed up.” He spoke softly, picking you up off the bed, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You smiled lazily in the crook of his neck, pressing small kisses against it as he carried you to the huge hotel-sized jacuzzi tub and slowly brought the both of you down.

The water was just the right amount of scalding. It was exactly what your tender body needed. He’d even foraged through your bags for a pomegranate bubbling bath bomb you’d been gifted by fans. Hitoshi was still so gentle with you, cupping his large hands under the water and raising them to the crown of your head before letting the liquid free and smoothing his fingers along the back of your head.

“You’re so beautiful, (name).” He mumbled, pecking your cheeks.

“As are you, ‘Toshi.” You replied, your eyelids fluttered shut as he ran his hands through your hair, softly scrubbing shampoo in it. Pleasant tingles shot across your scalp and down your spine as he massaged circles into the sensitive skin.

He chuckled through his nose, caring for you thoroughly and letting you do the same to him. The heat of the water had your skin reddening beneath the tan surface, making you just a bit darker. It didn’t seem to bother him, and you could almost cry as you remembered how horribly judged and out of place you felt your first day in Japan.

But Hitoshi treated you different.

Sure, he wanted to beat the brakes off your ass, but he also really didn’t comment much about how your body was different from most peoples. From your warm-gold tan, to the curling pieces of wet hair, and the way your nipples and areola were shades of brown.

He didn’t treat you as if you were some foreigner who didn’t belong and who looked undesirable, he acted like you were liquid gold, a rare gem to be treasured, not cast aside.

“I... I’m really going to miss you. When you leave.” You squeaked, scooting up in his lap so you could lay your head on his shoulder.

“I know, kitten. I’ll miss you too.” He says, tracing his fingers up your spine and laying his head on your own. “But we’re here now, right? We can still enjoy each other’s company for the next fifteen minutes.”

“I wish we had more time. I’d really love to talk all night with you. To cuddle you in bed.”

His heart was panging while you spoke, of all the times he could have fallen for someone, he had to be attracted to the most attractive and popular person in the world that lived across the ocean. Just his luck. “Maybe another day.”

You sighed, pressing kisses to his neck as he strained the conditioner from your curls. “Thank you. For coming here with me.”

“I can’t imagine being stupid enough to deny your offer. But... You really had to make me go and catch feelings huh?”

“Whatever, you’re the one who asked to not get fucked in the dressing room.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckled, squeezing you to his chest a bit tighter. “I hope you call me. As often as you can. I know you’re on tour and all, but I’m a patient guy. Just say the word and I’ll answer you.”

“How did I end up with someone as caring as you?”

“I guess it was in the cards.”

“I can’t believe you’re all mine.”

“Well you better, cause I don’t think I can convince you any harder right now.” He teased, nudging your head with his chin while you snuggled his chest. His steady heartbeat left you in a trance, the silence of the bathroom almost comforting— even as he pulled the plug and stood to walk you over to the bed. Apparently, while you were nodding off, he had called the front desk for a replacement duvet, and they came in when you were in the bath.

10:32pm

You groaned as you laid back against the comforting bedspread, you’d been too lazy to put clothes on so you settled for sleeping in the lush robe that the hotel provided. Shinsou had put his clothes back on and was currently nestled upon your body between your legs, his freshly conditioned hair covered by one of the many pieces of merchandise that appeared in a black gift bag outside your door when he went to let the hotel housekeepers in. The black beanie had your stagename embroidered into the front in lettering that looked as though a cat claw had etched it in.

“The driver will be here soon..” You said, absentmindedly scratching his scalp and twirling strands of hairs at the nape of his neck.

“I know.” He mumbled pressing kisses into your collarbones. “I just want to be here, in the moment with you.”You smiled, bringing your arms to meet between his shoulder blades and resting your chin on his head. Your mind reeled with the idea of being separated so soon after meeting him, how the tour of Japan would end in a month, but then it was time to give your American fans their own dedicated leg of the tour.

Your album just dropped, and you couldn’t let them down— not when they were spamming your twitter with pleads for a statewide tour. New fans flowing in from all parts of the world, you’d almost hit a million followers, plus your views on YouTube were skyrocketing with tonight’s performance being live-streamed by a local TV station.

Heroes from various countries followed you, some of the more popular ones even tweeting about you and your music! It was overwhelming, of course, but… You didn’t feel the weight of the world on you in this moment. The way this purple-eyed young man was tracing his fingers along the outside of your thigh that was entangled between his own two legs brought you peace of mind. Your head already swirling with lyrics to write about him, unintentionally humming an unwritten song as the minutes dragged on.

“You’ll be able to come visit, right?” He squeaked, raising his chin off your chest to look up at you with those sad, twinkling lilac eyes.

“I--.. I don’t know, actually. It might not be for a few months..”“(But you’ll still come. Promise me.)”

“(Of course,”) Your voice cracked, tears brimming themselves once again. “I promise you my love; I will come and see you as soon as I can.”

He smiled softly, “You better.”

“Well you better not get yourself hurt or worse, Mr. Hero.” You chuckled slightly, pulling him up to get in a final few kisses. Your phone rang shortly after you were able to catch a breath.

You both looked at it with such disdain. How rude of that device, to remind you that your time was running out. Still you sighed, dreadfully reaching out and answering it.

“Hello?”

The driver said his greetings, and was ready to take off back to the stadium. You had to explain that it was just going to be the man you brought back to the hotel, and how he would need to take him to the front, by some buses that would be waiting for him. He responded with a positive remark about how he was so awake he could drive you anywhere right now. You giggled half-heartedly, this wasn’t a local driver for this specific tour stop. No, this man was specially chosen by your label, and was able to get his hands on a rental car or limousine at any city, no matter the time or the cost. He added that he could tell you were saddened and if he should rough the boy up a little.

“No, in fact, I wish he didn’t have to go.” You said, looking over at Shinsou, who was at the door lacing his shoes up.“Ahh, I see. Love at first sight, I suppose. Those Yuuei students are remarkable indeed.”

You nearly choked on your own spit as he mentioned the school. “(Let’s keep that information between us, yes? I’m sure the label will be sending him an NDA soon, and I’m almost positive that his school will be doing the same for me. I already had to sign one to visit the other day. Just please, don’t let his friends see the car.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be where you were dropped off earlier.”

“Thanks, Hideharu-san.” You said, hanging up.

“I don’t think you should walk me out.” His voice was low as he scratched at his neck. “I won’t be able to control myself if I have to see your face disappear into the shadows while I get hauled back to the arena.”

“I don’t think I would’ve been able to handle it either,” You confessed, giggling a bit to relieve the tension, “You’ve got both my personal and business numbers, though. Plus, you’ll have school to distract you once the weekend is over.” You walked over to him as you spoke, entwining your hands in his and bumping your forehead against his chest.

“I’m going to be texting you as much as I can between classes.” He reassures, “And on the weekends I’ll FaceTime you after training, and we can stay on all day and all night.”

You suppress a sob in his shoulder, feigning a cough in your hands to cover it up. “Of course.” Silence fell upon you, his hands squeezing your hips— he had to go.

“Kiss me before I leave, you damn drama queen.” He jokes, but his eyes betray him with how welled up they were with tears when you looked up at him, giving him a passionate kiss goodbye.

You could feel the crinkle in his nose as he cupped your face; he was trying so hard not to cry. When he pulled back he used his right hand to trace your face with his fingers— etching your face into his mind. The two first digits coming down your forehead, just like earlier.

Except this time, when they reached your lips, he whispered something you couldn’t make out.

“What?” You ask softly, freezing in place when your mind goes blank.

“I said I’m sorry, but I needed you to respond to me. I can’t have you chasing me down or I’ll come back running into your arms.” He explained, fingers still on your face. “Stay here, okay, kitten? My Quirk will probably stop working when I get out of the elevator downstairs. But until then you’re stuck here.”

With a quick peck, he walked to the door, opening it and taking a deep breath before looking back at you one more time. “Goodbye for now, babes.”

And then, he was gone.

You cursed him mentally, and being unable to throw your hissy fit only aggravated you more. You could feel the tears running down your cheek though.

How had he known?

You were definitely the type to take another elevator and try to catch up to him as the car left.

Once you were able to, you kicked the air and stomped.

“So not cool,” you grumbled, running to the window just to see the car heading out toward the highway. You sucked your teeth, heading over to the bed and texting him a lengthy, angry drama queen paragraph filled with crying emojis and a gif of Togepi from Pokemon crying hysterically in Misty’s arms.

He sent back a gif of Itachi poking Sasuke’s head with the caption “Forgive me, Sasuke”

You hated yourself for laughing so hard at that. God, he was going to be trouble.

Five Months, Three Weeks, 6 days Later

He totally was, too.

Regardless of how often you two texted, you always found yourself alone at the end of the night. And on your current album tour, you wouldn’t have gotten a break until the middle of next year, and you just couldn’t handle it.

But with issues beginning to boil over in Japan, some high-risk/very populated states in the US had to avoid ginormous events like parades, festivals or concerts in order to prevent what could be League of Villain terrorist attacks.

After Stain had gone viral all over the internet, his motives began infecting the streets of almost every country. Left and right there were new, small, but absurdly powerful groups of villains beginning to merge. But the US was prepared for once, easily instilling Martial Law and stricter rules aside Japan; No more using your Quirk recreationally, in fear of traitorous ideals being melded with everyday life.

It would make it easier for the police and military to zero in on what small gangs were up to, and for the most part they were able to keep the numbers low.

But at one point you were screaming at your TV as you watched All Might break apart after fighting with One For All, and you immediately urged your promoters and managers to allow you a break to see Hitoshi.

