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janaikam · 4 years

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Roommates

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @emsylcatac!!!!!! You are such an amazing friend and I hope you have the best day ever!!!!

Summary: When the new mayor of Paris offers an apartment to Paris' heroes, Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn't pass up on the chance.

Beta reading done by the marvelous @macaronsforchat

Read on AO3.

“Woah!” Ladybug and Chat Noir breathed, looking around at the apartment.

Mayor Beaumont, Paris’ newest mayor, had recently offered the heroes an apartment in Paris. He claimed that it was to honor the heroes’ hard work over the years. But Ladybug figured that it was to keep him on the public’s good side. After all, he barely beat Mayor Bourgeois in the last election.

Although Marinette had her reservations about the apartment, she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to have free housing in Paris. She had just started looking at housing for her second year in university, and it was not cheap to find a decent apartment.

Plus it helped that Mayor Beaumont was keeping everything with the apartment confidential. It turned out that he owned multiple buildings around Paris, so they didn’t have to worry about a landlord selling the heroes out.

She was a little hesitant about rooming with Chat, but Beaumont reassured her that he would find the best apartment that would not reveal their identities to Paris or each other.

The last thing Marinette expected was for the mayor to get them a penthouse style apartment.

The apartment had a large kitchen, and after quickly checking the cabinets, it was fully stocked. An island in the middle of the kitchen separated it from the living room which had some nice black couches with some dark grey and white spiral pillows on top of it. Surrounding the couch there were two dark grey single seats. There was a door on the back wall that Ladybug realized was a balcony.

The walls were a plain cream color making the room not as inviting, but Marinette was sure that they could make it feel homier without them revealing their identities.

A little in between the living room and kitchen were two hallways on both ends. Walking down the hallway on the right, Ladybug saw that the hallway had two rooms--one looked to be a bedroom and the other an office--and a washer and dryer unit. Connecting the bedroom was a bathroom that had both a huge bath and a shower.

She could only imagine that the other side was set up similarly. It would definitely be possible for them to hide their identities without having to use their kwamis too much.

Walking back to the main area, Ladybug saw that Chat was just coming back after checking his side of the room.

“Alright, Chat, if we’re going to make this work, we need to set some ground rules.” She went to sit on the couch, and Chat followed.

“Anything for you my lady.”

“First off, I think in our respective spaces we can be detransformed, so we don’t overwork our kwamis. Second, whenever we’re here in the main space, we should be transformed or at least have something to hide our identities.”

Chat nodded in understanding. “What about inviting friends over? Some of my civilian friends know I’m moving into a new apartment, and it’d be really hard for me to keep them from here.”

Ladybug hummed. She had the same issue because Alya was definitely going to want to come over.

“How about we tell each other in advance? Like send a message or write a note? That way we would know when to just avoid coming to the apartment.”

“We could get separate phones to text on!” Chat’s eyes lit up. “It would be like we’re spies with a second phone.”

Ladybug scrunched up her face. “Ignoring the fact that we’d have to pay for phones and service, I think my friends would wonder why I suddenly have two phones.”

Chat deflated a little. “You’re right. Hmmm. Oh! We could use one of those online messaging apps. We could just make accounts and message each other there!”

“That would work.” Ladybug nodded.

“I’m excited to be your roommate, m’lady.”

“I’m excited to be your roommate, Chaton.”

--------

It had been a week living with Chat, and so far it had been going smoothly. Their schedules thankfully allowed them to miss when the other left or came back, so Marinette had no clue what Chat looked like. Though she did make a couple of masks that resembled their superhero ones. She always slipped hers on when she got on the elevator just in case, but there hadn’t been much of a need for it.

They had also found a website to message on to let the other know someone was coming over. He had some friend over earlier this week, and she just ended up spending the afternoon with her parents at the bakery.

It was her turn to have the apartment to herself as Alya was practically demanding to see Marinette’s new place.

Marinette was tidying up her new sewing room--she decided to use the office space for her sewing--when she heard a knock at the front door.

Opening the door, she saw Alya standing there practically bouncing with excitement.

“Marinette!” The brunette jumped onto Marinette and gave her a hug. “It’s been too long!”

Marinette laughed, hugging Alya back. “It’s only been a week.”

“Exactly. Too long.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Marinette shook her head as Alya walked in and set down her purse on the island.

“Not ridiculous. Excitable.”

Alya examined the fairly large apartment, walking over to the living room. Alya picked up one of the picture frames that Marinette had placed down. Marinette followed, looking over Alya’s shoulder and saw that she had picked up the picture of a Ladybug on a green flower.

Marinette smiled as Alya put it down. The photo just seemed like a regular picture to anyone, but for her and Chat it was a little nod to their identities.

“This place looks really nice. How on earth are you affording this?” Alya asked, turning to face Marinette.

Marinette nervously laughed, trying to think up an excuse. It was times like this she wished that she didn’t have to keep secrets to keep her friends safe. “My roommate knows the owner of the building and they worked out some deal, so we got the apartment at a nice price.”

Alya nodded, accepting the answer. “This must be some roommate if they’ve got connections like that.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty awesome.” Marinette sighed, thinking of Chat.

She wondered what he was doing right about now since it was the middle of the afternoon, and he couldn’t be at the apartment. It had been something she found that she was always thinking about ever since they moved in together. Shaking out the thoughts of Chat, Marinette turned back towards Alya.

Her best friend was giving her a suspicious smirk that Marinette couldn’t quite place.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing. I can’t wait to meet this super special roommate. He really seems like something,” Alya said, the smirk still on her face.

Marinette shivered, thinking about the trouble Chat’s civilian self might get into with Alya. They were already mischievous as it was when they were heroes back in collége, who knows what they would do.

“Ah, you probably may not see him around much. We have pretty different schedules, so I don’t see him much as it is.” Marinette let out a soft chuckle. “Hey! Let me show you my side of the apartment!”

Marinette dragged Alya to the hallway on the right, but a thud from the balcony stopped her in their tracks.

Turning towards the balcony, Marinette saw a blur of black before it quickly disappeared.

“What was that?” Alya freed herself from Marinette’s grasp and walked over to the balcony.

Marinette followed her onto the balcony.

“Is that Chat Noir?” Alya pointed to a fast-moving blur on the rooves. Marinette nodded, recognizing her partner from this distance. “I wonder if he’s going to that new apartment the mayor got the heroes. But why is he in such a hurry?”

Marinette turned to look in the direction that Chat had just come from only to see a large purple blob moving towards them.

“I think that might be why.”

Alya’s eyes widened as she spotted the akuma.

“Hey, Mari, I’m gonna have to take a rain check. See ya!”

With that Alya ran out of the apartment, phone in hand ready to record.

Marinette shook her head at her best friend. Despite how much they’ve grown, she was still the same person.

“Tikki, spots on!”

----

CN: Movie night?

Marinette considered the text. It wasn’t like Chat and her hadn’t been in the same room before, but the thought of being in the same room as Chat for at least an hour seemed like a weird concept to her. But it definitely didn’t sound unpleasant.

LB: What movie?

CN: You pick

Marinette hummed. It didn’t seem like a bad idea. Plus she was likely going to watch a movie by herself, so might as well have someone to watch with.

LB: Sure

Grabbing her mask and a couple of blankets, Marinette made her way to their living room.

Chat was already there along with a mountain of blankets and two medium-sized bowls of what she assumed was popcorn. Her kitty had the biggest of grins on his face, and when he spotted her he patted a spot on the couch where the pillows created a hole for someone to sit. The T.V. was already opened to the Netflix search.

Once Marinette had settled herself into the spot, Chat handed her one of the bowls of popcorn and the remote. Glancing down at the bowl of popcorn, Marinette noticed that there was a bunch of M&Ms and hardened chocolate syrup all over the popcorn.

“Omg, Chat, did you make all this?”

Chat nodded excitedly. “My mom and I used to make it all the time when I was younger. I thought you might like it.”

Marinette smiled back. “It looks great. Thank you, Chat. But how’d you know that I would say yes?”

“So what are we watching, my lady?” Marinette glared at his obvious change of topic but proceeded to find her favorite movie on the streaming service.

Clicking on the movie, she clicked play and settled back into the couch.

“Mirror, Mirror?” Chat asked.

“Yup. It’s a fantastic take on Snow White, and the costumes are just to die for,” Marinette said, popping some popcorn into her mouth. “Now hush, it’s starting.”

Marinette groaned, snuggling up closer to the wall next to her as a finger poked into her side. The wall chuckled, and the poking shifted into a slight shake.

“My lady…” a voice whispered near her ear. “My lady, the movie’s over.”

Slowly opening her eyes, Marinette saw that the movie credits were rolling, and some Netflix recommendations were showing on the screen.

She looked over to where Chat was and realized somehow during the movie, she had snuggled up right next to him.

She jumped up off the couch, a blush forming on her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry for falling asleep on you!”

“You’re good my lady.” Chat grinned. “You were right, the movie was great.”

“Uh yeah, I’m glad it enjoyed you.” Marinette shook her head. “I mean you enjoyed it. Anyways have a good night!”

As quickly as she could with her blanket, Marinette ran into her room, not daring to look back at Chat.

----

Marinette and Nino laughed as Alya slapped Adrien’s hand away from her fries. Adrien pouted but leaned back in his seat beside Nino.

“That’s what you get, you fry snatcher,” Alya reprimanded, holding a fry to emphasize her point.

Marinette couldn’t help but break out into laughter again. She missed spending time with her friends like this. The four of them had all started university at different schools this year, and it was hard for them to meet up. It just so happened that all of them had the afternoon free, so they planned to get lunch together and walk back to Marinette’s place.

Aside from Adrien stealing Alya’s fries, the afternoon consisted of the four of them sharing university stories.

They had already paid for their food and were waiting on Alya to finish so they could walk over to Marinette’s place to watch movies or maybe play some video games.

“There, all done. Now there are no more fries for you to steal.”

Adrien stuck out his tongue, causing Alya to sick out hers.

“Children, children, let us go so you can continue your childish games later,” Marinette said in an obnoxious accent.

“Pfft. What was that?” Alya asked, laughing.

“That was called a sophisticated voice, something you clearly know nothing about.”

Nino shook his head, standing up from the table. “You all are crazy.”

“If we’re crazy, then what are you? Cause you aren’t sane that’s for sure,” Alya teased.

“I’m saner than you.” Nino poked Alya’s nose with his finger and led them all out of the restaurant.

The walk to Marinette’s apartment building didn’t take that long. In fact, if Marinette didn’t know better, Adrien looked a little pale as their group entered the building.

“Hey, dude, don’t you live here?” Nino asked while they waited for the elevator to come down.

“Yeah, top floor.” Adrien flashed one of his model smiles, which meant something was bugging him, but Marinette couldn’t fathom what.

“I live on the top floor too. I didn’t know you moved into an apartment.”

The elevator doors opened, and Marinette clicked her floor.

“Yeah, turns out my dad owned this building, and I figured I might as well move into one of the apartments,” Adrien explained, scratching behind his head.

Adrien was lying. He had to be. The mayor of Paris owned this building. But why on earth would Adrien be lying about something like that? It didn’t make sense.

“Oh, uh, that’s neat.”

Thankfully they reached the top floor before Marinette could confront Adrien. He probably just didn’t want them to think he was wasting his money. Yeah, that had to be it. She didn’t know how much these apartments cost, but she figured it had to be a whole lot.

“You know Marinette has this hot roommate. From what I hear, he’s quite some guy,” Alya said to Adrien.

“Alya! You haven’t even met my roommate!”

“Do I have to meet him to know that he’s cute?” At this Nino raised his eyebrow, but Alya waved him off. “Not as cute as you babe.”

“Good.”

“1377. This is me.” Marinette unlocked the door to the apartment and let them in.

“Okay are you guys messing with me?” Marinette turned to see Nino standing in the doorway, looking between Marinette and Adrien.

Adrien himself looked like he was in a state of awe and panic.

“What do you mean?” Marinette scrunched her face together.

“This is Adrien’s apartment.”

“No, it’s no-oh my gosh.” She looked over at Adrien, making eye contact with the blonde. Her eyes widened as she recognized the familiar green eyes of her partner. It suddenly made sense why Adrien had been acting the way he did.

Staring into his eyes, she could see that he was having the same realization that she was. Slowly, Marinette made her way to Adrien, cautiously reaching her hand up to touch his face.

“It’s you,” Marinette gasped, covering her mouth.

“It’s you.” Adrien smiled a real smile, not his fake one.

She hugged him tightly as tears filled her eyes and threatened to fall. Adrien hugged her back just as fiercely, and she could feel his own tears flowing down, causing her own tears to fall.

“This is weird right?”

“Yes, Nino, this is weird.”

#roommates #happy birthday emsy #and they were roommates #my fic #my writing #ladybug #chat noir #adrien #marinette #alya #nino #djwifi #birthday gift #crack #miraculous ladybug

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thoughtsofafeverishmind · 2 years

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Whump Story 2: Fog

I held his hand firmly in mine and pulled him along. His fingers were cold as ice and his breathing was laboured. Even though he tripped over stones and uneven ground, I didn´t slow down. The air was so foggy, sounds came from impossible directions. The flatland was terrifiying under these conditions. No, under no circumstances could we stop. Not after what had happened. Not after what the others had seen. Gods, please let him push through until we are save. Worried I glanced back at him. The color of his face was ashen. He had pressed a hand on the wound in his side, his other hand was holding mine. He looked up.

„Miri... Miri, I can´t go any further...“ he gasped and my heart tightened.

„It isn´t that far anymore, you can do it.“ I lied and pulled him closer to put his arm around my neck.

Suddenly I heard dogs barking through the fog, my heart sank. Haku groaned as I forced him into a quicker pace.

„We are almost there. You´re gonna be okay. We are almost there.“ I repeated again and again, almost chanting.

Far away there were shapes of trees suddenly emerging from the fog like giant pillars. I almost started crying with relief.

„Do you see that, Haku? We only need to make it to the woods. They won´t follow us into the woods.“

He lifted his head wearily.

„Can´t see it. Everything´s spinning...“ he mumbled, then his legs gave out.

He almost dragged me with him, but I stubbornly struggled against his weight to keep him upright.

„Hang in there, Haku. Don´t do this to me! We are almost there, please!“ I begged him, supporting his weight as much as I could.

The trees seemed so far away and our progress was so painfully slow. The barking got louder. When I was almost certain to feel the breath of one of the dogs on my legs, I saw the first shadowlike tree passing us out of the corner of my eye. Relief flooded my brain, but I still kept on dragging Haku further into the forest. I only stopped when the trees stood so dense and the roots were reaching so high, that there was no getting onward. Exhausted I sank to my knees and tried to listen closely, if the barking was still getting closer, but it was dead quiet. Next to me Haku suddenly went limp and fell forward. I only barely prevented him from landing face first in the mud. He was out cold. I lifted his hand off the wound and started concentrating on the torn vessels, the wounded flesh. Healing was like sewing. When you do it right and neat and tidy, everything will hold and turn out fine. Slowly I joined the cells bit by bit. I didn´t know how long I was sitting there, immersed in my work. Hours, probably, because only when I had neatly closed the skin over the muscle and finally started to come back to the world, I realized how sick I felt and how dizzy. My hands were shaking and cold sweat was covering my forehead. Haku still wasn´t stirring and so I layed down next to him and closed my eyes.

I awoke with Hakus arms around me. He was shaking. We both were shaking. My breath formed little clouds as it came over my lips. We had to make it to the hut or we would freeze to death. My hands were stiff as I freed myself from Hakus arms and started vilontly shaking him by the shoulders: „Haku! Haku, wake up! We need to go! We can´t stay here!“

He whispered something incomprehensible, but didn´t open his eyes. Desperate, I raise my hand and slapped him across the face.

„Wake up! We will freeze to death if we stay here!“

He blinked confused.

„Miri? Where are we? What happened? Why aren´t we in the village?“

„You´ve got all the way to the hut to freshen up your memory. Stand up!“

I pulled him up and he came stumbling to his feet. I too felt a little unsteady, but it couldn´t be helped. Swaying I stood there for a few seconds and tried to get my bearings. Now that it was dark it was hard to tell where we had come from. Trembling I closed my eyes. When Haku had collapsed his feet had pointed in the direction from where we had come. So if we kept slightly to the left now, we should more or less stumple across the clearing on which the hut was standing.

„Miri? Aren´t you feeling well? You´re kind of pale.“ Confused I looked up at him. He was standing right in front of me, starring at my face with a concerned frown.

„You healed me, didn´t you?“

„Yes, that´s why I fell asleep next to you. We need to go that way.“ I said and pulled him in the direction I had calculated. Again his hand was in mine, but this time it was me who was cold. The deeper we went into the forest, the thinner the fog got. We hopped from moonlight patch to moonlight patch. The path seemed much longer than when I had walked it in the daylight and a few times I seriously doubted we were still on the right track. But we had no choice. There was no way back. We would either find the hut or die here in the woods. I had almost made peace with the second option when we suddenly stepped out on a clearing. In front of me the outlines of the hut shone in the moonlight. A small lamp was twinkling invitingly in one of the windows. Thank the gods, we had made it. Reliefed I squeezed Hakus hand. My breath was still turning into small white clouds when it left my lips. Fascinated I watched them until they desolved into the air. Suddenly I felt very light, as if I was also about to float into the air like the clouds. Instead the hut tilted to the side and Haku lifted me up into his arms.I met his worried frown with a dazed smile, which only deepened his concern. He was so cute.

„No, you´re definetly not alright.“ he stated, „ I think you´re in shock from overusing your powers.“

In shock? Me? Why? I was totally fine. A little dizzy maybe. As he carried me across the clearing to the hut I felt like riding a boat across big waves. I blinked and smiled again. The thought amused me. My lips started to tingle. Maybe I wasn´t alright after all. Sighing I closed my eyes. Healing Haku and then hiking through the woods was too much for me it seemed. My head sank against his chest. The last thing I consciously percieved was Haku quickening his pace. Then there was only nothingness.

#whump #whump prompt #wounded #exhaustion #healing

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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How They Spend the Quarantine (Tadashi Hamada, Lucifer Morningstar, Dewey Finn, Wade Wilson, Harley Quinn, & Benoit Blanc)

Just a fun (?? is that even responsible to say?) little thing I’ve been thinking about while slogging through this neverending hellscape of an extended lockdown.

Tadashi Hamada

When San Fransokyo was ordered to go into a lockdown, there were mixed feelings.

At first, Tadashi had a hint of optimism that this would mean more time to work on his prospective projects . . . But then he quickly realized that his projects mostly required tools and space offered by the campus. He could technically make do at home, but it wouldn’t quite be the same considering the garage was considered Hiro’s space.

Somberly had to clean out his lab and take whatever he could home.

Cue the rest of the group (sans Fred and Hiro) griping that at least his style of science could travel well enough to be somewhat continued off of university grounds.

Helps do delivery for The Lucky Cat. It helps him get out the house, and it’s simply helpful altogether.

Uses Baymax frequently to make sure everyone down to Mochi is sanitized, and nobody’s running a fever.

Nearly as frequent a sanitizer as Aunt Cass.

He starts most days prepared to be productive, only to stop and poke fun at Hiro, who’s almost always got his eyes trained on a video game.

Tadashi realizes three hours later that he, too, has been playing the game as Player 2.

Learned how to make facial masks with Aunt Cass. He already knew how to sew a little but frankly, making the masks made him realize he could have a new hobby on his hands. He’s currently trying to figure out how to make Mochi a little vest . . .

Lucifer Morningstar

B o r e d. A s. F u c k.

At first, he thinks everyone being forced to go home would work in his favor -- surely some rule-breakers would sneak out and try to bunk up with the Devil, right?

Well . . . Kinda? Once Chloe found out and scolded him about it, the idea died real fast. Plus, he realized he wasn’t quite fond of the possibility of being around someone who could pop up with a disgusting human sickness at any point during their time with him. Smearing their snot all over, coughing into his Egyptian cotton sheets . . . Nope, never mind, he is perfectly content having the penthouse to himself, thank you very much!

Except he’s not.

The poor bastard is going crazy by himself -- he’s just not used to being without some kind of company!

“At least in Hell, you could tell there were people around you based on the screaming!” he’d whine at his phone during his hourly video chat with Chloe.

Oh yes: The video chats. He tries to make them hourly with anyone he can get a hold of (namely, his long-suffering detective) but this clearly never plays out as he would like for it to: If he had it his way, everyone would respond in an instant and let him bounce mainly one-sided conversations off of them -- basically, what he did before all this went down.

What usually winds up happening is he gets hung up on or nobody answers him at all out of sheer annoyance over his clinginess.

Ironically, he’s not exactly crazy about when Amenadiel initiates those “family calls”. He insists it’s healthy and normal for them to do this and even calls Luci out on the hypocrisy, but let’s face it: Lucifer finds it obnoxiously gushy and weird.

He works his way into Linda’s video appointment books to help him cope with his boredom and admitted need for interactions. She doesn’t mind offering him counsel, but once Lucifer starts attempting to butt in during others’ appointment calls, it becomes an issue.

Has, at some point, gotten buzzed down in Lux and streamed himself attempting to pole dance. It drew quite a bit of attention.

He’s managed to gain a bit of a following and some companionship by streaming himself playing piano and singing. It’s not the same thing as having an actual audience, in his opinion, but it will have to do for now.

He’s never been one to binge with regards to TV shows or movies, but after the first week, he decided to binge watch every work action star Wesley Cabot was ever in.

Makes sure his staff still gets paid well. After all, he’s pretty well-off; there’s no need to make an innocent bartender’s life a living hell just because some other rich bastard fucked up, yeah?

Going off this, should he need to order to-go or anything, we already know he tends to tip as handsomely as he looks.

Dewey Finn

Kids were being sent to Horace Green on tuitions worth more than what some people saw in half a year -- of course the school was going to continue classes online!

While technically an afterschool instructor, the program is popular enough for parents to expect it to continue, and for Dewey to be kept on payroll.

Initially, he was pretty smug: He’s one if, if not, the youngest teacher-figure at Horace Green, so surely that means he’s more tech savvy than his older, stiffer coworkers, right? For once, he’s ahead of the curve!

Wrong: Figuring out Zoom was a headache, and then there was the realization of just how dependent his classes were on actual physical presence.

Plus, let’s be real: Dewey’s Internet connection was decent on its own, but craptastic when compared to those of his wealthier students. The lag is strong with this one.

Has definitely accidentally messed up the background on his screen. Somehow wound up with the Beetlejuice background and got so frustrated, he wound up keeping it there for two whole sessions.

In spite of the slight issues regarding lag, they pull through and try to resume lessons as best they can.

Tries to keep optimism by pointing out how this is a new form of entertainment they could be pioneers in.

Some days, it’s just going so wack or everyone’s so bleh that Dewey just assigns for them to watch a music documentary or something.

“Okay, kids, Mr. Finn’s hungover and clearly Summer is the only one who went to bed before 3am. So what I’m gonna have you do is watch . . . Prrrbbbb . . . Amadeus.” “How is Amadeus rock-related?” “It had a rock single, shut up. Anyway, we meet back next class and talk about what we saw, m’kay? M’kay. Over and out.”

Next class, he’s filled with dread as Summer produces an in-depth analysis of the relationship or lack thereof between character and the presence of talent as evidenced by Mozart’s abilities juxtaposed with his immature presentation and -- Dewey just can’t keep up. Sure, Summer, why not?

When he’s not busy teaching, however, he’s using the lockdown to work on some new material. Or just screwing around.

Otherwise, let’s be real, Big Boy’s living the high life in a place of his own: Playing video games (Animal Crossing, recently got back into Team Fortress 2, is trying to finally finish Ocarina of Time); eating a not very great diet; staying up late, napping at weird times; all in the name of quarantine.

If he orders delivery or to-go, he tips the best he can.

Wade Wilson

On one hand, murking never goes on lockdown. But on the other . . . He’s already technically not well, why risk that even with his mutation?

