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azenkii · 4 years

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A Long List of Trash Fire Lord Zuko Headcanons

...that i couldn't get out of my head:

(warning: SUPER LONG POST i havent figured out how to trim posts yet)

he's the one who unchains azula despite iroh's protests. she doesn't even try to fight him, just cries into his shoulder and keeps mumbling about how father's going to be so disappointed in her. he takes her to her rooms and has her drink a sleeping draught, then stations the best guards he has left outside her chambers.

his first council meeting takes place literally a day after sozin's comet. he hobbles into the council chamber shirtless with his entire torso covered in bandages and every council member just looks at him like '...what'

he does NOT sleep for like,,a week after sozin's comet and then another two weeks after his coronation. katara, aang and suki try to persuade him to sleep and he doesn't listen. eventually sokka, toph and mai team up to literally drag his ass to bed and tell him he's not allowed to get up until he sleeps (does mai pin him to the bed with her knives? yes. is it kinky or sexual in any way? definitely not.)

he drinks So. Much. Tea. at this point it's practically tasteless to him but he drinks it anyway because he just needs something to do and tea is something familiar. he keeps iroh on his toes because he's constantly asking for new tea blends, uncle, i think i actually tasted the last one,

he flat-out refuses to grow his hair for at least a year after ozai's defeat. the second it starts getting close to his chin he shears it off himself, with his knife, and his stylist has a heart attack every single time

when he's tired he'll occasionally jump up when one of his guards moves. it stops after a bit, but for the first month and a half or so he's really twitchy. when sokka asks, the only explanation he can come up with is that he's not used to having people stand behind him silently and not want to kill him, much less want to protect him (sokka immediately takes him out for a shopping trip and makes a point of walking behind him the entire time, but only on zuko's right side, where he can clearly see it if sokka moves towards him)

when the healer declares azula mentally unstable and in need of an institution, he shuts himself in his office for the rest of the night. no one's allowed in, not even iroh. he finally emerges in the morning, eyes red from crying and sleep deprivation, and tells the librarian that he'd like a list of the best mental institutions in the country, please, the best in the world if you can get them

he loves theatre (is this even a headcanon?). unfortunately it practically died out in the fire nation along with the rest of the creative arts, leaving nothing but small troupes like the ember island players. one of zuko's personal goals (meaning things he wants to accomplish that aren't as important as restoring his country) is to bring back theatre; he finally manages to do it after about eight months or so of being fire lord, along with other arts like dancing, music and sculpture

he establishes a national day of mourning, on the first day of autumn every year, to commemorate the genocide of the air nomads. from 100AG onwards, every calendar printed in the fire nation has it marked. at first it was called the day of repentance, but aang persuaded him to have it changed (by arguing that he didn't want guilt to be a literal staple of fire nation culture)

he introduces literally So Many educational reforms, plus a mandatory class that teaches students about the cultures of the other nations (air nomads included) and how some of their traditions overlap

he turns down the offer of having a statue put up of him in the capital. toph ignores him and does it anyway.

he visits azula regularly, makes sure she's (relatively) comfortable and well-fed, and sometimes just sits down outside her door and tells her about everything that's going on right now ('some of the far colonies have developed their own standardised writing, azula, you wouldn't believe it, and i've asked the fire sages to come visit more often—but you never liked them, did you? oh, well; i'll make sure none of them go into your chambers by mistake')

(he doesn't know it, but when he does this azula sits by the door and listens. she wonders what kind of writing the colonists have developed, and whether or not the fire sages have taken on some new recruits.)

he hates being above anyone else. never sits in the throne if he can help it, nor does he sit on the dais in the council room. when he talks to people shorter than him, he finds himself stooping a little bit to talk to them on their level (the exception to this rule is sokka, who he mocks for being shorter all the way up until sokka grows taller than him, the bastard)

the first time he visits the earth kingdom, the earth king's ministers call a toast. he ends up being the only one who has to sit out, because he's too young to drink by earth kingdom law

once his servants figure out he won't kill them for talking to him, they start becoming a lot more bold, telling him off when he doesn't take care of himself. at one point, they force him to let them take care of him so much that he literally just bolts into the gardens and hides there until the staff rope in mai and ty lee

when he needs to escape, he does one of two things: (a) he dresses up as the blue spirit and does some parkour until he calms down, or (b) he goes to work at the jasmine dragon. (b) happens less often bc the jasmine dragon's in ba sing se, but there's been a few memorable incidents when an earth kingdom diplomat walks in and yells, 'LEE?!' when they see the fire lord

the first court artist who draws him also happens to be the one who drew azulon and ozai. he draws zuko without his scar. zuko takes one look at it and tells him, very calmly, that he'd like him to leave, please.

zuko burns the portrait. he doesn't fire the court artist, but he never calls on him again unless he has to. a second court artist is called, and can't help but be a bit confused when the fire lord tells him to be sure to include the scar

he forgets the crown. a lot. sometimes he walks into council meetings in his sleepwear with his hair tied up in a messy ponytail and a bunch of scrolls tucked under his arm. none of his councilmen have the guts (or the heart) to tell him that this is not, in fact, formal council wear

he goes to feed the turtleducks when he's stressed. he thinks he's being subtle. he's not. the entire palace knows, and they consciously give him space when they see him in the turtleduck garden

most of his staff are older than him, so they look at him and see this teeny tiny fire lord who is So Small and who Must Be Protected. the day after zuko's coronation, the head chef holds a meeting where they commence Operation Do-Not-Let-That-Boy-Turn-Out-Like-His-Father (subsection He's-The-Only-Good-Thing-We-Have)

one night he wakes up to find suki sitting in his room, decked out in full kyoshi warrior garb and makeup, and just about screams blue murder. suki tells him there are suspicions of an assassin in the palace, and would you please stop yelling it's very distracting, we won't be able to hear anyone coming over that racket

zuko gets very, very paranoid of random spirits after that. yeah, suki looks like a possibly malevolent spirit when she's wearing her makeup, what about it? (when he tells sokka he's highkey terrified of spirit shenanigans, sokka just looks at him and says, 'man, the stories i could tell...', and THAT'S when zuko remembers sokka spent like six months more than he did travelling with the avatar)

on his first visit to the southern water tribe, he removes his boots and leg guards, rolls up his pants and kneels barefoot in the snow. even though chief hakoda immediately starts trying to pull him up, he's stubborn as hell and stays kneeling for the entirety of his very long, very sincere apology-on-behalf-of-the-fire-nation speech. he nearly loses his toes to frostbite after that, and both sokka and katara never stop giving him shit for it

the first time he grows a 'beard' is completely accidental. he's stressed over some trade miscommunications with chief hakoda, hasn't slept in a few days...and then when sokka arrives as water tribe ambassador to help smooth things over, he takes one look at zuko and says 'man, facial hair does not suit you'

zuko: facial what now

he checks a mirror to find that he's got stubble covering his chin, dark enough that it almost looks intentional, and holy gods how the fuck did he not notice this before

'UNCLE WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME' 'i assumed you were doing it on purpose' 'WHEN HAVE I EVER DONE ANYTHING ON PURPOSE'

he shaves it all off immediately, of course, which prompts a lot of teasing and rib-poking from sokka until zuko finally snaps that he's scared it'll make him look like his father. sokka stops after that.

(the day after sokka leaves, zuko finds that a mysterious someone has scribbled all over ozai's royal portrait, giving him a frankly ridiculous beard and moustache that literally CANNOT be grown in real life. oddly enough, he can't bring himself to care about the defamation of royal property. he's too busy laughing.)

his paths cross with toph and sokka more than any of the others, because sokka is ambassador and toph is technically still a beifong. most of the time, at formal functions, he ends up sequestered in the corner with toph and a hoard of snacks, and they talk and swear much more than they usually do (zuko's ministers once heard him when he was drunk with toph, and the servants swear the older ministers' ears started bleeding)

he restores fire nation cultural festivals, and in doing so subjects himself to learning a lot of complicated dances

during one memorable week, he wrote so many letters and drafted so much legislation that he ran out of paper. he had to go visit the nearest school and ask for some

he keeps up with his firebending and sword training even though it's hard to fit into his schedule. his ministers refrain from reminding him that he has guards to protect him now; it's still hard for zuko to trust his safety with anyone but himself (team avatar is the exception).

he started sleepwalking about two months into his reign. no one knew why. one time, he nearly sleepwalked right off the edge of a balcony, and one of his guards had to grab him by the back of his robes.

the sleepwalking stopped after around a month and never happened again. at this point it's practically palace legend.

after freeing the war prisoners, he went around collecting every single earthbender-proof wooden cell he could find in the capital and surrounding areas. when he'd gotten most of them, he gathered them into a huge pile in the city square and set fire to them with his own hands.

unfortunately he couldn't do that with the waterbender metal cells but he did get toph to come in and bend them all into pretty shapes (well, toph thought they were pretty shapes. everyone else thinks they're meaningless squiggles)

he learned how to write with both hands at the same time out of sheer necessity (he refused scribes until it became clear that he'd be putting some people out of a job; that was when he started letting scribes write very, very minor things, but all important documents/drafts/letters are still written by him)

he once put the wet end of an ink brush in his mouth instead of the wooden end by mistake. didn't even realise until he bit down to keep it in place and ink went oozing everywhere

when his guards rushed in to find him coughing and spluttering black liquid all over his desk they thought he'd been poisoned but no he's just stupid

on his 17th birthday, his first one after being crowned, he got tackled by team avatar in the middle of the ballroom and ended up at the bottom of a cuddlepile for like ten minutes

this cuddlepile happened at an event that was very much public and very much formal. it was a scandal for weeks

just. fire lord zuko, guys. so much potential

#holy cow this ended up so much longer than i intended #atla #avatar #zuko #firelord zuko #headcanons

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stratuscloudsurfer · 2 years

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So, came up with a little angsty scenario for the kid!Emmet AU. (It's a little longer than I intended, sorry).

Imagine Kamado, who STILL doesn't trust Emmet, decides to try and take matters into his own hands (because he kinda would given what mochi man said about his history of keeping his people safe from all harm no matter the cost)(and Emmet being far too powerful and intelligent for a 10 year old would set off huge red flags to him).

Emmet is in the Galaxy headquarters (Ingo is there with Irida for whatever reason) and Kamado seeing the opportunity walks up to him and goes 'Look I don't like you, you know this, but I am in a spot of trouble, if you could help I would appreciate it.'

Now Emmet doesn't like Kamado but he does want to prove he's worthy of being in Hisui and the Pearl Clan so he agrees.

Kamado instructs Emmet to gather sand radishes in the Alabastor Icelands for some important recipes, a quick and easy task, and says he would inform Ingo of his whereabouts since he was busy.

Emmet agrees and sets off determined to prove himself, but he doesn't know Kamada is very aware of a big impending blizzard that will blow in right in the middle of his gathering and catch him by surprise.

It takes far too long for the meeting to finish up and at the end Ingo wonders where Emmet went off to. A guard, who overheard what Kamado said informs him of what happened.

Ingo is livid because he knows about the storm as well and suspects what Kamado was trying to do. He represses a feral instinct to strangle the commander and instead sets out to the icelands to find Emmet.

Long story short, he eventually finds Emmet nearly frozen but alive in the snow (the radishes at the side and his pokemon desperately trying to keep him warm in the subzero wind) and takes him back to safety.

The following days result in Emmet having a dangerously high fever and Ingo being on a absolute warpath.

Ingo storms into Kamado's office, Irida at his heels trying to calm him down, and absolutely rips into him about what he's done. Kamado claims that he was not aware of the blizzard before he instructed Emmet to go and profusely apologizes, saying if he had known he would not send a child to do the task. (Irida's wary but buys it hook, line, and sinker. Ingo knows it's a BS excuse to save face, but unfortunately Ingo can't prove he's wrong without making a stir.)

Emmet pulls though eventually (with some scary close calls and Ingo's poor heart nearly collapsing in the process) and Ingo makes sure Kamado knows to never hurt his little brother ever again or he will not live another second.

Holy cow Anon this is an absolutely evil and gut-wrenching scenario and I LOVE it and the way you wrote it.

I wrote an alternate ending for this because... well I don’t think Ingo would be nearly so collected in this situation.

( TW: violence, injury... TL;DR Ingo punches Kamado in the face. I’d skip this one if you’re a Kamado fan. Put it all under the cut )

Ingo is usually loud when he’s angry, he yells and rants. But if Ingo gets angry enough, he’ll go dangerously quiet. This happens very, very rarely, but usually it is a good idea to not be around him when it does.

But after Kamado almost gets Emmet killed, Ingo has never been more furious in his entire life. He’s so angry that he can hardly think, much less speak. He has just handed off little Emmet to a very frantic Pesselle. He stands there for a moment before turning and heading to the stairs. Irida exchanges nervous looks with Adaman, Gaeric, and Melli ( who happen to be around at the time ) and gently asks Ingo if he’s okay, but he doesn’t respond, and this is when Irida knows that something’s wrong. He doesn’t say a word as heads in the direction of Kamado’s office, but the anger rolls off of him in palpable waves, and Irida can barely keep up with him as he stomps from the infirmary to the third-floor of the Galaxy building. She is begging him to stop and think for a second, to be reasonable, but he can’t hear her over the rage that floods his brain. As far as Ingo is concerned, the “reasonable” train left the station back in the Alabaster Icelands where he found his brother half frozen to death, and hasn’t returned since.

The door is closed and he bangs on it with enough force for the sound to reverberate through the entire building. When Kamado opens it Ingo doesn’t even give him the chance to open his mouth before he throws a fist at his face.

The next thing he knows the Commander is flat on his back, his nose bleeding. Ingo’s hand is stinging with pain but he hardly notices it as he starts towards him again. This time, someone--or several someones--are holding him back. It takes the combined effort of Gaeric, Melli, and Adaman to drag him out of Kamado’s office.

The three of them wrangle Ingo back into his house and basically hold him there until he cools off. This takes several hours, and it isn’t an easy job to keep him contained. He keeps trying to leave and Gaeric keeps shoving him back from the door. Eventually he stops trying and takes his fury out on every breakable object in the house instead. By the time he’s done he doesn’t have a single plate left, not that he had many to begin with, and the kitchen looks like a tornado has blown through.

Finally, he calms down enough to communicate in words again. By this time it is well into the night and Ingo has been separated from his brother and the Galaxy Headquarters for far too long. The first question he asks Melli is, “How is Emmet?” and Melli, surprised to hear his voice, although its not like he hasn’t heard it before, answers that he’s fine, but that Ingo is in major trouble.

“What were you thinking, taking a swing at Kamado like that?” he asks him. “I mean don’t get me wrong, it was awesome and hilarious and you’ve got a seriously impressive right hook, but you’re in deep shit now.”

Its only then that Ingo really stops to think about what he’s done. Did he really punch Commander Kamado? He wonders what he was thinking, but can only come to the conclusion that he wasn’t thinking at all. He can’t even remember making the conscious decision to do what he did. In fact, he can’t remember much of the previous five hours at all. He looks around him and notices the complete mess he’s made for the first time. Immediately, he mumbles an apology to Melli and gets to work on cleaning everything up. Melli helps, commenting on the poor, innocent dishes and how they did absolutely nothing to Ingo as he does.

The following morning Ingo is called into a meeting at the Commander’s office. He’s resigned himself to being “fired” from his job as a warden and probably kicked out of Jubilife Village, too, but he can’t really bring himself to feel apologetic about what he’s done. When he gets there, Kamado is standing behind his desk looking as intimidating as ever, although he looks a little less so with the large white bandage across his nose.

He doesn’t ask Ingo to sit because “I’m going to make this quick, and I doubt you will, anyway.” Ingo expects the next words out of his mouth to be something along the lines of “get out of my Village and never come back” but Kamado surprises him.

“I can see that you’re serious about making me regret doing anything you perceive as threatening towards young Emmet.”

“I am,” Ingo assures him.

“I can admit that I didn’t take your threat seriously at first. That was my mistake.”

“It was.”

“I know it was wrong of me to ask Emmet to do what I asked of him. It was stupid and irresponsible of me. For that, I am sorry.” he pauses a second, as if expecting Ingo to say something at this moment, perhaps even to accept his apology, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lets the silence hang uncomfortably in the air until the Commander fills it. “I’m willing to look past your... temporary lapse in judgement if you can promise me that it won’t happen again.”

At this Ingo forces his lips up into a smile that he can tell looks just as chilling and unnatural as it feels by the look on Kamado’s face.

“As long as you don’t try to kill my brother again, I don’t anticipate having any more ‘lapses in judgement.’ But that’s really up to you, isn’t it, Commander?”

Kamado stares at him for several long moments before finally caving. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he concedes. Then: “Get out of my office, Warden.”

Ingo never has a problem with Kamado again.

#ask #answer #this is some good shit anon #submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #au #kid emmet #tw: injury #tw: violence #tw: blood #only a little tho #ingo is very very very very very very #very very very mad #kamado bashing #don't read if you like kamado #sorry to all the kamado fans #i personally can't stand the guy

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ninjastormhawkkat · 2 years

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Mousegirl Au

This au is a combination of @wordgirlchronicles braingirl au, my version of the Becky Boxleitner au, and a little inspiration from @skitl’s dadbrains au. This au has some light fluff, but it is mostly hurt/comfort and a lot of angst that involves regret, guilt, dealing with sudden changes, trauma, and a whole loooong road to recovery from that.

Background: If any of you had read or heard about the braingirl au or read my post about the “most emotional au I have ever heard of”, than you understand or have a gist of what this au is. For those of you who don’t, the braingirl au was created originally by wordgirlchronicles and it is basically a what if when during the accident, Wordgirl fused with Squeaky instead of Steven and became a cheese-loving super villain. I have mentioned in a previous post about this au where I tried imagining the braingirl au in the becky boxleitner universe and wound up making them more emotional then intended. For this au I did it purposefully😈. I also chose to follow the same path skitl’s did for his dadbrains au and have Steven already know that his daughter is Wordgirl.

The au story: For the experiment, Becky was checking on her dad instead of going to art class because it got cancelled for some reason. Becky walks into her dad’s lab and sees Squeaky about to press the “Holy Cow! Don’t Press” button just as Steven walks in with his pastrami sandwich. Becky pushes her dad out of the way but gets caught in the fusion power surge. This is where I deviate things. Instead of Becky being fused with Squeaky’s brain, she is fused with mouse characteristics. My reasoning for this is that Squeaky’s animal, earthling brain, was not compatible with Becky’s alien brain waves and genetic structure. (I kinda think this is why Becky had a little more willpower to defy Squeaky, in the brain swap episode, due to highly opposing brain waves that had difficulty meshing together because of difference in species.) So basically Squeaky dies in the fusion and Becky ends up with most of Squeaky’s mouse features (and also unconscious because who wouldn’t be knocked out for a while after an experiment accident like that). Steven and Bob come around more quickly and are immediately deep panic mode. Steven is more so freaking out because his daughter is part mouse now and unconscious and it was his fault. Bob is a little more calmer and tries to help Steven calm down and get Becky help. They rush her to a hospital and it just a huge circus of a mess in the aftermath.

Becky: I kinda picture Becky’s now mousy appearance similar to skitl’s design of Dr. Two Brains with a few changes. 1. Becky’s hair is a bit longer, usually wrapped in a ponytail now. (She doesn’t ditch the headband, but doesn’t wear it a lot.) Her hair color is a swirl, pattern mixture of her original hair color plus white. She has red/pink eyes, mouse whiskers and a mouse tail although it matches her light/brown (kept that) skin color. Her teeth are a bit more mousier but also sharper due to her alien heritage. she has a mix of mouse fur (light brown mostly) on her hands to mid section of lower arms and feet to mid section of lower leg. She wears a hoodie and sweaters most of the time at the beginning because she felt uncomfortable with her new appearance at first. Her hoodies, (which she started like wearing because they were really soft) are green like her canon sweaters. She wears her canon clothes in this au with the exception of having higher socks to cover her mouse fur and green or red fingerless gloves. Becky’s hands and feet are a bit more mousy in appearance, but not bad enough that people won’t notice her hands when she wears the gloves. (She has cute mouse toe beans and pads in this au and I do not care if real mice have toe pads and beans or not!)

Personality wise pretty much the same, she may be a bit more sarcastic and rude at times (will apologize), but that is because she was fused with a vicious mouse with an obsession for cheese. She does act a little more aggressive in her battles but not Miss Power bad. She does get a little more impatient and aggravated a little easier but her friends and family help her calm down. Becky is not compelled to steal cheese but if she ever smells it, she has strong urges to devour it and it is difficult for people to hold her back from doing so. (Can you imagine holding back a super-powered being when you are a non-powered individual.) On the bright side, it is easier to cover for Becky’s super speed when people question how Becky is able to eat cheese so fast. At first Becky was naturally upset at how she looked and was afraid people might treat her differently, such as being afraid or mean to her. Luckily her friends and family don’t treat her differently and try their best to help accommodate her to the new changes. Becky doesn’t blame her dad and knows it was an accident. At the beginning she does express upset and discomfort with how she looks and acts now, but overtime she comes to accept and deal with her new quirks. (She has therapeutic character growth over the series.) Wordgirl’s outfit changes to help hide Becky’s mouse features. These include a visor (either yellow, orange, or light red; something to fit with her outfit’s color scheme) which hider her now red/pink eyes. She has a red bandana that she wears that cover her mouse whiskers. (Try to imagine Randy Cunningham’s ninja mask and Wordgirl’s facial appearance is like that, people can only see her eyes covered by her visor.) Her helmet and outfit is altered by Steven to help hide her mousy features (tail and ears) without causing Becky any discomfort by hiding them within clothing. Everything else about her outfit is the same as canon. Becky’s mouse abilities help enhance her powers a little bit; ex. super speed and hearing. She also gains new powers based on her mouse genes such as increased sense of smell.

She is still friends with Violet and Scoops. (Violet will stand by Becky no matter how she looks.) Violet gets to enjoy braiding and brushing Becky’s hair, and Becky finds this gentle and soothing. Unfortunately as she is part mouse, Becky has developed a fear of cats. She does not react badly as Dr. Two Brains, but she will flinch or freeze in fear if she sees or hears one. Violet does not bring her pet cat to Becky’s house anymore out of respect towards her friends new fears. If and when Becky comes to Violet’s (the episode where Becky tries to express her discomfort with Violet’s house traditions and rules still happens in this au), Violet or her mom will put Priscilla away so Violet and Becky will play comfortably. Priscilla is left more at Violet’s home often in this au and will not usually come along with her unless she has no choice but the take Violet with her. (Idk her reasoning for having to have the cat with her, but it will rarely happen.) In those cases, Becky will still try to remain calm, but will keep a certain distance away from the cat. Scoops in this au is pretty much the same as canon. He still treats Becky as his friend despite her new changes. (I may or may not have changes in mind for the Vocabulary Bee episode in regards to Scoops suspecting her secret identity. I’m still debating on that.) Both Violet and Scoops do their best to accommodate with Becky’s new changes such as food, activity, health, etc. Speaking of accommodations, I will now get to Steven and the angsty portion of this au.

Steven Boxleitner: To be honest and upfront, I am NOT completely kind to Steven in this au. He deals with a lot of emotional trauma, guilt, anger, and regret over what happened to his daughter. Even though everyone tells him it was an accident and that he made an unintentional mistake, Steven still blames himself for what happened to Becky and it changes his character in this au. Steven still acts like a loving and caring dad toward Becky and will behave nice and civil towards Becky’s friends and their parents, but that is the extent of Steven’s old personality. In this au, he behaves more like canon Dr. Two Brains, but without the evil aspects. He is sarcastic, more serious, purposefully acts more focused and less oblivious when in public. He is now a tired, grumpy, coffee dad. Steven purposefully changes his character because he blames his old lifestyle and attitude for putting Becky in her new mousy/alien body and not paying attention to when Squeaky was about to press the dangerous button. It takes a while for Steven to even eat a pastrami sandwich again. He is even now not as enthusiastic about food as he was in the past. His main focus now is taking care of his daughter, his work as a researcher, and spending as much time as he can to finding a cure for Becky. Steven takes a looong time to heal from the accident, a lot slower character growth then Becky. His colleagues and friends express their worry toward Steven but he usually ignores their advice unless they are talking with him about work matters. Becky is aware how much her dad has changed and understands it is tied to how he feels about the incident. Becky tries to help her dad when she sees him act like this, such as comforting and trying to talk to him about what happened. Steven usually dismisses it and gives Becky a faux pretense saying he is fine and she doesn’t have to worry about him when he is not entirely alright. They do have little chats from now and then about what happened, especially when Steven accidentally calls Becky Squeaky when reprimanding her when she acts out based on her mouse half. (Look back at her personality.) A lot of angst and tears comes out when talks like that happen. Steven has a tough time trying to cope with things, he is trying, it’s just difficult when he purposefully puts a heavy burden on himself.