Luckily, the next few weeks of shows had already begun to be cancelled and refunded due to them being in coastal cities or large, populated areas such as Boise, Idaho, or Houston, Texas.

You tried your hardest to make up for the lack of shows by overworking yourself with Music Video shoots every week, filming as many as you could for the songs off the album you’d dropped since you couldn’t make it to their shows. The day before each missed show, you’d drop a hint about a song that would be the next music video drop, consistently responding to your fans’ cries to see more of your artistry while also being able to manage your own schedule.

This was the end of the third week; you were supposed to be in your tour bus outside a Los Angeles arena, but instead you were in a plane.

Your own private jet, courtesy of the label, of course. Though you had been stressing over no facetime and missed calls with Hitoshi, you were making it up with sending him as many updates about your life through text everyday.

Where you were, what you were filming, how many outfit changes you had. Basically everything except when it would drop. That you kept to yourself, wanting to surprise him and see his response when he’d see.

Little did he know, today’s photos were taken days ago. You had to film two music videos last week in order to take this upcoming week off. The planned photos were so he had no idea or preparation for your visit.

The two of you, prior to the Licensing Exams, had spent plenty of your time together on FaceTime, either while he was studying or during your downtime in makeup chairs, hotel rooms, or before talk shows. He was a very proud boyfriend, seeing how well you were able to still rock the charts whilst also trending vigorously on social media.

You were doing so well, distracting civilians from the horrors going on between the Heroes and Villains of the world. Daily live-streams of you with over twenty-thousand something people, goofing around or even charity streams for cities affected by terrorist villain groups. You were trying your hardest to keep spirits up, almost like a hero in your own way.

But, what you had said that night you met in the hotel came to fruition. Your label and UA alike came together and had both you and Shinsou sign a non-disclosure agreement, not a week after being together. Basically, you couldn’t talk about Hitoshi publicly, because the rep his school had, but also to keep yourself safe. But Hitoshi also couldn’t let anyone outside of his family and classmates know about your relationship.

Knowing how private he was, you knew that wouldn’t be a problem.

In fact, this guy was so starry-eyed over you, you were never gonna be shared to anyone outside his family.......... and Denki.

You were his baby, and he relished in the privacy of having you to himself. He wasn’t afraid to let you know that, either.

Steamier facetime calls were not a rare occurrence. He’d enforce how much he loved hearing you call him your Daddy, and how the idea of you being his meant you could get him to do anything. He was possessive, but he didn’t have any bad intentions. He adored you, your cute sleepy voice after show nights, the way you sung softly to yourself when you were applying makeup, the sexy poses you’d make in the mirror when picking out what to wear, not to mention how good you looked wearing the shirts he’d send you(sprinkled by his cologne and maybe worn for a day so you could still feel close to him).

Your perfectly curved frame would drown in his tops, the shortness of your torso and lack in height the perfect combination that made him feel so many different emotions that he could hardly breathe when he’d see you in them before bed or when he called you a little too early due to the time differences always changing. Besides, after the end of the semester, thanks to gaining his provisional license, Hitoshi wasn’t as readily available to call you as often.

His voice was always the best way to cheer you up, though; the nicest things and absolute word vomit he’d spill when you were having a bad body image day or if a certain amount of trolls got to your head.

He was always so stoic if you called when playing video games, hanging out with his blonde friend or studying. But even when you called him on a particularly hard training day, he’d still make an effort to talk to you. He didn’t put on a front just to appease his surroundings. Sometimes he’d drop the occasional, “Baby” or “Kitty” around people other than Denki, but since he didn’t really owe anybody an explanation(to anybody outside the few 1A kids he hangout with and peers in his own class), he’d keep walking, talking, or doing whatever he was doing when he let it slip.

This didn’t stop a few pursuers from attempting to get his attention.

As the new semester started, girls in the general courses started to realize just how attractive he was. It was annoying, really, for him. He didn’t appreciate that only after he’d pursued the hero course that suddenly he was one of the “Top 10 to TX-Smash” in a hidden blog run by business students that also wrote the regular school newsletters.

You cackled when he showed you the page, his face a mixture of deadpanned shame and embarrassingly pink cheeks.

‘Coming in at number 8, General Course studies own Hitoshi, Shinsou.

Lust-worthy Lilac eyes, so buff, but lean, and not to mention his voice, if you’re ever lucky enough hear it. Check out his Twitch channel right here to get your fix.

Now ladies don’t go throwing your panties just yet! This drool-worthy e-boy is as emotionless as he is hard to get. According to our sources, when even offered dates or something a bit too indecent to mention by some of the hottest girls in class, this guy just didn’t budge!

It’s only making him even more desirable, and we can only have faith that he’s only taken— Not playing for the other team.

Selfish, we know, but take a look at these pictures snapped by various couple senior editors here at UA Undergrounds and then try to convince us that we’re in the wrong for wanting him all to ourselves.’

((waiting in the sun; artist))

((screenshot on FT; artist))

They were very good photos of him, you had to admit. Candid shots of him reading a book while playing with his pen, some dad hat sporting thanks to Sero, Denki and Kiri’s obsession with baseball on the weekends, and one that you may or may not have submitted of him on call with you but cropped just so perfectly that it looked like a candid photo in real life, his notorious headphones finally coming off as he watched you shove your nostrils in the frame in the most unattractive and annoying yet adorable way that he had to just stop and wait for you to stop begging for his attention one day while he was cleaning up his room.

The one you had sent was through a secondary twitter account where you got to share more private feelings, follow your boyfriend back, post subtweets about him that will earn one in response but since nobody really followed your personal private account there weren't any issues with discovering he was talking to you. Nor did it stop the sleazy blog from accepting the picture you had of him.

You bobbed your head to your most recently dropped single, and finished up writing in your journal. Sighing as you smoothed out the covers, clutching it in your hands as you nervously bit at your lip. You’d been exclusively spilling your true feelings for Hitoshi in this book, with full intentions of him reading each page at any point in time. You didn’t have to tear them out and label situations for him to read certain ones, because that was so cliche and you just couldn’t bring yourself to act like that.

Instead, the lines of english cursive filled the spaces with complete honesty, and you couldn’t wait to see him receive this gift in person for your six month celebratory date night rather than read it to him over the phone.

You’d scheduled your facetime date for right around the time you’d be arriving on campus, and your plane had already begun its descent as you hurriedly packed the notebook into your go bag.

You brought enough clothes for your stay and merch for only Hitoshi’s close friends-- unreleased merch at that! You loved being on the good side with them, despite knowing they probably didn’t know about the two of you. You had too many bags for you alone to carry so your flight attendant mentioned how they were pulling the bags from underneath the aircraft and directly putting them inside a car waiting for you to get out there.

You would have to sort through them when you got to the hotel, which you made sure was as close as possible to UA. You didn’t want to drag your ass halfway across town via train and then still need to ascend the hill on foot while being escorted by pro heroes with all those bags. It was better that you had time to get the specific merch bag isolated and only take that plus your gifts to Hitoshi when you visited in a couple hours.

Occasionally you’d see his school friends comment on Instagram/YouTube or even mention you on twitter when they were listening to your music.

Sometimes you’d see them thirsting via emojis under your pictures, other times they were wholesome support and attempts at getting you to reply about if you remembered them.

The sounds of bells dinging made your heart leap in excitement; you were finally gonna see him. “Chill out, (name),” You whispered to yourself as you gripped the crossbody messenger bag, “You still have an hour and a half til you see him, girl. Focus.”

You exhaled deeply as you slid your name brand privacy shades on, stepping down the steps of your plane and bowing to the awaiting flight staff, some PR people and that same assigned driver as before. You smiled widely when you saw him, opting in for a small hug of his side while walking to his car.

The PR women decided that it was best for you to drop the music video before you got too distracted at the school, which was expecting you to wear a Quirk cancelling necklace any time you were to step foot on campus this week. You nodded as they spoke about new laws and orders of protection put in place since it was obvious the League was targeting UA for a reason. You were to be interrogated before they’d decide to let you in at all, and if you were to fail it, Hitoshi wouldn’t be able to visit you off campus either.

On Campus

The questions you imagined that could be thrown at you were nothing compared to the real ones. The officers that met you at the base of the hill stepped you into the guard box that was enforcing passage restrictions and used a lie detecting Quirk to see if you had any sly ideas of using your Quirk.

Something you finally got to know was that the reason UA bought their students tickets to your show six months prior was due to the echelon never seeing a Quirk quite like yours, let alone knowing you used it anywhere but couldn’t figure out how it worked; they needed to see it in action, and if they could hide that behind the face of just wanting their students to have a fun night before licensing exams and the end of the semester, they’d succeed in their study.

You were going to be visiting after a very grueling mission, afterall. The hero course students hadn’t fully recovered still, the trauma and just overall realness of their situation of being targets was just... not a good time for the staff to invite a stranger in, but according to the company keeping the school open, and the spirit of the upcoming Culture Festival, the NDA should’ve sufficed.

That didn’t stop your full body search for weapons(which, duh, you passed), the 30 minute debrief/interrogation, or the passive threats by Midnight and Aizawa as they invited themselves into your car, which was given passage so long as it came directly back down after you got out.

You hit ‘Make Public’ on YouTube, and ‘Send Tweet’ just as the car approached the front of the campus, and let you three out. It was a long walk to the dorms, and Midnight chose to stay behind when you reached the main building.

Leaving just you and the quiet man next to you, who looked like he didn’t have time to clean up after sparring with Shinsou today.