Oh, fuck I just remembered he lives at the X Mansion, never mind turn back turn back oh god give us free --

The situation is tense to say the least. There’s Wade, who’s sensible enough to know why the quarantine is in place . . . and then there’s everyone else, who knows Wade’s full of shit.

And by everyone, I “coincidentally” mean Colossus, Nega Sonic, Yukio, Domino, Cable, and Russ because the already small world of the sequel just got smaller by the fact that everyone is bound to a large but nonetheless single estate whose size has probably decreased from that of the First Class timeline.

You know those videos of the usual Quarantine Characters? Wade is somehow yet still unsurprisingly all of them, save for the frequent sanitizer. He raids the pantry frequently, sleeps at all hours, considers scooting a swivel chair down the halls exercise for the thighs, blasts video games, and so on.

Going back to the sanitizer thing, it’s not that he’s just not exactly known for being tidy. Colossus occasionally does drag him out of bed at a decidedly decent time (read: any time before 11am) to try and get him excited about cleaning up around the mansion, but it rarely ends well. At this point, the safest option is to just remind Wade to wash his hands for 20 seconds as necessary.

Has acquired a Switch and visits everyone’s island, often to bonk them on the head with a net or gift them with weird crap they don’t necessarily want. For the “friends” from Sister Margaret’s, he has somehow acquired their Dodo Codes. Nobody knows how he did this.

Facetimes Dopinder frequently.

“Precious, you’re the beacon of light in this cold, cruel world.” “I miss you, too, DP --” “Sshshsh! I’m having a moment . . .” *weeps*

On the many occasions he orders delivery, he tips by giving the delivery person something expensive from the mansion that they can sell. Prof. X is loaded, after all. Plus, he more or less isn’t even present in this universe, it’s not like he’s gonna miss anything he can’t see/probably doesn’t even know exists in his house. The problem is, Colossus does exist and does notice and does care when things go missing. Leading to many a delivery person getting caught up in shenanigans at that weird school in the boonies that they either don’t get paid enough to deal with or couldn’t pay to make up.

“Oh, pawn shops are closed?” asks the man who looks like a skinned avocado if avocados had human skin. “Don’t worry, lemme hook you up -- I know some guys --” “DEADPOOOOOLLL!!” roars a Russian accent from inside the house. “WHERE IS THE BRONZE BUST OF THE PROFESSOR!?” The poor delivery person’s eyes widen as they realize that the odd cargo they’ve been presented with apparently holds some value of some kind. But before they can flee, the avocado man blurts, “Shit! Leave the pizza in the bushes, look me up on my Youtube page, byyyeeee!!”

In his defense, Wade does hold up his end of the deal. Much like the Dodo Codes, nobody knows what strings he pulled. They just accept it and move on.

Harley Quinn

Surprisingly compliant.

She’s crazy, not stupid: Staying at home may suck, but what sucks more is making things harder on people who may not fair so well. Besides, she’s spent time in a maximum security prison -- she can handle staying cooped up in her own home. At least home has TV, books, and snacks.

When she hears people are still going out without masks or plotting to have a protest, she strongly considers firing up the old Fun Gun and popping the next sign-carrying Karen she sees with a tit full of cadmium yellow powder.

Seriously, stay the fuck home and fuck up your own hair; this is the perfect time to make mistakes with your looks, it ain’t like you got anywhere to be or anyone to impress.

“STAY THE FUCK HOME, BITCH!” P O W!!! “JUST GO GREY ALREADY, WE ALL KNOW YOUR HAIR AIN’T THAT COLOR ANYMORE, YOU’RE THREE YEARS FROM BEING IN THE GODDAMN AGE-BRACKET!!!” P O W!!!!

Only leaves her new apartment to grab groceries and to take Bruce on a walk. She actually refuses to steal or cause a scene during this shitshow because she may be a bad guy, but she sure ain’t evil.

So far, there haven’t been complaints about the fact that she’s walking a hyena down a public street. Maybe it’s because there’s hardly anyone out? Maybe it’s because Gothamites just can’t be bothered to be fazed by it . . . Or maybe it’s because she made him a little mask for his snout.

“In this house, we wash our hands for at least 20 seconds, kid.”

Lets the forest reclaim the earth, so to speak. She was never really shaving anything for anyone but herself before, but now it just seems especially pointless.

Spends almost every day in a kigurumi. To give her a semblance of routine, she has a pink bear one she calls her “Sunday Suit.” She doesn’t know it’s not Sunday because the days just blur but Cass just doesn’t have the heart to tell her; she seemed so proud of herself . . .

Like everyone else, she’s gotten Animal Crossing. She’s trying to create an all-preppy island with a few exceptions (Astrid = Aesthetic, m’kay?)

Tips nicely when ordering delivery.

Benoit Blanc

As young and spry in nature as the gentleman sleuth would like to think of himself, he would really rather not test the dangers of the situation and go about all foolhardy -- he’s staying home!

In theory, it’s only logical and therefore perfectly fine. But in practice . . . God, he wishes he’d invested more in things to occupy himself with when home.

It wasn’t that Benoit was never home, he just never felt too much of a need to invest in a fancy entertainment center -- the fanciest he ever got was an iHome.

The beginning of the quarantine served as the perfect time for him to read over case files, catch up on paperwork, even catch up on some reading he’d been putting on hold since God knows when due to cases popping up left and right. But that dried up quicker than he’d assumed, and that’s when he was faced with what a man of his mind dreads the most: Boredom.

Finally caved and decided to hook up Amazon Fire.

Expected to use the one-month free trial on Netflix and be just fine but once the lockdown in his area got extended and he realized he wasn’t going to be able to catch up with Crazy Ex-Girlfriend at this rate, he caves even further and buys a subscription.

Fully delights at the influx of platforms uploading Broadway recordings; when The Show Must Go On put on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, followed by The Phantom of The Opera, it was a treat, I tell you!

Sanitizes often, despite hardly ever leaving his house besides to have a smoke or to go grab groceries. Honestly, it’s less about cleaning at this point so much as it is finding something to occupy his focus when he feels there’s nothing else to so.

Takes zinc after every meal to help lessen the intensity of any ailment that might hit him.

Definitely owns a facemask. There’s a good chance it’s from Marta or one of his relatives, and there’s another good chance the pattern is as flamboyant as his clothing. He’s delighted.

Benoit tries not to rely too much on delivery, as he’d much rather just cook. On the rare occasion where tipping comes up, however, he gives as generously as he can.

Bonus: There’s a slight chance he might have acquired a companion to foster early on in the quarantine. Benoit hadn’t had a pet since childhood, a crime of which he was admittedly melancholic of his own involvement. However, his surprisingly busy lifestyle just wouldn’t suit a four-legged friend, now could it?

Well, now there’s time to. Besides, it would certainly ease the potential feeling of loneliness to have someone or something with whom he could interact with.

Admittedly, when shelters began encouraging people to invest time in taking home a companion, he’d been looking more for a comrade on the canine side of the spectrum -- but darn, if Duke wasn’t a handsome cat.

A lovely grey-and-white cat with eyes that matched his own, Duke has become the one Benoit monologues to (because in all honesty, the man is a performer at heart, in need of an audience to speak his mind to and portray a thought before). Plus, he doesn’t appear to mind it when Benoit finds himself belting out in tone-deaf notes to showtunes while washing the dishes: The mark of a true companion.

At this rate, he’s probably not going to keep fostering Duke when things calm down -- he’s probably going to just straight up adopt him.

Stay safe & healthy!

#just a dumb little thing #anyway stay safe and healthy #regrettablewritings #tadashi hamada imagine #lucifer morningstar imagine #dewey finn imagine #wade wilson imagine #harley quinn imagine #tadashi hamada #lucifer morning star #dewey finn #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc

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dropsofletters · 4 years

Text

ocean in neptune

title: ocean in neptune pairing: zhang yixing/reader genre: astronaut!au/strangers to lovers!au/sci-fi!au summary: the‌ ‌world‌ ‌is‌ ‌so‌ ‌spacious,‌ ‌billions‌ ‌of‌ ‌people‌ ‌just‌ ‌coexisting‌ ‌without‌ ‌knowing,‌ ‌something‌ ‌that‌ ‌could‌ ‌be‌ ‌bothersome‌ ‌to‌ ‌think‌ ‌about‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌mind‌ ‌of‌ ‌just‌ ‌a‌ ‌miniscule‌ ‌part‌ ‌of‌ ‌those‌ ‌individuals.‌ ‌however,‌ ‌just‌ ‌because‌ ‌we‌ ‌are‌ ‌smaller‌ ‌than‌ ‌the‌ ‌world‌ ‌in‌ ‌comparison‌ ‌doesn’t‌ ‌mean‌ ‌we‌ ‌can’t‌ ‌make‌ ‌the‌ ‌best‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌universe‌ ‌in‌ ‌us.‌ ‌this‌ ‌is‌ ‌what‌ ‌she‌ ‌learns‌ ‌from‌ ‌zhang‌ ‌yixing,‌ ‌aspiring‌ ‌astronaut‌ ‌and‌ ‌intergalactic‌ ‌personality,‌ ‌someone‌ ‌whom‌ ‌she‌ ‌wouldn’t‌ ‌be‌ ‌able‌ ‌to‌ ‌forget‌ ‌even‌ ‌if‌ ‌she‌ ‌tried. type: fluff/romance word count: 13,647

“Sometimes, I wish I could fly to another planet.” She utters, mind vacant while her voice is filled with emotion. “How would life be in Neptune? That sounds like a better place for me.”

Somewhere beyond her daily life, there were stars glistening brighter than the flicks of light in her eyes, calling out for happiness, holding all the memories of her past, her present, her future. It’s the hope she has that there may be a difference in the future. Enjoyment, happiness, so strong so amount of stress could ever move her, dizzy her, bring her to a state in which she ponders about the reality or the surrealism of life. Maybe, it is true that we are a simulation...that we are trapped in this little play-god game in which our problems are a simple particle that can be blown into the thin air. Sometimes, it just doesn’t feel like she is one in seven billion people, even more.

Her hand rests on the back of her neck, watching the speckles of dust that fly in the air thanks to the open curtains and the heat of the radiant star. Her roommate, a freshman in the nursing career, is looking for something in her room, exuding the typical image of someone who is not a senior, just like she is. Lea seems to be getting more hours of sleep, she has enough time on her hands to dye her hair, keep it tidy, she doesn’t wear scrubs everywhere she goes and still, she manages to move not sluggishly, as if her alarm clock is an energizer rather just an excuse to use in the morning.

She says this out loud, because someone like Lea wouldn’t understand what it feels like the not see the future clearly. In a few months from now, she’ll be a nurse. And...the story ends. just like that, no twists, no turns, no excitement, no beats to listen to as a soundtrack of her life, just boredom. It is responsible, something that she prides herself on, but at the same time, she wishes she could lay on this bed for a bit longer, sleep this headache through...even when it seems to be there most of the time. She wants to see something different, something outstanding, duller colors and voids that are not vacant of anything, filled with universes for her to meet.

The Earth is such a boring place.

Lea throws her sweater over her body. So, that is why her roommate is there, just looking for those pieces of clothing that are far cozier than what she wears on a normal day. It looks good on her, but the scrunch of her nose is definitely not a look when the younger woman takes her hand in between her cold fingertips, making her gaze divert from the miniscule beings around her simply to stare into her hazel eyes.

“What are you even talking about? Don’t say things like that, it’s weird.” Lea opts to say, inspecting her face for any sign of disconnection from her reality. After all, she is a daydreamer at heart, the type of person who believes more than thinking, dreams more than existing. “Oddly, you sound like that one girl in elementary that would be in love with horses. You’re in love with the universe.”

But that is a pretty, delicate title. She doesn’t mind dreaming of a vast universe, thinking outside the walls, waiting for that moment in which she stops hanging out on the floor and starts floating in the air, roaming with a purpose, the discovery of something that is far more interesting than her dull life. “I’m just saying.” She argues, feeling her roommate pull at her body until she is out of her bed. The coldness of her rug is unwelcomed, much more when Lea takes her time to place some obnoxiously cute, yet childish, pins on her hair, trying to adorn something within her. The frown doesn’t disappear with beauty, sadly. “I’ve always been connected to Neptune.”

Lea sighs, reaching for a hoodie inside her closet and taking another sweater out, placing it over her arms and covering her usual comfortable, dark clothing. “Okay, since you’re going to continue talking nonsense...what makes you believe you’re connected to Neptune?”

She squints her eyes at that, fixing the edges of her sleeves to pull them up higher and trying to take off the pins on her hair with a hand reaching up, but Lea swats it away before she could. “I don’t know.” It all started in an insomniac night, in which she had wondered where everything came from. Thoughts, dreams. How there is an inner voice inside our heads. It’s strange it can never speak up. Her curiousness has always been palpable, always ever-present. Some people ignore that need when they get older and she did for a while, until it visited her again...and she hasn’t fought against it ever since. “It’s empty. Cold.” Lea’s eyes soften at that, tilting her head to the side and making her short hair move with the action.

“You’re neither of those things.”

“Not me, but my life. It’s...I want spice, I want something.” She argues, moving her neck forward before pulling the hood of her sweater over her head. “Also, I used to call my first friend ‘Blue’...and guess what? Neptune is blue.”

Lea is obviously not convinced, and she may think she is some crazy woman trying to compare herself to a planet. An alien, but that is not exactly the case. Simple, she wants to know there is hope. She’s undiscovered, in one way or another, she hasn’t caught on what is her biggest potential, hasn’t exploded it, much less has she landed on her perfect moment in time. She’ll get there, eventually, but for now...she feels as if she is Neptune, too far away from the Sun to ever feel it, often trapped studying and working. For now, she is this...forgotten, ancient thing. What no one wants to explore. “Listen, I know this school year has been difficult for you...but in no time, you’ll be working and none of this will matter.”

“Not everything in my life should be about working, Lea.” She tries to guide her through her train of thought.

“Well, we could always go out partying and figure out if meeting new people helps you.”

New planets, all different, people really forget that we hold an entire universe inside of us. Lea doesn’t notice her mocking expression when she wraps her arm around her shoulder, bringing her out of the comfort of her own room. “I don’t want to meet anyone new.” She says. “...Is it so wrong I just want to find some purpose that is not working?”

Lea opens the door for her, the swoosh of air making her want to hide for a bit more, simply leave herself inside her room and draw, get lost in something that is not the stress of dealing with others. In big masses of people, just not what she is looking for. “No, baby, it’s never wrong.” She answers, trying to use the sweetest tone she can muster. She steals a glance at Lea, whose eyes really seem sweet...but maybe, she is just trying to get her to shut up. “But you promised me that you were going to help me out with learning the muscles of the deltoid area, as well as the function of the abdominal muscles...and I need you there to coach me as the professor gives some extra info.”

Right, because humans are a universe in their own...and that is exactly why she has become a nurse. To serve, to help, to be there but also not have to deal with the guts and sewing that is often involved in the medical career. Now she realizes it takes a little bit more work than she could have ever thought of. “...I never said I wasn’t going, I was just thinking out loud.”

“And you can do just that!” Lea says, a chuckle in between her words. “When we’re talking about muscles, though. Not when talking about Neptune.”

In the drag of her feet when she enters the unbeknownst area for younger nursing students, she realizes just how tired she is. Her fingers are rubbing at her eye, the soft glide of her fingertips against the skin almost soothing, hearing the sound of loud voices mixed with people joining in groups, typical when studying in masses. The white walls and polished desks remain intact, the whiteboard the main point with drawings of the human body with some muscles well placed, others just badly drawn. That is obviously the work of a student, most likely, but she is not there to judge, simply because she had once been there.

Once, years ago, she had taken a seat in those same desks. She had looked ahead with a question mark over her head, barely understanding what was going on. If anything, she worked her hardest to be able to understand more profoundly. At the time, she thought that would be it: studying, working, and then she’d feel complete. There was no other plan, no house to wish upon, no car to want, simply the recognition of her hand work. One day, that became tedious, insufferable, it made her feel shallow—everyone wanted something, and yet, she didn’t know exactly what it was that would add some kind of...interest to her life. More than a nine to five, more than a night shift, more than simply thinking in the same box of medicines, body parts, tendons, muscles, arteries, veins.

Beauty is in saving lives...but what is a life that has not been lived?

This time around, however, along with her favorite professor in her entire career—Mrs. Li, as she formally calls her—there are a duo of men. Around the same height, not outstandingly tall, turning their backs towards the entrance, which is exactly where she is standing. She sees pristine clothing, matched from head to toe in black, mostly simplistic clothing like a tee and some jeans. One of them sports tattoos, the most talkative of the two, the other doesn’t, but she doesn’t really pay attention much to them, concentrating on taking a seat far away from the students, but still close enough for Lea to as her questions.

She isn’t supposed to be there. She could be sleeping, but her input was highly requested by Lea and immensely accepted by Mrs. Li, who had endless appreciation for her. At this very moment, she could have been laying on her bed, still cladded in her favorite pajamas, too soft to ever be forgotten, legs sprawled in the comfort of the mattress. Nonetheless, she doesn’t get a break when she enters the classroom, barely placing her thighs down on the seat when she hears her name being called.

Once her gaze is lifted, towards the main desk to be exact, she sees Mrs. Li looking at her with a smile that is downright motherly and those men in black finally receive a face to their anonymous stances. One of them captures her attention as easily as it is to breathe in oxygen; something about his dark eyes in their sleepy habitat, like he could use a good night of sleep but beauty still exists within him, in its purest form, even through this fact. Maybe, what is enchanting are his lips,somewhat his bottom one turns into a pout when he doesn’t realize, not because of the plumpness but thanks to his facial expressions. When he tightens his cheeks ever so slightly, his skin dips in what seems to be a dimple, though it could be her imagination. His physique is excellent, too, lean with softly defined muscles. Not exactly a gym-rat, but he must have some kind of training.

In the way his belly dips and his body leans forward, there is masculinity. The kind that would have anyone swooning and she visibly feels her face heating up, but she lowers her face and walks forward to listen to whatever Mrs. Li has to say.

This one, she thinks, this one guy has to be the anatomic model. Someone whose body is often covered in the ink of a marker, serving as a three-dimensional version of what is in the books, enough for a student to be able to point out where the muscles are placed and where arteries pass, important for their career. If not, if she is even wrong—which obviously, she isn’t—, this would be a missed opportunity. The muscle definition is textbook written, almost as if he was crafted for the job, but this is all erased from her brain when Mrs. Li opens a folder over her desk and starts to talk to her.

Her gray hair was held in a bun, someone who is old enough to be jubilated, but she continues to work with fervor. Her sweetened expression is filled with botox, however, a contrast to her natural hair, though so softly done that it almost looks better than expected. “I’m so glad you came here today. I needed to ask something from you before we started the lesson.”

She tries not to look to the side, not to push her body forward and stand straighter to catch the attention of the man to her right, whose smell is now all she can feel, so musky, radiating from within, and she swears she can feel his gaze land on her for the briefest second. Though, it’s better not to ponder on this, nodding her head to what Mrs. Li just said. “Oh...yes, I’m sorry I’m a tad late. We had to walk here...and yeah...” It definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she didn’t want to be there to start with.

At least, Lea had done something good. Had she not pleaded for her to help her out with this class, she wouldn’t have seen someone like...the prince by her side.

No one will be able to convince her he is, at the very least, of royal blood. This mightiness must belong to someone of class.

“No, no, no worries. I wanted to introduce you to someone whom you’ll share a lot of time with.” Mrs. Li complies, nodding her head towards the prince-looking man. Maybe, this is the universe finally adding some beauty to her day. “And you can say no, of course, but I know you’ll be super interested in this topic.”

The other man, the companion of the one that has made her breathe in deeply in order to keep herself calm, takes a seat on the anatomic model chair and that is enough of a reason for her to know that there is a bit of irony left in this world. “What would it be?”

“Yixing is a computer engineer. He is an astronaut of sorts and you know how much children love space, alien, astronauts...anything of the like.”

A name is given to her: Yixing. When she turns to look at him, she realizes that Yixing is looking ahead, listening intently to what Mrs. Li is saying, such seriousness imprinted on his face, but not the kind that is scary. He seems quite delicate, understanding almost. She clears her throat, returning her attention to Mrs. Li. “...And what do I have to help him with, Mrs. Li?”

“Well, almost no elementary student cares about nurses. They either want to be doctors or astronauts, but they never care about our career.” Mrs. Li points out, lowering her rounded glasses from the bridge of her nose. “So, since Yixing is the representative of the astronomy field in our city, he is used to giving presentations to college students and high school ones, not exactly children. I trust you to be able to help him and incorporate some interest in the students for the nursing career.” The excitement in her voice clearly shows that she is in love with exactly what she had picked in her life. She wonders what that must feel like… “I’ll be asking the kids questions after the event and I’ll make sure to reward you with some points in your thesis.”

Oh.

That sounds...clearly like a good idea.

Showing little kids the examples of hygiene and the nursing program must be easy enough. She hasn’t done it in the past, but it must be simpler than talking to university students like herself. “Ah, yes, I’ll work along with Yixing.”

“Perfect.” Mrs. Li speaks in a whisper, writing something down in her folder before smiling. “The presentation is in two weeks.”

“Alright. We’ll get it done.”

Though, the man doesn’t speak much, falling into the line of shyness. Mrs. Li softens her gaze, looking in between her student and a graduate of another field, clearly an astronaut in the making. She wonders what kind of plans he works with...or if his silence comes from endless hours at the job. “Yixing, don’t be shy. She seems like she bites, but she really doesn’t.” The comment makes her widen her eyes slightly, feeling Mrs. Li’s hands resting on her shoulders, dragging them to look at each other, just in time for her to speak again. “Introduce yourselves. The university has been trying to unite the science fields because we are supposed to work together. I want my two favorites of this educational plan to get along well.”

For the first moment since she got there, she gets to see his smile and she almost wants to say a small ‘aha!’ out loud. Right, she was, a dimple appears when he speaks with the slightest pout on his bottom lip, re-introducing himself with his first name and surname. “I hope we can work well together.”

She says her name, rolling it out softly, delicately, as if the space in between them is too close. In a world so big, they are there. In a word so big, she has found beauty within a set of eyes. How funny attraction is, hormones working to her odds, connecting in a singular form to bring heat to her ears, a small grin to her features, a simplistic flutter of her eyelids that is not meant to be flirty...but maybe, it is. “We will!” She tries to reassure, watching as he pats around his chest to get something, soon after reaching for his actual pockets and taking his wallet out. It’s not money that he takes out, obviously, but rather a small, thick card that shows a universe.

The concept of adorable, actually.

It reads his name, along with a number, a personal one along with the one from work. “You can always call me there. Text me to my personal number and we can work on our project together.”

“I will.” She answers, waving the card in the air and then, nodding her head. Don’t look at his arms, she tells herself, feeling her pupils and irises trailing down until she catches herself.

No.

This is a respectful man. Someone of importance.

...And yet, a star taken out of the sky itself.

What he says next catches her off guard, his eyes twinkling at the same time. “I look forward to it.”

How can she erase a smile from her face after that? How is it that the goodbye in between them doesn’t taste bitter, but it smells like the initiation of something...interesting? Perhaps, half of the lesson, she looks at the man that is standing in one corner, arms crossed over his chest, studying along even when he probably doesn’t understand the majority of the things that are being said. This intense gaze, like he really finds interest in the world, is what comes from a great listener. What makes an unforgettable person. What has her looking twice, or three times, or maybe even more. It’s embarrassing, yet so natural, like gravity.

As if, for some reason, time settled for them to meet, no longer running or going extremely slow, but following its natural flow.