Grocery Store Manager: Wow! You seem like a dark and gloomy person sir.

Steven: I am a single father trying to raise a half mouse daughter who is dealing with new changes caused by my carelessness while not trying to worry about when Social Services will get called on me on top of having to work at finding a cure for my child in a city full of super villains that attack anytime they feel like it. Being cynical is my coping mechanism.

Steven has kinda pulled out of doing recreational activities, unless Becky wants to do them and even then he acts more like a parental supervisor. It takes a little convincing for Steven to do fun things again (singing competition still happens). Steven has made a lot of changes to Becky’s health needs as he now has to worry about items and foods that could be poisonous and dangerous to Becky because of her new mouse DNA. Thanks to her alien DNA, Becky cant still eat most of her normal foods and do some activities that are not a hinderance to her mouse side. Yet some foods such chocolates and products that contain chemicals that are bad for mice are strictly banned from Becky. (She doesn’t enjoy this change as 1. kids and sweets are a common thing for childhood unless allergies are involved. 2. This means vet trips on top of doctor’s appointments.) Steven does make mouse-friendly health products along with buying some from the store that can also work with alien DNA. He does get a little more protective of Becky. ex. giving death glares at anyone who looks at Becky weirdly (making her uncomfortable) or whisper why she looks like that (which she can pick up by her super hearing). So yeah, Steven is not a happy camper in this au. Everybody just tries to cope with trauma.

I will get to the henchmen, Miss Powers, the Botsfords, and who will replace Dr. Two Brains in this au later

#wordgirl #wordgirl au #mousegirl au #becky boxleitner au #steven boxleitner #angst au #steven needs a hug #and therapy if he wasn't consumed by his guilt #Becky gets help #she wants her dad to get help as well

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themusicview · 2 years

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We woke up one morning and fell a little further down - a Godspeed You! Black Emperor retrospective - Pt. 7: Luciferian Towers

Here’s the thing about this moment in Godspeed’s history. By this point the fanbase was comfortable with, maybe even expecting, the band’s opaqueness. They said little to the press, and what they did mention was cryptic, there was no website you could visit, no pre-announcement of their new works.

So when Godspeed released a full manifesto with their next album, you could say we were taken by surprise.

As such, the primary emotion of this LP is anger: white hot, blistering, sharp anger. It is Godspeed saying, “We can no longer afford to be cryptic, so let us be blunt.” I can think of no more blunt a statement than the bullet pointed conclusion of their manifesto.

the “luciferian towers” L.P. was informed by the following grand demands:

+ an end to foreign invasions

+ an end to borders

+ the total dismantling of the prison-industrial complex

+ healthcare, housing, food and water acknowledged as an inalienable human right

+ the expert fuckers who broke this world never get to speak again

This being said, let’s dissect their musical manifesto and see what exactly this album is like. The band’s own descriptions will be followed by my own.

UNDOING A LUCIFERIAN TOWERS – look at that fucking skyline! big lazy money writ in dull marble obelisks! imagine all those buildings much later on, hollowed out and stripped bare of wires and glass, listen- the wind is whistling through all 3,000 of its burning window-holes!

Borrowing from the tradition of Yanqui UXO, the album begins with a drone. It’s a lighter drone than the black darkness of their earlier efforts, but it is a drone none the less. If anything, this track feels like an overture, the rising curtain to a grand spectacle show. Militaristic drums and violin hymnal melodies explode at the end. All in all, it begins the album well enough.

BOSSES HANG – labor, alienated from the wealth it creates, so that holy cow, most of us live precariously! kicking at it, but barely hanging on! also – the proud illuminations of our shortened lives! also – more of us than them! also – what we need now is shovels, wells, and barricades!

This is part one of the thesis statement for the album. It is a cinematic track, but one that feels more like a short film compared to LYSF’s feature length picture. In it, well, the worker becomes tired, and rises up against his master. It is a revolution of feeling and crescendos. This is the most soundtrack like Godspeed have gotten so far. The track is less coherent and build like than anything else in their discography, but still communicates their intended message well enough.

FAM / FAMINE – how they kill us = absentee landlord, burning high-rise. the loud panics of child-policemen and their exploding trigger-hands. with the dull edge of an arbitrary meritocracy. neglect, cancer maps, drone strike, famine. the forest is burning and soon they’ll hunt us like wolves.

In revolution, especially revolution lead by the left, power rarely is taken all at once or with any degree of long term stability during the revolution. Often, the result of revolt, especially in the short term, is chaos for all involved. This chaos is reflected in this track. It’s easy to see that this track is disorganized and a little bit disjointed. However, given the images that accompany this track, the immediate counter attack from the government that we are attempting to overthrow, it is a fitting one. We are dodging the bullets, retaliating where we can, eking out an existence in the rubble and the burning wreckage of the new order, attempting to find safety in the rubble and the wreckage. And yet, there is hope, the hymnal melody from the Undoing a Luciferian Towers is present here, under all the chaos. This is difficult, but it will not be the grave for the revolution.

ANTHEM FOR NO STATE – kanada, emptied of its minerals and dirty oil. emptied of its trees and water. a crippled thing, drowning in a puddle, covered in ants. the ocean doesn’t give a shit because it knows it’s dying too.

True peace at last, but at what cost. Here, we mourn the passing of our comfortable lives, but at the same time, we look for the world to come. However long it lasts. The effects of capitalism will linger on for a long time, perhaps for the rest of our species’ allotted time on this planet, but it’s OK. We are finally beginning to pay back the debt that has been accrued. There is love at last, there is peace at last, now that the world is out of the hands of the people who broke it. The people come out of their homes, and work to create the new world. The music builds to a thunderous crescendo. It’s hard work, but it is glorious. Finally, we are free to make a decent world.

Godspeed have always been cinematic as a band, but on this album, that cinema feels tightly controlled and intentional in a way that was not present on earlier releases. This is Godspeed with purpose. Their moment has arrived. This is them rebelling against a system that is broken and terrible, and, at long last, giving us a blueprint to a better tomorrow. On their next album, they would give us a bit of comfort to get us through the long fight.

#themusicview #review #music #godspeed you! black emperor #post rock #undoing a luciferian towers #lift your skinny fists like antennas to heaven

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Chapter 6

In which things get squishy, and a bit longer than usual, pun intended as much or as little as you like. Hope this scratches a bit of the Frans itch, @lostmypotatoes!

Also, I have a very weak punning reflex and had to Google sleep puns, but one of the ones I ended up using here made me laugh so hard that I scared my cat awake. Chapter be here!

Two days later, the royal sorcerer walked slowly down the hallway to the High Priestess' quarters, deep in thought. Before he rounded the last corner, he used a hand to pull out a mirror and check his reflection, and then approached the guard outside the double doors. "How are they this evening?" asked Dr. Serif.

The guard saluted. "Very well, sir," he replied. "There's little to report, except that she's had far more correspondence than usual. The...gentleman took her elsewhere in his usual fashion after dinner, and they returned about twenty minutes ago."

The doctor half-smiled. "His magic is fully functional, then?"

"Yes, sir, but I believe they spend most of their time studying. It's been very quiet and—"

From inside the room came a massive thud, a bellow of laughter, and Frisk's voice raised in shrieking indignation. "Peaceful," the guard mumbled.

Dr. Serif sighed. Rather than summon a hand to raise the bar again, he rapped on the doors.

A full twenty seconds later, the priestess answered, pink in the face. "Good evening, Doctor," she said, sending a death glare over her shoulder as Sans kept snickering. "Please come in."

The cause of the ruckus turned out to be an upturned chessboard in the middle of the worktable, pieces scattered across the carpet and the red queen sitting in the basket on the hearth. "It's a lovely evening to spend cheating," Frisk snapped.

"I don't..." Sans could barely breathe. "I dunno what yer talkin' about, everyone knows...chess pieces like ta pawn themselves off as somethin' else!"

Frisk gave another snrrrk before she could stop herself. "Well, I hope chess pieces like fire, because that's what they'll get the next time I catch you swapping your queen around when I'm finally about to win!" She stabbed a finger at the chessboard. "Now clean up this mess!"

"Why me? Yer the one who threw a fit n'—"

"Children, please." They stopped guiltily as the royal sorcerer picked his way across the floor and seated himself at the worktable. Sans raised a hand, and the chessboard flipped right side up, all the pieces collecting themselves from around the room and landing neatly on their own squares. "I apologize for my absence this morning," said Dr. Serif. "With the Feast imminent, I've had to rush to finish several projects." He pulled two small boxes from his robe, handing one to Frisk and tossing the other to Sans. "Here is another emergency use of Sans' teleportation magic, my lady. I took the liberty of setting it in a piece that will be aesthetically fitting."

Frisk peeked in the box. "Goodness," she said, surprised. "This is beautiful! Thank you, Dr. Serif."

"When are you gonna stop passin' my stuff out like candy?" growled the boss monster.

"You're welcome, Your Eminence," the doctor said over him. "I apologize, but I would like to speak to Sans privately. Would you kindly deprive us of your presence for about ten minutes?"

"Certainly." Frisk took the box and headed to her dressing room. "I may as well lay out my things for tomorrow. Thank you again, Doctor."

The royal sorcerer nodded graciously. The moment her door closed, he plucked at his neck, human facade dissolving into bone. Before Sans could speak, Gaster said crisply, "I have very specific instructions for you. Bring your device into the bathroom. Lock the door. Turn your back to the mirror. Put the device around your neck. Look down at yourself and do not make any noise or otherwise overreact to what you see. Do not touch any part of your body except to remove the device. Do not leave the bathroom until you have removed the device. If any of these things are not possible, skip the remaining steps and remove the device. Do you have any questions?"

Sans opened his box and scowled at the short, neatly coiled chain therein. "Why's it smaller than yours?"

"I meant any good questions. If not, then do as I say."

The boss monster stared at Gaster. Gaster stared back. With an almighty sigh, Sans got up and went into the bathroom, shutting the door and clicking the locks into place.

Gaster glanced at the dressing room. He turned around, selected a few letters from the basket, and began unfolding and reading them, tugging on the chain to resume his human guise.

The air in the High Priestess' workroom was cool and still, smelling of sharp herbs and citrus; the only sound was Frisk humming to herself through the door. The royal sorcerer picked up the next letter, papers rustling gently.

He did not move, except to close his eyes and sigh, when the peace was shattered by a roar of "Whathefuckisthi" that, to Sans' credit, lasted only a moment before he stopped himself.

"It's all right," the royal sorcerer assured Frisk as she flew out of the dressing room. "Please, High Priestess, calm yourself. I've prepared something for Sans to use tomorrow, and he has done exactly as I said not to do with it. He's a little alarmed, but otherwise fine."

Frisk nodded apprehensively, and obeyed his motion to go back to her dressing room, with many worried looks at the bathroom.

Sans emerged two minutes later, sockets wide and pinpricks showing. "What the—"

"Not only did I warn you, boy, I told you specifically how to avoid what just happened! You've alarmed Frisk and done my ears permanent damage, for which I do not thank you. If I were to give you further instructions for tomorrow, would you pay them any better attention? Or would you prefer to put her life in even greater danger than it already is?"

Needless to say, when Frisk came out, Sans was listening intently as Dr. Serif spoke in low, rapid, urgent tones. The priestess approached, cocking her head, and the doctor nodded to her. "That is what we will likely have to do," he said to Sans, loud enough for her to hear. "I will speak with the captain of the guard and His Holiness to ensure we will not surprise each other. What time will you be at the chapel tomorrow morning, my lady?"

"The service starts at eight o'clock, and I plan to be there half an hour early." Frisk sighed. "I'll probably be awake by five, so if you need anything, I'll be here until about five-thirty."

The doctor folded his hands. "Oh? Why so early?"

Frisk smiled self-consciously. "I agreed to have tea with Lord Owen before the celebration. He asked several months ago, and I haven't seen him since, so..."

"Owen," said Sans. He was scowling mightily, tapping his phalanges on the tabletop. "Wasn't that yer friend's name?"

"Yes, actually. Luke is Mathilda's older brother—I met him when their family visited St. Brigid's." Frisk couldn't keep from glancing at the hearthside basket, and noticed one of the open letters on the table. She gave Dr. Serif a pointed look, picked up the papers, and tossed them back into the basket. "Don't worry, Sans, you can sleep in. I'll be back here by seven o'clock," she said.

He quirked an eye socket at her. "Very funny, kiddo. You're not goin' anywhere tomorrow without me."

"Indeed, my lady," said the doctor. "It's purely a visit between old friends. You have plenty of time to make up your mind whether to arrange a more serious meeting in the future, and in the meantime, safety is more important than etiquette." He abruptly stood and gave them a short bow. "Forgive me for visiting so late. I'll leave you both to your sleep. Remember what we discussed, Sans, and get plenty of rest, my lady. Good night." And before either of them could say anything else, he was gone.

Frisk didn't get plenty of rest, as it turned out. She had finally dismantled her pillow fort that morning, but after their "slumber parties," as Sans termed it, she found the office colder and darker than usual. It was hard to relax without her gigantic apprentice between her and the door; somehow, she even missed him pestering her with "What'd th' mama cow tell her calf at night? 'It's pasture bedtime'" or "If I can't sleep, I hafta eat somethin'. It's a condition called insom-nom-nom-nia" when she was trying to fall asleep. Maybe she shouldn't have insisted on coming back here instead of taking the bed and letting him stretch out in the workroom like he'd wanted. That way, even if they couldn't talk, he'd still be right outside the door.

Did Luke like puns? She couldn't remember. She would probably feel safe with him, though; the last time he'd visited, she had already been surprised at how tall and muscular he'd grown. If that wasn't enough for her peace of mind, they could afford all the guards she wanted, and everything else would be perfect. True, Sans was good company, but he wasn't exactly life-partner material...it wasn't as if he even had a—

Frisk banged her head against the arm of the couch. She had gone so long without thinking that thought right out loud! She'd been doing such a good job! Why now?

...But, if he could use magic to give himself a tongue, why not any other form of soft tissue? And another thing: without lips, did skeletons kiss by bonking their teeth together, or—

No! Stop it! Stop it right now! she screamed at herself. Think about having to sing tomorrow! Being murdered! Literally anything else!

.........How did skeletons combine their magic to reproduce, anyway? Sans had made it sound like an internal process requiring a male and a female, the same as humans, but without the usual mushy male or female parts, how—

NO! It's just magic! Go to sleep, you pathetic, sick-minded degenerate!

Thus, many layers of frustration stood between her and her rest, which came only a few hours before the cuckoo clock she'd barely remembered to set woke her at five a.m. Frisk bleared her way across the workroom, whacking her arm on a corner of the table in passing, and had to stand around squinting for an eternity before her eyes adjusted to the dressing room's soft light.

It was too early for her ceremonial dress, so the priestess changed into a modest dove-gray gown and picked out a pearl-drop pendant, a little pearl bracelet, and matching earrings. The first two went on easily enough, but after poking her earlobes in groggy frustration for a few minutes, she gave up, carried them out to the workroom, and knocked on the bedroom door. "Rise and shine," she croaked, and continued to the bathroom for some water, not bothering to close the door behind her.

To Frisk's surprise, Sans came out in less than a minute. The young woman glanced up from the vanity, head still bent and earring in hand. "Good morning. I'll be ready in a moment." She concentrated fiercely on her reflection, leaning in for another round of futile jabbing. Her hand was shaky with exhaustion, and she had a feeling that it just wasn't going to happen. But she already had one in! What was she going to—

Bones clicked as the skeleton sat on the floor beside her. "Geez. Gimme that," he said, sounding...exasperated, but something else, too. Frisk was too startled to think about it, or to protest as he took the earring from her with a speck of magic and used two fingers to tip her head up and sideways, gentle as always. He never touched her with any more force than necessary, she thought, at least after that first encounter in his prison cell; even when the assassin was after her and Sans was physically maneuvering her to safety, he had been careful not to hurt her. It was incredibly endearing.

Actually, given her principal source of frustration from thinking of skeleton parts and looking forward to conjugal relations, it was better – worse? – than that. Frisk twitched as the earring slid in and the tiny back-piece wriggled into place, and Sans looked concerned. "Don' tell me that hurt."

"No, it didn't, thank you," she said quickly, reaching up to check. It was perfect, secure but not too tight. If she could just stop blushing... "Um. Thank you." She jammed her hands into her hair and began untangling it as fast as she could. "One minute, I just have to get this sorted out."

Sans watched the proceedings, and her occasional facial contortions, as if she was an exotic animal performing some strange function unknown to science. "What's wrong? I thought hair didn't have any feelin' in it."

"It's attached to my scalp, and the human scalp ow is extremely sensitive. The problem is that I haven't brushed it properly in a couple of days." The priestess grabbed a comb from the vanity drawer, opened a jar, dunked the comb in it, and began pulling through the bigger tangles. "This nngh will help. I should've washed it last night, but I had too many letters to send out." Something in Sans' expression made her add, "I haven't even touched any of the proposals."

He stayed silent as she finished with the comb, patted her now-flatter hair, and dug through another drawer for makeup. A touch of eyeshadow, a dab of lip gloss, one more jar of goop for the bags under her eyes, and she was done. Frisk put everything away, washed her hands, and stood up, moving around the giant bones in her way. "Shoes," she muttered, mostly to remind herself.

Sans didn't get up till she re-emerged and said, "All right, I'm ready. Could you take us to the terrace, please? Lord Owen doesn't live far from there."

"Yeah, sure." He looked her over critically. "You forget yer veil thing."

Frisk hadn't expected any compliments, as such, and she wasn't very dressed up, but was tired enough to still be annoyed. "I don't need it today. Don't ask why, because all I know is that we do things differently on holy days." She held out her hand. "Terrace, please."

He grunted. Frisk braced herself, and when the now-usual swooshing sensation came to an abrupt stop, she was pleased to find she was only a little dizzy. They were in the hallway outside the terrace that they'd visited after dinner; the priestess led him further down past the kitchens, heading into the nobles' wing of the palace. "I haven't been up here in a while," she said over her shoulder. "I may have to ask for directions when we get closer."

"Goody," mumbled Sans.

Frisk sighed. "Let's be very clear, Sans. I don't expect you to fawn all over Lord Owen. In fact, if you're too cranky to be civil, please don't talk to him any more than necessary. I didn't want to drag you here in the first place, and I don't want to spend the whole visit worrying about your behavior. All right?"

"...A'right."

She'd have to be satisfied with that. Luckily, at least one problem was solved for her: as they ascended another staircase and came to a branching hallway, Frisk stopped for a moment to try to remember which way to go, only to be approached by a maid who curtseyed and asked, "Your Eminence? My lord bids you good morning. Please come this way."

They followed her to a suite of rooms as big as a couple of houses put together, decorated in white and gold and general wealth, until they reached the parlor. The maid shut the door behind them as a handsome young man rose from a couch ahd held his hands out to Frisk. "My lady?" Lord Owen smiled at Frisk, who found it easy to smile back. "How wonderful to see you again!" He pressed his lips to her fingers, then clasped her hand. "I hope you have been well, Frisk. You're even lovelier than I remembered! I didn't think it possible."

Frisk laughed. "Thank you, Luke. It's been far too long." She turned to see Sans watching them intently, and reclaimed her hand to indicate the skeleton. "Forgive my rudeness, my lord, but I've brought a guest. This is my apprentice, Sans. Sans, please meet Lord Owen."

Sans bobbed his head. "Lord Owen."

When Sans made no move to hold out his hand, the lord bowed to him. "The pleasure is mine, sir. It's an honor to make your acquaintance. Please, have a seat." He hurried to push the couch closer to a little table laden with pastries and tea things, fetching a smaller chair for himself.

The priestess allowed the lord to bow her into another chair by the table, and reflected that her memory had been accurate; Luke was over six feet tall, with fair hair and blue eyes that reminded her of Mathilda. He waited till they were both settled, then pulled up his chair and began pouring tea, bringing an extra cup out from somewhere. "How do you take yours, sir?" he asked Sans.

"I don't know," the skeleton said. "Never had any."

As Frisk had hoped, the young lord was too well-bred to laugh or say anything stupid. "Well, then, may I interest you in trying some? This is a very mild variety of milk tea. It goes well with soul cakes—they're delicious, but quite dry on their own."

"They're named for the day, not a monster or human SOUL. It's mostly cinnamon," Frisk said, knowing he'd take the hint to get out his tongue, and trying in vain to avoid more tongue-related thoughts.

Sans lifted one shoulder. "Sure, I like cinnamon okay." He glanced at Frisk, who gave him a quick smile of approval and willed herself not to look in his mouth.

With the tea and cakes distributed, the lord sat back, steepling his fingers. "If anything, Frisk, I am glad you've brought your emissary with you. You've heard that a sizeable tract of farmland near Mt. Ebott will be available in the near future?"

Sans looked up from examining his teacup. Frisk hadn't expected this, and set her own cup down. "I have. Why do you ask, Luke?"

"Because I am the executor of my late uncle's estate, and the land in question was his. It's my responsibility to oversee the proper disposition of one thousand hectacres, and they're located less than a mile from the no-man's-land between our kingdom and the Underground. The fields haven't been tilled for several years, as my uncle neglected it before his death, so it will require some care. However, under proper management, it will be extremely productive in very little time."

"There ain't many big farms near us. Is it the place by the river with all the maple trees?" Sans asked.

"I believe so," the lord replied. "I went there a few times as a boy, and there were several maples on the river. I doubt there are two farms near the Underground matching that description."

"One thousand hectacres," Frisk mused. "That's a little under two thousand and five hundred acres?"

"Two thousand, four hundred seventy, yes."

Frisk shut her eyes. "I've been looking into the matter, and I know for a fact that good cropland goes for an average of four thousand dinar per acre. Rounding up, that means that the asking price of that tract is...roughly ten million?"

Sans nearly spilled his cup, rescuing its contents with his magic a split-second away from the carpet. Lord Owen watched in fascination as the tea arched into the air and splashed neatly back into the cup. "Yes, my lady, that's correct," he said. "We'll probably sell it at that exact price. The soil is excellent, but most people find the location too remote."

The skeleton grimaced. "It'd be great if we could get ahold of it, even with the stuff I'm learnin' about how to improve the land we already got. But there's no way we could afford that, assumin' you'd even sell it t'us."

"No, it's a bad idea for monsters to try to purchase anything from humans at this point, especially for that much money," said Frisk. "We need to make much more social and legal progress before we can be sure that your rights would be respected." She tried a sip of tea. "That's why I will buy it."

"I suspected as much," the lord said as Sans' sockets widened. "I cannot promise anything, of course, but I will send you the name of the broker we've been using, and details on how to contact her discreetly."

"Thank you very much, Luke." Frisk smiled at him.

"Of course, my lady. ...Are you all right, Sans?"

"He's fine. We'll discuss it later," the priestess said meaningfully.

"Splendid. Now, to better things." Lord Owen picked up a small bell on the side table and rang it. When the maid appeared, the lord instructed her, "Fetch Ruby for us."

"Ruby?" Frisk couldn't help sitting up to peer into the next room as the maid rushed off. "Is she the one you brought along on Easter vacation?"

"She is indeed." The lord grinned. "Hold out your hand, please, Frisk."

Frisk smiled, and raised her hand, turning it sideways.

"If I may—" Lord Owen took her wrist and angled her hand upward. "Well done, my lady. It'll just be a moment longer. And if I also may—" He felt her bracelet for the latch and undid it, placing it on the table. "I don't want this to be destroyed. You know how she is," he added, and Frisk nodded ruefully.

Sans was looking extremely grumpy by the time the maid came back. The lord started to speak, and there was a loud rustle and ducking of heads as something large flapped across the room. "Hello, Ruby," the priestess said gaily to the parrot clinging to her wrist. "Do you remember me?"

It was a beautiful bird with a red crown and glossy green body. The parrot squawked amiably at the priestess, then bent down for a head scratch, closing its eyes as she obliged.

"She remembers everything," Lord Owen declared. "Do you still know 'Rose of May'? If you sing the chorus, she'll follow along. It's her favorite."

"Of course!" Frisk stopped scratching, licked her lips – unaware of keen attention from both man and monster – and began whistling a melody that made the bird's head snap up. Instantly, the parrot started singing along in a strange, creaky bird-voice that made Frisk laugh, and thus stop whistling, at which the bird bobbed its head irritably. "I'm sorry! Here," and the priestess mastered herself enough to restart the song.

Lord Owen watched her, and Sans watched him a little, but mostly watched Frisk, who whistled at the parrot until she was out of breath. "The Owens breed red-crowns as a hobby," she said to Sans, placating Ruby with more head skritches. "It helps to keep people from going out to catch wild ones to sell as pets. Mathilda could talk about them for days on end."