You’d arrived thirty minutes before they usually finished, so he let him go for the day, but you blushed when you remember this was the staff member you gave your Lilac babydoll dress to.

“Not to be impolite, Mr. Aizawa, but did you keep my—?”

“Before you waste your breath, I’m not going to answer that question but you can only assume what a man like me would do with a gift like that.” He grumbled, shooting you a brief side glance. “But in case that’s your way of asking for it back, I don’t think you’d appreciate what I have to say about the state of it.”

Now you were blushing harder, eyes widened as you averted your gaze to the suddenly intriguing sidewalk. Your thick heeled boots, specially crafted heeled doc martens in case anyone asked , were molded into your most comfortable height with deep maroon rubber and black laces that matched the thigh high mesh socks with a doodled white cat face right about the knees.

You weren’t embarrassed at the fact you were wearing a black lace bodysuit covered by a mid-waisted, dark wash jean skirt that adorned six buttons up the middle and felt skin tight in the most flattering way. The long laced sleeves of the bodysuit sort of flared out at the ends, the almost witch-like resemblance only fueling your confidence. Your neck adorned in black chokers, and the silver quirk-deactivating collar, you felt as good as you did in the music video that was currently being viewed by thousands.

You knew. You just knew that Hitoshi would try to call you as he started watching the video on his laptop. But when you rejected the FaceTime audio, and said you couldn’t talk but you could text, he explained what was going down in the dorm community lounge.

Your last music video that Hitoshi saw be played by someone other than himself was for the song Addiction, which you’d been performing all those weeks ago when Hitoshi had taken his breather and ran into the girl that brought him backstage. Unfortunately it was dropped when Denki had been streaming in his room.

Shinsou was making his way to his own when he passed by the slightly ajar door of his best friend, hearing the sound of your sultry voice playing through his speakers.

“Woah! Damn, she’s so good you guys, and that outfit is totes not why I’m obsessed with this video right now.” He exclaimed, having paused his game to screen share the video on Twitch. “I saw her perform this song live, like a few months ago, by the way! I had no idea it was gonna be on a new album either, how cool is that?!”

The video consisted of similar choreography as the performance, with your body glistening with faux sweat, but face still flawlessly done up, along with wet looking curls that slicked back in a very appealing way to frame your face as you were singled out in a pile of bodies.

The blonde groaned about how lucky a guy Shinsou was, prompting the e-boy to kick the door open wider. Denki nearly shit himself, sputtering about how he meant it jokingly and how he was ‘looking respectfully’ at the video.

His chat flooded with PepeHands emotes in confusion and teasing lines about ‘Lavender_Insomniac kicking Pikanari’s ass’. But Hitoshi laughed, saying maybe he was lucky because he got a lap dance from her, afterall.

They’d continue watching together with commentary about you performing it live versus how you danced in the video until they ended the night four hours deep in some lore theories about a battle royals game called Apex Legends.

The largest PHEW! left Kaminari’s body as the camera shut off, and after he thanked Hitoshi for saving his ass, you’d began blowing his phone up over a missed FaceTime call and the overly tired hero student facepalmed when he realized he hadn’t texted you to let you know.

Today you did the same to him, but purposefully; Letting your phone ring until the last dial died out, texting him a brief apology and letting him know you were watching your own livestream and chatting with commenters.

You were, so it wasn’t really a lie, and while your newest video was playing on a big screen, they could see the fans comments losing beneath it as well as the occasional heart emoji or commentary from your own account.

Mr. Aizawa, as stern as he was being, only scoffed as he saw you become glued to your phone.

“Forgive me, I just uploaded a music video, so I want to see what my fans think of it.”

“Don’t mind me, I was just explaining the consequences I would make you face if you were to have my students slack off or do something they’re not allowed to.” He grumbled, but you reassured him with a small smile, telling him you’d already agreed to the terms down the hill.

Your music video had been centered around your relationship with Shinsou, that much was evident to the pouty boy sitting on the couch between a pent up Eijirou and a cheesing Denki, but it started out with a cutesy version of an XXX-cam website. Already the shark boy started shifting in his seat, leaning forward with his hands on his knees as he watched your cam show option be opened and go into full-screen mode.

‘I wanna touch on you, you see me in my room. Wish u were here right now.’

Shinsou couldn’t help the flush rising in his cheeks as he heard the lyrics he knew you had written about him. He remembered the exact day you shared them with him, after a particularly raunchy mutual masturbation session via Skype.

‘I wanna get freaky on camera, I looove when we get freaky on camera.’

Your silver triangular bra moved so easily with your breasts as you groped yourself, he chuckled at how much of a show you loved to put on, whether it was in private or on the web.

‘We freak on the cam, love at first sight just a link to the ‘Gram’

You were now in another area, dressed in that same outfit you wore when he’d got to have you dance on him; the lavender bra with matching fishnets and the white skater skirt being zoomed in on as well as a pair of kitty ears you added to the mix while you danced on a large black loveseat. Your knees pressed into the cushions as you bent over while looking back at the camera, legs spread out as you ‘sang’ the lyrics, “Pussy all pink with a tan and I play with it til my middle fingers are cramped up!”

Your own hand had scooped the mound between your legs as you said it, manicured fingers caressing the panty-covered parts and smacking at your own ass.

“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to be that camera man.” Mineta cried, keeled over in a deep bow as he trembled at your panties so close and in HD. “I’d die to just get a whiff of her sweat when she’s sleeping”

“Oi, someone get that fucking pervert out of here before he ruins the carpet!” Bakugou growled as he entered from the kitchen, “Or else I’ll probably blast him to the next town over.”

Sero groaned as he grabbed the midget by his collar, easily peeling him off the ground despite his cries of protest. “Sorry, man, you go too far and it’s real creepy.”

The pipsqueak sobbed as he was thrown into a closet, which had a piece of notebook paper taped to it with the words ‘Horny Jail’ written in sharpie.

‘Make it pop in your face like a Samsung!’

Your face was now in full view from a high angle as you lapped at some spilling milk, tongue stuck out while it coated your chin followed by slow, scanning shots of the liquid dripping down your body.

Back to your face in the bed from the beginning, body splayed out as you said

“And that’s my T-chan, betta yet that’s my Hit-ta!” You winked at the camera.

It was a play on words only Hitoshi knew, a “hitta” was supposed to be an ode to someone who had no problem “getting rid” of the competition, but you said it after calling him T-chan (Toshi-chan), so it sounded like the first part of his name getting cut off. You were so fucking cute, he smirked as he watched you run your arms around your body on the silk sheets.

‘And he don’t even scroll through Insta, ‘less he going through my pictures!’

You were back on the loveseat, climbing all around it, splaying your body across it, all in such perfectly cut shots that kept the attention focused on the TV.

Hitoshi anxiously checked his phone, though. He was waiting for you to call him back and hoped you would do it as soon as the video was done. You were sending him kissy emojis and telling him that you missed seeing him all while you were less than five hundred feet from the dorms.

He texted back about what part of the video he was at, gushing about how hot you are and why he couldn’t wait to get you on FaceTime afterwards.

You smirked to yourself as Aizawa turned into the stretch of concrete that led to the front door of their building, your heart beginning to pound louder than the sound of your heels hitting the pavement.

‘When he off work, he callin me on Skype. Trust me, when I meet him, I’m fucking him on sight!’

The words had him looking back up at the TV, your small frame wrapped in various wires and dressed in a lingerie set designed to resemble a motherboard while your legs were clad by white thigh-high gogo boots. Standing around, you were pulling the wires through your legs and wrapping them snugly around your body. When you were laid down on a green floor, you’d rotate your hips around, grasping at your body parts as you sang to the camera, giving the audience the cutest flirty faces as the song went on.

‘Daddy my parents go through my shit! Huh, Oooh~ Can’t give head, you give me the facetime. Motokare’s a creep, caught him on Dateline, he ain’t getting pussy; he’s fucking an AI, Huh, Ooohhh’

Now he was audibly chuckling, quickly sending you a text about that line when the people in the room looked back at him.

You had told him a few ex-boyfriend horror stories, and geez did you have a few weirdos. That lyric about your “Motokare” was a jab about someone you went on a date with once, who told you he had built up his computer AI to have feelings and eventually mentioned possibly falling in love with it. After running away as soon as the opportunity came, you googled the shit out of him and found out that he had been on the show Dateline at one point.

You nervously tapped your fingers on your phone case as Aizawa flashed his credentials into the scanner of the door.

“Strict security measures, in case you’re planning to sneak in past curfew.”

You snorted, your nerves lessening slightly as he swung the door open for you.

Your feet were frozen, however. Your legs just weren’t moving as you heard yourself through the speakers in the lounge followed by laughing guys and some girls gasping or ogling over how cute you looked.

“C’mon already, you don’t have all day.”

“Ye-Yes sir, I— I just,” You sigh, “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“I can assure you there’s nothing to be so damn nervous about. If you ask me, kid’s the one who should get nervous.” He says, leaning his back against the door, “Smokeshow like you deserves a real man. But don’t let me stop you from going in. I bet you’re about to shock the hell out of that group back there.”

‘Is you into that? (Into that, is you into that? Uh-uh)

Let's break the internet (Internet, on the internet, oh-oh)’

You blush, putting your phone into your clutch and fixing the straps of the large tote on your shoulder.

‘We do it the best, (it the best, doin it the best)’

“Still not budging huh?”

‘When we have cyber sex’

“Yessss, just—“

“Stall-time is over.” He said as he ushered you into the building by grabbing the back of your neck and pulling your body into the doorway.