🚀

Somnolence takes over her at any time, she wants to say it’s because something has just shut off in her body, but that is just an excuse to not blame it on her hard work. Even then, when the wind is so cold it almost burns against her uncovered hands, she still decides not to cancel the meeting she has, responsible as always. Her legs ache, not like a sting but as if they were asleep, moving her through such a spacious barrack. Everything looks...alive, machinery that moves with precision, lights that flicker in pretty pastel colors, screens that showcase information that she briefly reads while one of the receptionist walks her through the main hallway towards some darkened doors, further away from the space-cladded decorations at the center of such place.

The clicking of heels coming from the receptionist is different to her comfortable shoes, leaving her with a small question on the back of her head, wondering if she should have tried harder. Perhaps, wearing her scrubs and her hair on a messy ponytail isn’t exactly what the workers here consider proper, but they don’t spare her a glance. Machinery look as if they are alive here, but people seem more like robots. They move only when called, sat down on desks, it’s a repeated sound: staple, fold, put down; staple, fold, put down; it’s almost musical, rhythmic, it speaks wonders about how the world is so synchronized sometimes.

Her eyes inspect the last door, as black as the others, but somehow this one looks a bit used. There are fingerprints on the pristine doorknob, something she doesn’t notice in usual doors, but in these ones it’s inevitable not to. Everything looks so clean and yet, this is the peak of normality. The receptionist takes a napkin out of her purse with a huff, using it to wrap her hand around the doorknob after introducing a code, one that makes the device beep and the door open with a clear swoosh. The receptionist, one that she had captured just before the woman had to leave for home, turns to her with a serious expression on her face.

In most places, receptionist would welcome her with a smile. It’s the pleasantries of societal rules—

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Maybe, this astronomy agency should work harder on creating androids that could replace the overly petty receptionist. Instead, she shakes her head, pressing her favorite anatomy textbook to her chest. “No. Thank you for your hard work.”

Without anything else to be said, the receptionist bows and leaves, making her sigh deeply when she takes another look around. On the ceiling, pretty dots of some kind of glistening paint creates the imagery of stars on a dark surface, the same color of the night sky. This is the only thing that could be considered artistic in the glass-cladded, marble-based decorations, and yet, the oxygen inside her lungs seems to be insufficient whenever she looks at it. The moment of relaxation is cut short when someone cuts through the thin musical air, the sound of someone opening a door in quick mannerisms catches her attention, making her jump slightly when she turns to look at the source of such noise, coming from the door that the receptionist had just opened.

Yixing was standing there, black hair done a mess—it should give him the look of a crazy scientist, but rather, it looks cozy in a tremendously cold place. He holds the door in between his fingers, delicate just like his aura, an invisible halo glistening around him, bringing a sense of calm when he takes a simple breath out, mixed with a smile.

“Sorry, I thought it was a ghost. Someone opened the door and then, they didn’t come in and...that must have been you.” This is the first sign that Yixing doesn’t belong to a place like this. An outcast, she knows how it feels like, to be one of a kind in a world that seems to be so similar. He makes a bit of a commotion, absentmindedly of course, and he also believes in beings such as ghosts. No person of science would ever agree with that thought, and yet, he voices it out in such a place with dignity.

She studies his expression, and he still seems to be sleepy. This is normal for him, normal for her, two people who work way too hard and try to cover it the best they can, but when two people go through similar things, it is difficult to hide what can be seen to the eye. “It was your receptionist...I didn’t know I could enter.” She breathes out, tying to keep her voice levelled, but it’s a hushed whisper. She looks into his eyes, windows to the soul, and yet his hold a whole landscape to them. How is it that in a world filled with cities, traffic, skyscrapers and rushed matters, someone could—and does—hold nature in their gaze? She swears she sees flower bloom, the beginning of something, all in those brown eyes.

“Oh,” He moves to the side, extending his hand in a welcoming manner. “You can come in.”

“Okay.” She tells him, not knowing exactly what to say until she actually takes a few steps in and takes in the sight in front of her, around her, taking her to a new world. So, this is exactly what she has always been thinking of, how it feels like to be in a new dimension...and even the whole barrack couldn’t bring that sense upon her. “T-This is your office?”

“No,” He initiates his denial, bringing a frown to her features. “This is my home. I spend most of my time here, either way, and wherever I have my laptop is my home, so...”

This looks like how space really must be, full with life, yet hidden from the eyes of most people. A window shows what is outside, the parking lot in which she had been just a few minutes ago, but anything that could be out there will never compare to what Yixing’s ‘home’ looks like—let’s be honest, this is certainly an office—. Artistry is in the walls, in the painted galaxy that puts everything together, the soft neon lights that make the one light in his desk just stand out. There is a couch somewhere, deep purple, with a blanket thrown over it and a pillow. There are figurines, which she supposes are of trips taken around the world, from Paris to Rome, from Shanghai to Seattle. Everywhere. This is another fact that Yixing lets out, he likes being anywhere, travelling, he wants to make the world his home.

Maybe, because just like herself, he feels like he doesn’t belong most of the time.

The desk is dark, with a gray laptop over it that is open with a blinking document, the word-count legible enough for her to widen her eyes—the sight of forty thousand words scares her, and if projects are like this for computer engineers in the astronomy field, she doesn’t ever want to go to space. By its side, there is a mouse, some stacks of paper, a half-empty glass of water and huh, maybe that is why there is a small refrigerator somewhere in the office. He must spend a lot of time here, just like he said.

“This is so pretty...” She lets her voice trail, just like her gaze that roams through his office, hearing the shuffling of steps, the rustle of sheets and soon after, the noise of Yixing patting the spot on the purple couch. Her train of thought is cut off by that, turning to look at Yixing, who looks at her pleadingly.

“Take a seat.” She doesn’t know if he’s asking or instructing her, but with a curt nod she sits down, placing her bag down on the floor, resting her anatomy textbook over it, watching as Yixing crosses his arms over his chest. “Do you really like it?”

“It feels as if I was in space.” She compliments, though it doesn’t seem to get far as he gives a short chuckle, shaking his head when he reaches inside his mini refrigerator, opening the door in a swift motion and kneeling down to look in between the choices.

“What do you want? I have water, energy drinks, soda—” Looking at him feels like it should be magical. He is sincerely not like any man she has seen in the past. Maybe, in the realm of things, she could have met someone more handsome and she doesn’t quite remember—but none could ever compare to what he gives out to this world. This tranquility, utmost strangeness, beautiful and terrifically hypnotizing poise that holds his body together. Stars consist of the balance of forces and something about him is extremely balanced. The way he holds himself together, the sweetness of his gaze and yet, the professionalism in his tone.

“I’m fine with water.” She tells him, watching the water bottle being thrown into the air for her to catch. She does catch it in between her two hands, but her head collides with a soft thud on the wall behind her, making Yixing stand up quickly with widened eyes.

“Oh shit, are you okay?”

Something about the soft, innocent hit must have lit something in the room. The neon lights get stronger, more prominent, not only bathing the room on their glow but a corner of the space becomes more apparent. Her attention turns to that place, in which Yixing holds what seems to be a Solar System model. Perfectly made, all hand-painted from what she could tell, highly beautiful in the way it rotates around the big sun. Even the moon is there, planets from Mercury to Venus, to Mars and Neptune, Pluto a little dot that brings a smile to her face. She hadn’t seen those since probably elementary school and a sense of nostalgia washes over her when she stands up.

“It’s okay.” She tells him, uncapping the lid of her water bottle and bringing it up to her lips to take a sip. Only days before this, she had texted Yixing to meet up with him when they were both free, taking almost a week for them to come to a conclusion, but she wishes she could have come here sooner. “If hitting my head made that light up, I’ll do it again.” That brings laughter out of him, one of his hands going behind her head and patting the surface soothingly, as if that would help her.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, trailing after her when she gets closer to the animated model. It moves slowly, not quite fast, but it’s soothing in the way it rotates. “I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think you’d be the one to like space.”

“I didn’t care about space until earlier this year.” She confesses, running her fingers over the model of the earth, right over the moon, then down the next planet. “I realized there is more to life than my problems and my own world, so...whenever I feel like my problems are too big or my ambitions too high, I remember that I can dream as highly as I can. There is more over the sky, after all.”

Yixing hums at her words, making her look to the side when he rests his hands on his knees, pushing his weight forward to look at the model with her. The neon lights create shadows over his face, the glimpse of a stubble bringing a smile to her face. “Those are big words,” He tells her.

“Mrs. Li told me you’re an aspiring astronaut. Nothing should ever be too big for you.” The way he raises his eyebrows, half-amused, half-touched, is a clear warning label in her head. If fire alarms could sound inside her own thoughts, they would have, mainly because she feels as though she hit something deep within him, not hidden, but also not shown to the world.

“I aspire to be an astronaut...that doesn’t mean I am one.” He says, voice informative, a little bit careful. “I’ve never been as good as I should be to become one.”

But...his body training, clear through his physique, as well as the way he seems to breathe in and out facts about the universe should have been enough. Wanting to be there, with so much passion, should have been enough. “Ah, don’t say that. Your time will come eventually—”

“Don’t think so.” He says in between a chuckle, straightening his back and turning towards his desk. “So—”

“Wait, why don’t you think so?” She asks, following after his steps when he sprawls his body on his seat, turning on his rolling chair and looking at her with his hands resting on his thighs.

“I’m not the kind of man they want in the moon. I’ve been told I just lack the it factor.” He shrugs his shoulders, giving hindsight in his dream of wanting to go to the moon. Huh, maybe that is why only the Earth’s moon is shown on the Solar System model in his office. “I don’t know what that is, but I’ve tried for the past four years. It’s not easy, let me tell you.”

She takes a seat beside him, dragging a plastic chair that she sees somewhere in there before sighing. “It’s never going to be easy, and you probably think I am being nosy about this and hell yes, I am.” She replies, resting her palm on top of his desk. “But you’re different from the rest of the people working here, Yixing. You don’t have to be like the rest to reach your dreams.”

With a smile on his face, Yixing nods his head. “Fair enough.” He tells her, closing up after thanking her in a brief mumble. The mood is ruined now, apparently, maybe she had thought about him in such a high caliber, maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, because now Yixing is smiling at her, breaking away his gaze before clearing his throat.

So, this is probably the time to start with their project. The exact reason why she is there.

“What is your favorite planet?”

“Huh?” She asks, tilting her head to the side and undoing her hair from its ponytail, earning a glimpse of Yixing who studies the way her hands flex when she ties it up once again. “Neptune.” She breathes out after finishing, earning a hum from Yixing.

“You seem like a Neptune girl.”

Joyful laughter makes her way through her lips. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

Yixing drags his seat closer to his laptop, taking the mouse in between his fingers and searching for something. His blue cardigan falls off one of his shoulders, showing his typical all black outfit. “It’s not often picked. There is nothing interesting about Neptune.” So, is he meaning to say she is not interesting or is she taking this wrongly? “No rings to be seen in pictures, though it has some. No exceptional moon for people to write songs about, though it has fourteen of its own. It’s blue, it’s plain...and somehow, I feel like you’d see the good in it.”

She has never thought that far. She only thought she had a connection with it, something that has always brought her closer to feeling as if it is her favorite in the Solar System. “...That is better than my reasoning. I thought I liked it just because.”

“I have some projects I’ve written about Neptune. I made studies on Triton, too, its most important Moon.” Yixing is rambling now, clearly in his zone and matter of interest. He clicks away, pressing on a document and opening what seems to be a picture application. “These are the latest pictures taken of Neptune.”

Blue and soft gorgeousness appears from the screen, bringing a sense of peacefulness to the room. Or maybe, Yixing just makes her feel relaxed. However, she asks him: “If mine is Neptune, what is your favorite planet?”

“Earth.”

“...Earth?” Surprise takes over her voice, lifting her tone just slightly when she looks at him. “Do we live in the same Earth or have I just experienced a different one than yours?”

“There’s beauty in this world.” He tells her, so sincerely that she may start to believe it. She had wanted to run away for so long, simply live something stronger, and someone like Yixing, who has gotten the chance to see so much from the Earth, gives the world love poems with the way his eyes twinkle when talking about it. “We miss it most of the time, sure, but wake up one day before five in the morning. Just wait for the sun to rise, don’t listen to the world, just see the Earth come to life and then, you’ll know what I mean. The Earth is beautiful, only that we decide to make our lives less in contact with that part of nature.”

Talking about life, the universe, the planets and Earth comes easily for them, so much that when Yixing has to go back to work and it is too late for her to stay there, they have done nothing. She doesn’t say anything, not wanting to make Yixing feel bad when he says his goodbyes to her and thanks her for a great night of conversation. Dragging her feet away from that office is difficult, but she feels energized, enough to have five hours of sleep and wake up at five in the morning, waiting just the slightest hour before the Sun rises.

It’s then when she sends Yixing a picture of the sunrise, breathtaking and hopeful. It means a new day is starting, a new opportunity to change the world, to be better, to try harder. Maybe, she had forgotten that it wasn’t always about getting home and complaining about her day, but it was about thanking the world for having a place to stay, a life to live. For a walk, for the talks, for the goods and the bads.

That is when she learns whoever is not sending Yixing to the moon doesn’t realize how intelligent he is.

🚀

“Nurse!”

She stands up, moves to search for the voice that wants her and finds a patient.

“Nurse!”

Only later, someone else calls her and with rushed steps, she has to attend them. They are sick, after all, better make their stay at the hospital a bit more bearable. This is the cycle that she lives through, an empath, trying her hardest to help others even if her own back is weighted in responsibilities. She can take another hour away from her nights of sleep, she promises, she can say yes to another project, it doesn’t matter. She can do it, she really, really can.

Which is the exact reason as to why she hopes, wishes, prays that Yixing understands when she is an hour late to their meeting at his favorite local library. The traffic doesn’t help, definitely, and even though her apology text was well received with a tiny ‘don’t worry!’, she still worries. Guilt is eating at her skin, when she gets off her car and closes the door harshly behind her, thanking her sneakers when she rushes towards the entrance of the library, the dark night long gone when the golden lights of the place clash over her body, making her squint in the slightest, though not stopping on the loud stomps of her feet against the tiles, looking around for that set of black hair, those softened eyes and the dimple that appears in her daydreams every once in a while.

“Shh!” One of the librarians tells her, a redhead with a finger up her mouth, frowning deeply with a book in between her fingers. She halters her steps at that, noticing how the noise must have multiplied because—duh, this is a library. She mouths an apology, looking around the spacious library and almost giving up on finding Yixing there. Of course, it is late, he probably left because he had better things to do. She must be a nurse, but he works for one of the biggest agencies in the country—

Someone mumbles her name in a shout, making her turn to the source of it. She catches him then, seated by one of the tables, the only person beside a group of students still seated there at that hour of the night. Yixing smiles at her and for a moment, the soreness of her feet is bearable, the beeping in her ears stop, her blood pressure goes to a normal state. She realizes she can breathe normally again, that taking less than a millisecond to breathe in and out is not healthy, that her ribcage should expand comfortably. Drained, she feels, no amount of smiles from him could ever take away the physical tiredness, but she feels a tad better now that she notices he stayed there for her.

She takes the seat across from him, always putting her bag down, letting out a long sigh when she finally can sit down without her heart racing with the thoughts of being responsible. “Tired?” He asks, to what she can only nod. “What did you do today?”

No one ever asks that. Not Lea when making dinner at the same time that she gets home. Not her closest friends. Not her family. Hell, no one wants to heart about how much she has done because that’s just her life—too boring, too busy, too cramped. It takes her by surprise, so much that she struggles to find words: what had she done in that entire day to be so drained?

She starts talking, then, oh, she notices a while later that there is something to unveiling about the way she speaks to him. There is not a single layer of her soul that remains untouched by him. He seems to listen intently, hand pressed to his cheek, blinking at her knowingly when she gives too much information about how many coffees she had during the day, or simply when she speaks about certain sickness that he probably has no idea about—Yixing may be well dosed in his field, but the term Leishmaniasis is something he questions immediately. He listens, to her lunch-breaks and how she had to deliver two projects today, to how her phone’s data died on her when she needed it the most and how one of the doctors scolded her mainly because they were having a bad day.

As a listener, it feels nice to be listened to. She closes her mouth after a while, wondering what the hell she is doing—they have a project to finish, after all. “...But enough about me, we’ve already lost a night of working and we shouldn’t do that again.”

Yixing hums. “We can do both.”

“Why don’t we talk about you, then?” She asks, opening up one of the anatomy books she had brought with herself. Something simplistic, perhaps one of those encyclopedias used for elementary school students. She needs to take out the adult mindset and think like a student.

“What do you want to know?” He asks, tapping his fingers against the surface of his own book when she clears her throat.

“Why do you want to go to the Moon?” She questions, searching through the book with half of her mind paying attention to the task at hand.

“I woke up one day and wanted to do it—”

“Then, why haven’t you gotten accepted as an astronaut to have preparation for any future trips?”

Yixing’s face softens at that, eyelashes brushing against his under-eyes with a blink. He chuckles a bit to himself, as if he finds it funny. “I’ve failed the test for exchange of programs three times,” He announces, something that she wouldn’t have imagined coming from him, but when he lifts his gaze, there is an embarrassed smile on his features. “The first time around, my physical training just didn’t match up to what they were looking for. I worked out harder for the next test the following year, but then I had failed my language test by a point. Third time...I don’t know, it just didn’t happen.” He says. “It was all my fault.”

When her hand reaches forward, all she can think about is that she wants to touch him. In the way of a caress, in the warmth of letting him know that there is nothing wrong with falling every once in a while. It may be weird, much more when she gives a simplistic pat to the back of his hand. “You’ll get there, Yixing. You just have to believe in yourself.” She tells him, voice a mere blow of air, maybe because he felt too close or because they are in a library. “I believe in you. I’ve failed tests, as well, and look, I’m on my way to graduation.”

His lips quirk up at that, because it really isn’t the same and she knows it’s not that simple. Instead, he simply nods his head. “Let’s hope I do get there.”

“No, no, no. You’re saying it wrong.” She says. “You will get there.”

“I will get there.”

“Louder.”

“I can’t say it louder...we’re in a library.”

“Oh, right.” She hisses, biting down on her bottom lpi and moving around the table until she is seated next to him. His parted thighs connect with the skin of her scrub-cladded legs when she shows him a page with small drawings of the human body, understandable for younger students. An idea bubbles inside of her, explodes in colors and shapes, in the soothing manner of wanting to make him feel better. Or even more, of wanting to get to know him for who he is. “What about the anatomy of an astronaut?”

“Huh?” Yixing lifts an eyebrow. “What even is that?”

“It could be a concept. In average circumstances, we all have similar bone structure, which is what is mostly taught to kids in a very surface level kind of way. However, that’s boring. If we have you in, in your almost-astronaut glory, they’ll be interested.” She speaks, motioning with her hands as she speaks before she notices his gaze resting upon hers. “No? Is it a bad idea?”

“I trust you with that idea.” Yixing confesses, though he quirked an eyebrow. “But I’m still not an astronaut. I can pretend to be one for the kids, but don’t use that title on me.”

She scoffs at that, leaning back on her seat to talk to him. “Zhang Yixing,” She feigns a radio-station type of voice, lowering her voice and earning a shushing sound from the librarian. There is not a lot of people to bother here anyway, why is she so pissy about it? “Another man to get to the Moon. We can watch him take his first steps there—and oh, is he doing the Moonwalk there, as well? What a revolutionary picture!”

Yixing laughs at her antics, shaking his head before nudging her side. “You’re...out of your mind.”

“A little bit. I have to add some spice to my days.” She comments, though she rarely is like this, more inside her brain, much more boring. This is the power he holds over her, the one that pushes her to have fun.

“I see...” Yixing mumbles, pointing at the textbook in front of her. “So, what is this idea of yours?”

“We get you in an astronaut suit and I point the easiest bones in the body. Ribs, sternum, femur. Stuff like that.”

“I see...” Yixing mumbles. “And I could add some information in there, too. As in historical knowledge. First man on the Moon, first spaceship ever created...last planet, because Pluto is a planet, but Neptune had taken its place for a while.” He speaks his knowledge into the thin air. “It’s funny. You like Neptune and you got here last. Is this some kind of foreshadowing?”

“Yeah, it’s a metaphor.” She sarcastically adds, pointing with her chin towards Yixing’s laptop. “We could do some research before writing down the planification for the class. There is only a week left, after all, we need to get it over and done with.”

“Alright, Neptune.”

“Let’s just work on the project, Moon Dude.”

The comment brings a smile to her face, simply because this is the nature of silliness. This is what she needs, not to take everything so seriously for once and yet, still remain level-headed while having fun. The way he giggles at her words has her sighing, a grin the epitome of happiness on her face. Yixing is truly something else, but she doesn’t know exactly how to explain it.

🚀

“Did you know Neptune has the strongest winds in the Solar System?”

She doesn’t know about Neptune, but right now, after being a classroom filled with kids—some interested in what the adults were saying, some not—she is surprised to see how the weather has changed. The thin cardigan she had opted to wear is definitely not enough to cover her from the dense wind that clashes against her body, making her cling to the edges of her cardigan to keep it in place. Wrong, the wind just inflates the back of it, creating obnoxious fabric sounds that have her giving up against the strength of it.

Yixing doesn’t seem equally as bothered, even though he has changed from the astronaut uniform he had wear earlier and now he is back to his simple olive sweater. His hair is a mess under his beanie and god, maybe the smile on his face is messy, too—he doesn’t care that the wind blows on his face or that his words are abit misunderstood under the sound, he simply walks the two of them to their cars after one hour of endless attention to a group of children. He must be happy, a good mark on his folder back at work and she will probably earn some points on her thesis, too, but there is something else bothering her in the back of her mind. Maybe, that is why she is so annoyed.

The truth is that, while the little help in her thesis is of huge importance, she has grown used to texting Yixing. Sometimes for their project, sometimes because she is bored. Speaking comes to them easily, albeit a bit shyly. He says a fact that she has no idea about and she conquers with her own thoughts. A collision of two stars, some would call them, different worlds coming together but that is far from the truth. Yixing, to her, is like an individual of another galaxy—not because he is rare, quite the contrary, because he is otherworldly, in the way his normality causes her to feel more at ease.

She quirks an eyebrow at that, pressing her hands against her hair to keep it in place. “Is that so? Are you meaning to say your astronaut uniform got us to another planet?”

Yixing jokes around, resting his hands on each side of his beanie, pulling it off his head and ruffling the dark strands with his fingertips. “It’s always different when you’re around, like I’m on a different place.” He tells her, placing his beanie on top of her head before securing it in place. His hands are secure, just like him, everything about him screams protection. One day, when she was around twelve years old, she had gotten to see a shooting star—she made a wish, stupid at the time, she doesn’t quite remember it, but it never came true. From that day on, she thought it was a myth...and yet, there he is. The man who makes her feel like there is magic beyond our universe that we, as humans, will never understand. We either search for the truth or live it, unique for all. “Maybe that’s why I’m disoriented right now. I don’t even remember where I parked.”

“No way.” Her voice is filled with joy, she doesn’t even recognize it at this point. Far too busy, cladded in responsibilities, she thinks her professionalism has washed away any thoughts of a normal human being. “...You’re lying, right?”

The tint of red on the tips of his ears definitely does not come from the cold or the unexpected gush of fresh air that hits at their bodies as they near her car. “I’m not.” He laughs, using his chest mostly to create the sound before haltering his steps right behind her car. On his tiptoes, he inspects around the parking lot. “But I’ll find it. Maybe. If it was not robbed, that is.”

Her hands reach for his bicep, pressing it to catch his attention and the man lowers his gaze. Yixing’s curious gaze softens at that, a brief smile appearing on his features. The touch seems to clash, like an explosion in the sky. “Give me your keys.”

Tranced, something that she doesn’t quite understand the reason for, Yixing takes his keys out of his pocket before giving them to her, their palms brushing together and bringing a shiver down her spine. “Here.”

“Watch and learn.” She tells him, lifting the keys in the air and pressing the button down. At several directions, she presses it until she hears the beeping sound of Yixing’s car, some meters away from hers.

“...It was that easy?” Yixing asks, chuckling at his own innocence.