"Yeah, seems kinda cruel to keep 'em caged up," commented Sans.

"Indeed it is," the lord said warmly. "We've converted three bedrooms into an arbor, and we keep two full-time servants solely to look after it. The birds are very attached to them." He chuckled. "We're more like aunts and uncles. Our visits are tolerated, but only if we bring treats."

"Oh." The skeleton poked at a soul cake, which looked even tinier in his massive grip. "Doesn't leave your family a lotta room, does it? This place is pretty big, but..."

Frisk burst out laughing as the parrot swung under her hand and dangled by one foot, calling "Oh nooo" in a tragic voice. Thus encouraged, the bird flapped its way upright, looked Frisk in the eye, and immediately swung down again: "Oh noooo!"

"That's very kind of you, sir," Lord Owen said, sounding a little amused, "but we only stay here when we have business in the palace, or for holy days. My parents are at our winter villa with three of my siblings—I'm the oldest of five, and my baby sister just turned six. They all say hello, Frisk, but my father recently allowed some sick travelers to stay the night, and now the whole family's caught it. There's no real danger, but I can't come home yet."

"I'll bet your mother was thrilled," Frisk remarked. "If anyone was ever generous to a fault..."

"Yes, that's Father," the lord admitted.

Sans tossed back his cup of tea and threw a cake in to join it. Frisk noticed him about to speak with his mouth full and asked loudly, "May I use your powder room? Ruby would probably like to go back as well."

The bell was rung again, the parrot was lured back to the maid with a walnut, and Frisk found herself escorted to an opulent little bathroom. Seized with morbid curiosity as to how the two males would fare when left alone, she took her time, though there wasn't much to fuss about with her appearance; she was just happy to be free of the veil for one day.

When Frisk returned to the sitting room, she half expected to see things broken and/or on fire. Perhaps more surprising was the sight of Sans in deep conversation with the lord, the former leaning down far enough on his elbow to talk to the latter on a nearly equal level. "D'you mind?" the skeleton asked Lord Owen, nodding at Frisk.

"Yes, you'd better," the young man said, and sighed. He rose to take Frisk's hand again. "Your guard has informed me that it's time for you to prepare for the All Souls celebration. Please take this with you." On cue, the maid materialized from behind the chair with a huge basket of cakes. "Thank you for coming this morning, dear lady. May I see you again soon?"

"As my schedule allows," she said politely, accepting the basket. "Thank you very much for having us."

"Yep. Nice to meet ya, bye." Sans took Frisk's free hand, and as she started to warn him not to go anywhere yet, the world swooshed by and she was standing outside her rooms.

"Do we have to make a new rule about this?" she asked tartly. "If my life is not in imminent danger, no teleporting until I say so!"

"Yeah, about that." Sans waved the guard aside and banged the doors open and shut. "D'you know a guy named Fernand?" He took the basket from her, set it on the table, and popped a few more cakes in his mouth.

Frisk had to stop for a moment and redirect her train of thought. "Yes, I do. He's an archdeacon, and my oldest half-brother. Why on earth are you asking?"

Sans slapped his leg in triumph, sending crumbs flying. "Ha! He didn't know that. Here, it's after seven already. Go get yer stuff on, but keep the door open so I can tell ya what's goin' on."

This was not the most polite suggestion she'd ever heard, but time was indeed wearing on, and curiosity was already outweighing her sense of dread, so she listened through the cracked door as she undressed.

It seemed that, the moment she left the room, Lord Owen had asked Sans if Her Eminence was all right after the recent attempt on her life. Knowing extremely well that no one should know it had even happened, Sans had played dumb and asked where he'd heard about it.

The lord had had a good explanation: he'd visited his friend Fernand a few days ago and found him completely distraught that someone had attacked the High Priestess in the night; Fernand was apparently concerned that it was a plot against Church officials and he could also be targeted. Lord Owen found it very strange that no one else was talking about any assassination attempts, and when nothing seemed to come of it, he chalked it up to his friend's general strangeness and tendency to get drunk at odd hours; he was ready to dismiss the matter entirely before he thought to check with Sans, who he correctly assumed to be Frisk's bodyguard.

"So he said he was gonna run and let the captain of the guard know, real discreet-like, an' wished you good luck," the boss monster finished. He paused, and in a different tone, added, "I don't like it, Frisk. If he's lyin' about any of this, I'll rip his eyes out and feed 'em to 'is damn birds."

"Sans," she said patiently, "I'm sure he knows that. Putting aside any personal feelings or influences, there is literally no good reason for Luke to hurt me. His sister cannot become eligible to be High Priestess until spring at the soonest, and everyone already knows I'm getting ready to retire—see the extra letters piling up? Until I announce either my new position or a betrothal, I'll be more useful alive than dead."

Silence, then an extra-loud grunt. "Why doncha just burn 'em? Ya don't have time to read all that crap. We've got way too much stuff t'get through. I think I'm onto somethin' with mixing that alfalfa meal up for better fertilizer, 'n if I can finish analyzing the composition of different kinds'a glycerin 'n distill it a little more efficiently, we could really—"

"Sans."

"...Well, 'm not gonna sort 'em for ya."

Frisk finished tugging on her gown, tried to pluck it looser in the bust, and, with some effort, heaved a sigh. "Fine. Get back, please."

Sans moved away from the door and she stepped out, scratching her collarbone. She had always hated this outfit, which had flagrantly been designed by a man: it covered most of her skin, but not only was it somehow tighter than her everyday High Priestess garb, it was dark violet in color, with a black sash around the waist and a black neckband, almost a choker. Dr. Serif had given her a new brooch to pin to the neckband, this one opalescent and rimmed in silver—a much-needed touch of class, in her opinion. At least her usual black dress muted her curves somewhat; this one looked more like body paint, though it certainly didn't feel like it!

Sans had picked up a small leather bag and was looking at the clock. "Ya wanted to be there at seven-thirty, right? If we leave now, we should—" He glanced at her, did a double take, and made a sound like "Gggk."

The priestess flushed. "I know, all right? I don't have a choice." She went to the worktable and picked up her circlet, then shuffled to the bathroom and, rather than bend herself enough to sit at the vanity, leaned over the mirror to check her makeup. A little eyeliner, a tiny bit more color on her lips, and another comb-through to straighten her hair, and that should do it, she thought wearily, putting the circlet on. It felt so strange without the veil that she could hardly enjoy leaving it off.

Frisk turned back to Sans, who was looking very directly at her, eyes blank. She wanted to punch him again. "Would you stop that? I know it's ridiculous! It's bad enough that I have to wear this the whole day, but then they expect me to sing when I can barely even breathe!" She strained against the dress to sigh again, and Sans' eye twitched. "Now, please, let's go."

The skeleton started violently. "Wait a sec. That's what yer goin' t'church in? You're gonna leave the room like that? On purpose?! Why'd ya even put clothes on if it looks like—"

"Saaaans," she snarled, and he clamped his mouth shut. Frisk grabbed his hand and ordered, "Chapel, now," and he meekly obeyed.

Sans had lived through a lot of crap, including a bone-shredding magical catastrophe, multiple fights for his life and those of others, and enough emotional turmoil to kill most people, human or monster. But somehow, he couldn't think of anything worse than having tea-time with that smug, perfect piece of shit with his smug, perfect hair and perfect courtesy and perfect lots of money and modesty and kindness and nice family she liked who also liked her and cutesy pets that made Frisk laugh and he kept touching her for no damn reason.

Worse, that perfect shithead had to go and make himself useful, too, offering that land by the river—and what the hell was Frisk doing, thinking of buying it for the monsters? Was she on a quest to make every other human in existence look bad, or was she just being her?

Anyway, the guy not only was giving them a leg up on that, he had what Sans grudgingly knew was a genuine lead on whoever had tried to have her killed. With a named suspect and evidence of a plot against her, the palace guard would have the right to search everyone entering the chapel, and they'd have a ring of guardsmen between the altar and the congregation. That would free Sans to enact Gaster's plan without having to keep too close an eye on her, which was probably for the best, given how amazing she looked in that stupid painted-on dress. Seriously, why was she even bothering to wear clothes?

Oh, fuck. Speaking of which, he'd been so distracted that he'd forgotten to tell her what they were planning. Welp, hopefully, it wouldn't come up.

He'd brought her to a small hallway off the main one leading into the chapel, sent her straight to the guardsmen standing ready to meet her, and ducked back into the hall to put on his new silver chain. After ten minutes, he casually fell in behind a party of churchgoers headed to the service, submitted to a search, and allowed someone to direct him to a seat near the middle-front of the chapel.

The place was filling up fast. The boss monster took a hymnal and leafed through it to avoid having to talk to anyone, feeling exceptionally strange as he listened to the people around him chatter. It seemed most of them were planning to visit family graves or altars for the dead, and there would be a festival set up in the castle town's square. At least one small child was already whining about having to sit through church before he got to eat, met with the usual threats of not getting any more food for the rest of his life if he didn't behave.

The only item of real interest was when people noted the increased security, and how the last High Priestess had been shot with a crossbow at this very service. General opinion seemed to hold that the current High Priestess was much kinder and more sensible than her predecessor; it was a pity she'd be leaving soon, though they wished her well in her future marriage. One woman admired how Her Eminence had tamed that horrible skeleton monster, but wondered about the propriety of a pretty young woman keeping a male of any kind in her living quarters, and her husband murmured that it didn't count if the monster wasn't capable of male-specific activities. His wife shushed him, but in a laughing way, and Sans looked around in vain for something he'd be allowed to kill.

There was nothing of the sort until the service started. Murmurs of admiration – and more – arose as Frisk appeared and began reading the opening prayer; the husband behind him was so enthusiastic that his wife thumped him on the arm to shut him up, and Sans caught a few other remarks that did not improve his mood whatsoever.

It was hard not to return to his previous line of thinking that he should get her to the Underground, keep her with him and Papyrus as a new pet human, and call it a "diplomatic mission" or some similar crap. She might object at first, but after all this responsibility and the loneliness of being High Priestess, maybe she'd come to see it as a sort of vacation. How could she object to snowball fights and pillow wars and all the puns she wanted? No more worrying about plots against her, no more having to be ogled by every amorous dipshit in the kingdom, no marrying anyone...

The organist was playing the introduction to the first hymn, and Frisk was stepping up to begin singing. To Sans' absolute rage, that was when the back of his neck suddenly started itching. Gaster had warned him that his new device would react to a certain threshold of magic being used nearby, and this was a lot of magic, very close by.

The boss monster turned and zeroed in on a skinny woman sitting a couple of rows back, holding onto her diamond bracelet and frowning intently at the altar. Sans didn't stop to think: he took a very short shortcut, said "'Scuse me" to the startled people whose legs he was suddenly squishing, grabbed the woman's wrist, and teleported them both away.

Before the woman could react, they were in the King's favorite meeting room, where several armed guards were waiting. "Caught her 'bout to use this," the boss monster said tersely, holding up the bracelet.

Dr. Serif raised his head from his book as the guards took charge of the woman. Sans concentrated on the bracelet for a second and ground his teeth. "You bitch! Where'd you get Snowdrake's magic?" He nearly threw it at the royal sorcerer. "That poor bastard went missing over three months ago!"

"Find the owner of a monster called Snowdrake and bring them here immediately," the doctor instructed a guard. He turned the bracelet over in his long, thin hands. "This was designed to freeze a person from the inside. Ingenius, in a completely amoral and reprehensible way. Well done, sir. Please return to your work."

Sans didn't let himself think. He appeared at the back of the chapel, and to his horror, two more people were already preparing to use magic. He short-cut over to a man sitting near the choir, deposited him in the meeting room, and zipped back to another guy standing by the chapel entrance. He didn't stop to catch his breath, but dropped him off and came right back to check for more.

Nothing. He sank to his haunches against the chapel's backmost corner, head between his knees as a dull pounding filled his ears. He was distantly aware of people applauding around him—he'd missed Frisk's song, damn them to friggin' hell. At least it had distracted people in the midst of random churchgoers vanishing. He had to stay that way for several minutes, but was able to stand up by the start of the next song...performed by some other woman. Dammit.

But as he tolerated the hymn, he felt something else. It started as a tingle on the back of his neck, and he scratched it, cringing at the utter weirdness of the sensation; it got worse, not better, building rapidly to a crescendo of power so strong that he couldn't tell where in the chapel it was coming from. It didn't feel like it was targeting the altar; the attack was being aimed behind it, where the clergy had a series of storage and waiting rooms.

Frisk wasn't on the altar. That meant she was—

Sans had never moved so fast. He thought of her and cut straight to the back room where she was standing. As her eyes widened and her mouth opened, he took her hand: quick as thought, they were now outside her rooms. "Run!" Sans barked at the guard.

The guard promptly dropped his weapon and sprinted down the hall to the stairs. With him out of the way, Sans turned to ask Frisk if she was all right, only to have her twist out of his grip and smack him hard enough to crash him into the wall. "Who the hell are you?" the priestess demanded. She backed away, looking around wildly. "Sans! Sans!"

"Frisk! It's me, you fu—friggin' psycho!" The skeleton yanked the silver chain off and blinked hard, trying to adjust to the sudden height difference. "See? Ta-da! ...Damn, my head!"

"Sans?" Frisk came forward a few steps. "Sans...what...?"

"Sorry, forgot t'tell ya," he mumbled, staying against the wall. "Hol' on a sec, I had ta get around a bunch'a times in a row. 'm worn out."

"Forgot to tell me what, exactly? What just happened? Who was that?"

"That was me, dum-dum. Look." The boss monster slipped the necklace back on, and Frisk yelped as a tall, slim, nearly white-haired human reappeared. The man blinked his dark eyes a few times, then squeezed them shut. "This is so damn weird, you have no friggin' idea," he said in Sans' voice. "Everythin's closer, it feels like the air is attackin' me—and how the hell d'you handle bein' able ta smell things? He said he reduced how much I'd process outside stimuli compared t'the average human, but this is nuts! That actually hurt!" He made a show of rubbing his cheek, then flinched. "Augh, that makes it worse! Can I take this crap off now?!"

"Is..." The priestess still had to look up at him, though it was now only a foot or so. "Did Dr. Serif make this?" Her face cleared. "Ohh, that was what he gave you last night, so you could disguise yourself for the service." She pursed her lips at him. "Yes, you absolutely should have told me about this before you scared me to—"

Boom went something outside, not very far off.

They stood, stunned, for the count of three. Frisk went to one of the windows lining the hall and peered out. "Fireworks? It's too early," she said, watching the colored lights fade in midair. "And why is there so much magic in it?"

"They're not real, that's why." Sans looked at his fleshy hands, touching his fingertips together one by one as he thought out loud. "That's the power someone was buildin' up t'use on you. Guess whoever it was couldn't find ya in time and didn't want to cause a big scene for nothin'. They had to get rid of all that magic, so they got outside and made it look like someone set off fireworks." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his black overcoat. "Pretty smart, whoever they are," he admitted. "That was fast thinkin'."

Frisk was standing a little too still, headdress clinking on the glass as she rested her forehead against it. "If they didn't want to kill anyone else, then all that magic would've been focused on me," she told her reflection. He saw her fists clench; the headdress rattled faintly on the window. "I probably wouldn't even have felt anything. It'd look like I just disappeared."

Sans could have killed himself. He'd done it again, talking about how she could have died as though it was no big deal. "Frisk, I—'m sorry, I didn't mean—"

She turned around with an expression he didn't recognize. "Hold still for a moment," she whispered, and before he could react, the young woman came to him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

Nothing had prepared him for this. The human-shaped monster froze in place with his arms half raised, feeling her full length pressed against him, her heart pounding and his SOUL fluttering up to meet it. Just existing had already been a sensory overload, and his first cogent thought was that his first real hug was going to be his last.

The second was that she was the softest thing he'd ever touched. The third was how warm she felt, the fourth that she smelled like...of course he didn't know what that scent was, but it was her, so it was the best thing he'd ever smelled.

Frisk was trembling. All he could see was the top of her head, the circlet nearly poking him in the eye. Sans tried to move it aside and had to catch it with a bit of magic as it started to slip off, wafting it over to rest on the windowsill.

She shook her head and burrowed in harder, almost knocking him off balance. Sans reflexively steadied her with one arm, only to encounter the silky material of whatever the dress was, and her body heat coming through it. An answering wave of heat swept through him; he tried to remove his hand, to tell her that that was enough, but it was like his SOUL was stuck in place, refusing to let him move away.

He was dealing with exactly as many feelings as he could handle when she sighed and made a small sound, and yet another damn thing started happening. He didn't understand it any more than the other things this human body was doing, but while it was the most physically pleasant sensation he'd ever experienced, it felt way too personal, probably because of the area in which it was centered. Sans hoped devoutly that it'd go away on its own, and had a strong suspicion that it wouldn't: most of his nerve endings seemed to be clustered down there, and they weren't going to stop doing their job as long as Frisk was plastered against him.

...Okay, now it was getting painful, and he did recognize his rising – ha – urge to grab her as hard as he could. Even in this smaller, fleshier body, she was so tiny that he could very well squish her to death.

The need to spare her from any lasting damage was what gave Sans the willpower to finally get his hands on her also-very-soft shoulders and push just hard enough to move her away. "Sorry, too much," he mumbled, face averted. He shuffled back and reached up to slip off the chain, becoming his normal size and insensitivity. "We probably better getcha back to church 'fore anyone thinks ya got blown up for real. It should be safe now that they used their biggest whatever-it-was," he added.

"Yes, you're right." Frisk picked up her circlet and settled it in place, looking almost as flustered as he felt. "I'm...I'm so sorry about that, I just needed a moment to—"

"S'okay," he said hurriedly. "I didn't really—ya just surprised me, an' I'm not used to bein' able t'feel everythin' all the time. It was just a lot to take in." Sans rubbed at his sternum. His parts might be gone, but his SOUL was still acting up. "Don' worry about it."

Frisk somehow got even redder. "If you say so." She scratched her shoulder, making a scratchy sound on the thin material. "Let's go to the same place we started from last time, please, not behind the altar. We'll say that I felt sick and then we were outside watching the fireworks."

"Sounds like a plan." Sans held out his giant-again hand. "Off we go, boss."

She smiled. "Off we go."

#songfell no idea how long this thing will end up

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bouwrites · 4 years

Text

Maribat March 2020 Prompt: High School

Week 4, Day 7. End of the line for me! So happy to have been able to partake in this wonderful event. Working with prompts and short fics like this is a new experience for me, so I hope y’all enjoyed it.

It was a lot of fun! I’m looking forward to writing more prompts, and more Maribat, in the future! <3

Maribat March 2020 Calendar.

Day 1: Sweetheart’s Dance, Day 6: Time Travel.

Ao3.

1833 words. Story under read-more.

Jon intends for it to be a quiet day. Or, perhaps not literally quiet, but quiet in the sense that it’s just him and Marinette, enjoying their small bit of stolen time together.

That’s why, despite them going out of the house, Jon doesn’t tell anyone where they’re going. Despite being in the same place as many of his friends from school, and even possibly Damian, if his brothers actually managed to wrangle him there this week, Jon just wants today to be him and this beautiful, precious, wonderful, amazing, unbelievable girl.

And okay, maybe he also wants to pretend it’s a date. Sue him. Who doesn’t want to be on a date with Marinette Dupain-Cheng? Jon never once lies to anyone. When his friends ask if he’s going to the game, he says he’s not sure. Until he walks onto the stands with Marinette, he isn’t sure. He could just as happily go anywhere else. When Marinette asks if they’ll see Damian there, he says probably not. Damian very rarely deigns to go to school football games, after all. He has better things to do, like stalk Gotham’s streets as Robin.

So, Jon’s conscience is clear, and in the end it’s just him, Marinette, cold metal bleachers, and a community of screaming football fans.

The first quarter has a lot of Jon leaning close, feeling her hot breath in his ear as she asks him questions about what’s happening. This is American football, after all. Living in Paris, she probably doesn’t see much of it. Jon is happy to explain the rules, why certain calls are made, what’s happening on the field, anything she asks, really.

Jon likes football, he does, and he cheers as loud as anyone when his team scores a touchdown. He’s competitive and he likes the impact of it all, and if his powers didn’t give him an unfair advantage that he’s not entirely sure he can control as much as he’d need to, he’d consider playing. That said, the biggest reason Jon brings her to his school football game isn’t any love for the sport, but a love for her.

She’s wicked competitive. He knows this as clearly as it beat him over the head last week when he dared answer her Ultimate Mecha Strike challenge. She also asks him about America sometimes, just like he asks her about France. This whole “date” is actually framed as a cultural exchange, of sorts. Marinette asks him what he considers fundamentally American and he just laughs and laughs and says, “Football. Easy. Want to come to a game sometime?”

He doesn’t plan on her agreeing, or actually making the trip over for his school’s game, but he’s not about to complain. Any time spent with Marinette is worth the hassle. Besides, Jon can see her get caught up in the atmosphere of the stadium.

She picks up the game quickly, so that by the time the first quarter is over, she only rarely needs to ask Jon to clarify things. She stands and screams with the superfans when his school scores a touchdown. She marvels at the band on the end of the bleachers off to their right, complimenting them every time they play. She squeals watching the cheerleaders do their routines and flips. She growls and howls her disappointment when the other team gains the advantage. She’s so cute. Jon thinks, watching her get riled up with the crowd over a foul.

The gentle flush on her cheeks, the breathiness of her voice after yelling, the bright, bright sunshine in her eyes and the mindless smile she never once drops. She’s so caught up in the game, Jon can’t help but get caught up in her. She could be one of the spotlights over the stadium for how bright she is.

The atmosphere is electric, charged, tense and vibrating with the energy of the game. It’s so easy to let their voices become one with the crowd’s, to be just a couple more high schoolers cheering on their school’s team. Nothing else. Not aliens or heroes. Just kids. It’s… exhilarating. It’s part of why Jon likes football. But with Marinette here? It’s even better.

The night goes on, there are ups and downs. Third quarter, one touchdown behind, Marinette is on the edge of her seat. The sun has gone down, though, and she’s crossing her arms and shivering. Jon chuckles. “I told you to bring a jacket.”

“I did!” Marinette protests, showing off her light cardigan. “I underestimated how cold it’d be.”

Jon giggles. “Ahaha, I can see that! Lucky you, I brought an extra.” He reaches into his bag at his feet and pulls out the extra jacket he brought, just in case. He doesn’t really expect Marinette to not bring a big enough coat, but he does know she gets cold fairly easily, and he wants nothing more than for this to go well, so he wants to be prepared.

And, just maybe, he might want to see Marinette in his letterman jacket. Sue him. It’s a classic. He can dream, just for tonight. It’s very American! And it is very warm.

Marinette brightens considerably when she sees his jacket. Jon is starstruck because he honestly doesn’t think she can get any brighter. He supposes the cold slowly tuned that down as the night went on, but she slips into his jacket, several sizes too big for her, and curls into his side for good measure, just for that bit of extra warmth.

And doesn’t that do strange things to his heart? If anyone were to see them now, if any of the many, many people around were to look, they wouldn’t think twice about him and Marinette being a couple. That’s… wow. Just the thought.

Jon is lost in the sight of her, trying hard not to think too much about it all. Her in his jacket, her arms around his, her head on his shoulder. It’s hard, but he tries to focus on the game. It doesn’t work too well. That’s why he doesn’t realize immediately anything is amiss until she stiffens and nudges him.

That alone gets him on high alert. “What’s up?”

“What’s that?!” Marinette squeaks, pointing to the jumbotron on the end of the field. Jon follows her finger to the screen and… Oh. Oh, no. Oh, God. Oh, hell.

There, on the screen, are him and Marinette, surrounded by a bright pink heart and the elegant script reading, “Kiss Cam”.

“Jon?”

Jon nervously tries to comfort her. “It’s just a silly thing. They point the camera at couples, and they kiss is all. It’s supposed to be cute.”

“We’re supposed to…” Marinette glances between him and the screen once, twice, Jon just prays for the camera to get the hint and turn somewhere else, but just before he’s sure it must be about to, Marinette grabs him by the collar to pull him close. One hand on his cheek, the one closer to the stands, so they’re still in full view of the camera, she tilts her head cutely. “We should… right? Are you okay wi-”

Jon closes the small gap left between them to kiss her.

He’s out of breath before his lips even touch hers, but the moment they do he’s breathless on a whole other level. He’s dreamed of this moment, of finally, finally kissing her for longer than he’ll admit. How many times has he seen her smile and just… imagined? Let his mind get carried away with dreams of paradise? Let himself feel that tiny spark of hope that dreams aren’t all they have to be?