(Cybersex, havin' cybersex, oh-ooohhhh)

Click! thunk! The door locked behind the two of you, louder than you expected.

“Oi, Shitty Hair, who’s at the door?” a voice barked, the sounds of someone closing YouTube and starting up Super Mario World echoes down the hall.

Your body froze as a familiar red-haired boy stretched over from his spot on the couch, a loud gasp escaped his throat as he found your gaze.

“What? Who the fuck is it?!”

“It’s... It’s Aizawai-sensei and..— and—“

Multiple bodies on the ground crawled over to the edge of the rug to follow his gaze. All of them with the same reaction. Now Shinsou was annoyed too, sighing loudly as he begrudgingly got up from his spot.

“You guys are so dumb, just spit it out alrea— Kitty. ”

All nerves washed away when his body came into frame, a huge smile plastering your face as you began power walking to him, the heads on the ground dramatically switching from looking at you and the quietest guy in school.

A squeal escaped your throat as you threw yourself in his arms, “I MISSED YOU SO MUCH, TOSHI!” He was stiff, but his arms held your legs up as you Koala’d your frame into his torso.

“’Toshi?” Kirishima echoed.

“WHAT— IS THAT (Stagename)?!” Jirou screamed from her position on the other couch.

“I missed you too, what the— How?” He was at a loss for words as he let your legs drop back down to the ground, his hands moving to your neck and face as he looked at you like he was in some sort of dream.

“Surprise!” You cried, “Oh, and I brought gifts!” You said, looking over your shoulder to the people on the floor, “For you guys! ”

They all bustled into conversations aimed at you and Shinsou, mostly questions about your relationship and gushing compliments over how cute it was for you to surprise him. (Well all except Bakugou, who was steaming in his chair in jealousy)

“Alright, alright,” Aizawa said loudly, immediately quieting the room. “Yes, (stagename) is here. No you’re not allowed to post about it, tell your friends nor take pictures of them together— Just don’t do anything stupid, alright? She’s not staying here, by the way. I’ll be back before curfew to take her back. If anyone on the streets during your internship paroles pesters just tell them she’s taking some classes about harnessing her Quirk use. That’s the official statement from the school, anyhow. Don’t stress her out or make her uncomfortable and we won’t have any problems, got it?”

“Hai, Sensei!” The students responded in unison, except Hitoshi who was still looking in your eyes with twinkling irises. A warm flush heated up your cheeks, (and other places) , while his fingers caressed the hair at your nape and the frame of your jawline.

“And you two!” The voice snapped both of your attentions over, your body physically turning to face the pro hero glaring at you with his arms crossed, “It doesn’t have to be said for you to understand right? This is still part of campus so don’t go breaking any rules.”

“Oh, I’m a good girl, sir, I wouldn’t dream of getting Hitoshi-san in trouble.” You cheekily say, tongue in cheek when Shinsou nudged you with the back of his hand at your lower back. A silent, ‘Stop’ that brought a small apologetic smile to your lips. “Thank you for allowing this visit, I really appreciate it.”

You bowed your head down a bit as you spoke, flashing your bright eyes at the grown man in front of you. You knew the power you still somehow held over the man, thanks to his earlier comments. He rolled his eyes and mumbled some response as he walked away. The sounds of Hitoshi’s friends beckoning for your attention drowned out whatever he had said.

This trip was going to be so much fun.

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sombrz · 4 years

Text

The Evolution of Katsuki Bakugou and The Importance of Saving

after the last chapter, i couldn’t help myself and wrote down a huge...meta? description of a collection of moments? relating to bakugou’s ongoing arc with his increasing dedication to prioritizing rescuing others in his pursuit to be a top hero. feel free to add on if i somehow forgot something!

behind the cut bc it’s really image heavy!

CHAPTER 5

we’re introduced to the concept of combat vs rescue, win vs save - and of course it’s by comparing our main boys. they started on opposite ends of the spectrum, after all. deku’s all hero, no super. bakugou’s all super, no hero. so yeah, bakugou managed to get first place in the entrance exam without a single rescue point. which is a feat considering even iida managed to get 9 points and it was clear he wasn’t thinking about helping others until he saw deku’s bravery when uraraka was in danger. at this point, bakugou’s only interested in showing off. being flashy and tough, proving he’s the best!

CHAPTER 18

bakugou’s first rescue and he could give less of a shit! he saves deku from running into kurogiri’s portal here, not with the motivation of saving his life but to get him out of the way - he jumped into the fray in order to take down kurogiri. saving deku isn’t even a plus, really, it’s just a side effect.

deku’s still grateful though.

EXTRA 1: THE FIRST OVA (actually written by horikoshi!)

bakugou initially complains about having to be on rescue duty, but he still gets praised by thirteen for his efforts: many heroes struggle with the parts of heroism that they can’t easily solve with their quirks, and simply by manually pulling the stretcher up, he’s showing he’s capable of overcoming that. a beautiful hero, indeed. then, later, while he himself doesn’t rescue todoroki, he works in tandem with deku and class 1A to ensure that save AND their victory. and while iida, uraraka and asui give deku the credit of coming up with their plan, and he modestly returns the praise to everyone, he makes sure to give indivudual kudos to bakugou - because like this OVA, aizawa’s ‘twin pillar’ speech, all might’s ‘raise each other up’ speech, and the upcoming movie all prove: deku and bakugou work best when leading their peers together using the ‘save AND win’ mentality.

CHAPTER 65 + Ultra Archive Databook Omake

saves deku again, this time from all might. this is interesting because he’s doing this for both their benefits despite still not really having the ‘rescue’ mindset. he’s counting on deku to make it to the gate, but he was the one (by launching deku towards the gate to begin with) who assigned them these roles. deku as the runner, while bakugou distracts all might and therefore, shields deku from the brunt of the attack. he’s putting himself in physical harm for deku. but he’s not thinking it that way: to him, this is still just for personal gain (passing their exam) and due to (thanks to deku) a renewed sense of willpower and drive. he sees these actions as his own willingness to destroy himself for a victory.

and he’s definitely pissed later during the databook omake that deku went back for him, seeing no positives in deku’s innate inability to ignore others when they’re in trouble (especially when that someone is bakugou himself - since we learn during this exam that bakugou equates all might being able to stand against any kind of tribulation by HIMSELF and coming up on top as what makes him the strongest hero).

EXTRA 2: THE FIRST MOVIE (not written by horikoshi but i still wanna bring it up)

uraraka can’t fight back or escape the drones because she’d have to release her quirk to do so - which would put deku and melissa in danger. but when things look grim, who comes to the rescue? bakugou does! like his first rescue, he’s not doing this with the thought process of ‘oh i have to save my friend’ but rather, ‘hey i just got here and there’s things to fight and one of them is about to attack uraraka so might as well start with that’ but in this case, it’s....the action that counts! and the action was still heroic! he did it in a very dramatic way too!

CHAPTERS 79, 80, 85, 90

i decided to group all these together. it’s all in the same conjoined arcs and it’s a little more nebulous on whether it counts for this particular meta because, well, bakugou doesn’t really do any rescuing. i didn’t bother with the sludge monster scene because it’s pretty clear-cut but i think that this really set the baseline for all future bakugou development and he filled the role of the damsel in need of rescuing - so it definitely affected his perception of it.

things i wanted to point out: during the forest, he and todoroki are together since they ended up partners during the forest activity. at some point after (or maybe as it happened) the mustard gas filled the forest, they came across tsuburaba and todoroki decided to carry him through the rest of the way. todoroki also has to continually point out to bakugou that he should avoid using his quirk as to avoid further endangering their peers still in the forest (since, y’know, fire and explosions + wooded area = bad). for this entire time, bakugou is the hothead who just wants to fight and needs to be reminded that, hey, others could get hurt if you’re not careful. he barely pays tsuburaba any mind either, and we can probably assume he refuted it if todoroki even slightly implied they take turns carrying him or something.

he still helps out tokoyami even though he didn’t really need to, since todoroki’s fire would have probably sufficed on its own. so that’s nice! but then the convo switches gears to the fact that the legue of villains are here to kidnap bakugou and his friends all agree to be his [fandom voice] defense squad. EXCEPT, WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK? HE DOESN’T NEED ANY PROTECTION, THANK YOU VERY LITTLE, HE’S FINE BY HI - oh, yikes, and he got taken by mr. compress. i do like how he did listen to todoroki telling him to follow them, and must have stopped grousing about it long enough for the guys in front to not realize when he and tokoyami got taken.

uraraka’s the first to bring up that bakugou would probably feel bad about being rescued - because of his pride. that’s what leads deku to add the caveat of, if we offer our help to kacchan, kirishima should be the one reaching out - at this point, bakugou would hate help from anyone, even though he KNEW that he was a hindrance to all might during the fight, and deku knows from personal experience after the whole sludge monster debacle, but it’s less of a blow to his ego if it’s someone he doesn’t see as a threat, and he’ll be less hostile if it’s someone he recognizes completely as a friend. the fact that he’s starting to see anyone as a friend is a lot! and though he denies it later, that grin says it all - he’s glad to be saved. he’s thankful.