“It was.” This time around, when she gives him back his keys, she studies his body. Yixing is lean, long torso, marked by his hard hours of training thanks to his dreams. His hips are slim, not quite tall but he has some height to him. His eyes shine so brightly they could blind anyone and his dimples are still one of the main reasons she smiles back. “It’s cold.” She whispers, trying to find an excuse or a conversation to keep him for longer, feeling his hands reach for hers as he cups them, bringing them up to his lips and blowing on them.

The small raspberries of wind he throws to her skin are not necessarily all she needs to feel warm but the care he has, the way he treats her, is enough to bring some heat to her face. This feels odd—she has gone through this before; relationships, liking someone, sometimes reciprocating, sometimes not. She is an adult, it should be easier to give up and simply accept her attraction towards Yixing, but just like Neptune, she finds it hard to break through that ice barrier she has around her. “...Get into the car, then.” He says after pressing a small kiss to her knuckles, his own face now filled with embarrassment. He chuckles, mostly at himself, before she joins him on that.

Better to laugh and enjoy the now than think about the consequences of tomorrow. Once he lets go, she wonders if their conversions will die down eventually. They most likely will, she has only known him for a little bit over two weeks—that is better than getting attached. “I’ll go, since you don’t really want me here to start with.”

“I never said that.” He answers truthfully. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

After taking her own keys out and opening the door to her car, she leans her elbow against the roof and looks at him with a smile on her face. “I guess,” She confesses. “I had fun, even when we were teaching the stupidest thing to a group of children. I’m sure they had fun, too.”

Yixing nods his head, waving his hand and almost sending her off until he called her name out loudly. She widens her eyes at that, looking around in case anyone is looking at them after his high voice. “...Uh, I was wondering if you’re free on Saturday?”

She touches her head, realizing that his beanie is still there and that, in front of her, there is a man who looks confident, yet a bit ashamed. She hums, tilting her head to the side slightly. “I work on the morning, but I’m free Saturday night, hopefully.”

“I would like to take you to the planetarium. If that is alright with you.” Yixing prompts and she swears there is a whole battle going on inside her stomach, going up to her chest and bringing some kind of warmth. Not only that, it feels tingly, as if no amount of oxygen would ever be fulfilling enough for her lungs.

“What are we doing there?”

“Going out?” Yixing asks, albeit a bit confused on his tone.

“So...”

“A date.”

Her lips part, her eyebrows lifting up as embarrassment fills her, lowering her head slightly and hiding it from him as she chuckles. “Oh, I get it now.” She replies, looking up at him while her forearm covers half of her face before humming. “Alright, yes, a date. I see it now. A date, how could I not have noticed?”

“If it’s alright with you, though, no pressure—”

“Yixing, oh God, it’s okay!” She exclaims, wishing that the wind is enough to wash away any insecurity left in her body. “I’ll go out on a date with you.”

“...Rea—? Fine.” Yixing utters, biting down on his bottom lip before pointing at his car. “I should leave, then.”

“Maybe.” She says, getting one foot inside the car before waving her hand at him. “Text me the details, alright?”

“I will!”

When she closes the door, she has to lower her body into the seat, enough for Yixing not to notice her when she covers her face with both hands and feels the biggest smile creeping up her face.

Life is hitting her up with surprises, the ones that has her story twisting to better ways. Maybe, a distraction is necessary...and Yixing is willing to give just that.

🚀

Colors don’t exist in such place. White. Blue. White. Blue. That is all she sees, with some glimpses of gray, as she moves through the stories for the afternoon, trying to get all bits of information inside her brain. The office of the nurses is too cramped, heat pooling at her lower back as she pushes her hair away from her face. Which one was the patient that needed surgery—was it the forty-five year old woman or was it someone else?

She releases a sigh, wondering why in the world the nurses in the shift were gone when she needs them the most. She couldn’t simply leave the doctors, alone, that is but being a freshman in a group of sophomores and senior brings her to not being taken into consideration much. A raged sigh leaves her lips, looking for a pen to scribble down the bits of information she should give to the nurses at the shift once they enter, but her pen is long gone. Perhaps, in her purse...or wasn’t it behind her ear?

The stress is starting to get to her.

She throws her head back, focusing on breathing in and out and calming down the migraine that has taken part on half of her face. Her body feels dirty, as if all the hard work had accumulated in sweat and heat, and perhaps that is the exact reason as to why she is freaking out. Her lungs expand, though anxiousness takes over her when she can’t take enough oxygen in, releasing it in a long swipe before she stands up. Right, her purse, she shouldn’t be procrastinating, the faster she finishes her job, the quicker she can get out of there.

Her purse is opened at that time, cringing at the sight of crinkled papers, plastic bags of snacks she had that she should throw out and an empty bottle of perfume. It has been long since she realized that she has lost her grip in her life—when she lost passion for her job before she even graduated with a degree, when she stopped hanging out with her friends, when waking up seemed like a task and her bed was far too inviting. Instead of thinking about what she could change, she opts to favor working. One day, this will all be worth it—it’s not wrong having one dream or one goal, and once she reaches it, maybe normality will make her feel better. SHe is one with her job, after all.

She takes another pen out, clicking on the tip and testing it on her hand before she realizes that her phone is vibrating. Ignoring it is what she does, Saturday is probably the day in which Lea bothers her the most. She’s a younger student, she has all the time to go out. When she moves towards the main desk once again, she writes down the information from the patients looking to enter the operating rooms.

The sound of the door opening takes her away from her thoughts, side-eyeing whoever had entered the office. With a plastic bottle dangling from his hands, Li Wei makes his way inside. One of the younger nurses, for sure, a sophomore to be exact. Most of the workers there are enchanted by his lively personality and youthful looks, from the way his cheeks fluff out when he smiles and how that seems to contrast his delicate body. The scrubs look on him as somewhat fashionable, his collarbones peeking from underneath the fabric when he leans against the desk with his hands, calling her name in a tutting tone.

“You shouldn't be here. It’s not your shift to attend.” Li Wei adds, one of the few people that feel somewhat bad that she has so much work on her shoulders. It is as though she can’t say no, afraid of the lights of recognition as someone of bad blood.

“Tell that to Nurse Wong. I’ve been here since the morning and she hasn’t looked away from her damn phone all day.” Just like in any hospital, she can’t bring her tongue to stop itself when anger finally overtakes her, releasing a harsh breath through her nose. “Can’t she just divorce from her rusty husband and stop treating me as if I was worthless?”

Li Wei’s eyes soften at that, hearing the sound of a phone vibrating in the far distance. “Go home. Leave this as is. If she doesn’t do her job, the directors of the hospital will realize. It’s already eight at night, go home, I tell you.” He walks towards her purse, taking a look inside his his fingers parting slightly, though she doesn’t pay attention to that as she scribbles down the last few names in her list.

“I—I’ll do it. I just need to make sure—”

“You need to pick up your phone,” Li Wei says after reaching inside her purse, showing the screen to her with a smile on his face. “A guy is calling.”

Yixing.

Zhang Yixing.

The same guy that has called her for the past thirty minutes and she has ignored. The one that has probably been waiting for her two hours in the planetarium.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Her mouth can’t stop cursing when she holds the phone to her chest, looking down at the picture she had taken of Yixing during their presentation with children. She picks up then, pressing the phone to her ear and sighing. “Yixing, hi. Listen, honey, give me three seconds. I am doing...something—” She speaks quickly, barely hearing him utter an ‘okay’ before she looks at Li Wei with wide eyes. Sure, he may not be a friend but she needs one of those right now and if she doesn’t talk to anyone about this, she’ll die. Of embarrassment, not physically, but draining in its own extent. “If, for some reason, I had told a guy that I was going out on a date with him and I am super into him but I forgot because of working a shift that isn’t mine, should I: One, lie; or two, say the truth?”

Li Wei crosses his arms over his chest after fixing the glasses that were falling down his face. “Did you really miss a date for covering Nurse Wong’s shift?!”

“You know how badly I have tried to be on her good list!”

“Listen,” Li Wei starts, his usual playful voice long gone as he nears her, seriousness shining in his eyes. “This is a job that will drain you. You’ll have other nurses stepping on you just at the same time a doctor wants you to help. You have lives to take care of and patients to see, but you have the right to live your own life, too.” The honesty in his voice has her eyes shaking. To her past self, she wants to tell her to stop draining herself for a dream that she had simply decided on a rush. To the woman who was once lost, she wants to teach her how to find herself. She doesn’t want to live her life pleasing others, bringing so much pressure over her body that she needs to forget about herself. What she needs is to find fun in life, instead of pushing it to someone else’s agenda.

She resumes the call then, closing her eyes tightly as she speaks. “Yixing, sorry. I totally...I had so many patients with me and the senior nurse left me alone with all the work, a shift I didn’t have and—I don’t think I can make it now, but if you wait for a bit longer, I’ll be there—”

“I’m back home. Don’t worry.” Though, Yixing’s voice is tender, almost like he doesn’t want to speak too loud. He sounds serious, that tinge of his voice long gone.

“Yixing, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, I—I should have called you. It was stupid of me.”

“Yes, you should have called me.” Yixing announces, then the sound of moving and a sigh captures her attention. “But I get you, you’ve given all for your job and you’ll continue to do it. I can’t shame you for that.”

When is the last time she has enjoyed her free time? When is her free time not consisted of sleeping hours? This thought alone has her scrunching up her forehead, resting one hand against it when she hears the tremble of her voice. “I feel really bad, Yixing. I really wanted to go.”

“We can go again anytime. When you can...and when I can.” The sound of scribbling against the paper behind her has her feeling far too much. She doesn’t know how much she can take, when the sound of the city is too loud, when the music is too much, when the world moves too fast and she feels like she can’t hold on. There is light in the sky and yet, she never stops to see it. “Really, I didn’t call you for that. I called you to see if you’re okay—”

Once again, she feels like apologizing. “You don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry—”

“Stop apologizing.” Yixing finishes, wisdom filling his voice when she hears the sound of him rotating on his chair. She knows he is in his home, seeking light in his neon. “As long as you’re happy, I’m okay. Do your job, your growth is more important than a date—and I’ll wait here.”

Your happiness. God, what makes her happy? She can hear the sound of some city-like song in her head, but still that doesn’t bring happiness. Is being lonely what she wants? Or does she want to be accompanied? Is leaving a choice or does she have to stay? Too many questions go through her head when she decides to leave, picking her purse up and placing it over her shoulder, taking her written list and getting out of the office.

“Can I confess something?”

“Anything.”

“I don’t know if I’m happy,” She tells him, noticing how her voice is hushed as she moves through the packed hallways, holding tightly into her notes when she continues. She bumps into a few people in the way, as well. “It feels as though I speak and no one listens. It feels like I have never made a decision in my life. I don’t know where to go...”

“You don’t have to...run.” Yixing tries to look for a word, before his voice lowers. “It’s beautiful here. It’s up to us to make our world beautiful.”

“But there are others,” She says, opening the door to one of the consulting rooms, peeking in to see if Nurse Wong is inside. “Others will always ruin it for you.”

“But...I don’t know if what I’m thinking makes sense, but...it’s up to us to cut people away from our lives. They’ll always be there, in essence, in space, with us...and I haven’t quite mastered how to not pay attention to that. Maybe, life is not supposed to be perfect. No planet is perfect, either. That’s part of life.” He tells her, making her smile tightly at the sound of his voice. The beach, perhaps, no, he’s more like the moon that connects with the ocean. He’s something so profund, so tranquil, the movement of waves that take her away, the depth of it. He’s too much for her to take.

“Anyways, thank you.” She doesn’t want to talk about it too much, opening another consultation room and seeing Nurse Wong seated on the desk in front of the doctor, using her phone and the incredibly fast Wi-Fi. “When can we go out again?”

“...I can in two weeks. Friday.”

“Alright. Friday at six, in two weeks?”

“Sounds alright.”

“I’m sorry, again—”

“Don’t be.” Yixing says. “It happens.”

“I’ll have to hang up now, okay? I’ll text you.”

“Please, do.”

The moment her phone rests inside the pocket of her scrubs, she sniffles in order to capture someone’s attention. Nurse Wong doesn’t look at her until she tosses the folder to her chest, pressing it against the other woman before humming.

“Nurse Wong, I’ll call you out on your procrastinating. It’s not up to me to be working here at this time and I’m losing my free day while covering someone else’s shift that is obviously healthy and here.” She calls out, watching as Nurse Wong raises her thin eyebrows. “Do your job, Nurse Wong. It doesn’t look good to have people waiting or dying because you don’t do anything.”

“Excuse—”

“Yeah, yeah, excuse you. I don’t have the time to listen to you now, sorry. I need to take a shower and go to sleep, I haven’t touched the bed properly in two days.” She whispers, crossing her arms over her chest and sending a goodbye to the dumbfounded doctor before throwing the door behind her.

No one seems to notice her when she gets out there in the hallway and she releases a smile when she realizes just exactly what she had done.

The reigns of her life are hers.

🚀

Triton.

Who is Triton? What is it?

The first Neptunian moon to ever be discovered, as well as a mythology character. This goes unnoticed with how much she is enjoying herself. The planetarium casts its lights softly, speckles of light just falling on top of gigantic ceilings, dark to the point they seem endless, tiny in comparison to the two people talking and walking around. The choice is unusual—most people there are children with their families or perhaps some students that just happened to have to go there with their teachers for some project, but none of them are on a date. One would think of this as weird, enough to cut through the connecting thread in between them, but the enchantment of the situation is palpable.

Through and through, Yixing is a romanticist. The tune of a piano is not the same for him than it is for anyone else. He speaks and talks of seriousness, even when he doesn’t say it verbally. This image is presented to her in the way his hand rests on the small of her back as he beckons her forward, helping her look at the most valuable of possessions in such place, pointing out the Solar System three-dimensional imagery, casted by a projector and making her reach her hand up as she traces Venus, Mars and lastly, Neptune, gigantic in comparison to her. Even a small planet is bigger than what she accustomed to on a daily.

Something about him that night is naturally appealing—not that he has never been so, but she can slowly but surely feel herself getting more comfortable with Yixing, less awkward, enough for her to rest her chin against his bicep every once in a while, looking for seats for them to listen to the very obviously underappreciated speech and presentation, the last one for the day. Not a lot of people are there but Yixing is excited, rambling about how when he was in high school he had attended to one of these and it had only helped him further into getting in the field he is part of today. This goes on to show that in life, nothing is ever left to randomize itself.

Perhaps, he doesn’t notice the way she is staring at him, like he is a god of Greek mythology, just as if he was a moon, as well, one of the many that exist in the galaxy. Comfort is brought upon her, rare to find in people nowadays, in which the mere glide of his fingertips to slot against her own is enough to bring a smile to her face and paralyze her heart all at once. His hands are delicate, perhaps from reading too many books or from passing them through his hair a lot, she doesn’t know, but it materializes him perfectly.

He’d never realize that night was one of the best she’s ever had.

His forehead shows three lines, all thanks to his sleeked back hair, as in the front row of the spacious classroom-like spot they sat. Yixing is concentrated in the topic at hand and she is, as well, she’d continue to be had it not been for the distraction of his hand slipping into hers, as if it belonged there. He had talked so much, ranted and played around, showing a silly side of him that would have anyone at his astronomy agency scrunching up their noses, but the way Yixing spoke about the universe only made their Earth more beautiful. His denim jacket is perfect against his skin, it matches his defined jaw, the depth of his cheeks until they land on his lower lip. It creates a shadow there, one that not even the projector can dismiss in such a place, and when he widens his eyes at something, she knows he is surprised. He smiles like a kid, like he has seen this for the first time and she can’t bring herself to pretend she is not interested when he turns to her and points at the projector with excitement.

“Look, there is your place.” Yixing excitedly adds, making her turn to the old man giving the presentation, the room dark only for the rotating image of Neptune. Her date leans to her side until his perfume mingles with her breath, creates a new world in between the two when he lets out a sigh. “Neptune has never been more beautiful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve seen this presentation a bunch of times,” Yixing complies, putting their interlocked hands on top of his thigh. “But never with someone who believed in me. Someone who cared.”

His words soften her heart when she leans back, watching the moons moving around Neptune, how the presentator suddenly talks about Triton. Huh, she briefly recalls Yixing mentioning it at the beginning of the night. “Triton and Neptune are quite romantic, I’d say.” She wants to laugh at that, had she not been too entranced in this atmosphere she would have, but the world is quiet, yet so full at the same time. So gorgeously crafted, not only on Earth but everywhere. Where had everything gone wrong for malice to exist? “Neptune captured Triton, a bit melancholic and sadist at that. Triton will be torn apart by Neptune’s gravity one day, but it stays there and Neptune is the same. They slowly but surely get closer—”

Like Yixing and herself.

The difference is that she’d never forgive herself if she ever were to hurt a soul that pure.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” She tells Yixing, looking to the side only to see his face moving centimeters closer. Yixing quirks an eyebrow, asking her to repeat again before she utters the same words. His face relaxes at that, chuckling as he nods his head. “I mean it. This is the most beautiful date I’ve ever had.”

“It’s not over yet. I still have to take you to dinner, don’t speak as if you’re leaving now.”

“I was just complimenting you.” She says, not noticing that she had looked up and down his features, capturing his eyes, two stars; his nose, the flag of her perseverance that leads to the discovery of a new land: his lips. She’d never kiss him now, not here in front of everyone, but damn her for liking this man so quickly, whiplash at its finest.

“...You deserve this and more.” He swears, like he really means it, before turning to look at the presentation once again.

One would think it could not get better than this. Yixing could not possibly pick a nice restaurant without the expensiveness getting in between them, making the atmosphere seem far too smug, but he did. He picked something nice, simple, private enough for the two of them to talk freely—this time not so much about space but about themselves. He laughs freel,y like he doesn’t give a damn and the best part? It’s that he does. Yixing is not afraid to show that, just like anyone else, he feels and aches, he works too hard, he sometimes fears of not reaching his dreams.

This is why it feels lonely when, seated inside his car as he drives her home, their hands are no longer interlocked and the sound of music fills the background, highlighting the sound of the rain outside. It had even rained, this must be a clear sign that she should stay with him, perhaps a little bit longer for them to finish the night together, but Yixing is too much of a gentleman, not even doing the slightest bit of movement to kiss her. Her head lulls to the side, admittedly tired, looking over at Yixing that continues driving and talking about something. She is listening, she promises, but she is longing for him even when he is there.

Like gravity, she is pulled towards him and he is pulled towards her, hopefully.

The sight of her apartment complex has her sighing, wondering where the night had gone when she simply says with a smile: “I had the best time of my life.” She confesses, something that has Yixing chuckling.

His hand rests on his steering wheel, the other tightening on hers when he shakes his head. “I’m glad, but don’t lie to me. It’s a pretty silly date—”

“It was perfect.” She tells him, reaching for the button to undo her seatbelt when Yixing stops her, placing his hand on top of hers to get it undone.

“Let me help you.”

“I can get out of it myself, you know?”

“I know,” But he doesn’t give more of a reasoning, instead, he undoes her seatbelt and lets it snap back to its place, staring up at her and about to ramble about something when he realizes the closeness between the two. She could count every hair on his head from how close he was, his eyebrows furrowing together when his lips part slightly. Dry. They are dry and not on hers and that is unfair. “Sorry.”

She wraps her arms around his shoulders, ythinking that maybe he would think of this as a hug instead of an attempt to kiss him. “Don’t apologize so much.”

“Look who’s talking.” Yixing prompts, letting his dimple become visible as the rain clutters his window with blurry mirroring images of them. His hand rests on top of her thigh, the soft breath he lets out fanning on her face and when he looks down at her lips, she gives the final step.

Never had a kiss felt like peace, like finally, she was alone in the world...but not completely, but with someone else. Accompanied in her own loneliness. Never had someone touched her thigh with the tip of his fingers quite like he did, like there was nothing more precious than the time they shared together. His head tilts to the side, slow and somehow addictive, making her release a breath when she pushes her body forward, wanting to feel the heat of him in such a cold night. Two more kisses and he’s dropping her off at her own door, giving the third one in front of her apartment before he is off, a dumb smile plastered on her face.

She wonders if hers matches his.

It probably does.

There is an ocean in Neptune, a water planet, that is engulfing her in the depths of continuing with this story. Something tells her that fighting against the world with Yixing will become much easier and maybe, one day they’ll get to their dreams. For now, why would she want to leave if Earth has its beauties, too?

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queenbirbs · 4 years

Text

the way home | Ch. 6 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 4,175

Warnings: language, N*FW

Read from the beginning or continue on

Read on AO3

Tag list: @writinghereandthere | @not-sewell

------

Two days later, the brigantine they found passage on arrives in Santo Domingo’s port.

In the grand scheme of things -- that being the two years she spent hunting down a permanent trip back to the past, and the several weeks she’s spent since then hunting down Edward himself-- it isn’t that much time. Elena’s heart still races, though, when she sees the familiar form of Salacia’s Fortune in the harbor.

“I’ll collect yer bag and bring it aboard before I leave,” Robert tells her as they make their way down the port where Edward’s ship awaits. “We can say our farewells then, and you can thank me for saving yer sorry arse again and again.”

Elena snorts, prompting a chuckle out of him.

“Please, as if.”

“I may not have always shown it, but I did come to value yer friendship.”

“Even when I kicked your ass and stole your sword?”

“Ah, but we weren’t friends then, were we?” he points out. “Besides, we both know now that I was just going easy on ye.”

“Oh, were you?”

The gangplank jostles under their weight; Elena ignores Robert’s warning to be careful as she races up to the ship’s deck. It’s nearly empty, save for three pirates who turn to frighten off the unwelcome strangers on their boat.

“Oi, who in the devil’s blaze--” one of them starts to shout before they’re silenced by a squeal.

“Elena!” Ginny shrieks, racing across the deck and plowing into her. Elena wraps her arms around the girl and hugs her tight. “We missed you so, so much.”

“I missed you, too.” Elena pulls back to study the girl. “Oh my god, Ginny, you’re so tall. How did you get so tall?”

“Being sixteen helps, I guess,” she grins.

Elena’s thoughts screech to a halt. “Sixteen? But -- wait, how long was I gone?”

“It’ll be six years next month. But we never gave up on you! Captain always told us to keep believing that you would come back.” Ginny looks up at her with those bright brown eyes of hers. “And you did, see?”

“Yeah,” Elena agrees, her voice breaking upon the word. “I did.”

Time worked differently in the future, that she always knew. But the last time she’d come back, she never learned what year it was before being dragged back to the future. Knowing that almost six years had passed since Edward last saw her made his reaction in the governor’s mansion a little more understandable.

“Captain’s out looking for you right now, actually, but he should be back soon. I told him to stay on the ship, that you would head here first obviously,” Ginny stresses the word and rolls her eyes, “but you know how he is.”

Robert sighs from beside them. “Aye, we know. I’ve business to attend to in town, but if I see him, I’ll herd him yer way, Elena.”

“Thank you,” she tells him, trying to convey as much of her gratitude into the two words as she can. “And good luck with your own search.”

The beginnings of a genuine smile flicker onto Robert’s face before he clears his throat, nodding at her once before disappearing back down the gangplank. Ginny wraps her hand around her arm and tugs.

“C’mon. You can meet the rest of the crew while we wait for the others to return.”

As much as she wants to run into town and hunt him down herself, Elena realizes that staying in one place in a town this large makes the most sense. She lets Ginny lead her over to the other two pirates, one of whom introduces herself as Ginny’s girlfriend, Lottie. They barrage her with questions about the future, most of which she skirts around answering -- she’s already caused enough trouble with the space-time continuum as it is. By the time the rest of the crew arrive, the sun has begun its descent. They take turns sweeping Elena into their sweaty, rum-scented hugs and their good-natured bickering.

“The Cap’n’ll be sorry that we beat him to ye,” Maggie says.