The kiss is chaste and lasts for hardly a moment, but Jon won’t ever forget this moment. He can’t even if he tries. It’s strange, because he’s completely shut down in so many ways. His lungs don’t work, his mind is blank, he feels paralyzed, and yet it’s also sublime. It’s almost as if all his faculties take a step back to allow space for the emotion that rushes through him. He forgets just how bad of an idea this is, because this half-moment is greater than he ever imagined.

All at once, Jon’s head catches up with him and he realizes what he’s truly doing, and he jumps away like he’s been burned. He risks a glance at the jumbotron, sighing with some relief that he’s no longer on camera, and then he looks to Marinette.

She’s just… staring at him. “Marinette?” He breathes. “Aw, hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t thin- I mean you were askin- I- and I jus- I just…”

“Wha-? Jon, I was asking you if it was okay to kiss you! It’s okay!”

Jon risks looking her in the eye. Her gaze is full of concern and worry and Jon mentally berates himself for putting that there. He just… kind of can’t breathe. “You mean it? I mean, I… I just- I just kind of went for it. I know you weren’t really rea-”

Jon is cut off suddenly by her grabbing his collar again and pulling him close. His rambling words catch on a gasp in his throat when he finds himself intimately close to her once more. She pauses just before they crash into each other, to cup his cheek and to ensure it’s gentle, before she closes the hair of distance left to kiss him again.

That’s… that’s not what he’s expecting. But Lord, he’s not going to complain. Marinette pulls back from him, giggling. “Now we’re even?”

“Even…” Jon says. His voice is dangerously close to a whimper. “Right. Even.”

“Great. Oh! The game is starting again!” Marinette grabs his arm again, curling close. Jon has neither the faculties nor the patience to focus on the game again. All he can think about is… Holy cow, she kissed me. She kissed me!!! We weren’t even on the kiss cam, she just did it!

What the hell is happening? I’ve… I’ve got to be dreaming, right?

If it is a dream, it’s the best one he’s ever had. And if it’s a dream, maybe he can push his luck a little. Carefully, he moves her closer hand from the crook of his elbow to his own, and tentatively laces his fingers through hers.

She looks over at him, flushed as red as he feels (he hopes it’s not just from the cold), and all he can do is offer a hopeful smile. When she smiles back, and he feels her hand squeeze his own, he can hardly believe it. He giggles senselessly and raises their joined hands to kiss the back of hers. “H-hey, I…”

The crowd erupts into a roar, drawing both of their attention to where his school’s team just scored a touchdown. With the field goal, they’re tied again.

“We can talk later.” Marinette yell-whispers into his ear. “When it’s not so loud! But I’m really glad I came tonight!”

Jon returns her grin. “Me too!”

#MaribatMarch2020 #Maribat #Maribat March #Event #Marijon #ML x DC #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #ML Fanfiction

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hermannsthumb · 5 years

Note

for the summer prompts if you want you could do family reunion. it could be a fun and interesting dynamic

YES i think id like to make this into a longer fic itd be so fun, so thats why it cuts off where it is and has the long setup hehehe

13: Family Reunion

from summer prompt memes here

---------------------------------------------

"I should probably warn you,” Newt says over breakfast, after a few minutes of poking his fork into his room service pancakes (which have been steadily growing soggier) and twirling his orange juice straw between his index finger and thumb.

Hermann sets down his own fork with a small sigh of relief, and Newt has a feeling it’s not just because the unusual (for them) silence was leaving him on edge. “Oh, good,” he says. “I was about to say the same thing. You first.”

"It’s just,” Newt continues, “well, my family’s...they’re kind of a lot.” It’s important to him they go over this now, before Hermann’s inevitable Geiszler Culture Shock during the actual reunion this coming Tuesday. Give him plenty of time to prepare himself.

“I’d be strange if they weren’t,” Hermann says. “I’ve met your father, you know.”

“I know,” Newt says. “They’re just...loud. And nosy. They’re going to ask a million questions about you, and us, and our--” He gestures between them. “--Thing.”

“Our thing,” Hermann repeats.

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Our--” He mimes something obscene. “You get me?”

There is a brief moment of uncomfortable silence. Newt would have liked to say relationship, because he was under the impression that’s what they have, and he doesn’t think it’s too much of a leap--they share a bed, after all, and occasionally get up to shenanigans in it--but they’ve never labeled it officially and he’s worried about unintentionally making Hermann uncomfortable. “I understand,” Hermann says. “My family is the opposite.”

This is the reason they’re all the way over here in some quaint little German bed and breakfast, after all, instead of going through paperwork or cleaning up old specimen tanks in their Hong Kong lab like they probably should be: Geiszler and Gottlieb family reunions, both scheduled, coincidentally, a week and a decent (but manageable) drive apart from each other. They made a two week long vacation out of it, with the first week--this past week--spent doing dumb touristy things and eating non-rationed food. They have the time to do fun shit like this these days, after all; no more impending doom, no more weight of the world on their shoulders, no more overworking themselves until they collapse into an insensible heap on the lab couch only to be discovered by the graveyard shift janitor at three in the morning. Besides. If Newt and Hermann intend to keep getting up to shenanigans in shared bed, they’ve got to Meet the Families eventually. This way is just tackling it all at once.

“No shit,” Newt says sarcastically. “I’ve met your father too.”

While their recent outing with Newt’s dad had been nice and fun and causal--he bought them dinner--their only run-in with Hermann’s, accidentally, at a banquet during the war had been anything but. Newt recalled a lot of shouting (on his own end), louder shouting (on Hermann’s father’s end), and mortified silence (on Hermann’s end). And that was before Newt and Hermann even started getting up to shenanigans together. “You certainly have,” Hermann says. “Er. Please don’t be too offended, but I don’t imagine most of them will be very polite to you. They’ll have heard about the incident in Anchorage with Father by now. And most of them--well. Most of them don’t approve of me.”

Newt’s face splits into a grin. “They don’t approve of you?”

The tips of Hermann’s ears go red. “Of my career,” he says, “my, er, lifestyle, the career of the man I’ve chosen to share it with...” This, considering what little Newt knows about the extended Gottlieb family, makes sense: Hermann continuing to work on the jaeger program even after his father publicly turned his back on it must’ve been a real shock, and Newt was, after all, Hermann’s research partner throughout it all. Hermann being gay is just the metaphorical cherry atop that. What he says next throws Newt for a loop anyway. “I was also a bit rebellious in my youth. I don’t imagine they’ll have forgotten that.”

This time, Newt full-on snorts in disbelief. “Rebellious?” he echoes. “Holy shit, what’d you do? Get straight A’s instead of A-pluses?”

Hermann’s blush spreads down to his neck. “Er. Something along those lines,” he says. “At any rate. I suppose I’m what you may deem the black sheep of the family.”

“No fucking way,” Newt says delightedly. “Man. I can’t fucking wait for this.”

They check out of the bed and breakfast the next morning and start the two hour ride to Hermann’s childhood home, where they’ll be spending the next few days. They could’ve spent the entire time in Hermann’s old bedroom if they wanted and bypassed paying for a hotel entirely, but Hermann was deeply opposed to it--his siblings would not be arriving until today either, and the thought of being alone in a house with his parents clearly made him uncomfortable. Newt didn’t even bother suggesting it as an option.

“I can’t believe you grew up on a farm,” Newt says when they finally begin to pull down Hermann’s long gravel driveway. Because it is totally a farm--huge property and rolling fields and all--and Hermann has, conveniently, neglected to tell Newt this.

“It’s not a farm,” Hermann says. “Er. It’s--farmland. There’s a difference.”

They drive past a cow.

“It’s totally a farm, dude,” Newt says, waving hello at the cow. It doesn’t acknowledge him. “Did you have chickens, too? Pigs?”

“I had a cat,” Hermann concedes, and then Newt forgets all about pestering Hermann about the cow because the farmhouse finally comes into view behind the tall trees, and wow. It’s big--at least enough for each of the Gottlieb kids to have their own bedroom, Newt’s sure--with a wrap-around porch and a spacious yard. After craning his neck around, Newt spots more cows meandering through a fenced-off meadow nearby, and more excitingly, a large pond a brief walk away. There are ducks on it.

“A farm,” Newt repeats. “You grew up on a farm. Wow.” He thinks he can be forgiven for being a little incredulous about it all: the little Hermann’s shared about his childhood made it seem like he lived out his days chained up in some sort of drafty gothic castle before he eventually fled in the dead of night for uni. This beats the first six years of existence Newt spent in a shitty Berlin apartment by a mile.

Hermann parks their rented car in an empty bit of grass further away from the patch of gravel where another half-dozen-odd cars are and switches off the engine. Then he stares at the windshield for a very long time.

“I haven’t been here since I was a teenager,” he finally says. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel. “Even before that--it was mostly only summers. I went off to a boarding school when I was quite young.”

“Summers must’ve been...nice here,” Newt says cautiously. He’s worried he might strike a nerve without meaning to; it’s very easy to do that with Hermann, after all, especially when it comes to talking about his childhood. Newt used to do it all the time without meaning to. And sometimes, when he was pissed at Hermann, he used to mean to do it. He doesn’t feel very good about that these days.

“I would take my telescope out to the field,” Hermann says, “or up to my brother’s treehouse, on days when I could manage the ladder.”

His eyes dart down to the keyless ignition, and his index finger twitches, as if he’d like nothing more than to press it; Newt reaches over and places his hand on Hermann’s arm in a way he hopes is soothing. “Hermann,” he says. “We can leave now if you want. We don’t have to go in.”

Hermann worries at his lower lip for a moment, then his whole body seems to sag. His hands drop into his lap. “No,” he says. He works his jaw. “We’re going in.”

Newt nods.

They go inside. Newt can tell, instantly, which of the people milling about are related to Hermann by blood as opposed to marriage: they have Hermann’s fine cheekbones, his funny stick-out ears, his dark hair, and some--only a handful--have eyes almost the same warm brown as his, though without the little crinkles at the corners and Hermann’s delicate, fanning eyelashes. Unless Newt’s just biased in Hermann’s favor. A few of them nod tersely in Hermann’s direction; one older-looking woman outright avoids eye contact and speeds up a little down the hall.

Newt shuts the door behind them and gives the foyer a brief once-over. High ceiling. Neutral-colored wallpaper dotted with small roses. Neutral-colored carpet. A single vase of flowers on a pristine wooden side table. “It’s nice in here,” Newt lies.

“Hm,” Hermann says with obvious distaste. Then a strange look flits across his face. “Bastien,” he says over Newt’s shoulder, slightly louder. “Hello.”

Newt turns. Walking stiffly towards them down the hallway is a guy who looks unsettlingly like a taller, less pointy, and far more stylish Hermann. He stops a good foot away from them and nods just as stiffly. “Hermann,” he says, and Newt half expects them to exchange a firm, professional handshake. He knows Hermann’s not big on hugs, and he must’ve gotten that from somewhere, but come on. “I’m surprised you came. It’s good to see you.” His eyes sweep over Newt once. “Are you Dr. Geiszler?”

“You can just, uh, call me Newt,” Newt says. His mouth feels weirdly dry. He didn’t expect to get this fucking nervous.

“I’ve seen your photograph online,” Bastien says. His accent is thick, thicker than Newt ever remembers Hermann’s being on the rare occasions his learned pretentious English one slips and gives way to his natural one. It makes sense. He never left the country like Hermann did. “Hermann has mentioned you once or twice in emails.”

“He has?” Newt says, because that’s news to him, but Bastien’s already turned his attention back to Hermann.

“Father is in the backyard,” he says in a low voice. “If you were wondering.”

Hermann’s visible distaste returns. “Ah. Thank you. I’ll be sure to avoid it then.” He allows himself a tiny fraction of a smile. “It is nice to see you.”

"Bastien is only two years younger than me,” Hermann explains once he and his brother have nodded at each other once more and Bastien’s retreated back down the hallway. “I was always closest to him, out of my siblings.”

“I can tell,” Newt says, and, probably lucky for him, Hermann doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm.

Hermann takes him on a brief tour of the lower level of the house. It’s weird; for all the charm the outside has--from the vines creeping up the sides, the ancient shutters, the sagging porch, the beautiful hills--the inside is pretty, well, bland. There’s a pristine dining room. A pristine kitchen. A pristine living room, with couches more out of fashion than Hermann’s sweatervest and a fucking gorgeous piano that looks practically untouched. (Newt whistles when he sees it; “I took lessons once,” Hermann says, “I wasn’t very good.”)

The main point of Newt’s interest, though, the thing that really makes him stop dead in his tracks, is the single family photo resting atop the fireplace mantle. All six Gottliebs are lined up in a row: Hermann’s father, a woman Newt takes to be Hermann’s mother (she has his eyelashes and his wide mouth), a teenage, and much shorter, Bastien, two twenty-somethings that must be Hermann’s older brother and sister (all three with Hermann’s ears), and--

“Holy shit, Hermann,” Newt says, snatching up the picture frame for a closer look. “Is this you?”

It is, which Newt is sure of even before Hermann flushes beautifully and turns his eyes to the ceiling--there’s no mistaking that scowl or cane. The Hermann in the photograph is leaning against a wall, a good foot away from the rest of his siblings, and can’t be any older than eighteen. He’s got an undercut twice as severe as his current one. A cigarette dangling from between two fingers. And--Newt realizes with a jolt of something that might be called elation, or it might be called horror--an earring in one ear. “Ah,” Hermann says. “I did say I was--”

“This is the best day of my life,” Newt says. “I want a copy. I want three copies. I want to carry one around in my wallet. I can’t believe you had an earring!”

“He did it himself,” a woman lurking near the doorway with a drink in hand and Hermann’s cheekbones says. “With a sewing needle, wasn’t it?”

“A safety pin,” Hermann says miserably. “Hello, Karla.”

“Hermann,” Karla says. They exchange stiff nods. (This family is fucking weird, Newt thinks. Maybe Hermann really is an alien. It would explain a lot.) “Who’s your friend?”

Hermann touches Newt’s arm. “This is my...” He trails off, and Newt starts to wonder if he should jump in with a lab partner when Hermann finally coughs and says, “My Newton.”

Newt gives Karla a nervous little wave. The once-over she’s giving him behind her wire-frame glasses is twice as severe and scrutinizing as the one Bastien gave him earlier--far more Hermann-esque. Specifically, Hermann when Newt’s fucked something up and is doing a very bad job of hiding it. “Your Newton,” she says. “The biologist?” Newt and Hermann both nod. She looks satisfied. And a little disapproving. “You didn’t say he was coming. You may have to make up the guest room bed for--”

“There’s no need,” Hermann says, and a small blush blooms on his cheeks. “Newton and I will be sharing my bed.”

“Sharing?” Karla echoes. She narrows her eyes at Newt again. “Hm. You are his type.”

“Karla,” Hermann hisses. He looks mortified.

“Hermann was always bringing home boys like you,” she says to Newt. “Dyed hair, piercings, tattoos--”

“Karla.”

“All because he knew our mother and father hated it, of course,” she says. “That’s also why he--” She tugs on her earlobe, the same earlobe Hermann has pierced in the photo, and takes a sip of her drink. “He was always so difficult. And now, a,” she says the next word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, “biologist.”

Newt feels, vaguely, like he’s entered in a parallel universe, where Hermann Gottlieb is apparently some sort of bad boy rebel without a cause and not, in fact, Newt’s stuffy, uptight, stick-up-his ass lab partner who one time yelled at Newt for being too cheerful at work. “Difficult?” he says faintly.

“She’s exaggerating,” Hermann jumps in quickly. He tugs frantically on the sleeve of Newt’s leather jacket. “Newton, we should--”

“He used to stay out until three in the morning,” Karla interrupts, with something akin to glee on her face, “and come roaring in on the back of some boy’s motorcycle--”

“Holy shit,” Newt says.

“Newton,” Hermann says. “Upstairs, please.”

Newt places the photograph back on the mantle and scurries after Hermann as he clacks, furiously, from the room and past his sister (who merely nods at both of them again). Hermann doesn’t stop his furious clacking until they make it all the way up the creaky staircase, down the upstairs hallway, and through a door that he shoves open unceremoniously.

This is where Newt stops. He’s not sure what he expected Hermann’s childhood bedroom to look like, but he wasn’t expecting this. It’s undoubtedly Hermann’s though. The bedspread is dark blue, patterned with little white spaceships and orange comets, but looks recently washed, at least. There’s a model of the solar system hanging in the corner, clearly homemade. A heavy layer of dust on a desk in front of a window, where several advanced mathematics texts are stacked up. More spaceships on the faded wallpaper. A few perfectly straight and even posters, one of the phases of the moon from 2006 tacked to the back of the door. A messy bookcase.

Newt was expecting--more neutral colors, maybe. An ancient-looking abacus. Victorian schoolhouse chalkboard slates. He smiles. “This is your old room?”

Hermann eases himself down onto the edge of the bed. “Yes,” he says, and pats the bedspread. “I imagine we’ll fit here together tonight without a problem.”

“Yeah,” Newt says, and sits down next to him. He has a million things he wants to say: your family is fucking weird, what’s so bad about being a biologist, you weren’t lying about being a black sheep, huh, but what comes out, along with a wide grin, is “So. I’m your type?”

“Oh, don’t start,” Hermann says. “Karla was only teasing. She always teases.”

“You used to ride around on motorcycles,” Newt says, “with boys. Plural.”

Hermann darts his tongue out, nervously, over his bottom lip. “With one boy in particular,” he concedes. “Ah. A friend from school.” His blush returns. “He had a tattoo of a sparrow on his shoulder. He was my first kiss.”

Inspired, Newt leans in and kisses Hermann’s cheek. “Dude. That’s adorable.”

Hermann hides his face in his hands. “He had freckles,” he says.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous

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iihappydaysii · 4 years

Text

title: eudaimonia

rated: e (tags and warnings on ao3)

jamie/john

summary: To protect baby William, Jamie and Lord John run away with the child to raise him—in the year 2020. The more time they spend together in this new and unusual world, the harder it is for both of them to ignore their growing and changing feelings for one another.

chapter one

. . .

Lord John Grey’s heart had gotten him into trouble more than once or twice in his life. It was, as both his mother and his brother, Hal, oft reminded him, his greatest weakness. Never had that notion been so self-evident as it were tonight with John on the run, having absconded with a Scottish prisoner and—what was legally speaking—the son of an Earl.

Despite it occurring in hushed tones under a shroud of darkness, it had all happened so fast. The scene had unfolded before him like the smoke, blood and gunshot of battle.

“I need your help, please,” Jamie had said, with an air of desperation John had yet to hear come from the man. Even at Ardsmuir, even under threat of torture... There is nothing you can do to me that has not already been done.

John wished he could say it took actually took Jamie’s additional explanation and plea. If he were honest, it had not. As soon as Jamie Fraser was stood on his doorstep, looking so much like he needed John, he was finished. He’d have cut the world down and laid it at the Scot’s feet had he’d asked for it.

Instead, Jamie had asked for this. Help hiding his son. His son, Jamie’s, not the Earl’s. Neither the family nor the Earl wanted the bastard son of a Jacobite. With the boy’s mother dead and now the Earl, there was nothing to stop the Lord and Lady. Jamie had overheard them whispering of a plan to drown the child and be done with it.

So, now, Jamie had once again found himself at odds with the law and with the crown. He’d be hunted not only for the child he’d taken, but for the Earl he’d murdered. Jamie must have grown accustomed to being a fugitive with all the experience he’d had in the field. Yet, this was all new to Lord John Grey.

“The bairn won’t stop crying.” Jamie stepped over a moss-grown boulder, bringing John from his thoughts back to their current predicament.

“I believe that’s what they do,” John replied, through heavy breaths. They’d been walking for miles now, in God knows what direction.

“He’s hungry. He’s never fed.”

John looked at Jamie, who was looking back at him, like maybe he had answers. He hadn’t. Well, at least, he hadn’t any grand plan to rescue them all from this disaster.

“We should a least give the baby water,” John said. “I think I heard a stream nearby.” Adults, at least, could last longer without food than water. A little water seemed better than nothing, though far from ideal.

With the baby still wailing, they slid down a muddy hill in their boots and stumbled forward toward a blue brook streaming its way over dull rocks washed in moonlight.

“How can we…?” Jamie voiced.

John dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he thought. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him, but he knelt down by the brook and dipped his finger into the cool water. “Bring the baby here, Jamie. Please.”

A few moments later, Jamie knelt down beside John. Now the moonlight was cascading over his reddish mane. In another time and place, it would’ve been serene, seeing Jamie looking like that, natural, as if he’d grown out of the ground like a tree root.

Unsure if it was even a good idea, John pressed a wet finger to the babe’s small lips. It took a moment, but then he started to suckle. Both he and Jamie remained silent, watching, as the boy went on. When the babe whimpered and pulled away, John returned his finger to the water and repeated the process.

“The water’s an improvement, but he will need to eat soon.”

“Aye. There may be a farm somewhere along the way. We could take some milk from one of the cows or goats.”

John stood from where he’d been crouched by the river. Every muscle in his body ached. He could barely remember ever being this tired, though he knew it always felt like that when you’d reached this point of exhaustion. “We keep walking then, until we find something.”

Jamie nodded, but then frowned. “It won’t sustain him for long. Back in Scotland, I’ve seen what happens to wee bairns when their mothers didn’t produce milk and there was no woman to take her place. Most didn’t last long on sheep’s milk.”

John wished there were words of comfort to give this man, who’d stirred up the parts of his heart he’d long believed dead. This man who’d lost too much, who did not deserve to lose anything else. John wanted to reach out and offer him the comfort of his touch, but it wouldn’t be a comfort to Jamie. It hurt to know that no matter how deep John’s feelings ran that his arms could not give Jamie even a taste of the peace he so richly deserved.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie. We can go back. Where Lady Dunsany can find him a suitable wet nurse. I know that will mean consequences for us both, but the child—”

“No! I’ll not take him back there where at best he’ll be unwanted and at worst, he’ll end up dead. I can’t. I…” Jamie’s voice trailed off and long pause followed before he spoke again. “Do you trust me?”

“I… yes. Of course.”

“Hold the bairn for me.”

Jamie carefully laid his child in John arms and the babe squirmed up against John’s chest as if to seek out his warmth. It made a small smile flicker across his face. This child was so impossibly small, with the tiniest fingers he’d ever seen.

Jamie pulled out a knife and stomped over to the nearest tree. Muttering strange words under his breath, Jamie began to carve runes of some kind into the bark of the tree.

“What are you doing?” John whispered, a sudden shiver rolling up his spine. It was unsettling enough out here in the dark woods, and Jamie’s sudden strange behavior only made it worse.

“Quiet,” Jamie demanded harshly, before returning to his whispered language that could’ve been mistaken for Gaelic, but John was somehow certain it wasn’t. At least, not exactly.

He kept on and on, then finally Jamie threw his knife down. “Goddammit. Of course... I was a fool to even try.”

It was unclear what Jamie had been intending to do, but whatever it was, it had not seemed to work.

John asked quietly, “Jamie… what were you—“

“Is the bairn asleep?” His voice was soft like goose-down but sad too.

John looked down at the bundle in his arms. The baby’s eyes were shut, his bottom lip fluttering from breaths. John nodded.

“Then, we sleep for a few hours and when he wakes, we go in search of a goat.”

“But Jamie—“

“If you want to leave…” There was a bite to his words, but then Jamie let out a breath and the softness in his voice returned, “I shouldn’t have asked for your help. It was unfair of me to put you in this position.”

John shut his eyes and swallowed. Maybe he should take Jamie up on his offer. Leave and try to salvage what little may be left of his reputation—he’d clawed his way tooth and nail back from exile before—but the baby was just sleeping so soundly, tucked into the turn of his elbow.

“You’re right. Let’s rest here,” John said.

Together, they worked to kick up a nest of leaves, dry and soft enough to lay down in. It was cold out, the temperature dropping steadily and the air was lapping up against their skin with a bitter mist. They could set a fire, for the warmth, but they were both wanted men. Those that were looking for them could be drawn in by the smoke.

Jamie laid down in their constructed nest and John stood there, cradling the babe and staring down at him.

“What’re ye waiting for’?” Jamie grumbled.

Those words broke John of his reverie and he nestled down on the ground beside Jamie. It wasn’t easy, with the baby in his arms, but he managed to lie on his back, with Jamie on his side, looking in his direction.

Taking in a shaky breath, John laid the baby comfortably against his chest. He looked so small and perfect, this minuscule fragment of Jamie Fraser, so helpless, but with no idea that all he had in the world were two troubled... criminals with only the faintest idea of how keep him alive.

“I can take him, if ye would like,” Jamie said.

“I don’t mind,” John replied. “It could wake him and it might be best not to.”

Jamie nodded, a small, tired smile growing on his face before sweeping away.

As they laid there in the dark with nothing to hear but the bugs and their soft breaths, John just held the babe closer, nestling his face against the top of the bundle, until the world winked out around him.