CHAPTER 110 (& 113)

this is also an interesting one. i wish more people did a bit of retroactive meta for bakugou during this arc, because everything he does really shows his mental state in the aftermath of his kidnapping. anyway, while the first part of the exam was to show off your battle prowess against foes (which, another interesting note, bakugou would have FAILED without kaminari), the second test is where you show off your saving skills. and this is NOT what bakugou does. his tagalong BFFs chastise him for his behaviour, but the ‘victims’ seem to realize bakugou is observant enough to know they’re low priority civillians. this doesn’t stop them from taking points off for his bad attitude though - because the thing about bakugou is he’s actually emotionally intelligent enough to understand other people (when not clouded by personal feelings), but he repressed his empathy at a young age and therefore struggles with acting appropriately without coming off as terrible. and he ends up failing because he presumably doesn’t try to alter his method and lets kaminari and kirishima do all the heavy lifting while being unusually complacent throughout - not even bothering to check out the big gang orca fight, despite apparently being aware it was happening.

but also, side note about the first test - where kaminari notes that bakugou held back on using his more powerful attacks because he didn’t want to hurt kirishima (who was on the ground) or kaminari. i didn’t include it as its own thing here since it more shows bakugou’s development in terms of teamwork, and not really rescuing - though i DO think getting kirishima back was on bakugou’s mind - but it’s still bakugou being pre-emptive and mindful of not hurting others and caring about his friends. sowing the seeds for his future motivations.

CHAPTER 120

after he failed his exam, finally vented his guilt and frustration, and beat deku in their fight - all might shows up with some words of wisdom! bakugou admits that all that ^ wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but a cool thing about bakugou is that he always absorbs criticism and advice and takes it to heart (ex: bakugou’s start line!) he’s not averse to changing himself to improve, and if his IDOL says that being a bit more like deku is the way to be the best hero: that he can finally put aside all that anger and all those misunderstandings, and instead rise up by helping deku and keeping pace with him? surpassing him? that saving people is just as important as the final victory? then there has to be some truth to that, right?

bakugou has nothing to do now but let all those revelations simmer, attend his remedial classes, and wait to be relevant again.

and so we’re now in a different ball game!

CHAPTER 207

let’s fast-forward a few months. bakugou’s been out of the spotlight for a bit, if you don’t count him getting his babysitting credentials, joining a band and just generally being more invested in ~friendship~. but we haven’t seen him fight anyone for a while! he automatically puts himself in the leadership position of team 4, annoys his friends by being bossy and impatient, same old bakugou, and then - wait, he throws himself between kamakiri and jirou to save her?

we finally see the fruits of his labour after deku vs kacchan 2. the old bakugou wasn’t a team player, didn’t care if anyone else got hurt as long as they didn’t get in between him and his opponent - him and victory. the new bakugou is still prickly, still has the same personality, still wants nothing more than to surpass the number one hero - but he’s had a change of heart. the new bakugou has discovered a new strength, and that’s the desire to rescue others.

CHAPTER 208

i don’t even have to say anything. class 1A does it for me. while monoma, tokage and class 1B are shocked beyond belief that bakugou is capable of changing...his friends are just proud and happy. at this point - seeing him day in and out - they (especially the ones he’s built up closer friendships with, like kirishima and kaminari) all know exactly how he thinks and feels.

we also get to hear that, before the fight even started, he straight-up put it out there: ‘if you guys are in trouble, i’ll save you. if I’M in trouble, YOU gotta save me.’ and that’s the next step, right? bakugou never put stock in protecting others, sure, but he was adamantly threatened by the idea of being the one that needed protection. because that would mean he was weak, right? he can handle anything by himself! except....his friends saved him in kamino ward, and maybe - his databook bio implies this too - time to reflect on it has let him see that...was okay. we saw in the license exam with kaminari, and during the culture festival with jirou and the band (both things that are brought up here) that he’s begun to - not just acknowledge his peers as worthy of respect, as he did with todoroki and yaoyorozu after the battle trial and with kirishima and uraraka after the sports festival - but TRUST them too. specifically here, he trusts that if he fucks up or if class 1B decides to target him, he can count on his teammates - on jirou, sero and satou - to rescue him and take over when he can’t do it himself. and they do, so well done!

CHAPTER 219

the sketch is from the volume extras: to let us know that bakugou attacked from up above in the air (and the lamp post) in order to make sure no bystanders got hurt from his explosions or todoroki’s ice. :)

anyway, this is his official premiere into the hero world! his first licensed fight, and it serves as a surprising template for how bakugou operates these days. for one, he has no qualms with teaming up with todoroki - whom he claims to dislike (haha, suuuuure, kacchan). two, he lets todoroki call dibs on the main baddie while bakugou takes care of all the lackies (in one fell swoop bc he’s THAT GOOD) - even though one could easily argue that there’s less glory in that. three, he’s aware of his surroundings and notices a civillian in danger at the same time as all might, moving quick to save her, whereas todoroki only manages to react in the aftermath - because, as we’ve seen, rescue is now firmly imprinted in his mind’s eye. if he sees someone in trouble, that’s going to be the most important thing to him. four, we find out after the fight that he prioritized saving everyone’s wallets and purses before blowing up all the lackies. and i love that bakugou’s more talented at snatching wallets than actual goddamn thieves. master cook, natural musician, battle genius, honour student.....pickpocket extraordinaire?

bakugou’s still rude to the civillian, still brusque with the pro heroes (even trying to act cool when faced with proud dad might head pats), but this fight showed us where his priorities lie - and it’s not what they were when he started school and couldn’t even garner a single rescue point.

EXTRA THREE: THE SECOND MOVIE (also not written by horikoshi but it seems he had more of a hand in it)

the movie’s not even out yet but it’s clear that the boys are going to be leaning HARD into their new shared mantra. defeating nine and his lackeys, in order to save everyone on the island, and personally motivated by protecting mahoro and katsuma in particular.

so even though we don’t know the nitty-gritty of what happens yet, i felt the need to include it. bakugou’s gonna be doing a lot of saving in this movie. i can tell.

CHAPTER 248

he doesn’t do any rescuing here. on the contrary, he and the multi-quirk boys almost let a couple people get run over by a truck head-on because they’re still too slow to keep up with endeavour. but endeavour’s words here are pointed directly at bakugou: he can’t treat hero work like school, he can’t make excuses for his shortcomings - because he has to work his ass off in order to save lives.

once again, the narrative ties bakugou’s growth with the lesson that the goal of heroism is to save other people.

CHAPTER 251

earlier that week, endeavour set the three main tenants of heroism: combat/suppression, evacuation and rescue. the intent was to show that a top hero has to do all THREE, instead of just one, but a lot of fans obviously instantly tacked one of those on each of our trio. i wasn’t surprised that most put ‘combat’ as the bakugou one. because, yeah, bakugou....battle instincts, feral boy, here to fight and win....

BUT THAT’S BECAUSE Y’ALL WEREN’T PAYING ATTENTION SINCE SOME OF YOU ARE ACTING LIKE THIS IS SURPRISING. so, let’s break it down - bakugou’s the first out of the car and first to activate his quirk. he’s so in the zone that he doesn’t even turn his head when catching his suitcase. and what does he do? he, ONCE AGAIN, just like in the ch219 fight, allows todoroki to be the one that handles the villain. instead, he uses his new supernova flashstep move to focus on RESCUING THE HOSTAGE. he catches ending by surprise, securing natsuo away from him, and blasts away to safety while also using his explosions to rip the other cars out of ending’s grasp, fully entrusting in deku’s ability to catch the cars safely and evacuate all the bystanders with zero injuries, and DEFINITELY zero corpses.

early bakugou would have immediately stormed for ending (then again, early bakugou wouldn’t have chosen to do this internship in the first place) but he’s not that guy anymore. we’re dealing with bakugou 2.0 now, and we have for a while now.

WOW, THAT WAS A LOT OF WORDS BUT I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL WE CAN KEEP ADDING MOMENTS TO THIS COLLECTION OF BAKUGOU’S LOVE FOR SAVING PEOPLE.

#luisa talks about fandoms #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugou #bnha spoilers

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faelune-home · 4 years

Text

Improvise

(A/N: Cos somehow a girl managed to fire out 3700+ words over two weeks. Hope y’all like it.

Focuses on my main miqo WoL Fufu. A little night of piano playing shared w/ Alphinaud. Set during Early Heavensward

Also available on Ao3 here

@ffxiv-writers)

The door to Fortemps Manor creaked to a close, yet a sharp gust of wind managed to sneak through anyway, catching Alphinaud and making him shiver. Even after having spent some few weeks in Ishgard, he still wasn’t quite used to the chill snap that gripped the city. Perhaps now was the time to finally think about investing in a winter jacket...or maybe a new attire altogether.

He made his way through the halls, intent on returning to the room gifted to him by Count Fortemps so that he could continue his work before turning in for the night. There was already so much to be done, with the paperwork he had offered to do for the count in return for his hospitality, as well as looking into the disappearances of the Scions, and then there was the news of a primal apparently floating around Abalathia’s Spine…

Just as he had reached his door however, he stopped, his attention caught by what sounded like music further down the hall. A light tinkling of piano keys he deduced. Curiosity took hold, as Alphinaud was certain he hadn’t heard a piano within the manor before that night. Yet in his moment of distraction, his papers almost slipped from his hands, reminding him of his evening work. Caught between leaving the curious sound for the night or trying to source it, it wasn’t until one of the maids of the house passed by carrying linens, humming away with a smile on her face that he finally relented and set off deeper into the manor.

Down the corridor, and round a corner, passing yet another humming maid, the music grew louder, until he finally came to a partly opened door. Barely wide enough to allow any light out, yet the music flowed out into the hallway. Yet while he had found the source, one finally question itched, just one more answer, who...