“Glad to have ye back, Elena.” Henry claps a hand on her shoulder and squeezes tight. “None of these swabs give my cookin’ a fair chance.”

“He once scraped barnacles off the hull and fried ‘em!” Kendrick exclaims.

From her perch atop the railing, Ginny gags. “He called them a ‘Caribbean delicacy’.”

“The only thing delicate ‘round here is yer stomachs.”

“They don’t have the experienced palette that I do,” Elena points out.

“I dunno, I don’t think even you could’ve--” Ginny pauses, her long braids swinging as she jerks back around to scan below. “Oi! Captain’s back!”

Elena races to the railing and grips it tight, nearly throwing herself overboard in her attempt to catch sight of him. Even in the dimming light, she picks Edward out of the crowd with ease. He’s distracted, moving steadily along the wharf and scouring the throngs of people. Too busy looking for her that he doesn’t see her aboard his ship. She calls his name, once, then again, before his head finally snaps up.

He stumbles to a halt in the middle of the market. A woman runs into him, chastising him in a rapid burst of Spanish. He ignores the woman, sheer elation spreading across his face. His grin is almost blinding in the low light.

“Elena!”

Shouting her name seems to kickstart him. The sack of food in his hand drops to the ground, forgotten; mangoes and bread loaves scatter across the planks. He darts through the crowd, dodging shoppers and vendors with ease before leaping up onto the gangplank. He reaches the top just as Elena does and swings her up into his arms, crushing her against him.

“You’re here,” he exhales.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know I would be gone for so--”

He silences her with a kiss, and then with another when she tries again to apologize.

“Time matters not. If it had been a hundred more days or a hundred more years, I would have waited,” he assures her. “You’re here. That’s all that matters. You’re here.”

“You keep saying that.”

His breath escapes him in a soft chuckle, leaning into her touch as she cups his cheek. “I may keep doing so for the rest of my life.”

“Then I’ll be here to hear you.” At the naked hope in his gaze, she can’t help but tell him now. “We found a permanent way back. It’s what took me so long, searching for a way to stay.”

“Forever?” he repeats, the word tasting like ambrosia upon his lips.

“Yeah,” she chokes out. His thumb makes gentle sweeps along her forehead, brushing back the stray hairs there. “Forever.”

“Alright, you lovebirds.” Charlie climbs up onto the deck with a crate and sets it down with a rattle. “I say we all have a drink--”

“--or five!” Kendrick adds.

“--to celebrate our lass’s long-awaited return. What say you lot?”

The chorus of ayes echoes across the wharf. Edward drops his hold from her waist and reaches down for her hand, nodding his head towards the crew.

“Shall we?”

“Sure, why not.” She bumps their linked hands against him. “I’ve got time.”

The party continues long after the sun slinks away. Unmoored from its daytime hideaway, the moon drifts high into the sky, casting a brilliant glow across the ship as the crew celebrates. Elena’s feet hurt from taking a turn across the makeshift dance floor with each crew member. Some of the shanties she knows and some she doesn’t -- though, in her defense, they don’t seem to know them all that well, either, especially by the sixth bottle of rum.

“Ye’ve got to show us some future dances one of these days, ‘lena.”

She shakes her head at Henry’s request, side-stepping to avoid her feet being crushed again and giggling at the idea. “I’m not sure you guys would be able to handle my twenty-first century dancing.”

As if he can sense that she’s had her fill of Henry’s clumsy footwork, Edward appears beside her with an open palm.

“May I step in, Miss McTavish?”

Elena eagerly takes his hand. Henry does something resembling a curtsy and moves off to snatch up another partner. Stepping into the circle of his arms, she rests her head on Edward’s chest and breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thanks for the rescue.”

Edward brushes his lips against her hair and hums. “I suppose I should be the one thanking you for rescuing us. Even if you sent me into a panic, retreating back into enemy territory like that.”

She wants to laugh at his worries, but the heartache in his tone tells her to recount her harrowing adventures another time. Instead, she gives a reassuring squeeze to their linked hands.

“I knew that you had the opportunity to escape,” she explains. “Even if it meant leaving me behind.”

His chest tightens underneath her.

“‘Tis not fair to use my own words against me like that.”

“Not fair to guilt me for saving your asses.”

“Hmm. Touché.” There is nothing but the drunken crooning of the crew and the distant lapping of waves for a moment, then: “It’s getting rather late. Should I show you to our cabin?”

“I’d like that.”

The interior is just as she remembers.

The same Persian rug, the same tidy stacks of books and papers atop the desk, the same pile of pillows that Edward insists on having but never bothers to put back on the bed. Returned to her by Robert during the party, her duffel bag sits on top of her trunk, still in her favorite spot under the window. Her pillow, embroidered with a rose when Kendrick wanted to show off his sewing skills, lays propped against the headboard. A small jar of seashells she collected from their previous travels is tucked away safely in the bookcase. A spare coat of hers hangs from the chair; she runs her fingers over it, tears springing to her eyes at the sight.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of stowing it away,” Edward says, closing the cabin door behind them.

“You kept it this way? For six years?”

“For five years, eleven months, and two days.” Elena covers her mouth and drags in an unsteady breath. He crosses the room and guides her into his arms. “I wasn’t lying, Elena, when I told you that I would wait for you. We weren’t sitting idle, of course. We sailed across the Atlantic, o’er to Portugal and made a few trips around the Mediterranean, but there was always a… pull to return here.”

“To home,” she finishes for him.

“Aye. I even sought the help of a mystic in Constantinople to try and reach you, but I was only able to catch a glimpse. You were surrounded by other pirates, on a half-formed ship. And there were all these strange lights.”

Elena squints at the necklace he wears in concentration, scanning through her memories, when the realization hits her.

“That’s… you were there. On the set, just before the compass took me here the first time.”

“Madam Fatima did say time was tricky,” he says, to which Elena acknowledges with a humorless chuckle. “Were you… earlier, were you speaking the truth? That you found a way to stay? I have always hoped to hear you say those words, but even… even if you cannot stay forever, I would never turn my back on this strange arrangement that time has gifted us. But I would like to prepare my heart, if I could.”

Taking his face between her hands, she tilts his head down so she can meet his gaze directly.

“This isn’t some temporary fix. I spent two years searching the world over for a permanent way back to you. And sure, I don’t have faith with most things in life. The one thing I do have faith in, though, is us.”

Edward lays his hand over hers and turns to press a kiss against her palm. Under the heavy lids of his eyes, she can see the faint glittering of tears. “In fact,” she continues, “I got you something from the future to prove it to you.”

“I don’t require any further proof than you here beside me.”

“Hush and let me give you my souvenir.” Elena crosses over to the duffel bag and unzips the interior pocket. She pulls a small leather box out and hands it to him. “Open it,” she prompts when he merely stares at the object.

The golden ring sits on a velvet perch, outshone only by the deep blue stone that rests in the center. “It’s lapis lazuli. It reminded me of our first time up in the crow’s nest together, on Poseidon’s Revenge. Standing up there with you, with that endless stretch of sea and sky. That was our first moment, and I wanted the ring I chose for you to embody that.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a secretive sort of smile. Before she can ask, though, he steps over to his desk. From the drawer, he pulls a wooden box out and hands it to her.

“I believe that we are bound by the tides of fate, for I purchased this for you, as well.”

“Okay, see, that’s not fair. I made a cheesy joke about souvenirs, and you come in with your Lord Byron line.”

His brow wrinkles in confusion. “Who?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a flap of her hand and opens the box. Nestled on a bed of silk, a ring gleams in the candlelight. Thin vines of gold twist up along the band to frame an opalescent stone. The multicolored flecks inside the stone glimmer as Edward plucks the ring from the box and reaches for her trembling hand.

“It is a moonstone. The merchant I bought it from said that it was to symbolize protection and to bring estranged lovers together.”

“It’s beautiful,” she tells him as he slides it onto her finger.

“Aye, almost as lovely as its wearer.”

“See, that’s the cheesy line I was waiting for,” Elena tells him with a soft giggle. He smiles and holds out his hand. The ring is a near-perfect size, she marvels as it works easily down his finger. “Pretty damn good for being several lifetimes away.”

“Five years, eleven months, and two days,” he repeats, his voice thick with the myriad of emotions that play across his face.

“I’m here.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulls him even closer and sets her lips on his once, then again, reassuring him each kiss. “You can stop counting.”

Her words strike a chord deep within; the taut lines of him seem to snap, his body colliding with hers as he backs her up against the wall. His touch is everywhere at once, clenching desperately around handfuls of her clothing and coaxing her free of the garments. Their kisses are frantic, heady things, deepening with the soft slide of his tongue against hers. Elena shoves off his coat and strips him of his belts, letting his sword clatter to the floor. The rest of his clothes join the pile at their feet. Edward wraps an arm around her back and hauls her even closer, grinning at her soft moan when her naked skin touches his.

“I have dreamt of this moment for many a night,” he admits, his stubble tickling as he nips along her bare shoulder, grasping and tugging her hair back when it blocks his path. “I had… had hoped to go slow with ye, lass.”

Elena hums at the hot feel of his hand skimming down her stomach and dragging across the soaked skin between her legs. Her head lolls back against the cabin wall. Not one to be idle, she glides her palm across the warm planes of his chest, leaving trails of heat in her wake. His hand becomes more determined, seeking out and rubbing the spot that makes her breath hitch in anticipation.

“That’s really sweet of you and all,” she chuckles. “But my dreams of this moment mostly included you fucking my brains out.”

A strangled laugh escapes him, his head shaking as he leans down for another kiss.

“Good to see that you haven’t lost that assertiveness.”

As if to prove it, Elena dances him backwards in a lazy sort of two-step until his knees hit the mattress. He loops an arm around her hips and tumbles down with her, smirking when she emits a little yelp of surprise. There, the warm length of his body slides along hers and a delicious wave of sensation follows. Her back arches towards the soft, wet heat of his lips as he worships the swell of her breasts. He traces the golden necklace she wears, curiosity lighting his dark eyes when he glances up at her. Elena gathers her hair and dips her head forward, letting him remove the whistle from around her neck. With great care, she takes it from him and lays it on the floor beside the bed. His mouth travels lower, lower, until her hands are scrambling across the blankets, her head twisting to the side as she gasps for him to keep going, for him to send her over the edge. Pleasure soaks into her like a warm bath, seeps deep into her skin and down into the marrow of her bones.

“Edward,” she murmurs, then repeats, as if seeking repentance for the sinful sensation of his mouth on her. “Please, I…” her begging is lost under a ragged whine as her release washes over her.

As her heartbeat settles, Edward returns to the circle of her embrace. He hums with content as she strokes the bare skin of his back. A rumble works through his chest at the sight of her beneath him.

“I have traveled the world over and have never found anything so exquisite as the taste of you.”

Elena settles back against the pillows and quirks her lips into a grin. “That’s high praise coming from someone who has Henry for a cook.” A giggle escapes her at his scoff.

“You just wait,” he taunts, “you’ll be crowned taste-tester again.”

“I lived off of gas station food for a long while there,” she shrugs. “I think I can handle it.”

Before he can ask about the foreign terminology -- she loves him, she really does, but that eager part of him to learn new things has to take a backseat to other enjoyment sometimes -- she winds both hands through his hair and hauls him down for a kiss. Hint taken, Edward’s lips return to hers with a fervor. She loses herself to his touch once more, answering in kind with her own when she reaches down to stroke him. With a growl, he pulls back to position himself between her legs. His fingers clamp around her hips as she makes aborted little thrusts against him, spurring him on.

“Elena,” he gasps as he sinks into her. He takes his sweet time letting her adjust to the feel of him, nibbling at the flushed skin of her throat and up to her earlobe. “Elena.”

“Yes,” she answers, cinching her legs tight around his waist. The sinful drag of him inside her is almost enough to throw her over the edge again. “Yes, god, Edward, I-- please, don’t--”

His lips crash down onto hers. His tongue swipes at her heavy bottom lip, lapping each praise from her mouth as he drives into her. Every sense is invaded by him -- his scent and his taste and his touch, until arousal clogs every synapse and every pore and the concept of spontaneous combustion tips closer to a theory for her.

One of his hands slips down to stroke her to the rhythm of his thrusts. She moans, her nails digging into the solid muscle along his arms.

“Elena, love,” he growls, his teeth scraping along her jaw as he speaks, “come for me.”

The first wave drags her under, a breaking wave of sensation cresting right on top of the last. She’s vaguely aware of her body going taut under his, of her toes curling against the slick skin of his thighs, of the beautiful sight of Edward tumbling over the edge with her. He pulls out and collapses next to her on the bed, holding her close as she settles against his chest. Elena stretches with a long groan, uncaring of the stupid, sated smile on her face.

“Did you put in a skylight?” she murmurs.

The hand tracing nonsensical patterns across her shoulder slows. “What?”

“I was… making a joke. About seeing stars.”

“Oh.” Elena looks up to meet his confused gaze, prompting them both to chuckle at the poor joke. “I have missed this,” he says. “Not just the sex, but this -- you, here by my side. Poseidon himself could promise me a better sight, and I would not believe him.”

A hum leaves her as she nestles closer into his warmth, her throat tightening around the thousand things she wants to tell him.

“Do you remember what you said to me, that first night?”

“Aye, I do.”

Elena presses a kiss to his chest, just above his heart.

“I think I’m ready for the rest of our story.”

------

Soft slivers of fuschia and lilac seep through the salt-streaked window. Fissures of vivid orange follow after as sunlight spills over the long line of the horizon. Elena watches the play of colors across Edward’s face, lax with sleep. Of the past two times she’d returned to his side, she’d been flung back to her century before the next dawn came. It’s no wonder, then, that his arm has stayed firmly wrapped around her throughout the night.

Gradually, he awakens; his arm flexes and his fingers clench and his eyes flutter open to search for her.

“Good morning,” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep.

“Hi.” She leans up on her elbow and captures his lips with a kiss. “I’m glad you’re awake. I want to do something with you.”

“Really?” A lascivious grin spreads across his face. “Do tell.”

With a sigh, Elena swats at his chest and sits up. “C’mon, you rapscallion.”

They locate their clothes and get dressed. After several more kisses, she leads him out onto the deck. The endless expanse of the ocean greets them, her water almost as blue as the morning sky. Santo Domingo is but a faint scratch of land behind them. With most of the crew still sleeping in their quarters, the shadowed corner of the stern is all theirs. Stepping up to the railing, she pulls the necklace from her pocket.

“I noticed that last night. What is it?” he asks.

“It’s what I spent two years searching for.” She traces the initials on the whistle and looks up at him. “It’s my way back to my time. Before we found it, I’d almost given up. I was desperate enough to come back by another anomaly, just to have the chance to see you one last time.”

“One last…?” he trails off, reaching for her hand and taking it between both of his. “Elena?”

“You didn’t deserve to live like this, to wait on me to find my way back, to waste your time sailing the--”

“Listen good and well,” he demands, anger darkening his features just before he crushes her against him in a tight embrace. “Searching for you, waiting on you ‘twas never a waste. I love you, and I would’ve never given up on you. But I am damned glad that you’re here to stay now.” He pulls back enough to glance between the necklace and her. “What do you intend to do with it?”

“I’m returning it.”

Leaning up on her toes, she plants a quick kiss to his cheek before she stretches her arm out over the railing and lets go. The necklace shimmers as it falls, plummeting straight into the water below. A shuddering breath escapes them both as the whistle disappears beneath the waves.

“By the way,” Elena says after a quiet moment, “I love you, too.”

“Oh. Good.” With a smirk, he pulls her closer. “It would be rather awkward if you didn’t.” He leans down and captures the laughter from her lips.

“Oi!” Henry shouts from behind them. “Breakfast is ready!”

They pull away from each other, sharing a wordless conversation as he draws closer.

“We’ll be down in a moment, Henry!” Edward calls across the deck. “Captain McTavish and I will take watch and let the rest of the crew eat first.”

“Nay, it may’ve been a long while, but I’m not fallin’ for that one again! C’mon and get it while it’s hot.”

“He’ll just keep at it if we don’t come,” she mutters.

“Aye, lass, he will.”

“Alright.” A smile follows her long-suffering sigh. “Let’s go.”

Reaching down for her hand, Edward leads her across the deck and out into the morning sun.

#distant shores #edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores fic #f: the way home #Kaila writes things #this is the last official chapter and next is the epilogue and then it's done!

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fridayfirefly · 4 years

Text

Picture Perfect Chapter Two: #Adrinette

Masterlist | AO3

By the time the Gabriel catalog came out, Marinette had almost entirely forgotten about the photoshoot. So much had happened in the past five months, that the summer photo shoot was the last thing on her mind. Marinette and the rest of her class started their first year of lycée. Marinette designed and created a whole new wardrobe for herself and created an online store after some of her designs started getting attention. Nathanial and Marc finally started dating. Yet despite all these changes, so much had stayed the same. Adrien and Marinette were still just friends. Lila was still manipulating the class with her lies, and Adrien and Marinette still had no plan on how to stop her from lying.

Marinette spent her winter break designing, and it kept her so busy that she completely missed the Gabriel catalog drop. It wasn't until she got a phone call from Adrien at five o'clock on New Year's Day that she realized that the photos from their summer shoot had been released.

The phone rang while Marinette was in the middle of hand-stitching her dress for the upcoming girl's choice Valentine's Day dance. It wasn't for another month and a half, but Marinette knew that once the new semester started, she would have no time to sew. Marinette answered her phone on the second ring, her caller ID telling her that it was Adrien who was calling. "Hey, Adrien," she greeted.

"Marinette!" Adrien exclaimed through the phone. "You haven't checked your twitter recently, have you?"

"No? Why?" Marinette was already logging on to twitter on her laptop, curious as to what had Adrien so frantic. Then she saw it: #Adrinette is trending in your area. "Oh. I'm going to call you back." Despite Adrien's protest, Marinette hung up the phone. She had some tweets to read.

It took twenty minutes of digging to find the original twitter thread that caused the catastrophe:

Marinette finally called Adrien back, half an hour after she hung up on him. He picked up on the first ring.

Marinette didn't hesitate in getting straight to the point. "What do we do about this?"

"Father already coordinated the PR Department to release a statement telling my fans to stop making inquiries into either of our personal lives. The next step is a little more complicated. Father would like for you and your family to come over for dinner so we can discuss it."

"What is there to discuss? Shouldn't we just tell everyone that we're not dating and be done with it."

Adrien hesitated. "It's complicated. I don't really approve but my Father insists that we at least discuss it."

"What is it?" asked Marinette, exasperated at the way he kept dodging around the point.

"My Father wants us to fake date," Adrien blurted out. "Which is a silly idea, I know, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"Why does he want us to fake date?" Marinette was absolutely blindsided by this development. Of all the things Adrien could have said, fake dating was at the bottom of her list of possibilities, right under her secretly being a princess and an alien invasion.

"He thinks that it would be good publicity. I tried to convince him to just forget about it, but he's insisting that he speaks to you and your parents about it."

"Okay. What time should we come over?"

Marinette quickly got herself ready for dinner, picking out a dress made of midnight blue velvet, one of her own creations, for a commission that canceled on her when she was half-way through making the dress. Marinette had been furious at first, but she channeled that rage into turning the dress into something that she could wear herself and be proud of. She finished getting ready by braiding back her hair and putting on a light coat of makeup. That was the easy part.

The harder part was informing her parents of the situation, a task that took Marinette almost twenty minutes to fully explain. From the photoshoot over the summer that they vaguely remembered signing a permission slip for, to the catalog that came out that morning, the rumors and speculation that blew up on twitter, and the invitation to the Agreste Mansion - they had a lot of ground to cover. Sabine and Tom were both concerned, primarily for their daughter's safety.

"You haven't been harassed, have you?" asked Sabine.

"I haven't checked my DM's yet," Marinette admitted. "I'm just going to turn my account to private and ignore them. I'm sure people are saying terrible things about me, but I don't really care. It doesn't bother me that they're jealous of a relationship I'm not even in."

"If you see anything that does bother you, or if anything threatens you, make sure you report it," urged Sabine.

Marinette nodded. "I will."

"Marinette, can you finish closing up the bakery while Sabine and I get ready for dinner?" asked Tom.

"Yep." Marinette made her way down to the bakery and started tidying up. She put ingredients away, took leftover bread out of the display case, wiped down tables, swept the floor. The menial tasks soothed her overstimulated brain, allowing her a few minutes to process everything that had happened in the last hour. Once she finished cleaning, Marinette got out her phone and started mindlessly scrolled through twitter as she waited for her parents to get ready. There were a lot of opinions about her and Adrien's 'relationship', some of them better than others.

"Marinette, are you ready to go?"

"Yep." Marinette glanced up from her phone. Her parents were both dressed up for the dinner - Sabine in a dark green dress that Marinette had made for her mother to wear to a wedding six months ago, Tom in a suit with a matching dark green tie. "You both look nice," Marinette complimented.

"Only because I'm wearing your creation. Gabriel Agreste had better take note of your talent before he loses you to another fashion company."

The Agreste Mansion was only two blocks away, so Marinette and her parents walked there, rather than taking a taxi. The sidewalks were icy, and Marinette was glad that she chose to wear flats over heels. Breaking her ankle on the way to break up with her fake boyfriend would be enough to push Marinette over the edge. She already wanted to hole up in her room and never come out again, as it was.

The Dupain-Cheng family was welcomed into the Agreste Mansion by Nathalie, who gave Marinette a sympathetic smile. "I'm very sorry for the trouble that social media has been causing for you and Adrien."

Marinette shrugged her sympathy away. "It's certainly giving me some trouble, but it's not the end of the world. Once we get the word out that Adrien and I aren't dating, I'm sure the public will stop obsessing over it.

Nathalie's smile turned into a frown. "I must warn you, Mister Agreste is going to try to change your mind on the matter."

"Let him try. I've already made my decision."

"I admire your conviction, Miss Dupain-Cheng. Follow me, I'll take you all to the dining room."

The first thing Marinette noticed when she entered the dining room was the worried expression on Adrien's face. The second thing she noticed was the absolute lack of expression on Gabriel Agreste's face, though that seemed to be normal for him.

"Welcome to my home, Mrs. Dupain, Mr. Cheng, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng."

"Thank you for inviting us over," said Sabine.

"Were this about anything else, I would allow the pleasantries to go on. However, this pertains to the safety of our children, so why don't we get down to business."

Sabine nodded. "From what I understand, speculation has been circling the Internet about a relationship between Marinette and Adrien, due to the nature of the photos released in the 2020 Gabriel Catalog."

"Oscar Perrin, the director of the photoshoot, paired Adrien and Marinette up to be featured in photos together. The Internet has mistaken the pictures to mean that there is something more between the two of them."

Nathalie approached the table and set a Gabriel catalog down in from of Marinette's parents before taking her own seat. Marinette glanced over at the catalog, and in all honesty, she understood where the speculation had come from. Though her crush on Adrien had faded to almost nothing at the time of the photoshoot, there was a genuine fondness in both of their expressions.

"This is fairly incriminating evidence," Sabine noted as she flipped through the catalog. "It won't matter though, not once their lack of relationship is officially confirmed by your company."

"That's the part I brought you here to discuss. I do not want to publicly discourage the rumors. If anything, I would like to encourage them."

"Why?" Sabine narrowed her eyes, a look of distrust that Marinette very rarely saw on her mother.

"There is already a lot of attention around Marinette and Adrien dating, especially from people their age, the demographic that the Gabriel brand has been targeting for the past year. If their relationship is confirmed, and Marinette start showing up with Adrien at Gabriel function and appearing in photoshoots, it would be incredible advertising for the new lines of clothes we are releasing for young adults."

"I understand your motivations for keeping them together, but why should Marinette agree. She's already receiving harassment online, and the speculation has only been around for less than a day."

"Marinette is interested in fashion design, is she not?"

All eyes turned to Marinette, who gave a small nod of her head. "I am."