“Rise and shine, sleepyheads!”

The sound of a woman’s voice roused John from his sleep. It took him a bleary moment to realize again where he was. In the woods. With Jamie and his baby. On the run.

“Jamie.” It was the woman’s voice again, which he only now noticed was flat, a bit harsh. An accent unlike any he’d heard. And this woman was calling Jamie by his real name, not the false identity he’d been using at Helwater. “I swear to God.”

“What? What!” Jamie popped up beside John. “Zoe. You’re here” Jamie stood up. “I dinna think the summoning had worked.”

Summoning? That’s what Jamie had been doing last night. John sat up now too, eyes slowly clearing from sleep. The baby breathed warmly against his neck.

“Jesus Christ, Jamie. Did you kidnap a British officer?”

Kidnap?

“No. No, of course not.”

“What ‘of course not’?!” Zoe—odd name—replied. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Aye, but I dinna. He is here of his own free will.”

Zoe appraised John, like she was taking him in and asking him a question all at the same time. And it was only in this moment that John realized how she was dressed. Tight, blue trousers constructed of an unknown material and an odd, soft-looking black shirt with the words “Star Wars” somehow printed across them. John had never seen anything remotely like it in his life.

John nodded, though, because he was—somehow—here of his own free will.

“Is that a—?” Zoe’s eyes grew wide. “Holy shit. Where the hell did you get a baby?”

“He’s mine,” Jamie replied. “It’s a long story though, and we don’t have time. He hasn’t eaten.”

“Where’s his mom?”

Jamie looked down. “She’s dead. Her husband and parents, they don’t want the child. Her husband tried to kill the baby, so I… stopped him.”

“Stopped him?”

“He’s dead too.”

Zoe linked her fingers together and placed her hands atop her head as she let out a breath. “Christ, Fraser. You really do manage to fuck up your whole life a god-awful lot, you know that?”

It was not only this woman’s accent and her dress that left John confused. It was the way she spoke English, recognizable but with a host of incomprehensible words and phrases thrown in.

“Can ye help us?” Jamie asked.

Zoe dropped her hands. “How long ago was the baby born?”

“Twenty-four hours at least,” John finally spoke up.

Zoe nodded. “Shit. The poor thing.” She walked up to John and knelt down in front of him, looking down at the baby’s face. He’d just opened his bright blue eyes. “No need to worry now, sport. Aunt Zoe’s here to clean up of your daddy’s mess. She’s gotten very good at it.” She stood back up and pulled a bundle of twine out of her pocket.

“Stand up,” she ordered, then pointed at John. “Is this one coming? What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lord John Grey,” he replied.

“A Lord, Jamie? For Christsake.”

“Coming where?” John replied.

Jamie spoke up, “Zoe, you cannot honestly mean to—”

“I do,” she interrupted. “You two geniuses are on the run. Probably good candidates for a hanging, at least you Jamie. I’m not sure how complicit that extra from the off-broadway cast of Hamilton is in all your bullshit, but—”

“I don’t entirely ken your meaning,” Jamie said. “But John attacked and wounded several of the men trying to apprehend me.”

“I can’t go back,” John said, hit by a sudden sinking feeling.

“Well, alright then, buckle-up buttercup.” With that, Zoe took the string and tied it around her wrist with a knot, then she attached the string to Jamie’s wrist, placing a blue gemstone in his hand. Then, she ran the twine behind his back before tying it to the other. She took John’s wrist, placed a gemstone in his hand, and did the same with the twine, connecting Jamie to John.

“What’s the meaning of this?” John asked, his heart pounding unexpectedly.

Zoe ignored him, but Jamie replied, “You can stay here. You may be able to explain yourself.”

Explain that I attacked my fellow Englishmen for the sake of a Scottish prisoner and his illegitimate child? It wouldn’t do.

With a sigh, John adjusted the boy to be in his other hand, then held his untied wrist out to Zoe. She tied the twine on, then tucked another gemstone into the baby’s wrappings. She finished connecting the twine onto her own wrist, completing a circle.

Zoe looked at John. “Hold the baby tight, alright?”

He nodded and swallowed, looking to Jamie for reassurance. He felt he should’ve passed the child onto his father, but for some reason he didn’t want to let go. Jamie nodded back at him.

Zoe’s voice shifted, leaving English behind for the same strange dialect Jamie had been muttering last night, though the words were spoken with a strong assurance. It was clear whatever this language was she was fluent in it, where Jamie had simply memorized the tones.

A twig lifted from the earth untouched and begin to scratch runes into the circle of dirt between them. He was speechless. He was not the type to believe in magic, but how could he ignore the witness of his own eyes. As the scene carried on before him, the runes began to light as embers and the world started to fade like soot being washed off his hands. All he could do was cling tight to Jamie’s child and pray his loss of sense wouldn’t put the baby in jeopardy.

And, then, as if he’d never been in those cold woods at all, John was warm all over and he, and Zoe, and the child and Jamie—thank God— stood in a place unlike any he’d ever seen before.

#john x jamie #outlander #my writing

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windandwater · 5 years

Text

First, you should know that we didn’t know about any of this when we went to Crete. But we found out, when we were told the story.

If you want to be inspired and sad all at once while learning some history, I very much recommend reading the Wikipedia pages for the Greek Resistance and Cretan Resistance in WWII. Actually, I recommend reading them anyway—hi I’m a Ravenclaw and a proponent of knowledge for the sake of knowledge—but they’re also relevant to this story.

For the sake of said story, it suffices to know that the reaction of Greece, and especially Crete, to the Nazis invading, was to resist. According to Wikipedia, this is how the Battle of Crete went for Germany:

For the first time during World War II, attacking German forces faced in Crete a substantial resistance from the local population. Cretan civilians picked off paratroopers or attacked them with knives, axes, scythes or even bare hands. As a result, many casualties were inflicted upon the invading German paratroopers during the battle.

They lost in the end, but the resistance didn’t stop then. Cretan rebels hid out in the mountains and kept fighting for the duration of the war. Wikipedia once again:

As Cretan fighters became better armed and more aggressive in 1944, the German troops pulled out of the country areas, having destroyed a number of villages in the Kedros area and executing many inhabitants, aiming to cow the Cretans. Grouping their forces around Canea, the Germans remained trapped until the end of the war, refusing to surrender to the Greek army, for fear of retaliation. They eventually surrendered to the British on 23 May 1945.

It was a three hour bus ride from Chania to Heraklion. We made this trip with the sole purpose of visiting Knossos, the oldest civilization we’ve found in Europe, which also happens to be the origin of the myth of the Minotaur and the Labyrinth.

At the beginning, the bus station in Chania was playing “Sweet Home Alabama.” Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Is that Sweet Home Alabama??? holy shit Friend: What? Me: am I hallucinating Me: tell me you’re hearing this too Me: Do they even know what Alabama is here?? Friend: Do they know Alabama is even real? Me: To be fair, I’m not even sure Alabama is real. In fact I’m pretty sure Alabama isn’t real. Or I wish it wasn’t.

A bus, another bus, and a street cat sleeping on a motorcycle. Graffiti proclaiming that a bench in the middle of a bus stop is a good kissing spot (it did not look particularly romantic). People catching the bus from stops under dripping overpasses and benches surrounded only by trees on the side of the road.

And then we found ourselves walking through the oldest civilization in Europe.

The grounds were covered in peacocks, and we could hear them screaming in the trees. I have many questions about the 19th century British man who “restored” the ruins, but after walking around them and getting very confused, I no longer have any questions about why this was the civilization that came up with the myth of an endless maze.

I no longer wonder how the people on this island and in this country looked up at the stars and the mountains and told stories about gods and monsters, or why they got so strange. So many people, in such a mild climate, in close quarters, telling stories?

Of course Crete takes its time. Of course Crete is an island of wax wings flying away and women giving birth to half-bull monsters. Of course Crete’s food will ruin you for all other food, after taking two hours to eat it.

Of course Crete is full of stories.

There’s no good way to describe the feeling of walking through ancient ruins. I think, just like the experience of living in New York, I might be spending the rest of my life trying. What I will say now is that—like New York—only the locals could describe it properly. Only the locals know the ways in which being an ancient culture has shaped them through the years and brought them to where they are.

We only got a small taste of the community, and the spirit of the people. But I can say that both are very strong.

We did some shopping, of course. There’s a row of shops right outside the ruins, the kind that pop up all over the world in tourist areas and that prey on the unsuspecting, or willingly enter into a contract with the suspecting, to prey on them.

We only intended to be there for a few minutes—we’d purchased a ticket that would get us into the Archaeological Museum in Heraklion, and had to get there before it closed.

But, you know. It’s Greece. It’s Crete.

Never go to Crete with the attitude that you need to be on a schedule or stick to a specific plan. Expect to be derailed by glasses of raki and limoncello and new friends and their stories. Expect stories about monsters.

Our first store was run by an older man who spoke very little English but found everything I said to be hilarious, so he was my instant new best friend.

The second store we went into was run by a younger guy, who started out telling us about the merchandise, so I’m still not quite sure how we ended up discovering that we were kindred spirits. What I do know is that fifteen minutes later, we had both bought more things than intended, and were yelling about politics and our terrible president in the middle of a Greek tourist shop at the end of the day.

That’s when “Sweet Home Alabama” came on in his store. I shit you not.

I had noticed the slightly-odd playlist (I think John Mayer had been mixed in there at some point) but couldn’t help commenting this time, if only for the coincidence. That’s when Nikos (his name was Nikos) said the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life:

“Yeah, I play traditional Greek music in the morning for the tourists, and in the afternoon I just listen to whatever I want.”

A few minutes later, in the middle of us still cussing out the president, “Shipping up to Boston” by the Dropkick Murphys came on. Okay.

I got to yell about going to the Flogging Molly/Dropkicks concert last year and bond over Celtic punk and talk a lot about Boston and how my family immigrated from Italy and Portugal.

“And why does your country hate immigrants?”  “I don’t even kNOW, we’re all immigrants originally, it’s so stupid, our country just hates anybody who’s not white.” “There’s a little of that in Europe too, not in Greece because we love immigrants—“ “Yeah, fascism is coming back—“ “And we're doing NOTHING about climate change, the world is falling apart, why are you so worried about immigrants when the planet is dying—“ “WE KNOW, it’s so fucked up” “Well when the world ends I’ll just be up in the mountains fighting fascists” “HELL YEAH”

And as I alluded to earlier, going up into the mountains to fight fascists is not unprecedented. Nikos would even be following in the footsteps of his family.

When the Nazis invaded, he said, his grandfather was missing a hand, so he couldn’t fight, but he hid people in a basement. He walked out one morning and there was a pile of dead Nazis—right over there, not a hundred feet from where we were standing—and two partisans standing there with guns slung over their shoulders. They had singlehandedly fought them all off. And when the Nazis tortured Nikos’ grandfather for information later, he couldn’t tell them anything, because he truly didn’t know.

Are you getting chills? I was.

At that point I asked if the traditional Cretan knives he was selling were for stabbing Nazis. He said yes.

He wasn’t wrong.

Cretan civilians picked off paratroopers or attacked them with knives, axes, scythes or even bare hands.

The next day, we were back in Chania, walking around and getting lost in the city.

We didn’t have to get lost to find the bombed-out ruins of a building destroyed by German invaders. There were others just like it.

The stories are there, right under your feet. In the face of the person walking next to you. In the history they carry with them, just by existing in this time, in this place.

Nikos had started out telling us the story of the minotaur, which I could recite back to him verbatim. I read Greek myths as a child, and Greek philosophy as an adult. I learned the real, grownup versions of the mythology, then read plays and Homer and translated Latin versions of Greek stories. My feet walked in a city that looks like Greece but isn’t, learning the story of my country and where it came from.

We went from Knossos back to Heraklion city center on another bus, this time full of old ladies coming back from work, ignoring us, and having their own conversations. We were too late to go to the museum, and barely caught the bus back.

We had the chance to be in the place where the stories came from. And I think we were lucky to hear them from someone who has had them under his feet his whole life.

#adventures in text posts #my writing #crete #stab nazis 2k19 #greece #greece 2019

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jhope-seok · 6 years

Text

Yin;Yang

Disclaimer: All of the things mentioned in this story are all works of fiction and have been made up by me, the author. I did not intend to make anything based on real life, and any coincidences to real life are purely coincidences.

Warnings: mentions of cigarettes

Genre: Angst. Fluff. Slight Smut.

Members: Suga x Reader

Length: 7,447 words

Sequel to The One That Got Away

(A/N: holy cow wow. I got the itch to write this after hearing “All I Ask” by Adele and now this is a reality. I know I’ve been shite at posting my writing, but it’s bc i’m working on something huge right now and it’s taking all of my attention, but I took a break on my big project to write this so i can finally have my catharsis. Highly recommend reading the first part before reading this (it will make a whole lot of sense. Also a HUGEEEE thank you to @hungline for being the best beta ever. <3)

(A/N#2: HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING ON DESKTOP. Mobile screws up the formatting....reads way better on desktop.)

Masterlist

[Y/N 9:47pm] “I still love you.”

The cigarette in his fingers hovered midway on its journey to his mouth, the smoke trailing from the end the only thing letting him know time hadn't stopped. His eyes flickered back and forth from the words on the screen to the name at the top of the conversation. Suga had to sit up in his bed, as if it would help him focus better on his phone in front of him, and shook away his thoughts in an attempt to decipher if this was real or a dream.

“No,” he thought. “This is very real.” The sounds echoed up from the street below a good indication that he was, in fact, not dreaming.

He’s surprised to have heard from you at all, let alone the same night, especially after the way your time together had gone. If he had expected to hear from you, he would’ve thought to hear nasty words from you, something far different than the words he was staring at now. He had lied to you.

“I met someone.”

He was sure at the time that your words hadn't been a lie, that fate had somehow once again provided you both with a chance meeting with no options to move forward. But, looking back now, he guessed you had lied to him too.

“Me too.”

This text message almost proved to him that you had lied to him. He wasn’t sure if you had seen through his lie and were now trying to call him out on it, or if you had somehow slipped: sent a message to him that you had meant for someone else. Or, in a highly unlikely third possibility, if you had meant it for him--Suga wasn’t sure you had meant to actually send it. Either way, he knows that if he missed this opportunity to be with you, he would regret it forever.

There have been too many moments in his life where you were close in his grasp, so close he could’ve closed his fingers and you would’ve been together. Yet, every time you had always managed to slip away like grains of sand, leaving only an emptiness in his heart. He also knows that there have been times where he was to blame, his own actions having pushed you away, but he wanted to ensure that he took this opportunity to prove to you how much you mean to him.

[Suga 9:56pm] “Where are you?”

He knew this was not the answer you would have wanted back to your confession, but he couldn’t tell you how he felt through text. He knew he had to do it in person. He needed to see you, feel you in his arms when he said it back.

When his phone buzzed again in his hand, all that he had from you was an address. It wasn’t the same place where you had met earlier, and when he plugged it into his maps application on his phone, it seemed to be an apartment building. He immediately grabbed his coat and headed out the door of his hotel room.

The night air nipped at his skin as he tried to hold his hood as close to his face as possible, trying to shield his neck from the cold. He’s surprised at how much it had cooled down, almost positive that the temperature earlier had been hot enough to make his shirt stick to his back. Then again, that could've been from his anticipation of seeing you pushing his heart to pump the blood in his veins faster. But, he’s glad for the brisk walk, the air cooling down his body temperature as his heart raced. With every step he took he could feel his pulse raise slightly. He’s not sure what he wants to say to you when he sees you for the second time that night, but he knows he needs to make it count, otherwise this could very well be the end of a possible relationship--and friendship--with you. The end of everything between you two.

The last few weeks of his life had felt like a blur. What had felt like a normal Monday had wound up being one of the worst days of his life. He remembered the tone of his boss’s voice as he sat him down in his office and told him that, “Things just aren’t working out anymore.” Suga had, in the company’s eyes, been performing below standards.

“We just aren’t getting results from you like we used to. And you aren’t showing signs of improvement. You’re not listening to criticism, and you’re behind on all of the projects you’ve been given. We’ve given you a lot of opportunities to show us better, but unfortunately, things just are not working out anymore. We’re going to have to let you go.”

Suga remembered the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, the way his heart stopped for a moment. His brain couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. However, as he had packed his things, left the building and gone home to an empty apartment, he remembered feeling nothing. No anger towards his boss for firing him, no sadness at having lost his job. Nothing. He just kind of shrugged it off. He was emotionless at the thought of no longer having a job and having to find work for himself now for the future. None of that mattered.

And after a week of Suga laying around in his bed, doing the bare minimum to survive and ignoring almost every call from his girlfriend, she had finally gotten so fed up with him that she’d shown up at his apartment, just to break up with him.

“I just don’t get what’s happening, babe. I know you’re upset about having lost your job, but you won’t talk to me. You won’t answer my calls, you won’t respond to my texts. If you won’t open up to me then I can’t stay with you. This relationship isn’t a one way street, Yoongi. You act like you don’t love me anymore, and I can’t handle that. I love you, Yoongi, but you have to get your life together before we can work things out.”

He remembered how even after all of that, he’d just felt nothing. None of her words had pulled at his emotions, every word bouncing off of his skin, falling to the floor. It was all just air to him, wasted breath. Because she was right; he didn’t love her. She had just been a filler in his life. Something to make his parents believe he was living a “normal” life. He supposed at the beginning he had felt something for her, a flicker of something stronger than apathy. That's why he'd chosen to date her, but every night he laid in bed with her, every time she pulled him close, every time she kissed him, he was left wanting. She had left him wanting more, left his heart aching for something he knew he could never have. Nothing for him had been the same since college, and he knew that nothing ever would be.

After he had run out of food in his kitchen, after he’d gone through ordering delivery from every place within delivering range, he finally had decided to go to the grocery store and get himself food. He felt that it had been long enough and that he needed to go back to his facade of living like every other person. But, as he’d driven home from the store, some song on the radio had caught his ear. It was your favorite song, and hearing it flooded all of the memories of you he’d been holding at bay for so long. He remembered the first time he heard you sing along to the song, your eyes closed, voice slightly off key, dancing around like an idiot in the middle of your living room. He remembered listening to it in his college dorm room, during the moments he missed you most. Something inside of him snapped, and as he sat in his car outside of his apartment building, he cried. He really cried for the first time in years.

He let himself be sad over the times he’d lost you, he let himself cry at the thought that he’d let all communication with you drop because he was selfish. He cried because he'd let the one person he cared for most, slip away from him because being around you hurt. It had been the first time since freshman year of college that he truly felt pain. The wall he'd built to keep the hurt at bay finally fell away and released all of the things he'd held back for all those years. And as he'd wiped away his tears, and stared at the dashboard of his car, he thought to himself that he had to do something. He didn't know what he was going to do, or how he was going to fix things, but he needed to try.

So he ran up to his apartment, gathered a small bag of belongings, and drove home. He drove back to the city he'd been avoiding for three years. Along the way he called your parents. He still remembered your home phone number, the digits burned into his memory after having called so many times during high school before his parents had allowed him his first cell phone. When your mother answered she was surprised to hear his voice on the other line.

"Yoongi? Wow! It's great to hear from you for so long. I just saw your parents the other day at the grocery store. How are you?"

He initiated small talk for a while, shocked at how nice your mother was being to him considering how rude he’d been to you for the last three years. But eventually, he got to his point.

"Mrs. Y/L/N, I was calling because I recently got a new phone and couldn't switch over my contacts. I was wondering if you had a current cell phone number for Y/N? I'm coming home for the weekend and wanted to catch up with her."

He hadn’t exactly told the truth to your mom, but she bought it, quickly reciting off your cell number to him. He was thankful to find out that the number hadn’t actually changed. He contemplated the rest of the drive what he was going to send to you, what he was going to do now that he actually had a way to contact you. He felt bad about lying to your mom, so he felt like he should at least try to contact you, but he had no idea what he was going to say if he did. Suga had thought out many different versions of the same text, each sounding far too cheesy in his own mind. There was no way you would ever say yes to seeing him after all of the pain you’d gone through together, especially since after the last time you’d seen him, he had been the one to stop responding to your texts.

When he’d parked outside of the first hotel he could find in your city, he pulled out his phone and opened a new text message conversation. He punched in your number methodically, as if it hadn’t been three years since he’d last used the number. The cursor blinked on the screen at him, taunted him. It was telling him that if he wasted all of this gas to drive all of the way here, called your mother and lied to her about seeing you, and then word somehow got back to you that she spoke to him...he knew things would forever be ruined. He had to do something.

The sun was low in the sky, his courage fading with every minute, he knew it was now or never. It was worth a shot to him, so he typed quickly, and before he could think himself out of it, he hit the blue arrow, and the message was sent.

“Y/N–I’m in the area. Are you free to meet up? –Suga”

Why he had chosen to sign the his text with your chosen nickname for him from high school, he didn’t know. He waited, growing ever the more nervous as time went on. He panicked that he had gotten your number wrong, or that your mom had purposefully given him a false number. He chewed on his lower lip as he stared at his phone. He knew that the longer he watched his screen, the slower time would move.

So, he got out of his car, and walked into the hotel, and prayed that they had a room he could sleep in tonight. He hadn’t planned on staying long, but he figured that if he was here now he wasn’t going to push himself to drive all the way back to his apartment through the night. As he stepped into the lobby of the enormous hotel his phone buzzed in his hand.

“Sure, meet me at the park by the river in an hour.”

He almost dropped his phone as he read the words on his screen. You said yes. His heart jumped into his throat,anxious at the thought of seeing you again. He tried to calm himself, get his mind off of the situation that loomed in the near future, by speaking with the person at the front desk. Luckily for him they had one room left. He spent an approximate ten minutes getting himself situated in his room until he decided he could take it no longer, and grabbed the pack of cigarettes in his bag and headed out to the park you’d detailed.

It had been a while for him, walking among the streets of the city he grew up in. He was surprised at how natural it was to him, how easily he fell back into the same routine. There was only one park he thought you would be speaking of, and when you arrived, three cigarettes later, he was astonished at how it felt as if everything was exactly the same as he’d left it with you.

Except it wasn’t. You smoked, he smoked. You had both matured into beings so separate from each other, the only thing connecting you were the memories you shared between you. And he had revealed to you the truth behind those shared memories, he admitted how he’d been feeling for all of those years.

“I was going to ask you be my girlfriend.”

You’d responded in a way that didn’t catch him off guard as much as he thought you were expecting to catch him.

“That was the first time I remember wanting to tell you I loved you. The first time I wanted you to kiss me.”

But between you both, there had always been a catch.

“But you kissed her instead.”

He had always felt a need to lie, to protect himself from harm, from potential heartbreak. So when you’d called him by the nickname you’d come up with during freshman year of high school (“You’re sweet, Yoongi. You know that? I’m gonna call you Suga.”), he closed himself off immediately. He always had his guard up.

“I met someone.”

Until now.

When he arrived at the address you sent, he stood outside for several minutes, staring up at the windows above his head, trying to imagine what kind of scenario he was entering into. He pictured everything from you slapping him in the face saying that even though you still loved him, he had hurt you way too many times and he should have never spoken to you in the first place, to you crying and claiming he was the love of your life but that you were with someone else and you wouldn’t leave your boyfriend to chance a relationship with him. Although, he still had a small itch at the back of his head that you hadn’t been telling the truth when you’d told him you were seeing someone. Either way, he took one last breath of the cold air and headed inside.

He was surprised to find the front desk of your building empty at such a late hour, but he didn’t let that deter him from the task at hand. He easily found the elevator, and with every second it took for it to arrive, and then to deliver him to your floor, his heart began to race faster than he thought possible. He hadn’t mentally prepared himself to see you again so soon and now that he was mere steps away from you again, he wasn’t sure he could actually face you. But before he could blink, he was in front of the door marked with the same numbers as you’d sent in your address. And with three simple knocks there you were.

His breath hitched in his throat when he saw you in his sweatshirt. He was thrown back into the past to the day he gave it to you. It was the first and only time he had ever kissed you, and he had given you his favorite sweatshirt to remember him by. He never forgot how your lips felt against his, and he almost broke down and cried when he saw you wearing that memory so plainly in front of him. All of the words he’d intended to say escaped him as he stared at you. His past was colliding with his present and future and his sense of time was turned upside down, a loop that was connecting that day to this moment.

“Y/N--,” he started, his words falling into nothingness in the void between you. He had thought out his speech so carefully. He was going to tell you he’d lied, he was going to tell you how much you meant to him. But when he tried, there was nothing. When he couldn’t fill the space, you did.