Peeking through the crack in the door, he saw Fufu, the Warrior of Light sitting at the piano, tapping away at the keys. Her tail swished happily behind her, and her pigtails swung side to side as she swayed along to the melody of her own making. He almost wanted to assume he could hear her humming along as well. An occasional fumble of fingers would send an off key note, yet her deft hands could follow up and keep on track, and it was like it hadn’t even happened. The atmosphere within the room seemed so jovial for only having one person inside. But then she did seem to have the talent to bring cheer with her wherever she went. Was it a Bardic skill or something naturally inherent to the miqo’te?

Alphinaud had often dismissed her musical moments in times past, considering it time that could’ve been better spent on other tasks, yet now there he stood, drawn in by her whimsical little tune. In fact, before he could argue with himself to simply leave and go back to his room, having solved the mystery that had briefly snatched him, he stepped forth and pushed the door open fully, the groan of the hinges catching the occupant’s attention and bringing her merry tune to a halt.

Fufu spun round on the piano stool, giving her companion a broad smile and saying, “Oh, welcome back! I didn’t realise you’d gotten in.” He returned her greeting with a light nod of his own and said, “It’s no worry, I can see you were quite busy.”

Her ears flicked and she hummed, “I might’ve been a bit too into that one, I’m not even certain what time it is now.” As she turned to try and catch the chronometer in the room, Alphinaud stepped forward and asked, “Actually, could you play it again? If it’s alright.” This earned him another broad grin and an enthusiastic nod.

“Of course! I’ll try my best.” She turned back to the piano, however rather than start playing again, she shuffled over on the seat and patted the empty space, looking expectantly at the elezen. Though somewhat surprised at the gesture - after all, there was a perfectly good couch within the room he would’ve gladly taken instead - he stepped forward and joined the miqo’te on the seat, placing his papers on the side table.

As the warrior’s fingers continued to dance along the keys, picking up the melody once more, he couldn’t help but watch, mesmerised at how they moved now that he had a closer view. Hands long calloused from her work with the bow now tapped away and created a bubbly little tune, so fitting for her character.

“How long have you known how to play?” he asked, the question coming to mind as he recalled seeing her more often with a harp for her minstreling, as well as the single time he had seen her strumming away at a small lute.

“Only a few weeks, really. Started a few days after we first got here,” she answered, never stopping her merry tune. Alphinaud blinked, surprised.

“Truly?” She nodded, then leaned closer to him like she was sharing a secret and added, “If you were to ask how long I’ve been playing well, the maids stopped giving me dirty looks last week I think.” Then she laughed, and the song seemed to jump up in rhythm with her. He wasn’t quite deterred however, as another question nagged at him.

“But...how? Did you learn, I mean.” At this, Fufu took one hand off the piano, the other continuing to play, picked up a book from the table next to her side of the piano and handed it to the younger boy, saying, “I taught myself. I found this book in the library while I was looking for something else. Apparently Lord Edmont tried to have Artoirel learn when he was a boy, but it didn’t really work.”

Alphinaud flipped through the pages, noting how easily presented most of the information was - ‘most’, as he could only assume the book was meant as a companion piece for an actual instructor. Yet all the same, it seemed understandable, and if one had the drive enough to learn…

“I’ll confess, I’m impressed,” he admitted. This earned him one of her wide grins, her sharpened teeth catching the light. Curiosity mostly sated now, he turned his attention to the music sheet on the stand, only to realise something else.

“Have you been improvising this whole time?” Indeed, while the tune was similar to the one that had initially drawn him to the room, there was a noted difference in how it was played; a higher key perhaps, and what seemed initially like the repeated chorus was instead rather different. Fufu nodded vigorously, saying, “Yup! The sheets were good to learn, but this is more fun.” Now completely at a loss for words at his companion’s skill, the boy could only sit, listening with a much keener ear as the miqo’te tapped out her free flowing music.

Even when she eventually drew one song to a close - with an over exaggerated flourish that Alphinaud couldn’t help but smile at - she started another afterward, this time a slower piece, more fitting over a wind down for the night. The lower notes of the tune seemed to thrum in the air, and he could feel the low buzz in his chest. Logically he could say it was just the close proximity to the piano, but at this point he wouldn’t quite be surprised if it were Fufu’s doing…

“Did you ever learn an instrument?” He was snapped from his unexpected reverie, seeing the woman staring at him intently after her question, the music itself even slower now as her attention had shifted.

“I mean,” she continued, turning back and picking up her pace again, “to my knowledge, it just seems like something fancy families try to do with their kids, like Lord Edmont and Artoirel.” At the reference, her ear flicked toward the book resting on Alphinaud’s lap, however his attention had been caught elsewhere.

“Fancy?” he echoed, looking mildly offended at the remark. The music finally came to a complete stop as she turned to face him, an amused smirk on her face. She repeated, “Yes, fancy. You got to receive a high class education at a renowned school—“

“The Studium is open to all, even some few outside of Sharlayan,” he countered.

“Well, you’d walk around using your family name in so many places like it’d just open all the doors, and actually I think it did a lot of the time.”

He flinched, recalling how that arrogance had saw them flee to Ishgard in the first place for safety, yet he argued back anyway, “That was far more to do with the impact my grandfather had in Eorzea as opposed to—“

“Your family has manservants,” she interrupted, with a degree of finality in her voice that made him stop, and despite a light stammer as he tried to respond, he ultimately hung his head and said, “Fine. I suppose that isn’t a common thing for most families.”

“Nope, only fancy ones,” she replied, still wearing that amused smile. Then she leaned in close, as though waiting. Recalling her initial question, a small smile crossed his lips as a memory came to him.

“I’ve never learned, nor has my sister, but mother did suggest it once. She always said it would allow us to appreciate the arts or something similar.” He then chuckled, “Alisaie almost threw a fit at the idea, saying that she didn’t want to end up being dolled up and forced to perform for others entertainment, much to mother’s disappointment. I told her I wasn’t much interested either, and she didn’t bring it up again.”

The miqo’te hummed. “I see.” Then leaned back into the boy and asked, “Do you want to learn how to play?”

He blinked, curious. “Are you offering to teach?” Fufu shrugged, looking sheepish as she said, “I don’t know if I’d be that great of a teacher, but I could try. And if I’m not, then I could maybe see if Jehantel wouldn’t mind helping.”

Although tempted, Alphinaud shook his head, saying, “I appreciate the offer, however I think I’ll decline. At least for now. We both have far too much happening right now to dedicate any real attention to any lessons.” He had his own duties after all, and as well as helping the Fortemps in her own way, he knew that Fufu had also picked up some extra errands amongst the local Ishgardians. In hindsight, her having self-taught herself the piano on top of her many duties was all the more astounding.

“That’s fair,” she nodded, fortunately not looking too upset at the rejection, “But the offer’s always available for the future, if you change your mind!” He nodded, smiling back at her, “Of course.” Satisfied, the woman adjusted herself on the seat and lifted her hands to the keys once more.

She beamed, “One more song before bed then?” She didn’t wait for an answer, not that the boy would refuse, and started playing. It started a bit slowly, a muddle of low notes as though she were still deciding on what to play, before the tune seemed to collect itself. It was another slow song, and Alphinaud could definitely feel himself starting to relax with it.

“I have to admit, you do have a way with music,” he sighed, trying to resist the urge to lean against the miqo’te and disrupt her playing, even if the soothing melody seemed to be making him feel rather sleepy. “That you can teach yourself how to play something like this while also keeping up with so much else, and then the ability to improvise besides.”

Fufu shrugged, “I wouldn’t say it's that special. The improvising I mean. I just kinda play away until it sounds right then keep playing that.”

“Tis a talent nonetheless. A valued one for any field. Even in battle, should the need arise, being able to adapt freely is a useful skill.” Fufu nodded at his words, though she still looked unsure.

“Maybe… I’ll be honest, improvising is fun with music, but in a combat situation, I still prefer working from a plan. If I have to start thinking on my feet when the plan isn’t working then fine, but having an idea of what to do feels a lot more secure. I’ve gotten a lot more done with others to tell me what to do than I have just doing stuff on my own.” At this point, the music had stopped. The miqo’te simply stared ahead, over the piano and straight out the window at the drifting snows outside.

Concern for his friend at her very sudden mood change shook the drowsiness from Alphinaud’s mind. “Come now, you act as if you’re no better than a common soldier following orders.”

“I’m not saying that’s what I want,” she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m just saying there’s...comfort, I think, in having someone else step up and know what to do. It’s reassuring when I’m lost.” Then a small smile came upon her face, as her eyes shone in remembrance.

“Actually, that reminds me… I didn’t really want to share this, just because I thought it’d seem overly sentimental and silly--”

“Really? I suppose that would be out of character,” the boy interrupted, with what he hoped sounded like a tone of levity. To his relief, Fufu smirked, clearly amused as she gave him a light nudge with her arm, then said, “Please, I’m trying to be serious. And I do know when to stop before something is too much.”

She leaned back, staring at the ceiling, hands holding onto the edge of the stool, and after a long pause, she started, “It was after the attack on the Waking Sands. I was just supposed to go back and see Minfilia and find out what was happening next. Maybe it would’ve been dealing with Garuda anyway, maybe it’d be something else, another ascian trail hunt, I don’t know. And I never really will because of everything that happened.” The mood had turned sombre again.

“I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could do was go to the church near Drybone, ‘cos that’s what Minfilia said...it was the last thing Noraxia told me. And even then, while I was there, I just did what others asked or suggested, trying to help where I could to feel useful, but I didn’t really know what to do. Y��shtola and Yda were missing and I didn’t know if I could get in touch with them, and the Garleans were looking for Echo users so I didn’t want to go back to Gridania in case they attacked there. And when it looked like they were near the church anyway targeting Cid, I thought I’d have to run off just in case to keep people safe, but then…”

She stopped, straightening up in the seat, and after another pause that almost had Alphinaud consider jumping in himself, she said, “Well I guess the most honest thing I can say is that you showing up was a big help to me.”