"The Gabriel company does not currently offer a lot of opportunities for young designers, but that could change. Should you and Adrien be in a relationship - fake or real, whatever you decide between the two of you - you would have access to all of Gabriel's resources. I could set up an internship with one of my top designers. Additionally, as a designer, you would begin your career in the fashion world with name recognition as a former model."

Hesitantly, Marinette interrupted. "Former modeling? I thought that I wound just be fake dating Adrien. I understand that I would be going to some functions with Adrien and being seen out in public with him, but how does modeling fit into this?"

"I want you to replace Lila Rossi. She has not endeared herself to Adrien's fanbase and has been causing more trouble than she's worth within the ranks of the Gabriel brand models. I had considered replacing her for quite some time and recently terminated her contract after I found out that there have been quite a few complaints lodged against her from both designers and her fellow models."

"That's... a lot to consider." Marinette didn't want to give her answer yet, because quite honestly, she didn't know whether or not she wanted what Gabriel Agreste was offering.

"I'm not requiring you to make a decision yet. However, until you make a decision I will not engage with any of the fans making speculations about the relationship between you and Adrien. Until you make a decision, the rumors will only increase. The longer we wait to engage with the media about this, the more difficult it will be to discourage speculation afterward, should that be the route you wish to take."

"We'll be giving Marinette all the time she needs to make her decision," Sabine said, her narrowed eyes staring down Gabriel, daring him to disagree with her.

"Of course," Gabriel agreed. "I'm just making sure that Marinette knows all of the possible consequences of her decision. It isn't one to be made lightly, after all."

"Hmm," Sabine didn't let up with her interrogating gaze. Marinette had faced it only a few times before in her life, times when Marinette lied to Sabine about important things. The most recent time Marinette had faced her mother's interrogation was when she tried to hide Lila's bullying from her parents. It had worked for a few weeks until Tom walked in on Marinette sobbing over her own helplessness in the face of Lila's lies. Her parents had called a family meeting and urged Marinette to tell them what had caused her breakdown, but it wasn't until Sabine started putting pressure on Marinette that she finally admitted the truth to her parents. Of course, they would have found out eventually, no matter what. Lila made sure of that when she framed Marinette for assault and theft, getting her suspended until Adrien forced Lila to reverse her lies and reverse Marinette's suspension.

As they ate dinner, making small talk that Marinette wasn't invested in, she weighed the pros and cons of her decision. There were certainly a lot of pros: making connections in the world of fashion, getting to model again, and especially, spending more time with Adrien. However, there were cons: lying to her friends about the relationship, being harassed online, dealing with Lila when she was certain to spin a story about how Marinette 'stole' her spot as a Gabriel model.

In the end, it was Adrien who was the reason behind what she chose. He caught her eye mid-way through the dinner and shot her a hopeful smile. Marinette hadn't gotten to spend much time with Adrien that school year - he was busy with modeling and fencing and she was busy with schoolwork, making commissions, designing her own clothes, babysitting Manon, her duties as class president, and above all, her responsibilities as Ladybug. Without her crush on Adrien pushing her to spend time with him, they only ever saw each other outside of class in group settings. It would be nice to spend some one-on-one time with Adrien, with her friend.

"I've made my decision," Marinette announced as soon as the dessert plates were taken away. "I will agree to go through with the fake relationship."

"A wise decision, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. I hope that we get to know each other better as your relationship with Adrien progresses," said Gabriel Agreste as he looked Marinette in the eyes.

Though his expressionless face was slightly off-putting, Marinette maintained eye contact with Gabriel and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. "I hope so too."

"One last thing before you leave. I must make sure that you are aware that you may not tell anyone about the nature of the relationship between you and Adrien. No one may know that it is fake - not even your friends."

"I understand."

"Good. Adrien will see you and your family out the door. Until next time." Gabriel exited the room swiftly, the sound of his footsteps fading away as he left the room.

"Sorry that he can be so... aloof, sometimes. I really do look forward to this. I think that it'll be fun to get to hang out with you more." Adrien's bright, hopeful smile reassured Marinette that she made the right decision. "Do you want to get together tomorrow to figure out all the details of our fake relationship?"

Marinette nodded, her own smile tentatively forming. "Sure. Meet me at the bakery?"

Adrien nodded. "It's a date." His wink revealed that it was just a joking quip. However, the tiny part of Marinette that still harbored a crush for Adrien absolutely jumped for joy at the words she never thought she'd hear him say to her. Marinette crushed that tiny part down as best she could - the beginning of a fake relationship was not the place for her crush to reemerge.

Marinette fell into bed that night utterly exhausted by the day she had experienced. As she closed her eyes to fall asleep, she remembered one last important detail - she had forgotten to tell Tikki about everything that had transpired that day. Crap.

#miraculous ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #adrinette #adrienette #miraculous ladybug fic #my work

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tacitwhisky · 5 years

Text

Sansa Stone: Story Autopsy

Photo Credit: Sophie Starke

Sansa Stone is a little unusual as a story as I had the whole thing outlined, and even released the outline, before I started writing it. As such I thought it would be fun to go through the original outline and look out how and why it changed in the actual writing. I love reading this kind of thing when other writers do it, and there’s nothing writers like more than talking about themselves. It also just helps me think through my decisions and hopefully become a better writer.

Note that this will only really make sense if you've already read the story. Which you really should, I'm quite good at writing. You can also find the original outline I released and will be quoting here. The original prompt was:

Sansa really is born as petyr baelish’s bastard, who he persuades Robert to legitimize and raises from a toddler as his heir. Sansa somehow meets Jon and falls like an avalanche. bonus points if she gets daddy to help her marry jon.

The idea of Sansa as Petyr’s true bastard immediately clicked with me and got me thinking how it would’ve shaped Sansa: in canon she’s at the top of the social ladder and by the time she becomes Alayne her personality is already set. How does it change if she’s been shaped since she was a child with the stigma attached to bastards in westeros? That ended up being such an interesting idea to me that I kind of forgot the part about Robert legitimizing her. That’s kind of how prompts and ideas work sometimes; you pursue the parts that speak to you and discard the parts that don’t.

In canon Petyr actually did have a bastard with Lysa Tully, but it was aborted by her father. For this AU let’s assume that child wasn’t aborted and Petyr took her after she was born, though no one but him and Lysa know her true parentage. It explains why this Sansa has red hair and the Tully look. He names her Sansa after one of Catelyn’s favorite songs because he is a massive creep, and also Stone because he says she was born in the Vale (but mostly because to me Sansa Stone sounds a lot better than Sansa Rivers).

This seemed like a really tidy and neat way of making the premise work, and also opens up all kinds of interesting plot opportunities. Now, in an outline its relatively fine to frontload all this exposition, but in the actual story itself, putting it at the beginning obviously doesn’t work. At first I tried to move the reveal to the middle of the feast (the section where Sansa kind of zones out before she starts drinking), but it didn’t really work there, and eventually got moved to the end of the chapter.

Partly this is because reveals like that add narrative momentum and escalation, but mainly the move was just logistical: Sansa’s true birth is too much information to unload on the reader all at once. Because I decided to start the story when Sansa first meets Jon (I’ll go into that in a moment), there’s already a huge amount of world building and exposition that has to fit cleanly and organically into a very small space: who Jon is, what Sansa thinks of him, the physical setting, the rest of Sansa’s backstory.

To slap on top of that all of the backstory of her being a secret cousin to the Starks is a lot, and it just hurt the flow of the chapter, and story, as a whole. Putting that material at the end of the first chapter also just gives it a lot more space to breath and be explored.

(I actually considered just cutting that entire part of Sansa’s backstory because it would slim down the story and doesn’t really add anything on a plot level, but ultimately it felt too important to her character’s interiority to cut)

Sansa Stone spends the first five or so years of her life being raised in Petyr’s old home, with him visiting her sporadically. When she’s six he takes her back to Kingslanding with him and quickly begins teaching her how to navigate court life. Dearly she’s always loved songs and ladies and kings and queens, but now that she’s at court Sansa finds the reality different to what she thought. As a bastard she can only ever be on the fringes of all she’s ever wanted.

She clings to her courtesies and ladylike behavior (sewing, singing, etc) because on some level she believes that if she can excel at those maybe, just maybe, they can make up for her bastard birth. Her sexuality is also something she’s much more aware of then in canon; as a girl thought to be base by nature men feel comfortable leering at, even knights and lords she thought noble. It disillusions her and makes her think of herself as dirty or tainted somehow. Not that she shows it beneath her smiles and courtesies.

Keeping all of the core Sansa things (ladylike aspirations, love of songs, idealism) but changing the context fundamentally changes in a lot of ways her reasons for doing them, and that’s such a fascinating idea and character to explore to me.

There’s a world where I write Sansa’s childhood and upbringing in Kingslanding in a kind of lyrical, lilting passage of time chapter before the rest of the story. And while I love writing that kind of thing, for this story it felt like an unnecessary approach. I’m a big proponent of starting stories as close to the middle as possible, and the ‘scenes’ of this story really start at the next part when Sansa actually arrives at Winterfell, so it made the most sense to start there. Considering most of the above material got folded into the first chapter pretty easily and cleanly, I think it was the right decision.

Sansa meets Jon when she journeys north with the king’s procession when Robert goes to ask Ned to be Hand. There in Winterfell she meets Jon sitting exiled at the low table during the feast. She approaches Ghost, and Ghost lets her scratch him behind the ears, which surprises Jon. She asks about Ghost and they talk, bastard to bastard, connecting despite their differences in temperament. He tells her his plan to go to the Wall. The black knights of the Wall, she tells him she remembers them called. A noble cause.

I did a thing here that’s fine when first writing an outline (when all that’s important is getting the idea no matter how rough on the page), but is a bad habit of mine and is a pain if I don’t fix it in a second draft. And that thing is that I tend to skip over specifics in outlines.

I want to stress that this is fine to do in a first outline. Really. But when you go to expand it in prose it causes problems. ‘They connect despite their differences in temperament’ seems fine, but what are the actual words involved in illustrating it? In turning it into actual dialogue? Being vague and skipping over that stuff has become the bane of my existence with outlines. To combat it I often go through an outline and highlight the points where I skipped over details to force myself to try and fill them out before starting on the actual prose.

So, for example, in my first outline I wrote after the above:

Sansa witnesses Jon’s conversation with Benjen and him storming out of the hall.

And in my second draft of the outline I expanded it to:

Benjen straddles the bench on the other side of Jon. My lady, Benjen greets her with a tilt of his head. He grins at Jon. I’d know idea you kept such beautiful company. Jon flushes and mumbles something. Sansa understands. She’s well used to being a bastard, to be considered base, to be flirting with a man simply by sitting next to him. She answers Benjen’s compliment with a smile though, tells him that Jon has been most kind to let her sit next to him. She’s only a simple southern girl, after all, and unused to the north.

This is more fleshed out, and gives me more hooks to lay the prose and dialogue on when it comes to write the scene. One thing I wanted to emphasize is just how constantly aware of her social position and image Sansa is, that she knows she’s a sexualized object.

This is also a good example of how something can say ok in an outline, and then not work when you go to write it. Having Jon be embarrassed by Sansa seemed ok when I was outlining it: he’s drunk and easily embarrassed to begin with, and it’s a very human reaction. When I actually wrote it out though, it mostly just came off like Jon being a dick. And it also just didn’t feel like it fit his character. Right from the first chapter of A Game of Thrones he appears in he’s someone who’s willing to sacrifice having a direwolf of his own so that his brothers and sisters can have theirs.

Once I changed it I realized (though I really should’ve before) how important it is to the entire chapter and story that Jon stand up for Sansa here, how it’s part of his strength of character that Sansa is attracted to, the boy who really tries to live up to the songs.

She witnesses his conversation with Benjen and him storming out of the hall. Maybe she follows him and comforts him after, or maybe just watches from the benches. Either way, in the dark scheming Petyr part of herself she doesn’t like to acknowledge, a plan starts to form in Sansa’s mind. For years Petyr has petitioned Robert to legitimize her, but always been rebuffed. But Jon’s father will be Hand soon, and he could legitimize her. She could charm Jon, Petyr has taught her how to use her sweet smile that way, and have him lobby his father to legitimize her.

One of my all time favorite conflicts for a character to have is between doing what they know is right on the one hand, and what their desperate and selfish want on the other. It’s such a lovely source of angst and also a really legitimate conflict we all go through in life. Hopefully if I’ve done my job right as a writer, the audience feels just how desperately Sansa no longer wants to be a bastard.

Through Jon she could finally be a bastard no longer, but that would require manipulating him not to go to the Wall, and the only way to do it would be to seduce him, bed him; he would marry her for honor after that, she knows, a son of Lord Stark could do no less and Jon has vowed to father no bastards. But too, it wouldn’t be right.

I ended up deciding to move this specific thing, baby trapping Jon, to later in the story for escalation and because it just felt sort of abrupt and out of left field this early on. It’s another example of how tone and pacing in an outline can get kind of wonky and not work when it’s dramatized in prose.

Separately, I’m not entirely happy with how the last third of this chapter turned out after Benjen leaves. Generally it’s bad writing to have a character simply sit around and think about things; which is what Sansa does here for nearly a thousand words. In the case of this story I think it works because of how well the scene otherwise plays out and where the reader’s interest lies, but I’m not sure I could get away with it in an original story where the reader wasn’t already so invested in Sansa. It’s an example of how writing original fiction and fanfiction can be very different.

In the following days Sansa meets with Jon and spends time with him, tries to shove down and not listen to the whispers of Petyr’s voice that tell her she could entrance him easily, so easily. She finds herself drawn to Jon in a way none of the squires at court have ever interested her, something intriguing in his dark eyes and long face. It’s strange, makes her feel naked to be the one that wants instead of being wanted.

This is the part of the story that got expanded the most. What’s a paragraph here ends up being a full chapter. I originally wanted to keep it just in lyrical montage, but that’s always my instinct and not always what’s best for the story. There’s still a little of that summarizing in the middle of the released chapter, but it’s bookended by two solid scenes.

I’m going to quote from the completed version of the fic for a bit because otherwise this turns into just a wall of text. I’ll let you know when we get back to the original outline.

“I’m not a lady. Not yet.” Arya scrunches her nose, but seems to suddenly remember her own courtesies, and gives a grudging curtesy back. She eyes Sansa curiously. “Why don’t you have to do needlework?”

I originally wasn’t going to have Arya show up in the scene where Sansa and Jon watch the boys sparring in the yard, but the Stark girls are simply too great a dynamic not to explore at least a little, especially with how it would change with Sansa as a bastard.

Now, I did want to avoid the trope fic writers tend to fall into when they write divergent fic like this where the characters are all chummy and the conflicts in canon are ironed out just because one character was raised different. It always feels like wish fulfillment to me and like the character conflicts in canon are some puzzlebox to be fixed.

And ultimately it felt right to me that Sansa and Arya even in this universe wouldn’t get along that well. In all likelihood they would probably actually get along worse since they don’t have that sister bond under their disagreements: though their relationship might be interesting to explore how it grows once they’re both in the Red Keep.

(I also just find it endlessly hilarious that Sansa thinks that she and Arya would closer if they were raised together. You sweet summer child, you.)

Another route I thought about going down is having Sansa be resentful of Arya: after all Arya has everything she’s ever wanted and more or less just spits on it. I read an excellent meta once talking about how in canon that’s why Jeyne is so mean to Arya. Despite being better at feminine pursuits and closer with Sansa, because of her birth she’ll never be as good as Arya.

I ultimately didn’t go down this route just because it didn’t feel right: it makes Sansa a less likable character, and this Sansa is still a very kind character who doesn’t even know Arya well enough to warrant that kind of bitterness. It also undercuts the longing Sansa has in this world for siblings or family of some kind beside Petyr who is a creep.

Sansa grins back and combs back her hair from a gust of wind, looks out at the rolling and empty hills around them. There is a bleak beauty to them and the blue-grey sky and chill wind, and despite how different it is from Kingslanding Sansa feels a desperate yearning inside her to never leave, feels as though she could spend all her life here and be happy.

I liked the concept of Sansa in this world feeling out of place, there being some kind of echo of canon in her situation, an itch she can’t quite scratch. It’s also an interesting contrast to canon where Sansa is perfectly happy to go south and is coded more with southern courtly culture than the north initially. In this verse she’s already been disabused of her view of songs and chivalry and just like Jon has a deep yearning for belonging. Home for a bastard is a fickle thing, and really a metaphor for the way they’re inherently destabilizing to the westerosi social hierarchy and can thus never fit into it. It’s something I explore a lot in my Jon of the Kingsguard fic too.

Jon bursts into laughter, easy and warm, and Sansa has the sudden and reckless urge to lean across the gap between their horses and taste it, press her lips to his and find out if it’s as warm and free as it sounds. Squire after squire, knight after knight, lord after lord of the Red Keep has flirted and courted and wanted her. Comely and ugly, fair and dark, bold and shy, laughing and serious: all had wanted her and none had ever made her feel like this, flushed and breathless and skin tingling with each brush of the wind. The feeling is strange, uncomfortable, and Sansa looks out to the hills around them, longing for something she doesn’t understand blooming painfully beneath her breastbone.

I played around a lot in this scene with how much Sansa should realize her attraction to Jon. It’s such an interesting idea to me that Sansa is perfectly fluent in one half of attraction but not the other: she knows with exhausting detail what it’s like to have men be attracted to her, but has never really felt much of an attraction to anyone to the point where she probably doesn’t even realize that’s supposed to be a part of love.

After all, in a lot of those chivalric songs they talk a lot about the knights love for the maiden, but kind of skip over her interest in him (this attitude is still really, really common in our media nowadays). It’s part of the way chivalry in westeros makes women into objects. Wanting and hunger on the part of the woman is destabilizing because it isn’t under male control, and thus is gross and wanton and penalized.

“Winterfell.” The word is sad and hopeful and longing all in one, and something in it clouds Jon’s eyes. He looks down at the reins in his hand. “I dreamed of my father naming me his heir and giving me Winterfell, of becoming it’s lord.” He shakes his head, voice touched with an old and bitter shame. “I would never betray Robb like that. Never. But still I couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like if it was mine. If only we’d born opposite. I know I shouldn’t, that it’s a bastard’s curse to be envious and faithless-”

“It isn’t.” Sansa reaches over and touches Jon’s arm, voice hot. “It isn’t, Jon. We- there’s nothing wrong with wanting. Not for us. We cannot help what we want.”

If there’s a central theme to this story, it’s wanting, and whether it’s right or wrong to want. For both women and bastards it’s wrong to want because it destabilizes the westorosi social contract, and so both Jon and Sansa have internalized a certain amount of self hate for wanting the things they want. And they’re not dumb: they both know that taking the things they want will hurt others, Robb and Jon respectively. And that’s kind of the resolution of the theme by the end of the story: it’s ok to want, but you shouldn’t hurt others to get what you want.

Getting back to the original outline:

After Bran falls Sansa comforts Jon in his grief. I can’t stay at Winterfell, he tells her quietly. She bites her lip, because in that moment she knows he’s teetering, that she has him, that in this moment of weakness she could kiss him and comfort him and let him have her body. She cradles his head and they kiss, and it unlocks something in Sansa, a desperate yearning, an ache to have him inside her. It would be so easy. So easy to tangle her fingers in his shirt and draw him down to his bed.

This mostly stayed the same, just expanded and dramatized. I also punched up why Sansa’s attracted to Jon, not just that he tries to stay true to idealism and songs, but that he doesn’t have the objectified and hyper-sexualized view of her that others do. And as I mentioned above, Sansa doesn’t really understand wanting someone for herself, and thus it’s so much harder for her to control herself.

I should mention that in the abstract this whole element of Sansa’s sexual desire being tied up with moral wrongdoing is kind of super problematic considering how much female sexuality tends to get penalized, but for some reason I feel like in the actual implementation it isn’t too bad? I tried to make it clear here and later that her sexuality and wanting isn’t wrong, just the consequences of it in this specific situation.

But Sansa forces herself to break their kiss, rests her forehead against his and takes a deep breathe. Jon pulls back, an apology already on his tongue, but she shakes her head firmly and smiles at him even as she can feel a hole yawning open in the pit of her gut at the thought of never seeing him again.

One of the hardest things for me to write is a character drawing back from the brink of temptation. They can’t almost do something, and have every reason to do something, and then just not do it. As a writer you have to find some element that sparks them to make the right decision. Here it’s Littlefinger’s creepy inner voice that makes Sansa realize what she’s doing isn’t right and is something she’ll be ashamed of later.

Littlefinger in this story as a whole was a little tricky to write. I wanted it to be clear that there wasn’t any actual sexual abuse between him and Sansa, but I still wanted a certain amount of his creepiness and possessiveness to come through: for example, when I describe in the first chapter his breath rasping her ear or him stroking her cheek.

Even in the completed chapter the, ‘Let him do as he likes with you, take comfort in you, spill his seed in you’ / ‘Let it happen, sweetling. It will be over soon’ she mentally hears him say is pretty rapey language. It’s there to emphasize the control he has over how Sansa views herself, and the ways she’s been shaped to be passive in her sexuality.

The next day the king’s procession makes ready to go south and Sansa slides up on to her horse. Jon rides up to her and despite the sadness in her Sansa offers him good luck on his journey north, tells him he will make a fine knight of the black. Jon looks at her a moment before answering, gaze intent. I’m not going north, he tells her softly, I’m going south to Kingslanding with my father. Sansa’s heart leaps into her throat, and she smiles, not the carefully manicured expression Petyr taught her, but a blinding and uninhibited thing. And together, the two turn their horses south.

This is an example of something that makes sense when you write in an outline, and then you write the thing and it doesn’t quite make sense any more. Once I’d made it such a point that Jon didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to Bran, I couldn’t just have him up and leave at the end of the chapter. Having Jon promise to follow Sansa also leaves the ending a little more bittersweet, which fits the tone better (it also opens up all kinds of sequel plottage if I ever decided to go there).

It’s a bit of a thematic cop-out to have Jon just decide to not go to the Wall: Sansa’s challenge in this fic is to do the right thing despite how she has to sacrifice her happiness for it. For her then to get what she wanted anyway kind of betrays and undermines that theme. But, you know, I’m not Hemingway and I’m not trying to write the next great American novel. I mostly just want my favorite characters to smush faces.

---

In all, while I love all my stories, this is one of my favorites so far. There’s so much thematic and character richness to this version of Sansa, and the way she relates to Jon. I have an idea of where it would go if I ever decide to continue and have a few chapters outlined, but there’s a few factors in why I probably won’t write it.

First, I have too many WIPs right now. Second, while I know where this story would go for a few chapters, continuing it past that turns it into a full on series AU and that sounds exhausting. I kind of did that with Jon of the Kingsguard, and even cutting out a bunch of canon elements that turned into fourteen chapters and 50k words. And third, I kind of want to file off the serial numbers and turn this fic into an original story, especially if I’m going to write a novel sized continuation of it anyway.

Basically, the future is a little unclear for this fic, but I do genuinely love it and this version of Jon and Sansa. Hopefully you did to.

(If there’s any specific part of this fic that I didn’t talk about here that you want me to go more in depth with, just hit me with an ask or quote it in the ask box and I’ll expound on it.)

#sansa stone #my meta #my fic #story autopsy #behind the scenes #jon snow #sansa stark #what do authors love?#talking about themselves

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aliceslantern · 4 years

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Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 6

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3 Chapter summary: Vexen returns to Radiant Garden and becomes Even again, but relationships at the castle remain tense and awkward. A new arrival further mixes things up.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

He finds the boy outside, his eyes turned skyward. He looks exhausted; Vexen’s able to get uncomfortably close before Ienzo notices his presence. The boy’s head snaps down.

They hold eye contact for a very long time.

“Even,” he gasps.

He smiles. Sweat is crawling all along his body, pain in his chest; but he tries to remain composed. “Oh, little one. It is good to see you.”

“This was your doing," he says. “You… you could’ve told me, you know.” A wry smile.