“Suga--” was all you had to say. The precious nickname you’d shared for all those years was the only word it took to break through his wall, to force his guard down. Hearing it now was all it took for him to close the gap between you, and suddenly, just like that day all those years ago, he was kissing you. It was just as he remembered, just as he had re-lived over and over again in his dreams. Your hands easily found a grip at the nape of his neck, and his fingers curled around your waist, pulling you as close as physically possible. The space that had separated you both for so long closed so suddenly, you were like the most powerful magnets it the world. He never knew that the pain he had endured for so many years could be washed away as easily as it was washing away now. Your lips against his was the only medicine he needed to mend the hurt of past years, and he never wanted it to end.

In the past, he had imagined that if he were to ever have a chance to kiss you again, it would be awkward and uncomfortable, the memories of the past making it difficult for you both to fall into each other. Yet, it was anything but. Your lips tasted like all of the memories he never wanted to forget plus all of the memories he'd been trying to run away from all of these years. Your tongues clashed together in a choreography so synced it was as if you had done this a thousand times. He could feel your heartbeat against his chest and it was the perfect match to the beat inside of him.

As you pulled him into your apartment, he wondered when he'd memorized this routine you were both so quickly falling into. He felt as if time had been moving so fast before, and now with every second that passed, all of his senses were alight, aware of the mere milliseconds that passed as your limbs tangled together. It was so natural to him, the push and pull between you and him, as your fingers left his skin blazing as they danced across his back. When he found your skin under his sweatshirt, the heat from within you lit a fire inside of him that had long been extinguished.

It was a blur of passion that overtook every fiber of his being. He knew that if someone were ever to ask him to recall this night in the future, time would not be able to cloud the memory of the way your lips felt against his neck, or the way you clenched around him as your climax overtook you. Every movement you made against him molded him, shaped him, left its mark on his body, and he knew that he would never be the same.

In one of the few moments where your lips broke away from his, as his eyes fixed upon yours, he wondered how he ever convinced himself that any other woman had been the one for him. Your body melded with his like you were the yin to his yang, the perfect match for every movement his made. And when the night was over, as he kissed your skin, his head spun, love drunk on the taste of your sweat mixed with his.

As the moon shone brightly on your skin as you lay in his arms, the thought crossed his mind that this was where he was meant to be. When sleep fell over him, your scent surrounding him, he felt complete; fulfilled.

The sun woke him up as it usually did. He felt called by its rising, the warmth of its rays the only thing that had kept him sane all of these years. But, as he rubbed his eyes clear of his sleep, he realized something was off. You had left him, the sheets where you had lain were cold against his arms, empty like the bed. He heard you before he saw you, the clinking of something--likely a toothbrush--against the sink his only indication you were in the adjoining bathroom.

He shifted in bed, rested against your headboard, the wood cold against his bare back, unsure of what to make of this situation. Although he could not see your face, it was as if the air in the room had become denser than the night before. He could feel the tension between you and him, a rope strung taut as a heavy weight pulled upon it. He wondered to himself what had changed during the night, wondered how only a few hours could have shifted your feelings of him. He wasn’t yet ready to face these questions in his head, so he reached over into his pants that lay on the floor, and dug around for the pack of cigarettes he always kept in his back pocket.

He considered for a moment that it would be rude to light a cigarette in your apartment, in your bedroom during his first visit, but as he contemplated this his eye caught a trail of smoke leaving a still burning cigarette in an ashtray on your bedside table. The first hit off of a cigarette in the morning did more for him than a cup of coffee ever would, and as he exhaled, smoke dancing in the sunlight.

You yanked open the door of the bathroom, hair still wet, pants unbuttoned.

Suga stiffened, but before he could get out a word, you were rushing. “I’m going to be late for work, I have to go. You can let yourself out after me. Feel free to use the shower. Just lock the door behind you.”

Your last word still hung in the air as you ran out of the bedroom, into the living room. He heard you rustling around, moving through your apartment at such a fast pace that he thought if he was standing in the doorway watching you move, you would be a blur before his eyes. He imagined you were trying to get away from the situation, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He took a deep, deliberate breath, counting to himself the seconds it would take before he heard the front door click.

Twelve seconds.

He took another drag of his cigarette, wondering what he was supposed to do with himself, left alone in your apartment. He needed to shower, he still smelled like the events of last night. Yet, while it had lulled him to sleep the previous night--the thought lingering in his dreams that it had become his new favorite cologne--now the scent was making him lightheaded. But, he felt uneasy using your shower when you weren’t home, it was such a personal place that he felt he would be intruding. If he was being honest with himself, he felt like he was intruding even just sitting in your bed, so he got up, stretched and put his cigarette out in the ashtray, deciding it would be best if he just leave.

As he dressed, he couldn’t help but stare at his surroundings, wondering what it was like when he wasn't there to repel you out the front door; he wondered what your day to day life was like. He stood in the doorway to your bedroom, looking out at the living room. He saw you asleep on the couch after a long night of work, some show playing quietly on the television, your lullaby as you slept. He took a few steps and he could see your kitchen to his left. He pictured all of the meals you cooked, hoping that you had been eating well, and wondered if you had ever shared a meal with someone at your kitchen table. As he turned back around eyes cast back into the bedroom, he was presented with the thought that he had not been the first person to share your bed with you. He questioned how many had come before him, how many had been regular guests in your apartment, and how many had been like him, a one night stand to be left alone as you hurried out the door, away from the scene of the crime.

Everywhere he looked he could see the ghost of you, and he had the overwhelming sense that he was tired of thinking about your ghost. He was tired of only being left with the memory of you. He was exhausted from never being able to feel like he had won, that things in his life had settled and that he was where he meant to be. He wanted you, and he would not let you get away this time.

As he stood at your front door, hand gripping the handle tight, he promised himself that he would not let you get away, he would get you once and for all. He was meant to be with you, and he would be with you. He would do whatever it took to make that happen.

As you sit at your desk at work, you can't help but be consumed with regret at your actions from the morning. Your boss tells you that you seem out of it, unfocused. She brings you into her office, and asks if something happened. You lie and say no, knowing that if you were to tell her she would reprimand you for being so absent-minded over a boy. She tells you that if you need to go take a smoke break you're more than welcome, but you shake your hand at her, saying you were just tired from a long night. She smiles politely and tells you that she understands, but reminds you that you have an important task due by the end of the workday. You nod and go back to your desk.

So you do your best to focus, trying to get through the day, one word, one page, one assignment at a time. You’re sifting through the paper on your desk when your phone chimes. Your heart races as you reach for it, hoping to see his name on your screen. When you realize it was just a message from your mom reminding you that your father's birthday was coming up, your heart sinks, and the shame from the way you acted to Suga comes back like a brick wall.

You want to apologize to him, but you're unsure of how to do so. You acted like you hated him this morning, like he had given you some incurable disease. But in reality, you were mad with yourself. You had let yourself slip, let your strong facade give way for a moment, and although you showed your true self to Suga last night, you knew you could never be with him and you regretted the fact that you let yourself set a standard that you know no person could ever reach. Suga was the only person you wanted to be with, but he'd cheated on his girlfriend with you.

You were back and forth all day as to what you wanted to do, whether you should text him and tell him how much you really still loved him, or if you should pick yourself up and pretend like this never happened. After all, if there was another woman in his life, you couldn't ask him to leave her for you. He had never asked you to leave your boyfriends in the past, and you had never asked him to leave any of his girlfriends. You wanted so badly to be selfish, but your heart was telling you this had to be the end of it with Suga. You had to let him go. Once and for all.

When the clock struck 6:00pm, you gathered your belongings and went home, resolved to let last night lay in the past, no matter how much it broke your heart to do so.

The rest of the day, Suga spent pacing his hotel room. He was at war with himself. He was so desperate to make you his, he was telling himself he would do whatever it took. But there had been many times where he had second guessed himself. He'd been so determined when he left your apartment, that on his walk home he threw his pack of cigarettes in the first trash can he saw. He somehow stupidly thought it would be a way to show he was committed to you. He regretted that an hour later when his nerves caught up with him.

His brain had presented him with the very real possibility that his previous assumption that you had lied about meeting someone was, in fact, not a lie. That the reason you'd run out on him this morning was because you realized how much you had truly fucked up by cheating on this new person with him. He was convinced that any attempt he would make to win you over would be thwarted by the simple words, "I have a boyfriend." He was so sure, but there was one minuscule part of him that still believed it was false. And that part was fueling his fire. The tiny flame that refused to be doused.

Slowly, for the rest of the day, as the sun got hotter, so did the flame inside of him. He tried to switch his inner mantra from "She's going to reject me" to "I have a chance." His whole life, there had been so many missed chances with you. If he let this time be another one, another moment that you were able to slip through his grasp, he wondered what the purpose of life would be for him after this day. So he gathered himself, and decided he needed to see you. He needed to take the leap and just do it for once.

He quickly searched on his phone for the nearest flower shop to him. He spent a long time talking with the man behind the counter, deciding on the perfect kind of flowers to portray his feelings. He knew roses were the wrong kinds of flowers to express what he was feeling, and in the end they had decided on a mix of dahlias, peonies, with lavender mixed throughout. The man at the flower shop, Jungkook, had informed him that if he was trying to show commitment and devotion to a girl he was pining after that dahlias and peonies were the flowers to choose.

As Suga left the shop, he was taken with how much his heart had steadied, with every step he took closer to your apartment he felt his heartbeat calm, his mood lift, and his smile grow wider. All of his anxieties from earlier had disappeared. He could feel it. This time it would be real.

But, he realized he should probably not show up unannounced at your apartment. He wasn't even sure that you were home yet after work. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what time it was. The sun in the sky indicated that it was sometime mid evening, the sky having turned a warm pink as he made his way through the city. He dug his phone out of his back pocket, careful not to ruffle the bouquet and pulled up your conversation from the previous night. He reread the messages, wondering to himself what it would be like to hear you say what you'd wrote to him.

"I still love you."

He could almost hear it if he closed his eyes, but he stopped himself from lingering in his thoughts too long. He needed to focus on the present, on the now. He clicked on your contact information and pressed the phone icon as it prompted him: "Voice call" or "Facetime audio." Suga's finger hovered over his screen. He hesitated, unsure of how you would react to a phone call from him so soon. He ran through all of the possible scenarios in his mind again, but then landed on the decision that he didn't care, he needed to do this. At the very least he needed to do it to have a moment to look back on and say “At least I tried.” So, he pressed down, the dialing sounds filling his ears.

"Hello?" Your voice coming through his speaker sounded surprised. There was also a hint of anger that he couldn't place. 'Is she angry I called?' he wondered to himself.

“Suga?” you prompted him, and he realized that he hadn’t actually said anything.

“Y/N, are you busy?” He cut to the chase, not bothering with awkward pleasantries. He knew that if he let himself beat around the bush he would wind up hanging up and regretting his choice.

“No. I just got back from work.” You paused, and he was taken aback by how, real this conversation sounded. To an outsider on either side of the conversation they might think that this was just a normal chat between a boyfriend and girlfriend. Or at least a regular conversation between friends. Something he hadn’t called you for a long time.

“Why? What’s up?” You asked.

“Oh.” After everything he’d gone through in his head, he’d missed the one scenario where you asked why he was calling. “No reason,” he lied. “Just wanted to hear your voice.”

He shook his head at his own stupid lie. He was ashamed that he’d lost confidence so quickly. After so many hours of working himself up, he’d fallen so fast in the face of a question he hadn’t been prepared to answer.

He could hear your breath hitch through the phone. “O-oh.” After a few awkward beats you continued. “Okay. When do you go back?”

“Tomorrow.”

You bit down on your lip hard, chewing to keep yourself from asking the only question you wanted to ask. You yearned to see him again. You wished you could hold him in your arms one last time, feel his body against yours, taste him against your lips. But you refrained.

“Well, travel safe, I guess,” you murmured.

“Thanks, Y/N.” His voice sounded soft. You wondered where he was, what he was doing that prompted him to call you. He had never been the type to call without a reason. Not recently, at least. As you threw your phone down behind you on your bed, your eyes caught sight of the arm of his sweatshirt peeking out from the under the bed. As you reached for it, you figured it must have gotten kicked under your bed in the haste that was made to remove each other of all clothing last night.

You pulled it on over your body, relishing in how soft it felt against your skin, imagining that the fabric was his hands, brushing over your arms as he pulled you close. You wondered if this would be your new normal, if you would forever be left with this yearning inside to relive the events of the previous evening. You knew that no one would ever live up to anything he had given you, would never make you feel anything compared to the way he made you feel. And while these thoughts were running through your mind, you still wished somehow you could make it work: fix the past, and forge a new path, together.

You sighed to yourself. What you both had done last night had been a mistake, you reasoned. He said he had met someone. He had cheated, and you hadn’t stopped him, in fact, you were the one who started it after all. You should have respected his boundaries, but now he would have to go back to his girlfriend and tell her that he cheated with some nobody from his past.

You shuffled through your bedroom to your couch, tears slowly streaming down your face as your mind ran through the negatives. There was no way for you and him to work. The past was a prime example of that. Every time your paths crossed, it was as if you were looking at him from below and he at you from above. At the same place but never truly together.

You turned on the television to try and drown out your thoughts as you wrapped yourself in your favorite blanket. “At least I have this to remember him by,” you thought, as you pulled the hood up over your head. You were keen to lay on your couch for the rest of the night, letting the sounds from whatever show was on to muffle your thoughts and lull you to sleep. But after only a few minutes there was a sudden knock on your door. You turned the sound down on the television, hoping that whoever it was would assume you weren’t home and would go away.

But they didn’t seem to be fooled by your act. They knocked again, three raps on the door. You lifted yourself into a seated position, still hoping that they would go away if you just never answered.

“Please, answer the door. Answer it, Y/N. Where is she?” Came muffled behind the door, his voice sounded impatient and anxious. You stood in your spot at the sound of his voice, the blanket falling to your feet. You rushed to the door, heart pounding in your chest as you fumbled with the locks. You had to see him, had to prove that this wasn’t a dream. As cliche as it sounded in your head, you had to know that he had come back for you.

Your heart felt like it would burst up through your throat at the sight of him in your doorway. You were speechless as you stared into his eyes. The tears that had subsided from earlier returned as you fell into his arms. You heard something that sounded like plastic crumple as it thudded by your feet. Your brain briefly wondered what had made such a sound, but all that mattered to you was his warmth that surrounded you in an embrace that cured all of your broken hearts from all of the years past.

“How are you here?” Was all you managed to get out, the only words that made sense to your brain.

“Y/N, I’m here for you. I’m not leaving without you this time,” his breath fanned over your hair, a calm reassurance. “I am leaving tomorrow, but I can’t go back without knowing you’re mine.”

You lifted your face from his chest, a tingling spreading throughout you. “This is real,” you repeat in your mind, a mantra you have to keep to stop yourself from collapsing at his feet.

“Suga, I have always been yours.” A smile spread across your face, a contrast to the tears that were still raining down your cheeks.

“I know,” he whispered, as he wiped away the tears on your face. “And I’m yours too. I love you, Y/N. I have loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you in photography class freshman year. I have loved you since the first time I kissed you. And I will love you until the moon falls out of the sky.”

You chuckled, the joy now evident on your face. As you kissed him, your pain melted away, your heart beat with a new life. Your arms laced behind his neck, his hands wrapped tight around your waist, you knew: you had found the place that you wanted to be forever.

He did leave the next day, moved back for a month, but he called you every day and visited on the weekends. He owned up to the fact that he lied about having a girlfriend, and you told him the truth as well. He’d brought you flowers, which wound up slightly crumpled, but you reassured him that all that mattered was the thought. He didn’t tell you about how much thought was put into them, but he smiled as you rummaged around for anything large enough to hold the bouquet. (Which wound up being an old wine bottle you rinsed out in a hurry so they had somewhere to go).

You apologized for running out on him the morning after your first night together, and he laughed as you explained your embarrassment. He told you he’d gotten fired from his job, but that he would look for a new one, one that was much closer to you.

He also said that the only reason he had to move back was so he could finish out his lease, and that he’d already spoken to his parents about moving in with them until he could find another job and a new apartment. You told him it was unnecessary, that although you were going to take your new relationship slow, you would be more than happy to have him live in the spare bedroom in your apartment. You had been best friends for years, there was no way you would let him stay with his parents, especially when you had an empty room that you’d never gotten around to renting out. He said he would consider it once his lease was over.

After all, it felt like no time had passed; as if time had just stopped, waiting for the two of you to reunite again and pick up where you’d left off. Which is exactly what you told him, but that this time you were moving forward with the title of boyfriend and girlfriend.

“And, you know,” you paused, a laugh escaping your lips. “A lot more sex.”

He had laughed at that. A sound that lit a flame inside of you that had long been smothered. You were so elated to finally have your best friend back, and it felt like a burden had been lifted from your chest, one that you’d been holding on to for far too long.

You could see into your future together, and the questions he had asked you now became clear, the answers laid out in the years to come so apparent.

“What would have happened had we been together? Would we still be together? Would we be married? Would we have kids?”

As he held you in his arms at night, his heartbeat the lullaby that sung you to sleep, you knew that the answers to everything would be yes. All of those missed opportunities meant to serve as a purpose. You had both matured, ready for forever. Forever with each other. Suga was your perfect match, as you were his. You belonged together, just like the sun needed the moon. With him, you were home.

feedback is always welcome! please feel free to leave some here!

#kpoptrashtag #kpopwonderlandtag #bangtanwriters-net #boy group writers net #my works #yin;yang #suga #min yoongi #min suga #bts #bangtan boys #beyond the scene #fluff fics #smut fics #angst fics

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purgatoryandme · 6 years

Note

Lmao Awww how does Bucky feel in MoV when Tony just dips with rhodey in the middle of the night ? Also, I just realized these LW an MV AUs mean that Steve's having to live EVEN longer than he already has,,, and has to go under the ice AGAIN,,, holy cow I feel so BAD for him like how traumatic even tho it's kinda his own fault,,,he's lived so long it's like he's practically immortal now

hAhAAaaaAaaaa MoV and LW are Steve’s own personal waking nightmare…like at least LW has a chance for redemption and a better ending, but MoV? MoV is Steve l o s i n g e v e r y t h i n g !

Bucky’s bed was cold. His bed hasn’t been cold in…in months. Since he finally dragged Tony away from having to share Steve’s bed into sharing his.

Tony never stayed in bed for long, but Bucky always woke up shortly after he left.

But his bed was cold.

He was alone.

He knows what happened - there’s no way he wouldn’t. But he doesn’t believe it. Tony has been…Tony has always been there. He never wanted to be, but he was. A constant point of reference when Bucky’s world tipped off its axis, all the bad in him sloshing sideways and flooding his head and heart from the point on his left arm that Hydra had -

(The injection had burned)

(It had burned like frostbite, a cold so cold it was hot)

(It was cold)

(His bed was cold)

Tony stayed. He never had anywhere else to go. He stayed through guilt and fear and something that ran far deeper, something that chained him to them, though he hissed and spit and spilt his own blood thousands of times - he was theirs. He was Bucky’s. They’d taken bullets for each other.

But his bed was cold.

Bucky tears through the camp, howling Tony’s name like a man possessed. He doesn’t even realize his hand is on his pistol. He doesn’t know what he intends to do with it, what he’d do if he was faced with Tony’s retreating back, with him leaving-

No one else is searching. He screams at them, unable to understand what they are trying to say to him, only knowing they aren’t looking.

He punches Dum Dum in the face. It’s instinctual - Dum Dum had practically been a father to Tony, yet here he was, abandoning him just like Tony’s real father (whoever that bastard was, Bucky was going to put lead between his teeth, just you wait-). Before a real fight can break out, Jacques face going red and furious, Steve grabs Bucky’s arm (his left, the one where all the bad spilled free, the one that Tony had sunk his teeth into the last time Bucky had tried to grab him and haul him away from somebody ten times his size-).

“Rhodes is gone, too, Buck. They left.”

Steve tells him. Bucky is cold - he burst out of his tent without a shirt, dressed only in his sleep pants. He’s not wearing any shoes. His feet are cold.

Would Tony’s be cold? Did he slip out in his pajamas, unplanned? Could they catch-

“He packed. They took a motorbike.”

Steve says mechanically. There’s something in his voice, some catch in the mechanism that makes up Captain America, a fucking cog that won’t settle into place and ruins the whole goddamn thing. The whole goddamn thing was ruined.

Bucky turns wild eyes on Jacques, dismissing Steve (useless, fucking useless, probably watched him go-). He’s met head on with the hardest stare Jacques had ever given him.

“I’m not telling you where he’s gone.”

Jacques hisses. Without hesitation, Bucky lifts his gun.

It’s cold.

He’s cold.

Steve breaks his wrist, forcing him to drop the gun, and Bucky doesn’t fight it. He’s horrified in some distant part of himself, the part of himself that was floating overhead, totally disconnected from everything his body was doing. The part of himself that fled in the night with Tony, maybe.

He returns to his tent, crawls back into his freezing bed, and goes back to sleep. He wishes he wouldn’t wake up.

The Arctic sea ice is getting closer and closer. Bucky turns to look at Steve, bleak understanding in his friend’s eyes, some kind of resignation. Like he’d seen this scene before.

“Where did you and Tony come from?”

He asks, because he’s always wanted to know. He never bought that Steve had simply been hiding the affect war had on him. He’d always known this Steve was different.

This Steve, this near-stranger, his brother in arms, smiles at him self-deprecatingly,

“From the future I killed. I killed it when I brought it here.”

Bucky laughs drily. Of course. Of course, that explained so much.

“The future, eh?”

Bucky says, staring at the ice, so close he could almost taste it.

“Makes sense I’d fall in love with a dead future. I’m a dead past.”

He grins at Steve, clutching his shoulder,

“Soon to be a dead present, too, I guess.”

Steve’s eyes squeeze shut. He’s afraid of something that isn’t death. Bucky doesn’t know if he wants to know what it is.

“Till the end of line?”

Steve croaks. Bucky gives his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze,

“Till the end-”

They crash. They drown.

Their future…freezes.

#merchants of venice #AKA wow look at Bucky's incredibly unhealthy obsession and dissociation #stark differences

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leefelixs · 6 years

Text

boyfriend kim woojin • stray kids

genre: fluff

pairing: kim woojin & you

word count: 2139 words

summary: dating woojin and all the quirks/aspects of your relationship

note(s): i have the softest spot in the world for woojin.. he’s just so cute and precious...i adore him :( our little bear. anywho thank you so much for your kindness and every like/reblog on my first post! here we go yet again, once again bullet proof format. <3

your first real meeting with woojin was at the guitar center during your last year of high school

it had been your first job which you adored greatly and felt so happy to work with something you loved so dearly, that being music and guitars

there was no musical ability in your hands but you adored to watch and listen to others play, it was always so magical

on a particularly slow day during the winter two boys wrapped up in their scarves and coats came in with bright eyes and jaws agape at all the amazing models arraying the shop

“oh, i didn’t know you worked here. it’s nice to see you!” shaking his head slightly to have his scarf move down, you recognized your classmate kim woojin

kim woojin was your ultimate crush for a whole year but you had never truly had the chance to speak to him, all you ever got to see was his kindness and respectful personality and how he helped a lot of the younger students do their best

the only words exchanged between you two previously was when you fell asleep in history and he nudged you once the bell had rang politely telling you that you should probably wake up

“uhm, i do. it’s nice to see you too. do you need help with anything?” boy oh boy were you thankful for the counter covering the lower half of your body because your legs were wobbling like jelly

“i think i’m okay for now, i just wanted to look at prices.” you nod and force a strained smile

“if you need help with anything let me know!” although you pretend to focus on the computer screen in front of you...it is painfully obvious you’re watching woojin and his friend

but y’know his friend, seungmin you think his name is, he’s a real hero and pretends not to notice

the two walk around the store and check various models and the excitement in woojin’s eyes are amazing

until his eyes see the price and his smile immediately fades

after an hour of browsing and realizing he doesn’t have enough for any of the guitars he sees the two boys resign from looking and decide to make their way out

for some reason your heart aches at seeing the disappointment on his face

i have to find a way to help him...but what if i should stay out of it and mind my business? no, he looks so disappointed. just try it out.