He blinked, rather taken aback at her statement. “Me?”

She nodded. “Yup. Like I said, I already had no clue what to do at that point, so when you showed up saying we were going to find Cid’s airship and deal with Garuda - well, of course we got caught up in all the Ishgardian bureaucracy which made it take longer, but the point is, it was more of a plan than I had. And after Operation Archon, you were the one that suggested the move to Revenant’s Toll for the Scions so we could work on more neutral ground-”

“I fear you’re giving me far too much praise here. So often I’ve worked in tandem with others, to claim sole credit would be rather arrogant.” And Twelve knows he was aware of his follies as it was.

However Fufu shook her head. “I know you didn’t do everything alone, of course not. But I’m talking about the things you did do. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that. Hells, we wouldn’t be here in Ishgard if you hadn’t put in the work to champion on their behalf during the dravanian attacks.”

At this, Alphinaud shot to his feet and snapped, “We’re here in Ishgard precisely because of me! Twas mine own fault that we have lost our comrades and been forced from the Stones-”

“No,” she countered forcefully, getting to her feet to stand beside him, even if she was yet taller than him, “That was not your own fault, that was the Braves-”

“And they were my responsibility, I share the blame for not realising that they were never truly under my command. I led them into the city states and proclaimed them protectors of the people. I was the fool and I don’t deserve the admiration you seem to have for me.” He stepped out from the piano stool and made for the door to the room, ready to make for somewhere else, anywhere else, when Fufu grabbed his arm and stopped him with a pleading, “Wait, please.”

When he didn’t move any further or try to shake her grip, she gently pulled him toward the couch in the room, sitting them both down. He initially looked away, the guilt dredged up from his outburst preying upon his mind and making him think back and replay that night’s events again, until he felt the woman take his hand. Looking back, he was surprised to see her eyes shining with their own guilt, her ears flat against her head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I had some blind hero worship for you. I only meant that I was grateful. Like I said, when I was left at that church with nothing to do except take on other people’s favours, I was just lost. You just put me back on the path to actually doing something.” She then squeezed his hand tighter as she looked down, somehow even more downtrodden as she continued, “Thinking about it, maybe I was blind actually. I could’ve said something about the Braves since I helped to set it up, and I was there for nearly every step of the way, but I never saw anything. I just knew that every other idea had worked out fine, so perhaps this would as well.”

Finally giving him a rueful smile, she said, “Maybe I deserve the blame for the Braves as well.”

“No,” Alphinaud said firmly, taking his hand from her and readying to argue, until Fufu grabbed his shoulders and said with her own adamant certainty, “Then stop. What’s done is done, and we can only move on. Isn’t that what we’re trying to do? Remembering our mistakes is fine, if we only use that to improve. And you’ve been good about that, just every now and then you get really down about it like you’re still the only one at fault for it.” Alphinaud nodded, feeling a touch sheepish at her impassioned words.

“You’re right. My apologies, I shouldn’t have gotten quite so pathetic there,” he sighed, giving her a grateful smile in return. Fufu smiled back, clearly relieved.

“Good. We don’t have any time for that sort of pity party after all,” she chuckled, ruffling the boy’s hair and giggling harder at his indignant, “Hey”.

“And for what it’s worth, the Braves were a good idea in theory. You did have a point when you said that we Scions would need our own personal force to help all of the city states. We just didn’t account for...well, everything else.”

He nodded. “I suppose so, but I doubt we could make a second attempt at such a thing. People would be less trusting of the idea, not to mention so long as monetarists like Teledji or Lolorito exist, they would still try to gain advantage of the group.”

“Or make it harder for them to do their jobs,” Fufu added, recalling the pompous statue of Lolorito that stood in Vesper Bay; his answer to the Scions refusing his advances.

“Well, we’ll just have to work twice as hard to make up for,” she stated, sitting up straight and punching her fist into the air. The miqo’te then turned to face the boy again, giving him a broad grin as she said, “And I want you there with me.”

“You’re quite certain?”

She nodded. “You’re still better at making plans and strategizing than I am. Just because you worked more with others before, or a few of those ideas didn’t work out like you hoped doesn’t change that. So I want you to keep doing what you do best. And in return, I’ll try and do my part to make sure they’ll work out, or even stepping up to tell you if it won’t work. I won’t leave you to take the worst of it.” She held her hand out, and after only a moment’s thought, Alphinaud nodded and took it, the two shaking firmly.

“I would like that a lot,” he said. Just then, a loud chime broke out in the room, making them both jump. The chronometer on the wall read 10 o’clock.

“Gods, has it gotten so late?” He sighed, mumbling, “I won’t be able to do much of that paperwork now.” He stood and collected the papers from beside the piano, bowing politely to his companion and saying, “Thank you for tonight. The music and the discussion. I feel like we stand on more even ground now.”

“We didn’t before?” Fufu asked, albeit with a smile.

“Maybe we did...but this was nice to confirm all the same. Now if you’ll excuse me, I should head to bed.” He turned for the door, however the miqo’te’s call of “Wait!” stopped him. Turning back, he watched her stumbled quickly back to the piano and, to his amusement, pat the stool seat beside her.

“I didn’t get to finish playing properly before. So,” she turned, eyes glowing, “one more song before bed?”

He joined her once more. “Feel free, my friend.”

#ffxiv writing #ffxiv fanfic #alphinaud leveilleur #my wol #keeper of the moon miqo'te #fufu faelune #writing #long post #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #my writing

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yellow-pigeons · 4 years

Text

[Slight NSFW] Rainy evenings and unfired bullets - A WillNemi One-Shot.

It was just another one of those evenings where one’s mind wandered off way too far than anticipated. He straight up despised it, having to deal with vivid flashbacks and bitterness bubbling up within him until it was close to spilling. A wave of coolness washed over his shoulders, making them tense in discomfort. The window was left open, dark curtains slightly waving in the night gusts of gentle, yet rather chilly wind. Dispatch was probably abandoned at such late hour, yet it left him with a ponder.

She wasn’t present, still.

The more he let his thoughts infiltrate his cool exterior, it began getting worse.

More and more clouding.

Why, why did he have to be this way?

Why couldn’t he push the boulder over the edge and move on? This wasn’t something his narcissistic self has deserved in this restless afterlife. This is punishment, this is a way to redemption. Not to have a new, ‘better’ state of existence.

Sliding the cold muff past his parted lips, his finger slightly flinched as it made contact with the smoothness of the iron trigger. This could’ve ended this way. Quickly, not so painfully. Sliding into blissful oblivion like none of this has ever happened.

“Good evening.”

A voice murmurs against the back of his head, easily finding the mark that was usually hidden well by its owner. Two slim arms wrap around, pulling him into an inverted embrace he had not felt in a long while.

She knows.

Of course she does.

A bitter smirk appears on his lips, as he grips the pistol tighter, it now sliding on the underside of his chin. She doesn’t move, giving small caresses to his shoulders and pec, face pressed against his head, warm exhales of air warming up his scalp.

“Move away, or it will hurt us both.”

“You won’t escape that easily, dove. A bullet will do as much as nothing to me or you.”

She murmurs, lips curling in a grin as she presses a kiss to the old scar on the back of his head. Sly and straightforward as always. So typical for Noemi to act this way in private.

“It’s funny how you think death will get you out of here, William. Considering the fact that we are death, you won’t run away from yourself that easily.”

She chuckles, hands traveling to his own ones and petting them in a strangely familiar way. He feels himself get slightly uncomfortable from foreign touch, but lets go of the gun eventually, letting her hands take its place. Still coated in black gloves, they feel even more frail than usual.

“Noemi Haruda. Where have you been.”

He asks stiffly, thin fingers slipping under the damp fabric of her gloves and feeling the skin underneath them. The other reaper hums silently, as if expecting the question to come eventually.

“Do pardon my lateness, Mr. Spears, however I found myself correcting some overdue reports that you have forgotten to check. Shame on you, what a disgraceful act that was, especially from such precise man as yourself.”

Her hands slip out of the grip, now bare and one sliding to cup his cheek, thumb pacing over his high cheekbone. She feels him stiffen in a sudden wave of dreadful realization, before grabbing her wrists and moving forward, in the range of his sight. There she stood, the grim reaper he grew to admire as much as The Legendary One. Not one day passed without a thought of how could someone like her ever take interest in him. She considered the thought amusing, yet he was persistent in the belief of not being worthy.

“Impossible. I have checked them twice. You are fully aware of my distaste towards lying.”

A growl slips past his lips as she laughs, kicking his chair away from the desk ever so slightly, foot clad in black nylons easily maneuvering the wheeled furniture element.

“My my, you sure are quite a stick in the mud. Have you missed me that much?”

Calmly, she takes her seat on his lap, almost taking some kind of sadistic pleasure in his discomfort. She knows he tries to remain cool, but his behavior resembles that of an abashed teenager. William allows his hands to lay on the armrests of the black, leather coated chair, giving a glare of disapproval to his mate.

“You’re shameless.”

“How can I not be when you’re mine? You said it yourself.”

She frowns slightly, jabbing a finger at his chest, as if with a grievance to the ravenet. The almost childish pout makes him huff and move said digit away from himself.

“Will you tell me where have you been? It’s past midnight, and your shift seems to end at eight.”