“I’m a coward. What else can I say? The thought of speaking to you again was more than I could bear. This was the only way I could begin to atone.”

Vexen can see the weight of exhaustion within him. He’s positive the poor boy hasn’t rested a whit more than was necessary to remain alive. “I suppose you know you were successful,” he says softly. “Xehanort is dead. It’s over.”

Vexen’s feeling faint now. “Is that so,” he says.

“Even?” Ienzo asks. “Are you alright?”

He collapses before he can say anything more.

When he wakes, he’s in his own bed in his old quarters, not the med bay. His fever has broken, leaving him covered in a thin, unpleasant film of sweat. His body feels odd to him, achy. And while he feels a faint throb of remorse, it’s not nearly as strong as after the first reformation. He forces himself to his feet, wincing at the pain in his head.

All of a sudden he feels old; his joints ache in a disorienting way. He knows he’s nearing fifty (or, depending on just how long he’s been hiding, has passed it), but for the first time it’s a tangible number.

Even forces himself to his feet and lurches over to the mirror over the dresser. He’s breathing hard. He looks terrible--flushed, sweaty, his hair disgustingly greasy--but this doesn’t matter.

His eyes are green, not gold. The piece of Xehanort’s heart inside of him has perished. He knows this almost instinctively.

It truly is over.

Perhaps for this reason, he sinks to his knees and sobs.

---

Just because Xehanort is dead and Even is human again, that doesn’t mean there’s time for leisure. He’s weak and underweight from his weeks of hiding, but he tries not to spend undue time in bed unless it’s unavoidable. He stumbles through interpersonal contact--reunions, conversations--in a numb haze.

The castle is exactly the same, but it’s gone through hell. Everything is either filthy, or broken, or misplaced, or some combination therein. His own human clothing, when he roots through the drawers, has been eaten by moths and mice alike. And seeing that Ienzo has co-opted his lab coats for himself--in the moment he needed them far more--he spends more time in those early days sewing than anything. It feels good to make something with his hands.

His lab is desolate, desecrated, fragile glass doors broken, supplies stolen, missing, or compromised. He spends days cleaning and reorganizing. It doesn't seem to do much good.

They've been left another replica by one of the true vessels. It was its user's desire that it go to Naminé. With Kairi presumed dead, it was a logical fallacy to figure out how to seek her heart; he and Ienzo spend hours in circular discussion, but neither of them can come up with anything good. The best they can do is prepare the replica for implantation, and wait. Ansem, quietly, is nearby, as he seeks to apologize to the girl. Apparently he wasn't the only one who suffered a great deal of moral degradation. This is actually a comfort to Even, because as the days pass, his remorse again goes heavier. He lacks composure; often he gives in to fallacies of weakness, breaking down almost distantly when he has moments to himself.

It doesn't take long for Naminé to arrive. It occurs to Even that not everything about the heart is possible to understand. When she wakes, the three of them are there. It will always give him a thrill, to see the replica go from a genderless, colorless sort of mannequin to a realized human being.

She sits up. Slowly. She seems a bit dizzy. Ienzo tries to assuage her, but it's Ansem who speaks first. "My dear girl," he says. "I am truly sorry for what we've all put you through. I realize we have not made your existence easy; that, in fact, I have made it something of a hell. I hope that, with this new chance, you can find peace. And if there's anything--any small thing--we can do to assist you, let me know at once."

Naminé seems to struggle with her words. Even takes her vitals, notes with a distant pleasure how stable they are; she's taken to this body like glue, exactly as easy as Roxas and Xion did theirs. "Where's Roxas?" She asks.

"At Destiny Islands, waiting for you," Ienzo says gently. "Riku has arrived to bring you there, should you desire it."

Her blue eyes gleam. "Yes. That's what I want." She looks slowly at each of them, but it's Ienzo's eyes she seeks (she's had the smallest amount of trauma with him) when she asks, "Kairi… where is she?"

"We're not sure," Ienzo says. "Sora is seeking her… I'm sure he will find her, if he's determined enough."

Even has known Ienzo for years. He knows when he is lying. Zexion was better at it. Despite Ienzo's trepidation, Naminé nods. "Then I should wait for her," she says. "I can just… go?"

"Of course," Ienzo says gently. "I can escort you, if you like."

She shakes her head. "That's okay," she says. "Thanks."

"It's the least we can do." Ienzo gives her a gummiphone, a brief tutorial on how to use it. "So you can be in contact with your friends."

"My friends." She smiles. "He's just outside?"

"Yes. He'll be waiting."

They all watch her go. There are a few moments of awkward silence. Ansem faces Ienzo. "You've done well, my boy," he says gently, and though Ienzo nods, Even can see his eyes on the floor. "You should get some rest. You look exhausted."

"There's still so much to be done," Ienzo says. "The computer must be tidied up--I'm afraid the committee and Sark have--"

Even touches his shoulder, feeling the boy flinch just the slightest at the unanticipated touch. "You've worked so hard. I know human exhaustion is still unfamiliar to you, but your body is more fallible than a Nobody's. You need rest, fluid, and dare I say it, a few square meals." He tries to smile. "Please sleep, Ienzo. You are no longer so alone."

Even wonders if he's imagining it, or if Ienzo's eyes are watering. "I… will try," he says softly. "Please don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything."

"I'd much rather see you healthy," Ansem says. "Go, my boy. It's alright."

They watch him go. And then it's the two of them.

"Well," Even says. "I do have some affairs to attend to. I should like to write a report about Naminé's implantation."

"...Certainly."

Even takes a few steps, then hears Ansem's voice:

"Even?"

"Yes, Master?"

"How are you faring?"

He meets Ansem's rusty eyes. There's still something missing from them. "Healthy enough," he says. "Realizing I am old, as well as a fool. I've no idea where to begin unraveling what I've done."

"You're not the only one," Ansem says. He shakes his head.

"What is it you've done?" Even asks, incredulous.

Ansem chuckles darkly. "More than sit limply in the realm of darkness, I'm afraid."

"...I see." His heart is beating hard--anxiety, and repulsion. "If it's… all the same, I should like to take my leave."

"Of course. You needn't my permission anymore."

He scoffs a little. "I wasn't asking for it."

---

Even doesn't feel quite right; he doesn't feel at home here, and neither, he suspects, do the others. For the most part, they avoid one another aside from the lightest and most superficial greetings. Even knows he needs to confront them, for any number of reasons--their mistreatment of the boy Ienzo, the atrocities they committed in the Organization, the fact that they threw Ansem into the darkness--but he does not feel able. He doesn't feel able to do much at all, actually.

He can feel the basement in his periphery, its suffering, his own follies like a magnet--

Even finds it difficult to consistently keep down foods, to sleep. He knows it is likely stress, and he sees the numbers when he draws his own blood. But how to alleviate any of this pain? How to begin? How to start to atone?

With the weight of his own burgeoning humanity, he feels nearly incapacitated. He tries to write, to create reports detailing all that happened--if so to organize his own thoughts--but often he finds himself staring into space. For the first time he despises his awareness, his intelligence, because Even is acutely aware he is becoming depressed.

Nobodies’ minds largely reject mental illness, mostly to ensure survival of the body. But as a human, it’s all coming back, the repercussions. And if the mental health situation was bad for Radiant Garden before, now it’s completely desolate.

Worsened by facts of the Fall.

Ienzo brings him tidings of it, quietly--the young man went to visit with the restoration committee, to see if there was any more news worth passing on. He’d left his lab coat at the castle. Without apprentice or Organization garb, the boy looks downright strange in civilian clothing. His teal eyes are empty, and drawn from exhaustion. “Even,” he says in an odd voice. “Have you several moments?”

“...Of course. Ienzo? Are you alright? You look ill.”

“Leon was… catching me up on town affairs,” he says slowly. “I knew this world fell, and was restored, but to hear the stories of it…” He swallows thickly and won’t make eye contact. Even gestures for him to sit on one of the stools in the lab; he does, heavily. “He… was kind enough to insist that it was not our fault. But we planted the seeds. Even. ”

“...I know.”

Slowly, Ienzo nods.

“I’m sure what you feel must be overwhelming,” Even says softly. “You’re no longer used to emotion, how it physically impacts the body. But don’t let it weigh so heavily, Ienzo. You were a child--mentally ill and manipulated. This has nothing to do with you.”

“I should have known better. And that doesn’t begin to touch what I did after.”

He doesn’t know what to say, where to even begin. “Child--”

He swallows, blinking quickly. “I… I have something I must attend to.”

Even should’ve followed him, tried harder--but he can’t.

---

In strange moments, he finds himself thinking of Demyx. Not quite with fondness, or even concern, but curiosity and a sort of worry. If Xehanort’s heart had been purged from Even, it should have been purged from the boy as well--meaning he’s lost his means to travel. Yet, he worries. What if a piece of Xehanort remains? The others worry about it too, to a smaller degree; they talk about it in hushed voices. Easier to discuss this than the emotional rot.

It turns out he doesn’t have to worry long.

In a moment ripped clean from the past, Dilan approaches him in his quarters. “Have you a moment?”

“That depends.”

“There’s something I think you’ll want to see.”

Dilan brings him not to the med bay, but rather to one of the empty apprentice rooms--one of the ones that, had they been graduated, would likely have belonged to Isa or Lea. Even sees the black heap on the bed. “We found him about half an hour ago,” Dilan says. “He was asking for you.”

Even approaches Demyx slowly. He’s unconscious, shuddering--no doubt in the throes of a fever like Even was.

“Why has it taken so long?” Dilan asks.

“Dilan, I know it’s been a while since we’ve been researchers, but I trust you did not forget about relativity.” If Demyx has been shuffling from world to world--each with its own different time signature--it makes sense that, to him at least, this is only happening now. To his body, Xehanort has only just been defeated. “I know what this is. The part of Xehanort’s heart that’s been instilled in him is dying.” He rolls up the boy’s sleeve, begins taking his vitals, wondering all the while if his were anything like this. Racing heart, fever, low blood pressure. “Would you do me a favor and get the boy some blankets?”

“Will he--” Dilan hesitates, and his lip curls. “What will become of him?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“But this means he is--”

“Unable to leave Radiant Garden, yes.” Even looks at him. “Please. Sooner rather than later. He is very unwell.” As gently as he can, he eases off Demyx’s boots, his ragged and muddy coat. No doubt as soon as the pain started, the boy sought him for help--he knew no one else to turn to. He settles the boy onto his side, a precaution in case he should vomit, and covers him.

Dilan watches this with a sort of morbid fascination. “He really did help you?” he asks, incredulous. “He really… turned against the new Organization?”

“In his own way. I’ve no idea why--but I’m grateful.”

“I should tell the others.” He shakes his head. “Do you remember the boy’s name, from the old life?”

Even frowns. “You know, I don’t,” he says. “I’m afraid I never paid much attention to the neophytes.”

“Very well. I’m sure he’ll tell us when he wakes.” With a scowl, Dilan leaves.

Even brushes a strand of hair out of his own eyes and looks back towards the boy. “You couldn’t bear to let me have a moment of peace, could you?”

Almost as if in response, Demyx shudders more intensely and curls in on himself.

Even sighs. “Very well. My work is cut out for me, I see.” He takes a pen light out of his pocket, pulls the boy’s eyelid back. Unpleasant, yes, but he has to know. The boy doesn’t react hardly at all. Even notes with relief that the small sliver of iris he can see is Demyx’s natural teal. “Get some rest,” he murmurs. “Goodness knows you’ll need it.”

It isn’t long before the cavalry comes. Ienzo and Ansem, in tandem, like nothing’s changed. Ienzo’s expression is stricken; morbidly fascinated. “...He’s not a vessel?”

"I don't believe so. I've already checked his eyes. Not gold. Look." He demonstrates for them.

He hesitates. “Do you think he’s trustworthy?”

"I do not believe he'd cause any harm to us," Even says. "He was rather helpful with the replicas." "The boy holds no ill will. We did not speak much, admittedly, but he seemed all too happy to get a move in edgewise," Ansem says. "I believe he was merely swayed. And we can sway him back to us, if need be." "I'll monitor him, but he should be up and about before long." Even shakes his head. "Nasty business. At least it's all over now." He takes the coat. "I'll put this filthy thing in the wash with mine. Best to hold onto. Just in case." If he’s learned anything, it’s that nothing is impossible.

Ansem follows him out the door, but Ienzo remains, an odd, unreadable look on his face. “...This is what you went through?” he asks softly.

Even looks over his shoulder. “Oh, yes,” he says. “Much the same. It’s just us that went through it this way. He’ll be human before long.”

Ansem nods. “I suppose you and he only have fragments of a heart, rather than a whole one, like the others.”

“...I presume.”

“What does that… feel like?”

Even stares at him. “I’m still puzzling that one out, I’m afraid.”

Ansem nods slowly. Like the rest of them, the clothing he’s bought is secondhand; gone were the days of pristine, professional garb based on their status. Back to patching, darning, mending. He looks more like someone’s grizzled grandfather than a former king.

Even’s sure he himself doesn’t look much better. “I should like to draft a report about this,” he says. “Unless there’s something else you need.”

“We should figure out what to do with the young man,” Ansem says.

Even shrugs. “Demyx is an adult. As… eccentric as he is, he’s capable of deciding his own fate. Nor is he an amnesiac. Once he is well, he can leave.”

Ansem sighs. “Should he have nowhere else to go?”

Even scowls. “You and your strays,” he spits. “All that’s done is get us in trouble.”

The little readability in Ansem’s expression is quickly replaced by indifference. “You’re a different man, Even.”

“Well, what did you expect of me? It’s been twelve years, multiple transfigurations of the self. I’m no longer so amenable, and for that I apologize.” He feels his nostrils flare.

Ansem smiles darkly. “No, you’ve hardened.”

“I would not have survived the alternative.”

The words fall, heavily. Ansem crosses his arms. “...Quite. Well, I’ve my own work to do.”

Even launders both cloaks, revulsion making his skin prickle. Demyx, when he checks, is still unconscious, though his fever has broken. He’ll wake soon. He’ll likely have many annoying questions. Perhaps Ienzo can field that for him--the boy seems to have more patience now that he’s human.

Even, on the other hand, has less.

---

Demyx’s presence does shift things. To Even’s annoyance, the boy truly doesn’t have anywhere else to go. It’s as though he’s puncturing a hole in their insular world, forcing them to confront things they wouldn’t have otherwise. He’s quieter, less effervescent than he used to be. For the most part, he seems unsure of what to do with himself. This is perhaps the sole thing, aside from their reformation, he and Even have in common.

He examines the young man one last time. Aside from being too thin, he’s otherwise healthy. “Now, tell me, what was the process like for you? I’m still trying to understand it. We were the last two Nobodies whose reformation didn’t necessitate some sort of murder-suicide. It goes against almost everything we’ve learned so far.”

Demyx hesitates, flinching a little. “Painful,” he admits in a low voice.

When he says no more, Even scowls. “I seem to recall a time when I could not get you to shut up. Now, when there’s actually matters of interest, suddenly you become as taciturn as Aeleus.”

Demyx drops his eyes. Even feels his frustration building. Truly, along with anger and guilt, this is all he really feels.

“I’m trying to understand so that I can help you,” Even says slowly.

The boy takes a moment to gather himself. Gone is Demyx’s quick, though nonsensical, tongue. Even wonders if there’s some deeper change, if his sense of self has shifted like Ienzo’s. Of course it would impact the younger members all the harder. Even himself dimly remembers those days (a lot longer ago than he would like to admit), when the struggle to find oneself was a constant. “It just started hurting at one point,” he says.

Even jots that down. “Your heart?”

“Yes. Well, I guess not technically. And then the pain just got worse, and I felt like I was dying, and then I tried to open a corridor to find you, but it took a few tries. I passed out and then when I woke up it was gone.”

That all tracks with Even’s own process. “Yes. Yes, my experience was similar. Did you experience weakness, feverishness, and delirium as well?” He shrugs. “Well I did have dreams--but they’ve stopped.”

Dreams? All Even can recall is darkness. “What kind of dreams?” he prompts, the words nearly coming of their own accord. The curiosity, the desire to know more.

“I… I don’t know. This place I don’t quite remember. Something about Keyblades.” “...Fascinating,” Even mumbles. “I wonder if you were seeing some of Xehanort’s memories.” “...Maybe,” Demyx says, flinching a little.

“But if that fragment had bound to you so tightly, I’m surprised it let go as easily as it did. Perhaps Xehanort willed it when he passed.” If only he had other vessels to interview--

Then again, what kind of fool wants that?

Even looks into his eyes again. Still teal. No visible indication of anything remaining. Then again… if Demyx is dreaming… perhaps it might be good that he’s still here. “I have a favor to ask of you.” He hands the boy a notebook. “Keep track of your dreams to see if anything like that happens again. I will as well. Maybe we can divine some meaning from them.”

He sighs. “Homework?”

This is so typical. Of course he wouldn’t have changed as much as Ienzo.

“This is for the advancement of important scientific research!” Even snaps. “Don’t you see what we can learn?” He shut his eyes tightly, a headache beginning to throb. “Why did it have to be you?”

The boy glares at him. “Good question. I’m gonna go now.”

For several moments Even sits, his head reeling. There’s no need to be nasty to the boy, but yet it rose from him almost involuntarily. More like Vexen than Even. Though much too emotionally soft to be Vexen. He’s crammed somewhere between the two.

I’m too old to be dealing with this.

Before long, though, Demyx is back, this time with Aeleus. Something’s shifted. His eyes are wide, watery, and his breathing sounds wheezy, labored--

A sound of nightmares and hours spent consoling Ienzo--

“My powers,” he says quickly. “Where are they?”

Of course nobody else told him. He guides the trembling boy over to a chair. “It’s our biology,” he explains. “Now that we’re human, we’ve no need for our weapons, our powers.”

“...Our powers are gone?” he asks, his eyes dull.

“In all probability--yes. It’s unusual for humans to have abilities as specific and powerful as we did.” Nobody power is tied to the will, an expression of the self in the absence of a heart--though doubtless Demyx won’t understand this explanation.

“Can I get it back?” “I never thought you cared about fighting.” “This isn’t about fighting,” he says desperately. “Without my sitar, I--” Even’s lip curls. “Oh. That. I’m not certain what I could do for you, Demyx.”

He says nothing, but his eyes are wide, horrified. But really what can Even do? Give the boy false hope? What would that achieve?

“You could have a look in the marketplace. You might find something there that might help you make noise. Now if that is all you’re concerned about, I have work I need to tend to.”

With a quick, pained breath, Demyx leaves. For a moment, Even sits with his head over his notes, trying to conclude. Slowly, like honey, he feels something seeping into him.

There was absolutely no reason to be so short with Demyx. Not when the boy has assisted him.

He groans a little and stands, pacing slowly. After a moment, he holds his palm out, calling gently towards his shield. Sure enough, he feels nothing. It’s gone back to sleep inside of him, no longer needed.

It will only be prudent, to follow up with the others. For his reports.

Dilan and Aeleus both answer in the negative when he asks. And while he knows what Ienzo will say--well, it never hurts to be thorough.

The young man is camped at the computer, where he’s more or less lived these past few days, combing through the disaster that is now their archives. The committee saw fit to completely overtake the computer, and whatever codes it’s been fed to try and decrypt things has it working poorly. Ienzo was never particularly interested in computer science; what does the boy need to know?

“Have you a moment?” he asks.

Ienzo does not even look up, still pulling things this way and that. “Of course. Whatever is the matter?”

"You no longer have any of your Nobody abilities, correct?"

He looks up, squinting. “That is correct. Why is it you ask? You haven't either, have you?" "I have tried, and I cannot," Even says. "I wanted to make sure. He found out." "Who? Demyx?" Even nods. "I wonder if my tone might have been too sharp. He did look rather distressed. But what is it I'm to do? I'm not a miracle worker. And if I'm being honest, I'm quite content with how silent things are around here." "Strictly speaking, there is nothing we can do. Aside from have patience. Oh, that reminds me. I was supposed to have dropped off those clothes. My memory has not been great lately." "You've had a lot on your mind," Even says gently. "I suspect we all have. I'll be glad to not see another one of those infernal cloaks. So drab. So… cult-like."

Ienzo looks back at the screen. "Master Ansem said essentially the same thing. I suppose I should take care of it now." His expression is grim, unhappy. Even’s glad that he’s not the only one feeling negatively about this. "I shall walk with you." The decay has only seemed to grow more noticeable. Water damage and erosion abounds, and everything is full of filth. The heavy carpets, once beautifully embroidered, are threadbare. For some reason Even feels the need to chat, to engage. The boy looks so wilted. "It's a shame. Things here were once so beautiful. If the committee were not so busy we could use their assistance. This place is a shell of what it once was." “You have to admit it feels rather significant.” Ienzo and his metaphors. The boy never did give up reading. "Too on the nose, for my tastes.” He shakes his head. "We're not shells of who we once were. We've changed and adapted. You most of all. I miss being so pliable." But Ienzo does not receive this as a compliment. “So I’ve heard,” he says darkly. “I assure you it is not as easy as it looks.” He wishes Ienzo would tell him about it. “My apologies.” Ienzo hesitates. “If only times were simpler," he says. "I feel as if I've no time to look after myself--what with Sora's disappearance and Demyx's arrival." "Sora's disappeared?" He knew of Kairi’s death--but he figured the fool would be back by now. Ienzo smiles tiredly, and explains in a few clipped sentences that Sora sought to find her heart. Despite the gummiphone, everyone has lost track of him. Even blinks. “How curious. I wonder if there’s any of his data somewhere?” "Sora's? I do not know. I'm not sure how his friends would feel if he were a replica, though." Even sighs. "I've tried to recreate Sora's heart, and we know what happened with that," he says. "As proud as I am of Xion's sentience and personhood, unfortunately his heart is so special that it seems to be a moot option. Best not to give them hope." It’s the hesitation that tells him everything he needs to know. "I thought I'd taught you better," Even says. "You should have heard Riku's voice." "I'm surprised you feel so strongly about him, not when you have such poor memories of him." Riku was nothing but a thorn in their side at Castle Oblivion--defying the odds, resisting all attempts at control. But Ienzo’s reaction is completely inexplicable--he flushes and raises his voice. "That was your replica, might I remind you," Ienzo snaps. Even raises an eyebrow. "The Riku replica? What about it?" He stops cold. “Never mind.” There’s something going on here. “Boy, tell me,” he says sharply. Ienzo’s tensed; his hands hover near his throat (in a flash, Even remembers the bruises, the scars). “Ienzo?” Even prompts. The boy gasps, a pained sound; fear floods his eyes. “Oh, Ienzo.”

"If you must know," Ienzo forces out between breaths, "Axel had the Riku replica kill Zexion." "He did?" Even laughs, despite himself. "Axel killed Vexen." And yet somehow the bastard became a guardian of light. Such brutality. But he has no time to think about such things; Ienzo’s distress is clearly the priority. “How is it you’re feeling?” His voice brings back a gut-punch of memory. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand what it is I’m feeling.” He tries to soften. “Intense, paralyzing panic?” he offers. “Yes--perhaps--” He’s breathing like it hurts. "You should sit down and focus on modulating your breathing," Even says. He helps the boy down to the floor. Aside from his size, it’s almost exactly like all those times before. "It's alright. This is a normal reaction to recalling something traumatic-" "Believe me, I know," Ienzo hisses. "I am perfectly aware of what this is." His eyes belie the opposite.