“hey! we’re hiring by the way if you want to try to work here...the owner is really nice and works well with school hours. it’s a decent amount of pay too.” with that his vision turns to you and is smiling bashfully

“do you think i could get an application then?”

you swear never in your life have you been so quick even if you got a vicious paper cut from the sheet (seungmin laughs slightly at your wince but doesn’t point it out)

“here! you can bring it back any time of the week from 3 to 8. i’ll be here.”

he bows so much and nearly knocks into the floor every single time constantly thanking you and excitedly looking at seungmin for approval

and obviously when you tell your boss about your smart uh, ‘friend’ who applied, he’s more than happy to give him the job

and that’s how woojin became your co-worker and probably a better worker than you

he’s quick to learn everything he has to do and takes everything really serious and is quite attentive to every detail you tell him

“this is so weird, i’m so used to explaining things for other people.” his small smile is so soft and warms your heart you want to throw a guitar pick at him

your friendship with woojin eventually picks up from there too because both of you have nearly the same schedule but you’re a little scared he might end up outgrowing you and no longer needing your help so you do contemplate mixing him up a little

but who could do that to woojin? no one of course so you sit and persevere

he’s so sweet and offers you some of his lunch everyday just so you have something to fill you up (even if it’s his mom’s cooking and he would rather have it all to himself)

you’re both ridiculously close and around 8 months of knowing each other you can safely say he’s one of your closest friends and your one of his

“so, woojin, are you buying that guitar to write songs for your girlfriend?” you tease one day as you tune some of the strings on the display models

woojin just looks at you like uh and you’re like oh uhm.. well

“or uh, boyfriend?”

he just laughs and shakes his head

“no, neither, i don’t have anyone special like that. i do like someone but...it’s too soon to say.” you kind of wish you didn’t ask because wow what a mistake

“ah i see” the rest of the conversation is carried by him because you feel a little too sad to keep it going

finally around 13 months of working there does woojin run in with the biggest grin

“guess what i just bought?” and you gasp as he hugs you and you both jump around happily because oh my god YES he deserves this! he is so happy and you’re so happy and he looks so excited and you’re so excited

“sit! sit and listen to this.” he takes the guitar carefully and strums a few notes while clearing his throat and slowly beginning to play

why did no one tell you kim woojin has the vocals of another worldly force? who knows but you wish they did because your heart is weak

your clapping is so loud and obnoxious and you are so delighted

“play me a song woojin!”

he visibly tenses up but nods and begins to play again, much slower and softer

and as he starts singing you realize the lyrics are like that of a love song

your heart is pounding as he shyly keeps singing and playing and eventually halfway through softens and stops playing overall, looking up at you blankly

“why’d you stop playing?” you sound so small and embarrassed as you ask but your face is so hot and you’re positive you are sweating

“because i promised myself i would only play the rest for my future girlfriend. so if you want to hear the rest, maybe you’ll say yes?” his eyes are looking at his shoes that suddenly seem very interesting wow

“then play the rest of the song for me, you know i’ll say yes.”

voila! a cute match really, the boss is quite proud and claims it’s all his doing for hiring both of you (little does he know you’re both going to quit respectfully after this because like well woojin got his guitar and doesn’t need the job so why are you going to stay uh duh moving on)

much like woojin is as a friend and person overall, he’s more of a listener than a speaker

he is content with just being by you and listening to stories about your day and the things you have to say

the most important thing to him is communication between the both of you and he just wants you to know he is always open to anything you need to say and will never judge you for anything

whenever he walks by you just casually reach over and smack his butt playfully because we can’t resist a thiccums

every time he just laughs and engulfs you into a hug and rubs his knuckles into your head (gently of course)

his jokes are actually so well thought out and well timed it’s actually kind of unfair how much he makes you laugh and whenever you guys hang out your ribs hurt and your cheeks are aching

you’ll be watching tv and he just slowly drags himself across the floor in front of the tv and stares at you

“babe...i’m watching tv”

and he just makes a face

and slowly drags himself back out

“woojin what the hell”

he’s quite honest with you but is good at wording things so he never hurts your feelings

“what do you think of this outfit?”

“i think...someone so good looking can wear something better than that”

you’re both pretty spontaneous in date plans and one day you decide ice skating is very important

not even two seconds in you fall on your face as woojin is flailing to catch you

both of you end up tangled up on the ice and although it’s painful he’s so happy to have someone so endearing

sometimes he’ll be reading something on his phone and just lean in really close and he stops what he was looking at and looks at you confused

“can i?” you point at his jaw and he just looks at you like what the heck but nods and you just gently trace it

“what’s up with you?” he teases you but you just laugh

“you have a nice jawline, leave me alone!”

really wants you to play sports with him and be athletic with him but holy cow do you NOT want to do that

he’s just running around and doing everything so easily even when he’s all sweaty and you’re wheezing with just a few little quick steps

but boy does he look good with that hairband and sweatpants

SWEATY HUGS! even if you scream and try to run away he loves hugging you even with sweat dripping down his face

“give me a kiss!”

“no please go shower please woojin i love you but not this much”

you both just look at each other because you did not intend to let that slip so soon and so unromantically but his big grin makes you happy with saying it

“i might love you more, you can’t even kiss me.”

before he does anything like eating he makes sure you do it first and are satisfied

seriously woojin will just stare at you while you eat and halfway through while you stuff a piece of chicken down your throat with rice spilling down your face you’re like “is there a problem?”

and he just wipes away the food with a smile and shakes his head

you’re so precious to him

when you get upset or scared he just holds you and sings any of your favorite songs until you feel better

“hey, how are you such a stable singer woojin?”

“i don’t know, it just happened. i’m pretty sure i could withstand a ball being thrown at my stomach and keep singing.”

“...wanna try?”

turns out he really can what a world

he’s not really big on pet names or anything but he does occasionally call you “my love” and that’s really all you need

he’s not as physically intimate as most, woojin likes showing his love and affection for you through little actions like cleaning up after you, asking you about your day, telling you how proud he is of you, packing little things so you won’t forget them, etc.

your first kiss is poorly planned actually

you were getting ready to go out on a date and while you pick an outfit he sneaks up on you and helps you get ready

while you brush and style your hair he puts whatever accessories you picked on you and ties your shoes even if you don’t need him to

and when you’re ready he just looks at you and mumbles something

“what?”

“i said can i kiss you?”

and you just nod slowly and he goes in for it super softly and carefully as if he’s afraid to fluster you or do anything you’re uncomfortable with

you both like to go around town or go for walks around the neighborhood together because the weather is usually nice

“that house is really big and pretty. i want a house like that but a lot cozier and less expensive looking.”

“maybe in the future we can get one like that?”

and you’re so shocked because you never realized woojin thought about things like that but you don’t mind at all

more than you would like to admit it, your future seems to be perfect as long as he’s in it

#woojin #kim woojin #stray kids #stray kids scenarios #kpop scenarios #stray kids imagines #scenarios #woojin imagines #boyfriend woojin

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bloodpacks-archive · 7 years

Text

Friends

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: You and Tom are just friends, but your new boyfriend isn’t sure if he agrees.

Warnings: A fight that gets a lil intense, no hitting or anything, but just some yelling and taking steps towards people. Maybe two or three swear words? Some real bad writing that I lowkey will regret, and quite a few kisses.

Note: Wow I’m finally back! This is the second to last part of the Ed Sheeran series and holy cow it is looooong. Also, I want to thank you guys so much for all the support that I’ve gotten this past week, it really does make a difference. Ok, enough of my rambling, enjoy the story!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

It was now Spring. The snow on the ground had long melted, and now the buds on the trees littered London with their pink hues. You were heading to Tom’s flat, a movie night had been decided on between the two of you.

You grabbed your jacket, pulling it on over your shoulders and slipping on your boots afterwards. Just as your were about to leave, two hands grabbed your waist and turned you around. You smiled up at Noah, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“Have fun, love,” Noah said, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I will,” You turned and opened the door before shouting an “I love you!” back at him. You closed the door behind you, walking out of the apartment and into the hall.

It wasn’t long after that when you were brought into the cool May air. As you walked to Tom’s apartment, you let your mind wander, going back to what had happened over the last few months.

After the day in the coffee shop, both you and Tom had agreed to stay friends. This led to movie nights every other week, going out to dinner with him, Noah, and Haz, and way too many texts while he was off filming. The two of you were in a good place, he had even helped you when you moved into Noah’s apartment last month.

Admittedly, Noah was a bit timid to have Tom near you all the time at first. Even now, you couldn’t say that he exactly approved of him. That being said, Noah did eventually learn to deal with the fact that Tom was and forever will be one of your greatest friends.

Soon enough, you stood in front of Tom’s door, softly knocking on it. The door swung open and soon you were enveloped by a pair of arms. You laughed into his shoulder before pulling away.

“So, what’s the movie today?” You asked, following him over to the couch.

“I was thinking we could watch Kingsman: Secret Service,” He said, grabbing two bags of chips off of a countertop and setting them down on the table in front of the couch before sitting himself down.

“Sounds absolutely amazing,” You replied, smiling at him before sitting across from him on the couch, your feet resting atop his legs. Tom clicked some buttons on a remote and soon enough you heard the movie begin to start.

“I feel like you only like this movie because of Taron,” Tom said suddenly, laughing as he saw you give him a glare.

“Can you blame me? He’s like, the most attractive guy ever,” You defended, lightly pushing him with your foot when he gave you a look.

“Ouch. I guess I should tell Noah that he has to watch out for Taron,” He teased, smirking when he saw your face heat up. You stuck your tongue out at him and continued to watch the movie.

It was midway through the movie when you noticed the sun already beginning the set, the orange tint slowly crawling its way through the window and onto the couch.

“Shoot, Tom I need to go before it gets dark,” You said, already standing up.

“Really? You could stay here if you want,” Tom replied, pouting up at you. You stopped and looked at him, weighing the options for a moment.

“Okay, but let me text Noah before we start the movie again,” You said, sitting yourself back down on the couch in your previous position.

Staying at Tom’s tonight, I’ll be home tomorrow. Love you xx

Are you sure you don’t just want me to pick you up?

I’ll be fine, Noah. I’ll just sleep on the couch here tonight.

…okay. Love you too

You rolled your eyes at Noah’s response before tossing your phone so it was next to you on the couch.

“Everything okay?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah, Noah’s just being jealous and overprotective,” You replied, grabbing a handful of chips.

“Do you want me to drive you home?” He said, tentatively getting ready to get up.

“No, Noah can deal if he’s going to be like this with every single guy friend that I have,” You said, stuffing a chip in your mouth. Tom nodded and turned his attention back to the film, only to pipe up with another question a moment later.

“So this happen a lot? Or…”

“No, not really. It honestly only happens with you,” You answered, your tone a little sharper than intended.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to pry,” Tom said, his voice a little quieter than before.

“No, it’s fine. I should be sorry. It’s just he’s been so difficult lately and like, I love him, I really do, but I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life,” You said, letting out a light sigh. You brought yourself closer to Tom, craving his comfort for the moment.

“Do you ever wonder why we broke up?” Tom asked randomly. You gave him a confused look.

“Well you cheated on me, for one,” You stated flatly. Tom’s eyes got wide and he scoffed.

“I may be stupid, but trust me I am not a cheater.”

“Then what was with sneaking out all the time? And your hair always being messed up when you got back in the morning?” You asked, your voice raising just slightly.

“Oh god no, Y/n, I would never. I was planning this huge thing for our one year anniversary. Haz and I met up at night to work on it and most of the time I just ended up staying over at his. And my hair was always messed up because I run my hands through my hair when I’m stressed. You know that, Darling,” He explained, lightly tracing patterns on your arm when you looked like you had calmed down.

Your heart fluttered with every word. He hadn’t actually been cheating on you. “Can I just ask… what were you planning exactly?”

“Oh darling you would have loved it. It had chocolate and flowers and balloons. It was so cheesy but God it was so perfect. I had a reservation for the new French place that had just opened up and I had a whole slew of movies that we were going to watch that night. It was perfect,” He said, smiling down at you.

You blushed at his words, smiling whenever he called you darling. You noticed the position the two of you were in, his hands wrapped around you as you laid against his side. Every fiber of your being was telling you this was wrong, but you just couldn’t pull away from him.

For the rest of the night, the two of you sat there like that, eventually falling asleep in the same position as well. When you woke up, Tom was already up and getting ready for the day. You did the same with what he had there for you before saying quick goodbye to him and heading back to your apartment. You were tempted to stay for a few moments longer, not wanting to be away from him. However, you resisted, and instead turned away, walking straight out of his complex and on your way to your own.

When you eventually arrived home, Noah sat on the counter of the kitchen, drinking coffee out of a mug that you had gotten him a while back.

“How was Tom?” Noah asked, clear disinterest in his tone. You furrowed your eyebrows, giving Noah an accusatory look.

“He was fine, we watched Kingsman. I’m sorry it went a little late last night,” You said, moving so you leaned back on the island in front of Noah. You crossed your arms, looking up at him as he sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes. “What the hell was that for?” You snapped, bringing your hand down on the counter behind you.

“You hang out with Tom so much, why don’t you date him instead?” Noah yelled, jumping off the counter and setting his mug down. He stepped closer to you and you put your hands on his chest, keeping him away from you.

“We’re just friends. Why don’t you understand that?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes at Noah. He took a step back from you and put his hands in his hair. You thought about how Tom ran his hands through his hair when he was stressed, and in that moment the fight was suddenly gone. However, you pulled back to reality when Noah’s voice rose once again.

“Because clearly Tom doesn’t think you’re just friends! He likes you! And I’m starting to think that you feel the same way,” Noah’s voice dropped with the last sentence, his head hanging low. “And i just- I don’t want to live a lie, okay? Please tell me, do you like Tom? As more than a friend?”

“Maybe,” You murmured, all the anger in your body leaving you. Your shoulders relaxed, and you leaned back against the counter again, letting your arms fall to your sides.

“Tell him,” Noah said, grabbing his coffee off of the counter again.

“What?”

“I love you, so I want you to be happy. If being happy is being with Tom, then so be it. Go tell him,” Noah took your hand one last time before letting it go. It felt like being handed off to Tom, a sign that Noah was bridging you to your new life. You nodded hurriedly, sensing the urgency in what Noah had just told you. You walked away, but gave Noah a final look back before quickly rushing out the door.

You took out your phone, your fingers rapidly tapping against the screen.

Are you still home?

Yeah, I didn’t have any plans today, why?

I think I forgot something there

Okay, are you coming to get it?

Yeah, on my way

You practically ran all the way to Tom’s apartment. When you got there, you took a few breaths, allowing yourself to calm down. You knocked on the door, listening to hear Tom walk towards the only wall that stood between you and him. He opened the door and gave you a confused look.

“So what did you forget?” He asked, opening the door a little wider to let you in. You walked in and let the door shut behind you. You leaned against it, silently playing with your fingers behind your back as a sign of nervousness.

“You,” You answered simply. You took a small step towards him. He raised his eyebrows before you let your hands gently cup his face. All nerves rushed out of your body in an instant, the feeling of Tom’s skin under yours giving you a calming sensation. “Can I kiss you?” You asked, and Tom fumbled about for a bit before eventually just nodding.

You softly tangled your hands in his hair and brought him closer. You closed both your eyes and the gap between you, slowly backing against the door. Tom placed his hands on your hips, his thumbs rubbing circles over the bare skin that was hidden under your loose shirt.

It was all too soon when Tom pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. He brought his hands up and cupped your face.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” He whispered. A coy smile took over your lips and you kissed him again.

“Noah and I broke up,” You kissed him again, “He said that if he truly loved me,” Another kiss, this time on his cheek, “He would want me to be happy,” His jawline, “So he said to tell you.”

You pulled away to look at Tom, to gauge how he was feeling. A smile broke out on his face as he kissed you again. He bit at your bottom lip, tugging it lightly. A soft moan escaped you and soon enough his tongue found it’s entrance. Tom pulled away again, simply smiling at you and rubbing the skin just in front of your ears with his thumbs. One of his hands fell down to your jaw, and you leaned into the remaining touch on the side of your face.

“God I’ve never been so thankful for Noah,” He muttered to himself, simply taking in your beauty. He never thought he would have you again. He had prepared himself to sit in the pew at a beautiful wedding where you weren’t marrying him.

You let out a soft laugh, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I missed that laugh,” He said. You looked up and gave him a confused look.

“What do you mean? I laughed all the time when we were just friends,” You asked. Your hands now played with the collar of his shirt, loving the feeling of the material between your fingers.

“You have this special laugh that you only save for the person that you’re interested in. It’s the most beautiful laugh that I’ve ever heard and if I could, I would replay it in my mind every single second of the day,” He explained, loving the blush that rose up your neck and cheeks.

“We never really were friends, were we?” You asked. Your hands continued to move over every inch of him, trying to memorize the way his skin felt under yours. You hadn’t been able to touch him like this in so long, and you would be lying if you said you hadn’t missed it.

“Not once in my mind,” Tom answered simply. You smiled up at him, and soon enough you were kissing again. He led you over to the couch, allowing you to rest on it before settling on top of you. “Remember our first kiss?” Tom asked, lightly kissing your neck and sending tingles all through your body.

“How could I forget?” You wrapped your left hand in his hair, encouraging him further.

“Still prefer Cap?”

“Oh, definitely,” You teased, whining when Tom moved away from your neck to glare at you. His gaze soon softened and he simply stared into your eyes. When you stared back, you were soon transported to a forest. The brown of tree bark over taking your senses. You were brought back to reality by Tom’s voice.

“After all these months, I never stopped loving you,” He whispered, leaning into you.

“I love you too, Spider-Man,” You leaned up and gave him a quick peck. He leaned down to your neck again and continued leaving soft kisses all over it, lightly nibbling on your earlobe when he reached it.

“Careful Holland, if you keep doing that I’ll never leave,” You whispered. He let out a laugh, his breath tickling your exposed skin.

“I’m not letting you leave me, darling. Not ever again.”

Tag List

@riverdalemami

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland drabble #tom holland blog #Tom Holland x Reader #Tom Holland fanfiction #Tom Holland blurb #Peter Parker #Peter Parker x reader #Peter Parker blurb #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker drabble #Peter Parker fanfiction #Spider-Man Homecoming

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lena-went · 6 years

Text

Chiaro e Scuro Pt 2

F: I had just put the finishing touches on the set up of the dining table, crimson place settings and napkins accented with gold finishes that matched the plates we would be using. I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. When I heard the doorbell ring my heart dropped to my feet. I was petrified, so many firsts were about to happen. She was seeing my house for the first time, she was actually one of the few people I had ever allowed inside my impersonal sanctuary.

During my recovery from Gideon's attempt on my life I had a male nurse looking after me a few hours each day but that was the last time I had seen anyone else besides myself in this house. The maid and groundskeeper would always come by during the day when I was at the hospital and I left checks for them either on the kitchen counter or in the mailbox.

How long had she been waiting at the front door? I quickly grabbed my cane from against the bar where it was resting and checked my reflection briefly in the glass of the oven. I opened the door and my jaw dropped.

There she stood back towards me gazing at something in the distance. As she turned to face me everything around me slowed down and took on a blur except for her. She smiled playfully and leaned forward to give me a quick peck on the cheek.

“Hello Frederick.” Dressed in a long sleeved dark green silk dress that nearly touched the ground she was a holy sight.

My breath caught in my chest when her hand touched my chest as she walked past me into the house.

“So…a tour first or dinner?” She inquired as she placed her purse on the glass table in the center of the foyer.

I remembered myself and quickly shut the door.

“Which would you prefer?” I asked praying for her to skip the tour.

She must have sensed my urgency to begin dinner and suggested that we eat first. I smiled though I was filled with anxieties about the quality of my cooking and the quality of the evening. I led her into the kitchen which also doubled as the dining room not for lack of space but rather for a lack of guests. I pulled out one of the modern dark wood chairs for her and she thanked me and sat down. I purposely gave her the chair that caused her to look outside rather than at the wall. The wall was intended to showcase art but I hadn't gotten around to buying something to fill the space and thus it was empty and cold…like the rest of the house.

She began a light conversation as I prepared and carried our plates to the table. She gasped slightly when I placed the dish in front of her and then praised me on the presentation and setting of the table. I poured us both a glass of wine (2008 Torbreck Shiraz The Laird) and took my seat opposite her. I leaned forward eagerly waiting for her to take her first bite. As she did I watched as she closed her eyes and sighed.

“Frederick, this is amazing.” She praised.

My heart did summersaults as she quickly took another bite and repeated her previous compliment.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” I smiled as I took a bite of my own food.

“Some people are just naturally gifted in the culinary arts.” I smugly replied. I noticed her suppress a giggle with a quick sip of wine as I puffed out my chest and leaned back in my chair.

“And you learned from one of those naturally gifted people?” She teased and I felt a slight blush rise to my cheeks.

I took a gulp of my wine as I caught her gaze over the candles in the center of the table and saw the playful look in her eyes. She had a way of teasing me that never felt like humiliation, opposite to how I felt with everyone else. Just looking at her I felt so many emotions swelling like balloons inside of me. We fell into conversation about her day at work and in turn my week at the hospital.

As I attempted to make a boring week at BSHCI seem interesting she nodded and paid attention occasionally offering advice or commentary when appropriate. I told her a story about one of my first patients who had random yet repetitive hallucinations of green cows and she laughed so hard she had to fan her eyes to avoid crying, resulting in me feeling as if I was on top of the world. Eventually we finished our food she insisted on helping me clean up the dishes.

After we had finished and the kitchen was once again spotless she turned to me expectantly.

“Tour?” I rolled my eyes and sighed dramatically in fake exasperation.

“Please?” She begged with wide eyes and a puppy dog like pout on her lips.

“Yes, yes ok.” I replied fully knowing I was incapable of denying her anything.

I led her first back into the foyer and introduced her to the rooms that radiated off it. Most were sparse with only a few pieces of furniture and a piano but she still complimented what was there. Then back to the kitchen where she marveled at the light fixtures and smiled when I told her the story of the artist who made them.

She inquired about the pool and I sighed and replied that the previous owner had installed it and that I would have greatly preferred a garden. I had used the pool once in the time that I’ve lived in the house, it had proven to be a nuisance especially in the fall when all the trees above it would drop their leaves conveniently into it’s waiting waters.

Moving fairly quickly I showed her what I used as a living room but was really just a corner off the kitchen where I had a large leather couch and a flat screen. As we continued downstairs she gasped when she saw my wine collection. To be fair to myself wine was something I knew I could rival Hannibal Lecter in. After dropping from medical school I had briefly considered becoming a sommelier but at the urging of my father I went back to school for psychiatry.

There were a few other rooms downstairs, another kitchen, two guest rooms and a bathroom. All very unimpressive and sparsely decorated. I apologized numerous times for that but she rolled her eyes in response every time even once groaning dramatically.

I led her up the stairs in the foyer and I felt my heart beating faster. I hoped it didn't seem suggestive or predatory that I was showing her my bedroom. I reminded myself that this was simply a house tour, no different than a realtor leading a possible buyer through a house. A few more guest rooms and then my room. I took a breath as I pushed open the massive double fogged white doors.

My bedroom didn't match the rest of the house, where the rest of the house was light my bedroom was dark. The emerald green curtains that hung from the large window at the end of the room darkened the space by preventing even the light from the street lamps outside from getting in. I watched as she entered carefully and looked around slowly with a slight smile. The room was accented with dark mahogany and the walls like the curtains were a dark shade of green.

I observed her movements and realized how much she belonged in this room. The silk of her dress perfectly blended with the colors around her as she gently ran her fingers along the duvet and blanket I had carefully arranged on my bed. My heart nearly stopped watching her do this and I could hardly believe any of this was real. No other woman had ever gotten this far or even tried to. In the silence I cleared my throat and suggested we go back downstairs and open another bottle of wine. She turned back to me and nodded her agreement.

Soon we were both seated on my leather sofa drinking a very expensive bottle of wine and discussing our favorite vintages like two old men in a country club. I laughed as she pointed this out. The conversation then changed to our favorite films and both of us couldn't decide resulting in many laughs and a lively debate on the true meaning of The Shining.

Once again the conversation rotated to a discussion of soundtracks in film and she sat up quickly and while waving her hands excitedly pulled out her phone so that I could listen to some of her favorite music. I turned on the TV so that she could project the music through the surround sound speakers which were finally being put to good use. First on her list of songs I must hear was Page 47 from the National Treasure soundtrack. I watched as she leaned back into the sofa and closed her eyes. About 30 seconds in I was completely swallowed into the luxurious whine of the violin and the look on her face as she soaked in the sound. Her chest moved heavily up and down as she took deep breaths feeling the vibrations from the orchestra as it began. Simply by observing her I felt every note deeply each one reminding me of just how wonderfully perceptive she was. As the song ended she took a deep breath and then her eyes fluttered open.

“Couldn’t you feel that?” She whispered reaching for my hand.

“Y-yes.” I stuttered back trying to regain my composure.

Next on her playlist was First Kiss by Abel Korzeniowski, she highly praised him and a series he had scored called Penny Dreadful. I raised an eyebrow at the name but smiled and took a sip of my wine as she hit play once more. The soft sounds of the piano began and she leaned close to me so that I could feel her breath on my neck.

“Close your eyes.” Her voice was barely audible yet still flowed like honey as it mirrored the notes of the song.

I did so hesitantly as she removed the wine glass from my hands.