He pries, not once breaking eye contact. Has she been in the human realm again? Or maybe hung out with that disgrace of a grim reaper, Sutcliff? Whatever she was doing it was unacceptable. They agreed to see one another after her shift.

“Come now, William. I was out for a walk and happened to stumble across a new tea shop. Humans these days really try to improve their game.”

The bluenette replies swiftly, fingers meticulously loosening the man’s tie and sliding it down the side of his chest. How unlikely of him to be so curious of her being late once in a blue moon. Interesting.

“Now that I am here though, and you had a small break from my lovely self...”

She trails off, leaning down to press herself against him, as he lets out a huff.

How utterly inappropriate.

For a headquarters member and him.

“Noemi. This is... improper.”

“I know. That’s why it’s fun.”

With that, the woman slowly leans toward him, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek, Spears allowing his hands to wander up and caress her back, fingers threading through her hair.

She was impossible. Demanding attention from him whenever they were alone, doing all those cutesy things he could never expect of her cold exterior to do. Haruda was... so similar and yet so different from him it drove William insane.

Though... it drew him in. It was fascinating how a reaper with her past could be so... human.

“Oh? A sudden change of mood I see?”

She notes, taking his hand and presses her face into the crease of the palm, returning the slight smile he noticed to slip onto his lips.

He exhales slowly, looking at her with a certain... fondness in his gaze. How unfamiliar of him to be doing that, yet she seems to be happy. It makes his cheeks get warmer, as she holds in a giggle.

“You’re much better being you, Will. What a rare, blissful sight...”

Noemi murmurs, exhaling slightly as his thumb moves over her lower lip, feeling the soft, rosy skin on his own.

Ha, is he always going to be so dense?

Apparently not, as she soon feels his own lips crash against hers, connecting them in a fluid, skilled motion. At first she jolts a little, but as soon as his hands cup the back of her head, messing up her locks, she relaxes with a small grunt, smiling weakly against the kiss.

He controls himself, perfectly as always. Minds every little touch, caress and kiss. It’s flattering, but also interesting at the same time. He puts dedication and care into her as much as into his work, maybe a bit less, but that doesn’t seem to really bother the not-so-cold-hearted Italian.

His hands smooth out the folds on her vest, soon enough popping the buttons open one by one as he keeps her distracted. The other doesn’t give up so easily though, taking his hands and holding them in her own.

“Well well well. Aren’t you prudish, Spears? To touch your boss this way? Maybe I should assign you some overtime for violating my personal space?”

She utters, the vile smirk not leaving her face as he smirks back at her, pulling her closer by the hand. Garments begin to fall on the floor, until none of them is left with any other upper clothing items. It’s funny how easily she manages to submit to him, even though she was the one starting the whole teasing game.

Looking up, her face lights up with a smile at the redness flushing the brunet’s cheeks. Soon, she lays her head back down on his chest, sighing at the pleasant feeling of being skin to skin with him. Noticing her sudden slump-down he rises an eyebrow, fingers tracing circles on her back.

“Are you not feeling like it anymore?”

“It’s not that, really. I feel like this, just this only makes me so much happier. I struggle to find the magic behind it.”

He sulks for a moment, then lets out a barely audible snort, shaking his head at her words. Rain begins to increase outside, thumping against the curtains and other windows in his study in a silent melody. It’s soothing, but also sort of melancholic, wistful even, making both reapers glance over at the opened window for a while and sigh cheerlessly.

“I’ve always been wondering, why are you so harsh on anyone you meet? I understand the fact that you cannot trust anyone but…It was heartbreaking to see you shout on that poor rookie for dropping the papers.”

William grunts in distaste of her question, shrugging.

“I could say the same about you. Not once were you caught snarling either at your underlings or colleagues. You’re not a saint either, dove.”

This time she is the one to laugh, letting out a dry chuckle, resting her cheek on his bare shoulder, dreamily taking in the scent of rainwater and cologne. Of course he didn’t take an umbrella. So typical of the overly methodical numskull.

She knows well what he means by that. Kindness was never one of her virtues, but at least she made a step towards befriending his underlings, like the redhead or blond rookie. William never seemed to have a care in how were they doing, or if they needed someone to talk to. Naturally, she did not allow them to walk all over her, since it was within their ability range, however she did provide some advice and all that, as much as her schedule allowed that.

He notices her odd silence after a long while, yet does not disturb her thoughts, sinking in his own ones for a short while. It’s been quite a while since they have spent some quality personal time together. Obviously, both needed some time for their own after long shifts and overtime nearly every month, but… Spears feels himself get…

Lonely.

As amusing as it may sound, and as much as he tries to hide it, when he is alone the unnerving feeling of having nobody to talk to during dinner has sometimes gotten far beyond bitter. For nearly half a century he has been working his ass off, harvesting souls in the field and later on spending long nights in his office on the third floor, surrounded by stacks of papers and his own thoughts.

But then she came. Not really noticed by others, or just considered another cog in the machine, but for him, she seemed different than them. She wasn’t throwing herself on anyone, she didn’t make lewd comments about him like Sutcliff did. She respected him as a person and wasn’t willing to interfere in his routine more than it was absolutely necessary.

Something pushed him to lend her a hand in learning their language, since he saw how helpless but also proud she was, to the very point of not wanting to ask anyone for help. Miss Haruda somehow reminded him of himself when he was a young Shinigami just like her. Their relationship was bittersweet for all these years, after “the Phantom Killer” but… ever since the ship has sunk, they weren’t the same.

He was grateful, up to this very day.

She gave him something no one was ever able to show him. Through sharp quarrels, that often turned physical, her dense, as much as his, brain and unwillingness to accept things that were wrong in her opinion they managed to machete a path for them both to walk down on. He still sometimes feels bad for hurting her, despite the many times she had told him to just forget about it.

Even though she showed him that this afterlife can be better if he just looked on it from another perspective, he managed to mar and trample her just like those awful meat sacks did to them in the past.

If it wasn’t for the responsibility that he lacked a few decades ago, they would be in a much different setting. Obviously it was her fault too. She was bossy, selfish and thought she could treat him like an underling both at home and in the office, which completely didn’t appeal to him. She still is bossy, and still tries to mock him a little, but this and that are two separate kinds of behavior.

“William.”

He snaps out immediately, turning his chartreuse gaze towards her, rising his both eyebrows in a questioning manner. Has he lost track of time?

“I was asking if you had taken the umbrella on your way home, since your hair is still a bit damp.”

The female notes with a sigh, shaking her head at his instantaneous confusion.

“Not really, I felt like a walk in the rain would be a soother for all that’s been going on in the realm for the past few weeks.”

The ravenet replies slowly, draping his suit jacket over her bare back. She snuggles a bit closer, fingers gently grazing over the nape of his neck in gratitude. A flinch crosses her body as she feels his fingertips slide down on her abdomen, tracing an oblique scar near her hip bone.

Noemi carefully places her hand over his, the previous calm expression being soon replaced with a deep frown.

“You’re doing it again.”

She mutters, moving his hand back onto her cheek, looking up at him in worry. He frowns back, brows drawn together like he usually does when he’s frustrated, the cute (in her opinion) wrinkle presenting itself on his forehead.

“I apologize; I feel myself grow restless when seeing it.”

“I know, but it is just a scar. Proof that ‘we’ have went through much and survived.”

He smiles bitterly, caressing her cheek with a huff.

“I don’t understand you.”

“Hmm? What is so perplexing about little old me?”

She brightens up a little, giving him the playful jab yet again, however this time, he just pets her head, looking away with a blank expression.

“You forgave me, even though I have wronged you so many times. You saw good in me even though I display so much negativity every day. Why?”

“Excuse my words, but you’re an idiot. That is why I decided to forgive you. And because I was as much of an idiot, thinking I could throw and boss you around without asking how you felt about it. None of us knew how to step into a healthy relation, and mistakes were made. But I decided to forgive you, because you didn’t treat me like most men treat females. You were not pushy, or did not try to hoax and use me like some toy.”

She smiles weakly, feeling his grip tighten around her, wrinkling the black suit jacket. It would be very uncommon of him to try and hit on someone, especially his superior, but he managed to find the courage and talk to her out of the working hours, go to a higher-up’s party and have a chat with her. No one asked him to, yet he did.

“I’m not trying to make you feel too special but… it did surprise me when you weren’t trying to ask me out, or flirt with me. Obviously that was far away from what I wanted you to do, yet from the many interactions I had with fellow colleagues back in my country, you did surprise me with your courtesy and simple respect. You know well I value that a lot.”

The ravenet nods, looking down at her for a bit before getting lost in his own thoughts once more.

“Will I ever be able to repay your thoughtfulness, Noemi?”

Such question out of the blue makes her raise an eyebrow at him, before chuckling lightheartedly, giving him a light pat on the pec.

“I don’t think so, but company may somehow lower your chance of getting us both in hell after that.”

She snorts, shuffling upwards and resting her forehead against his, a slight smile dancing upon her lips, making dimples appear on the cheeks. Spears cannot help to simper as well, as rain continues to pour, slowly but surely managing to wet their carpet and floor for good.

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Well, to be honest with you I had a four-year break from writing any kind of fanfiction except for roleplay, and I sorta like this one here?

I felt like this would be just some short, stress relief drabble and I think it is(?) you tell me, I won’t be grading myself hahah-

Anyways, I know that William is a tad OOC, and that it doesn’t almost fit in the timeline I put Noemi’s story in, but I think I meant to describe just one of those tough talks between the two of them once things between them have finally settled down.

Please let me know how did I do~

#william t spears #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsujioc #writing #fanfic #drabble #this took me longer than i'd like to admit #please dont judge me

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