I focused on the sounds of the piano and strings until she spoke, “What do you see?”

In truth I had journeyed back to the day we had met. The glow of the sun in her hair, her rosy lips and oh god her eyes, how they took my breath away.

“Y-you. I see you.” I felt her move across me settling to straddle my lap at which I normally would have startled but the combination of the music and her hands in my hair kept me frozen.

“And what do you feel?” Her breathy tone sent a shiver up my spine as her nails gently grazed my scalp. I could no longer form words as the piano and the touches overwhelmed me. Tears began to fall from my closed eyes and I felt her cup my cheek softly.

“Frederick…” As she breathed my name my eyes opened to meet hers which were now only inches away.

Holding my face she pulled me to her with a passionate kiss. My tears met her hands as I raised mine to hold her tightly to me. The heat from her body met mine and for a moment I forgot that we were two separate people. I took a shaky breath as she separated from me and stroked my cheek. I pulled her to me again just to feel her body against mine. I choked back a sob as her hands tenderly wrapped around me and cradled my head softly against her chest. I buried myself in her for those moments finally feeling safe.

She slowly pulled me to lay with her on the couch holding me close all the while. We were facing one another so intimately it was impossible to hide. She traced my jaw with a delicate finger and kissed me ever so softly. Here I was falling apart in her arms and she had no idea why. She had been so impossibly kind. Kissing me again brought me back to her and the present. I treasured it and pulled her even closer tangling my fingers in her hair and caressing her soft cheek.

The song had long ago ended and yet the music somehow remained. Neither of us speaking yet there was a silent spiritual dialogue between our souls. Soon we both fell asleep, our breath synchronizing as the world around us past and present faded away.

#frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton #hannibal #fanfic #precious baby #ao3fic #raul esparza

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riotdragonx · 6 years

Text

Wasteland Waltz

OoO( 3 )OoO

Once off the mountain, traveling had become considerably easier. There was still the odd pothole and the occasional jagged rock, but the typically flat ground on the way to the city was much preferable, especially given all the new weight he had strapped to him. With the coolness that night brought, he made good time as he trekked across the sand and dust towards the dark walls of the supposed city in the wasteland. After about two hours of walking under the weight of all the weapons and equipment he had taken, he approached the front of the giant, walled city itself.

As he arrived, he noticed a campfire not far outside the entrance to the city. From where he was standing, he could easily see the silhouettes of several people sitting around the roaring flame. With Poison's words echoing in his head, he pulled one of the long-barreled, more accurate hunting rifles off his back and approached the minuscule camp with his head low.

As he ducked behind a jutting stone, he immediately sighted a large animal, made him go wide-eyed with awe. It had to have been somehow related to the pre-war cows. It was massive, even compared to its ancestors, and instead of one head, it had two that were split into a V shape coming off the neck. The other noticeable change to the creature was its blood red skin. No longer did it have the protective fur, but now just a thick, bare, red, withered hide.

Though curious about the creature, he refocused his attention and spied the three humans sitting by the fire. One was a rugged man, seemingly worn down by the wasteland with a machine gun across his back, armor covering him from head to toe, and a freshly shorn grey crew cut on his head. At the moment, he was focused on cooking whatever kind of meat he had speared on a skewer over the fire between them.

The second man was seemingly of a higher stature though. He was more finely dressed, had rounded bifocals on the bridge of his nose, a cleanly shaven head, and though his skin was slightly wrinkled, it was much less rugged and dirty. He seemed to be enjoying a loud, one sided conversation with the man who was cooking about a glorious new drug he had in stock. If John didn't know any better, he'd have thought the man was trying to sell said drug to the third man without asking directly.

The third of the trio was a more simple man. He sat in front of the fire, leaning back into a chair that was made of metal, but the configuration made it look like it was meant to fold and move easily. He however, was rigid in the chair, trying to become comfortable, and failing miserably. He had about the most normal clothing that he had seen on anyone yet, with a pair of trousers that had two pockets on the hips. He wore a dark colored t-shirt, with a sleeveless vest on top. And on his head, he wore a grey bandanna that ended on his forehead, just above the eye patch covering his right eye.

To John, it didn't look like they were grilling human. And aside from the armored one, it didn't look like any of them were even armed. Not to mention they didn't exactly hold the same air about them as the raiders from earlier. After listening to the conversation switch from this miracle drug, to the price of a new brahmin, then back to said drug, he finally resolved to approach them. Sliding the gun over his shoulder again, he still held the assault rifle in his hand, with one finger on the side of the trigger.

At a young age, when his father had repaired a mysterious BB gun for him, he had taught him the basic fundamentals of owning a firearm. Both the best, four step method of firing, and the safety precautions that must be exercised in both handling, and keeping the weapon. One of those precautions was to never have your finger wrapped around the trigger unless you were aiming to fire, lest the trigger misfire. According to his father and the history holotapes from school, one of the most bloody wars in American history had started with a weapon misfiring, leading a nation into war against thirteen small colonies that lasted eight years. The young man was careful with his weapons, and didn't intend to start any wars today.

Holding one hand up with his palm flat in a sign of greeting, with his assault weapon aimed at the ground, he slowly approached. Surprisingly, the man with the eye patch was the first to notice him approaching. "Looks like we got a visitor." said the man as he sat up straight. Then the one eye widened as he saw the jumpsuit that he wore. "A vault dweller? Well, that's a bit unexpected." he said curiously.

John looked at him oddly for the remark, but the young man immediately snapped out of it as the armored figure stood and reached to draw his weapon. The vault escapee immediately raised the gun before the other figure could pull his off his back. "Uh uh, don't touch it." he said, his voice lacking any indication that he was joking. "I've killed more people today than I care to remember, I don't want to start again." he snapped, already feeling his heart begin to pound again as it had before.

The armored man let go of the weapon, but glared at the boy. The pristine man stared at them both, and the eye-patched man leaned forward onto his knees, watching curiously. "Look kid, I've been marching this wasteland for forty years now. I'm not going to be intimidated by some snobby vault dweller with a silver spoon in his ass." said the man as he sneered. John just sighed in annoyance, then fired into the ground at the man's feet. The armored figure fell backwards at the sudden burst of rounds, landing firmly on his rear end.

"That's twice I've had to do that today..." he said as he walked over and stood over the man. "Four raiders are now dead because they tried taking me prisoner. Are you a raider? Because if you are, tell me now and I'll make this conversation a lot shorter." he commanded, raising the weapon to the armored figure's face.

"Now now, I don't think that will be necessary." said the eye-patched man as he walked up next to John with his arms raised. "He's no raider, he's just the guard for Doc Hoff here's caravan. And he doesn't like surprises. Don't worry, he won't do anything hasty." he said, turning his head and staring at the man on the ground. "Right?"

The man said nothing, but nodded. John lowered the gun to the ground again, allowing the strap around his shoulder to take the weight as he turned to the man next to him. "And you are?"

"My name is Billy, Billy Creel. That over there is Doc Hoff..." he said, nodding towards the well kept man. "This is George. Guard for hire, protects caravans and whatnot. Don't let his attitude get to you. He treats everyone who doesn't pay him like that." he said. "And you are?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow curiously at the vault dweller.

"John Ronas, I just left the vault earlier today and was attacked in my sleep by raiders in the small town over there." he said, thumbing towards Springvale. He looked over at George and nodded his head in apology. "Sorry for my itchy trigger finger. I've had no less than ten people try and kill me today, so I'm a bit on edge." he said in a friendly tone.

George regarded him for a moment, then stood again and dusted himself off. "After fighting raiders, I'd be pretty ornery too. No harm no foul." he said, returning to cooking meat by the fire.

"And thank you, it's good to finally meet someone out here with a friendly face." he said to Billy, the relief in his voice very noticeable.

Billy looked at him curiously as he shook the young man's hand. "You said you took out a group of raiders in Springvale?" his voice a mix of disbelief and

John nodded as he took a seat next to Billy's chair. "Yeah, I was asleep in one of the houses. I already had an ordeal getting out of the vault, and didn't know what was what up here, so I thought I'd sleep out the night. But, while I was napping, they swooped in and took me hostage. I killed all but one of them, and sent the last one running off into the night." he said as he dug through the survival pack he had taken from one of the raiders. Inside, he had stashed his important stuff, the lunchbox, the waters he had taken from the vault, rations left behind by Poison, and anything else he deemed important.

"That's a pretty big accomplishment for someone fresh in the wasteland." said Billy as he eyed the water. He was stunned at how clean it looked. "Is that purified water?" John nodded, offering the bottle to the man. Billy reeled for a second, then reached forward and took the thick plastic bottle. "You sure about this?"

John looked at him oddly. "You act like I just handed you a wad of money."

"I mean, you kinda did. To get water like this out here, you've gotta shell out some serious caps." said Billy as he continued holding the bottle out, as if giving the young man a chance to take it back.

But the young gunman just stared at Billy blankly. Doc Hoff spoke up for the man instead. "Caps, you know...money? Currency? Quid?" he asked, slightly surprised at the blank expression.

"He just got out of the vault Doc, he probably doesn't even know what we're talking about." said Billy, before he turned back to the vault dweller. "Since the bombs fell, bottle caps have become the wasteland currency. Don't ask how or why, but that's how it is. So if someone asks you for caps, they're essentially asking you for money." he explained, pleased with himself when John's face lit up like a bulb.

A look of enlightenment dawned on John's face, then he pulled out the lunchbox and opened it in front of them. "Like these?" he asked, showing the mass of bottle caps. Billy's one eye widened as he saw the sheer amount that the new wastelander held.

"Holy shit kid...that's gotta be at least a thousand caps you got." He reached up and pulled the bandanna off his head, using it to wipe away a small amount of sweat that had dotted his brow. "If you've been in the vault your whole life, how'd you manage to collect those?"

The young man sighed and shrugged. "My father left them for a friend, who was killed before I left. I don't think he intended for me to follow him out, but shit happens." he said, taking a swig of the lukewarm, but radiation free water. "In any case, is there a place in the city I can stay for a while? I'm looking for my father and intend to be here until I find out where he went off to."

Billy nodded. "There are a few options actually. There's the common house, which is a large building on top of the hill that houses most of the wastelanders who just wander into town. If you wanna keep your stuff safe in there though, you'll have to take it with you. Then there's Moriarty's Saloon. He's gonna cost a few caps, but he has rooms, food, and privacy. And last, if you track down Lucas, the sheriff, he's got a property that's for sale. But I don't know if you've got enough for that." he picked the gifted water bottle up and slid it into his pocket. "I can give you a tour if you like."

"That, would be amazingly helpful." said John as he stood again, collected all of his gear, then followed the eye-patched man through the grating gates of the city. His eyes locked onto the robot outside.

"Howdy…pardner! Welcome...to...Megaton!" said the RobCo Protectron model as he and Billy approached the inner doors. John grinned widely at the automaton, with its cowboy hat and cheery greeting.

"I'll have to check that out later." he said to himself, his excitement already mounting. He remembered back to when he was younger, how he'd hunt Andy down through the vault and deactivate him, only to take him apart and put him back together. He'd had an interest in robots and artificial intelligence for a long time, but only had one specimen that he could actually take apart. Nobody really questioned why in ten years, Andy had never needed any repairs.

And any time they had discussions about robotics in class, there had never been anyone remotely as attentive as him. It was really the only time in class that his hand was up constantly, both for asking questions and answering them. The protectron model at the door was now a new specimen, something he strove to understand. But that was for another time. Right now, his eyes were scanning the city around him as he finally entered the giant doors.

The entire city was surrounded by walls and more walls of metal that rose up high above the center of the city, making it look like they were inside a metallic volcano. The shops and houses, unlike the vault, were all mostly rickety buildings with walls made of sheet metal, or some other flimsy material that was just as readily available. They were all built into the hill that sloped up towards the giant metal walls, leaving a slight stair pattern to the buildings that were stacked on top of each other. And nearly everything inside the city was connected by a string of walkways that criss-crossed around the large crater.

John was awed at the sight of the structures built into the side of the large crater that the city was built inside. He was amazed that anything within the walls of the large crater was standing with how rickety things looked. But you really couldn't judge a book by its cover. On top of that, he had come from a vault, where everything built was done so to last potentially millennia. So he knew that he wasn't any expert on architecture.

He scanned around the city a bit more before his gaze locked onto the large bomb planted directly in the center of the crater itself. His eyes widened as he realized what it was, two words echoing in his head. Fat Man. He stopped dead in his tracks, a look of disbelief on his face as he saw the undetonated ordnance sitting in a pond as if it were some kind of massive bird, taking a bath.

Billy stopped, then turned to look at him. "You like our centerpiece?" he asked with a chuckle. "No need to worry friend, that things been there for years. It's not going off any time soon. Now let me show you the Brass Lantern." he said and pulled John with him by the elbow.

OoOoO

It had taken a couple of hours to introduce John to every long term citizen of Megaton. He liked the grand majority of them, aside from Jericho who introduced himself by saying that a kid that'll be dead in less than a week wasn't worth getting to know. Bookmarking that statement in his mind, he just grinned and moved on. Then there was Nathan…

Nathan Vargas was a patriot, to say the least. They had run into him on one of the catwalks as he was heading home from the saloon, when the older man spotted the round orb-like machine hanging from John's ruck. Before Billy could even introduce the pair, he went off on a tirade. "Dadgummit! Another scrapper stealing precious materials from the United States government! It's treason I say! You should be ashamed of yourself!" snapped the angry elder.

John just stared at him dumbly, not saying a word as Billy stepped up for him. "I think what Mister Vargas here is trying to say, is that your droid down their belonged to the Enclave. What he forgets to mention however, is that the Enclave hasn't been seen for decades." said Billy as he eyed Nathan sternly.

Nathan looked like he was about to retort when John spoke up for himself. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I didn't do anything to it. I was attacked by raiders in the town to the west when this thing flew by and spooked them. I'm actually planning on repairing it for helping save me." said John as he held up the bot so that both of the men could see the gaping hole where the speaker used to be.

"Oh!" said Nathan in surprise as he grinned. "You, young man, are a true American! You know, back when I was your age…" started the elder again, this time in a much kinder tone. But Billy cut him off, giving the man a pat on the back as well as he pushed him along the walkway.

"That's nice Mister Vargas. Tell Manya I said hello." said Billy as he waved at the old man.

Nathan glared at Billy before walking off. "Kids these days! No patience!" he snapped before finally leaving the pair to themselves. Billy just turned to John and shook his head, and amused grin plastered on his face.

"Shall we continue?" he asked as he turned towards the path down to the center of the city when a man in a long duster and a cowboy hat himself turned and headed up towards them. Billy immediately raised an arm in greeting. "Sheriff Simms! We were just coming to have a chat with you!" said the eye-patched man as John watched the man approach. He had dark skin, much darker than he'd seen in the vault, and a short beard to fit the cowboy visage he had going.

"And who might this be?" asked the man as he eyed Billy. "Another wastelander?" But he halted the question when he recognized the blue jumpsuit he was wearing, and also noticed that it was stained with crimson.

"A new friend from Vault 101 actually. Turns out this young man came out of the vault and immediately wiped out one of the gangs rummaging through Springvale." said Billy as he leaned against the wall of the now closed restaurant Billy had called the Brass Lantern. "By the way Lucas, this is John. John, this is Sheriff Lucas Simms."

"Good to meet you Sheriff." greeted John as he held out his hand.

Simms looked at his hand, then back up at the young man's face, as if trying to read him. Finally, he took his hand and shook it. "Good to meet you too John." he said, locking his eyes onto the vault dweller's own. "He said you took a gang out over in Springvale, is that true?" John nodded. "Glad to hear it. Our eagle-eye has had to send them packing a few times. But that leaves us at an impasse."

"How do you figure?" asked John, who was currently not a fan of the sheriff's tone.

"Because, that either makes you a friend, or an enemy. And I'd like to get those details out of the way right now." he said. His voice was not hostile by any means, but also was he not friendly. More of a cold observer than anything else.

"And how does killing raiders make me your enemy?" he asked, his arms crossed and an annoyed look on his face. Not even a single night in the town and he had already been interrogated twice.

Lucas smiled grimly. "Because, raiders kill other raiders too. That doesn't make them my friends." responded the Sheriff as he crossed his arms in response. "And if you took out their whole group, it means that you know how to kill pretty damn good. So, given that I have a lot of innocent people here to protect, I need to know now what kind of person you are."

Never losing his annoyed look, John retorted, "I'm not the kind to start randomly firing at strangers if that's what you're implying. Everything I have I either took from those raiders or brought with me."

Lucas stared at John for a long moment before Billy spoke up. "I'm gonna have to vouch for him myself. When he walked up to us outside, he had his weapon ready. If he was going to kill us and steal our stuff, he had plenty of opportunity."

The sheriff smiled as he turned to John again. "Well then, it's good to have you here. Keep doing work like you're doing, and we'll be friends in no time." he said as tipped his cowboy style hat in a small gesture of thanks. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

"Sheriff..." said the vault dweller nervously. Lucas turned to him, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "I was wondering, early this morning, my father left the vault as well. I don't know if he came this way, but I was wondering if you had seen another wearing one of these pass through here." he inquired as he tapped the breast of his jumpsuit.

"I'm afraid not son. A lot of people come through here on a daily basis. Some stay, some go. But not all of them I get to meet. However, if you're going to ask around, I can save you some time by telling you to head to Moriarty's Saloon up on the upper levels. If your dad needed any information, he'd have stopped by there." he said. Then he patted the vault dweller on the shoulder and walked off into the darkness.

"He's right. If your dad came by looking for information, then he'd be directed there. And if I were stuffed in a vault for as long as him, that's the first thing I'd be looking for out here." said Billy as he patted John on the back. "Thanks again for the water. Hope you find what you're looking for."

John nodded with a smile, running his hand through his brown hair that tended to naturally spike backwards. "No problem. You'll have to introduce me to Maggie one day. It's a shame she was already asleep" he said. Billy nodded, then the two went their separate ways. John climbed the walkways once more until he reached the familiar saloon, then opened the door and went inside.

"Hello again sugar." greeted the female who sat beside the bar. He looked at her and smiled, not used to being stared at by women the way she was. Amata had always looked at him with tender caringness. Nova, however, smiled back with a very vixen like grin, one he wasn't too familiar with the meaning of.

The man behind the bar, if he could be called that, was named Gob. He stood taller than John by almost half a foot, but was shorter on account of his massive slouch. His skin was...gone. Or, mostly gone. Some places showed nothing but the facial muscles underneath, while other spots had patches of skin that looked as if they were slowly peeling off. The only sign of hair he had was a small tuft that grew from an even smaller patch of skin left on his ravaged scalp.

Despite his grisly appearance, his eyes told a story of friendliness, of sorrow, and of someone who didn't deserve his situation. "What'll it be?" asked Gob in a friendly enough tone. Before being introduced to him, Billy had warned John ahead of time about ghouls. The young man had to say he was thankful, as without warning, he would have likely run terrified out of the saloon.

"Is Moriarty available? I have some questions for him." he asked, drumming his fingers on the counter. He didn't realize how nervous he was that his father might not have come to this saloon, or town at all.

"Sorry hun, but he's out like a light for tonight. If you'd like, you can get a room and talk to him in the morning." said the red-headed woman, her voice rather suggestive as a coy smile played across her face.

He sighed heavily, the knot in his stomach clenching unbearably. "Alright...if that's all I can do. How much is it for a room?" he asked, pulling his ruck up onto one of the stools. Immediately, he noticed that nearly every eye in the room, aside from Gob's, who were on him, and Nova's, whose were "on him" were aimed at the stuffed pack.

Gob, who was in the middle of recapping a beer bottle, looked up at the young man. "It's usually 120 caps per night. But I'll tell you what. You seem like a nice kid, and you didn't gasp in horror the first time you saw me, I'll give you a discount. Just don't go telling Moriarty about it." he said quietly to John in his gravelly voice.

John smiled slightly, nervously aware of the people staring at his supplies. "That'd be great. Thanks." he whispered to Gob. Rummaging through his bag, he cracked the lunchbox and pulled out their agreed upon price, keeping the box inside to make sure that nobody knew exactly how much money he had. After paying the ghoul across the counter, he shouldered his gear and went to the room which the bartender had pointed out.

After closing the door behind himself, he placed the large pack, along with all the guns he had acquired on the opposite side of the bed from the door. Billy had been very kind to him, but had warned him ahead of time that things outside the vault worked very different. Instead of working together to make a better whole, most of the people in the wasteland found it easier to just steal and kill. So, with a certain paranoia surrounding him, he made sure that all of his firearms were within reach should anyone try to sneak in at night. Laying them all along the wall and within easy grasping distance, he took the drone off his bag and sat heavily on the bed, eyeing the small robot.

He'd never made an alteration to a robot like he was planning for this one. To make it work, he'd have to shift some parts around and redistribute some of the weight so that it didn't fall face first every time it lifted off. On top of that, if he did have to add extra weight to counterbalance the new face, then that would require him to increase the output to the stabilizing jet that allowed it to float. Otherwise, it wouldn't even be able to lift off.

As all the numbers ran through his head, the door behind him creaked open again. Immediately, he grabbed one of the pistols close by and aimed at at the door. But Nova raised her hands defensively, making him lower the weapon. "Easy cowboy." she said with a friendly smile. He set the gun down and and instead continued staring at the robot in his hands.

"Can I help you with something?" Despite trying to focus on the bullet hole, he couldn't help his eyes slipping back towards her. She had an unkempt mop of ginger hair, that despite its mussed appearance, worked well with how she dressed. Her clothes had smacked him in the face as soon as he entered the tavern. Back in the vault, the women never dressed provocatively like she was now. The only thing he had ever seen that could compare was a magazine that Butch had showed off to his buddies.

Her shirt was cut short, leaving her flat stomach exposed to the world. And while she was fully covered, it didn't leave much to the imagination as far as her bust went. The fabric was tight, and low cut enough that anytime she bent forward, the cleavage of her large bosom pressed against the edges and bulged further, giving onlookers a clear shot of her goods. The sleeves of the shirt were the only thing that wasn't tight about it, each one billowed and draping off her arms like she was a smoke dancer. And the only thing that she wore below the belt was a tiny pair of jean shorts that exposed her miles of legs, wide hips, and firm behind. Realizing that he'd been staring longer than he should have, he finally looked back at the robot.

The woman walked forward slowly and sat with him on the bed, eyeing the curious machine with him. "I just wanted to say that I'm very sorry for everything that's happened to you so far. I know that today has been probably the most chaotic day of your life." she said sympathetically. Despite his surprise that anyone out here could give a damn about another person, he kept a straight face.

"That's putting it lightly. Before today, the most exciting thing to ever happen to me was when I got into a fist fight with a group of gangers who wouldn't leave Amata alone." he said, chuckling as he realized how much he longed for another brawl with that idiot Butch.

"And Amata is?" she asked curiously, scooting closer to the young man. At her question, he seemed to sink deep in thought, making him oblivious to her movements.

"The Overseer's daughter. She was my best friend." he said, rubbing his forehead lightly with one hand. Remembering her face, and Butch's stupid grin made him feel an immediate wave of homesickness. Not for the vault per se, but for his friends. Even the leader of the Tunnel Snakes had loosened up as they got older, allowing for a lasting peace between all of them.

"Was she your girlfriend?" Nova asked as she propped herself up behind him and began to rub his bare shoulders, her hands appreciating every inch of his musculature that they could.

"Girlfriend? Like, were we going steady?" he asked for clarification. The woman, hearing the very archaic terminology just laughed and nodded. He stared at the floor silently as he recalled their parting at the gate. "She was..." he said, his face now a grim look of ire. Despite his annoyance, he began groaning in pleasure as she found a sore spot and worked out the tiredness.

Not stopping her gentle application of pressure, she eyed him curiously, the statement giving her the go ahead to reach in front of him and gently begin to unzip the jumpsuit that he wore. "Was?" she asked for clarification, grinning at the fact that he wasn't stopping her.

"We...parted at the door." he said in a tone that suggested he was tired of the subject.

"Shame." was all she said in response as she pulled the top of the jumpsuit off him, then wrapped her arms around his pale torso, her small hands sliding gently up his shirt to feel his bare skin. She then leaned her head against his shoulder, breathing down his neck and sending goosebumps all over his skin. It wasn't long before he was leaning back into her as well, his hands sliding along her bare legs that were on either side of him. "Want me to stay the night with you? Keep your mind off your crazy day?" she asked seductively into his ear.

He opened his eyes, knowing what she was really asking. Despite his urge to suppress the memory, her face popped up in his head again. He stared at Amata in his mind as if she were right in front of him, and she stared at him. This time, he pulled away. "Yeah...I think I'd like that."

#fallout 3 #fanfiction #novelization #megafic #lone wanderer

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