"Count to ten," Even says. "Deep, steady breaths." Even sees him struggle to bring himself back under control. The wild, barely-contained agony he saw when he first reformed is back, flooding Ienzo’s every breath. He feels his heart begin to ache, dully. “Why is it you do not feel that way?” Ienzo asks. "Perhaps my heart is not quite as developed as yours," Even says. "Perhaps it is that I have not processed it all, yet." Yes, that’s it. No wonder he feels so scrambled. "I do not wish to speak of it at the moment," Ienzo says thickly. He pulls away from Even’s touch. "I must… I must go." By the time he can find the courage to say it, the boy’s long gone. “...Wait… Let me help you…” Perhaps it’s because of Ienzo’s panic attack, but Even finds himself remembering that moment with utter clarity. Begging for mercy, for his life. Being struck, twice, pinned down like one of his own experiments. Then a fire within, so bright and hot and not at all instant. Again, he cannot keep down his dinner. This will not do. Even tries to rest, because he can feel his body crying out for it--but despite what he told the boy, he can’t respect his own weakness. He dresses, flinching as his fingers brush the scars (he still has not seen himself fully in a mirror, and he surely doesn’t plan on it any time soon), and begins walking. He has any amount of things to do, but he cannot bring himself to go to the labs. So he walks, noting the autumn chill. He’s forgotten how frigid Radiant Garden can be in the fall and winter; normally he would not mind, but he no longer has Vexen’s immunity to the cold. “Even? Is that you?” He pauses; but it’s only Aeleus. “On a round?” The man shrugs. He’s wearing no uniform, carrying an old flashlight. “I… was feeling restless. Were you as well?” “...Quite.” “Would you mind if I… joined you?” Even immediately tries to reject the invitation, but finds himself saying instead, “Not at all.” So they walk, for a long time in pure silence. It doesn’t feel awkward, but it’s not comfortable, either. “You’re… alright?” Aeleus asks slowly. Even blinks. “I…” He begins. “I know,” Aeleus says. Their footsteps seem almost deafening in the darkness. The night is so calm, Even notes; with darkness withering, it’s cool as silk. “Tell me something, Aeleus.” He chuckles. “That depends.” “You… do you also feel as though you are in between?” He mulls it over. The flashlight casts strange shadows over his features. “Yes and no,” he says at last. This makes Even laugh as well. “I feel as if… I’m meant to be here,” Aeleus says. “In this place, at this time. I will do what is needed, what is asked of me, humbly. And be pleased my fate is not worse.” “...That so,” Even says softly. “I wish to… find my own ways of atoning,” Aeleus says. “Mostly… I would like to be here for Master Ansem, for Ienzo.” “...Have you spoken to him? Ansem.” “Only for a few moments,” he says. “I cannot find the right words to apologize.” The night seems suffocatingly silent. “You were there, that night?” “I… yes.” He looks at his hand, clenches it into a fist. “It was as though something came over me… enabling all the most evil pieces of myself. To give that final shove… was easier than I want to admit. But it’s his eyes I remember most.” Even cannot catch his breath. “It wasn’t betrayal, not like you think. He… he looked at me, and I could tell he knew, knew what we'd done. He said…” Aeleus exhales heavily. Even touches his shoulder, feels the tension there. “You don’t have to tell me.” ““I thought you were stronger than this.”” “That’s what he said?” “...Yes.” Even gives Aeleus space, silence. He admits slowly, “I was going to run.” “With Ienzo?” “Yes.” He digests this. “I wonder what would have happened.”

---

There’s no point in thinking about what might have happened. Because it didn’t. Even isn’t naive enough to believe fate steered him on this path; he’s done this all to himself, to the boy, and to the others as well. The guilt cuts him like a knife. Where to begin? The question cycles in his mind over and over again. As he composes his reports, sitting there, alone, like nothing has changed and yet everything has changed. Where has the time gone? They’ve all suffered and aged, but have they grown at all, the way he told Ienzo they have? Himself, especially? How can he begin to erase his sins? Can he plan while his heart feels like it’s rotting?

#beyond this existence: atonement #even (kingdom hearts)#ienzo #ansem the wise #aeleus #demyx #dilan #beyond this existence #vexen

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raendown · 5 years

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Chapter: 5/9 Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3534 Rated: M Summary: Walking patrol around a university for mages probably sounded like a wild time but Tobirama has never found it all that exciting. He’s not even technically supposed to be here. When responding to a tripped alarm becomes a desperate attempt to stay alive, however, excitement is the last thing on his mind. All he’s ever wanted is a quiet life alone with his books until he finds himself bound to Uchiha Madara in the most impossible way and finally learns to think about more than just himself - in a way.

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Chapter 5

“Can you brush my hair for me?”

Tobirama paused in buttoning up his shirt to give the man on his bed a flat look. “What?”

“I said can you brush my hair for me? I want to look at least halfway presentable and it always looks better when you do it. If I pretend to be polite and say please will you do it?”

“One of these days I’m going to invent a spell that will brush your hair for you. Levitation or something. No, wait, I hate levitation spells. They’re so finicky.” Snatching the brush being wiggling enticingly under his nose, he asked, “Why do you even care what you look like? They’re just dumb adolescents.”

With a satisfied smile Madara turned away from him and settled in to a cross-legged position.

“It doesn’t hurt to take a little extra care with one’s appearance,” he said. “You should try it sometime.”

“Are you calling me a mess?” Tobirama demanded. Just for that he made sure to catch a knot in the thick chuck of locks within his grasp and pull hard. Madara gurgled out a protest.

“Careful with that! I was not calling you a mess!”

Scowling, Tobirama let it slide. He wondered if Madara had noticed the same thing he did when they woke up that morning. The longer they were able to stay apart the less he seemed to be able to sense what the other was thinking and that bothered him more than it should. If anything he should have been celebrating getting a little more privacy back but somehow he just felt oddly alone. It was, embarrassingly, a relief every time they had to touch again and he could once more feel Madara just on the other side of that thin wall between their thoughts.

Pulling the brush a little more carefully – he didn’t really enjoy the echoes of pain their bond fed through to him, after all – Tobirama sat quietly and listened to Madara rambling on about his lesson plans for the day. He didn’t have a lot of opinions to give other than admitting that a lot of it sounded quite boring to him. But then anything that involved sitting still and being lectured on a subject he had already studied would always sound boring to him.

When Madara finally announced that he was satisfied with his own appearance Tobirama nodded and stood up.

“Finally. Now turn around so I can change out of my sleep pants.”

“At least I down have to hold your hand and close my eyes anymore.” Madara turned away as asked and pulled the notes Hashirama had sent over in to his lap.

Tobirama scoffed. Now that was a bit of separation he actually didn’t mind. His partner was right that those first couple of days learning how to function when they had to stay attached were mortifying. Tossing on a pair of pants to match the button down shirt he’d already changed in to, he paused and looked down at himself with a frown.

“I look fine, right?” he asked. Madara was smirking when he turned around.

“Who’s worrying about their appearances now?”

“You got in to my head!” Tobirama reached over to tug on a lock of that perfectly brushed hair. “I can’t help it! We’re rubbing off on each other more and more with every day. Next thing you know we’ll show up somewhere in matching outfits talking in unison. Actually, can we do that? I want to freak out Hashirama.”

Madara rolled his eyes and didn’t answer, though when Tobirama dropped a hand on his shoulder he could feel that the man was at least a little intrigued by the idea.

Since it was well past breakfast by the time they left home there weren’t actually many people around for the first few minutes of their walk. The residential areas were barren, anyone not currently sitting in their first period class probably still sleeping or just getting up, so the two of them held hands with the assurance that there was no one there to see and start rumors from it. It wasn’t until they passed the residential hallways and turned in to the wing where the classrooms began that they let go, instead walking so closely their arms brushed on nearly every step. Still a bit suspicious looking but not enough to confirm any of the ridiculous rumors that neither of them had been seen in days because they were on their honeymoon.

As if that would ever happen.

The twenty minutes it took to get to the right classroom were mostly spent in silence, both of them trying their hardest not to make eye contact with anyone wearing that weird hunger in their face people get when they’re trying to confirm something they think they already know. Madara did nod to some of the students that called out to him. Tobirama didn’t much bother looking around; the only people who ever waved to him were Hashirama, Mito, or his cousin Touka who had left the university after one year of classes, declaring them much too boring. He would have been bothered except that he much preferred it that way. Socializing had never been his strong suit.

Despite knowing intellectually that Madara’s students had missed him, they were both startled to open the door and find several dozen faces staring back at them with brilliant smiles and neatly folded hands, every one of them with their textbooks out and placed at the top left corner of their desks. It was nothing short of surreal.

“Students or thralls?” Tobirama muttered out the corner of his mouth, shrinking away from all the creepy eyes focused on them. Madara grunted and turned to scowl at him.

“They are not thralls,” he hissed quietly. “A bit odd, though, they’re not usually this well behaved.”

One of the nearby students overheard them, apparently.

“We thought we’d surprise you, Uchiha-sensei! Everyone knows how much you like it when things are neat and tidy.” The young man smiled proudly, teeth stretching from ear to ear, and Tobirama tried his best not to think about how cute he looked with all that curly hair and those cheekbones that so closely resembled the man at his side. “I like your new shirt, too!”

“Flattery will get you nothing, Kagami,” Madara told the kid with a note of suspicious in his voice.

“Aw come on, we were just trying to do something nice for you!”

“Do your homework on time for once,” Madara snorted. “That would be nice.”

Kagami, as was apparently his name, wilted and turned away to sulk in the other direction. While his appearance was undoubtedly similar to Madara’s his personality seemed to be uncomfortably reminiscent of Hashirama instead. Tobirama really wasn’t sure what he thought of that. It was a relief to follow his partner towards the front of the room and slip behind the ancient desk covered in perfectly neat little stacks of paper and pens all sorted by color.

If there was one invention he would always be grateful to the non-magical community for it was pens. Sometimes Tobirama still came across an old ink pot in one of his closets and he always shoved it right back in to the mess with a shudder of memory. Normal folk were almost lucky not to live half as long as anyone with magic, saving them the trouble of remembering such dark times as the days when homework was done with quill and scrolls. Keeping track of it all had been a nightmare no matter how many extra pockets he sewed in to his clothing.

Settling himself in to the very center of the staging area at the front of the room, Madara swept his eyes over the class before him with an expression that Tobirama had come to realize meant he was looking for something specific.

“There’s a few faces missing,” he noted eventually.

“Uh, I think the Transformative Spells class last period had an accident,” Kagami piped up from his seat. “So anyone who was there is probably in the infirmary right now.”

“Ah.” Madara frowned, worry flashing through him so strongly that Tobirama felt it even from several feet away, although he let nothing of it show on his face. Without saying anything more on the subject he launched right in to a recap of what they should have been learning over the week while he’d been gone.

While he spoke he moved back and forth across the empty space at the front, stopping at the desk every couple of minutes to reach for a random object or tidy something that Tobirama had fiddled with, anything to use as an excuse for their arms to brush together and reestablish their connection. When he wasn’t getting smacked on the shoulder for messing with stuff Tobirama explored whatever items had been left out in easy reach. He passed over the homework assignments that someone else seemed to have graded – Madara just didn’t seem like a happy face sticker kind of guy – and instead pulled a binder towards himself that had no label at all. In his experience the things that went unlabeled usually had the most interesting things inside.

Generally they were also forbidden or taboo but that only made them more interesting.

First making certain that Madara was focused on his lecture, Tobirama flipped the binder open. His first reaction upon finding nothing inside but lesson plans was of irritated disappointment. Upon taking a closer look, however, he realized that he had accidentally stumbled on to something beautiful after all: Madara’s handwriting.

There hadn’t really been any need for his partner to write anything down over the past few days and suddenly Tobirama mourned that fact. He’d never seen more elegant script in his life. Each letter was a masterpiece, perfectly crafted with a patience he would never have himself. His own writing was usually cramped and rushed as he tried to get as many words on to the page as he could and as quickly as humanly possible. Not once in his life had he taken the time to make anything half as pretty as the lettering in front of him now. Madara’s writing was so nice just to look at that it took a couple of minutes for Tobirama to actually read what was written on the pages.

When he’d seen the title ‘Lesson Plan’ and a date from nearly a week ago he had assumed it would be nothing but a general outline of the material they were expected to cover. He was surprised to see the level of detail this plan included, complete with notes in the margins about which subjects his students were doing well on and could advance quicker as opposed to which they seemed to be struggling with and needed to have covered in more detail.

In all the years he’d spent here at the university – and despite still enjoying his earlier centuries it had already been a lot of years – he’d never known any of the teachers put this much effort in to planning their classes. Although to be fair he had no evidence that anyone other than Madara made their plans so detailed but that only worked as a point in the man’s favor. Tobirama had always assumed that lesson plans were no more than a rough outline, lazy and thoughtless, copy and pasted from all the years before. Knowing they were more than that gave him a little more respect for the position and it only got better as he kept reading down the page.

Underneath all of the technical details was a small section where Madara had penned in a few notes about specific students, who seemed to be having trouble with what and how to help them work through those issues, sometimes a personal reminder that this student or that one had reacted a certain way to his teachings and even suggestions to himself about how to tweak his lecture for the future. It was thoughtful.

Tobirama closed the binder and pushed it away from himself, uncomfortable suddenly and unable to pinpoint why. It was interesting having everything he thought he knew about someone slowly flipped upside down, there was no denying that, but it was also jarring and brought up a lot of introspective questions he wasn’t at all prepared to deal with.

No one liked to think they were so self-involved that they could judge someone else so wrongly.

Madara trundled over to brush against his arm a few moments later and Tobirama tensed, eyes darting up to make sure he’d replaced the binder of lesson plans exactly where it had been before. With the obsessive organization system it would be all too obvious he had touched something if it were even an inch out of place. Luckily for him Madara wasn’t even looking at the desk. He stopped at Tobirama’s side to put a hand on his shoulder and look down at him with an expectant expression.

“I wasn’t listening,” he admitted quietly. Oddly, Madara didn’t even look annoyed. He turned back to the class without removing his hand.

“Take Tobirama here as an example. His natural element is water, the complete opposite of mine, but I have seen him both invoke fire and use fire runes. Can anyone tell me why that’s possible for him?”

“Because I’m just that good.” Tobirama smirked when a handful of students tittered.

“No,” a quiet voice piped up from the back. “It is because fire runes channel raw magic from the closest ley line and do not rely on a caster’s abilities while invocation begs power from the spirits themselves with no magic passing through the one invoking them at all.”

Madara squinted around the room until he found the one who had spoken and then nodded once in satisfaction. “Very good Shino, that’s exactly correct.”

“Good to know they have their basics down,” Tobirama muttered under his breath. “They’re only, what, fifth year students?” He grunted when the hand still resting on his shoulder clamped down extra hard in retaliation.

The lesson went on to a discussion of when it was best to use fire runes over any other options, always easier than invocations though they were also less powerful, and Tobirama let his attention wander off again. He considered going through the desk drawers when he ran out of things to inspect on the top of it but one look from Madara had his hands curling together in his lap. As much as he did enjoy riling the man up he wasn’t looking to become a visual aid by having his hair set on fire. Madara wore sparks much better than he did.

Boredom had set in again long before one of the students casually asked whether fire or water was stronger since the two elements were considered natural opposites. He was in the process of opening his mouth to gleefully suggest they make a demonstration of it when a bell began to chime to signify the end of the period, Madara’s eyes rolling back with visible relief.

His partner called out homework assignments over the sounds of everyone packing up their things and warned them that he probably still wasn’t back on a permanent basis so they should expect their substitute again. While he was busy shouting Kagami made a point of stopping by the front.

“It was nice to meet you,” he said, leaning over the desk to smile at Tobirama.

“Probably. I’m an absolute delight.”

The boy laughed at his joke, peeked over at Madara, then covered his mouth to laugh a bit more. “I’m sure you are.”

He was gone a moment later, joining the flood of bodies rushing off to their next class. Luckily for Tobirama’s attention span it was Thursday and Madara only happened to teach one period of class on Thursdays. For years his only social interactions had been the rare occasion he made it down to the dining hall at proper meal times or when Hashirama deigned to stop by his rooms. Even the librarian had stopped trying to pull him in for a chat when he went down to check out more books. He understood that his partner needed to get out more often than once a week but personally his own quota for human interaction had more than been met.

Madara didn’t count as company, not with their minds so closely intertwined that they couldn’t bear to be apart.

When the room was empty and the door snapped shut behind the last student Tobirama eyed the binder of lesson plans before standing up to watch his partner clear off the various things he’d written on the whiteboard. Yet another invention to be grateful to the non-magical community for. Chalkboards were so messy. It had actually taken Mito several years to convince her husband to install them in all the classrooms; not because of any budget concerns but simply because he stubbornly clung to the aesthetic of chalkboard classrooms in the castle which housed the university. Sometimes Tobirama wondered if Hashirama had only taken the job of Headmaster so he could pretend he was still living four centuries ago.

“Learn anything new?” Madara asked after the whiteboard was clean.

“Yes, actually, although I didn’t listen to a word you were saying.” Tobirama dragged his eyes away from the binder of treasures and pulled as innocent of an expression as he could manage. It had exactly the desired effect of making the other man roll his eyes.

“How–? No, never mind. I don’t think I want to know what you think you learned if it wasn’t anything from the class.”

Tobirama cocked his head to one side and noted that it seemed Madara was getting to know him as well as he was getting to know Madara. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing but it wasn’t really something he could stop so he simply allowed the thought to pass him by.

Standing up from the desk at last, he made his way over to stand next to his partner and weave their hands together with a sigh of relief that Madara immediately echoed. All the small excuses for brushing together had been the only thing that kept him sane throughout the past hour and they had another twenty minute walk ahead of them until to make it back home. It was good to know they could separate now but it was still better when they didn’t have to.

“I used to hate you,” Tobirama grumbled, personally offended that he couldn’t say he still did.

“Yes and I still have no idea why.” Madara lifted one arm like he meant to cross them and then awkwardly aborted the motion after he realized he couldn’t with his other hand occupied. “I’m lovable! Your brother always says so!”

“Hashirama’s opinion doesn’t count, he loves everything that breathes in his general direction.”

Madara puffed his chest up to argue back and then deflated almost immediately. “Or things that don’t breathe. I caught him naming all the flagstones in the front courtyard once,” he admitted. Tobirama closed his eyes to block out the exasperated shame.

Together they puttered around cleaning up the classroom and putting away all the things Madara had used to demonstrate whatever he’d been talking about. As much as Tobirama normally couldn’t care less for having everything put away so long as he remembered where to go find it again later – laughable considering he never remembered where anything was – he found himself pointing out things that were still out of place and dragging Madara along behind him as he popped over to put something else away.

Once everything was back where it was supposed to be and all the books on Madara’s desk had been set at right angles again they were free to head on back home at last. Madara spent most of the walk making a case for why they would go back to class again the next day, whining that Fridays he only taught two classes and that it wouldn’t be too much different than just one class, especially since they were hours apart. Tobirama mostly let his wrinkled nose make his opinions on that known. It wasn’t the classes he objected to in particular, just the upset to his daily routine. Ever since this whole thing began his life had been steadily changing bit by bit, again and again, and all he wanted was to find a little equilibrium again.

Finally turning down the hallway where their rooms were located and finding Uchiha Izuna leaning against the wall with both hands in his pockets certainly was not a path towards finding his equilibrium. The mental connection between him and his partner lit up with startled happiness at almost the exact same moment Izuna looked down to see that they had once again linked hands as soon as they were out of the public eye.

“What the fuck Aniki!?”

Tobirama closed his eyes and prayed for patience. Hopefully the gods would see fit to send enough for both of them.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Thirty-Nine: Cinnamon ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Mikoto ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“So, uh...what’s your favorite thing to make?”

Back in Home Ec once again, Sasuke’s bored out of his mind. The day before was a mini school festival, and given all the rush and preparing leading up to it, their teacher has decided it appropriate to give the class a day off from all of their sewing, baking, and other activities they used to make some money for more supplies for class.

And given that all of the underclassmen girls still seem terrified of him for...whatever reason, Sasuke falls back to the usual company of his fellow senior, Hinata.

She’s taking the time to casually knit something she was unable to finish before the craft sale. Pale blue wool dances over her needles, done almost subconsciously. “Um...can you be more specific?”

“I guess out of all the things we do here.”

She considers that with a hum. “...well, I really like knitting,” is her first answer, given with a laugh given her current project. “It’s...soothing in how repetitive it is. I can just sit and get a little lost in it. Um…” Nibbling her lip in thought, she looks around as though trying to pick out things from their surroundings. “I like to bake, too...almost anything, r-really. But my favorite are cinnamon rolls.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm! They’re just so…!” Hinata beams to herself, cheeks going a light shade of pink at a happy memory. “When they’re warm, and the icing is still gooey, and the middle is all fluffy...it’s the best…!”

In spite of himself, Sasuke grins as she describes it. There’s something really...endearing about how into it she is. Clearly it makes her as happy as she looks. “Y’know, I’m not big on sweets...but I might have to try some sometime.”

“Oh, I could make you some! But...it’s quite the process...and you have to eat them warm. They’re so much better.”

“What about it takes so long?”

“Well, you have to put the dough together and knead it, and since it has yeast in it, it has to r-rise. That takes a while. Then you roll it out, and put the filling in...roll it up...and cut the rolls. Then it has to rise again -”

“Whoa, really?”

“Mhm! And then you finally bake it!” Hinata can’t help a soft giggle. “So all in all, in takes a few hours, start to finish. You have to be d-dedicated to it! So...it’s obviously a little, um...too long to do in class. And since exams are coming up, I...won’t have time to stay after school. I need to study.”

“Yeah, me too…” In spite of himself, Sasuke finds he’s rather disappointed. He has an idea, but...he’s not sure if it’s...appropriate. Sure, he talks to her every day in this class, but...he’s not sure if he constitutes as a friend. Trying to appear nonchalant, he offers, “Maybe on a weekend sometime?”

Looking up, Hinata blinks. “Well...the school is closed then...unless there’s an event on. But...I doubt the classroom would be open…”

...she didn't take the hint. Drat. “Uh…” How to say this without sounding too forward... “My mom’s got a pretty nice kitchen. I could...get the ingredients sometime, and we could...make them there…?”

...another blink. “...oh!” Embarrassed at not realizing what he meant, she laughs, going a bit pink. “I...s-sure! She wouldn’t mind…?”

“Nah. I bet she’d be psyched, actually.” His older brother cooks like a maniac whenever he’s home, but...well, besides a few things he’s tried since starting this silly class, Sasuke’s still not an avid cook or baker.

...and he can just imagine his mother’s face at him bringing a girl home. He’s never brought a girl over. Ever.

It’ll be amusing.

“I’ll tell her you’re giving me lessons. She’s been pretty jazzed about me taking this class. Bet she’ll be happy to see me in the kitchen.”

“Oh, good! And...I guess that would technically be true. Um...sure! Just let me know when you...want to try it?”

“Sure. Uh...got a list of what I’d need?”

“Yeah, I’ll dig out my favorite recipe when I get home. Um…” Still blushed, she asks, “Do you want me to...text it to you?”

“Good idea. Here…” They exchange numbers, Hinata promising to send him the list and a rundown of the recipe as the bell rings.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free.”

“Okay! Bye.”

Huh...he’s actually really excited about this…

A weekend passes without any word - Itachi makes a surprise visit home, so Sasuke deems it a bit more critical than baking. But when Friday arrives without any signs of anything else popping up, he decides to ask if she’s free.

“Yeah, I can make it! You’ve got everything we need?”

“Yup.” He’s only double checked like five times.

“Okay - any, um...particular time I should be there?”

“I tend to kinda sleep in...maybe early afternoon just to be safe?”

“You sleep that late?” she teases.

Sasuke can’t help a pout. “No. I just mean so no one feels rushed.”

Giggling into the cuff of her sweater, Hinata shakes her head. “I know, I know. That sounds good! I’ll text you when I’m on my way.”

“Got it.”

Saturday morning, Sasuke’s in a tizzy. He volunteered to do dishes the night before after dinner, making sure the kitchen is spotless. Not that Mikoto runs a messy house. He just...wants to make a good impression. Whatever’s left from breakfast he fervently tidies up.

His mother notices, perking a brow. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a cooking lesson.”

That catches her attention. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Friend from Home Ec’s gonna teach me how to make cinnamon rolls.”

Mikoto perks up another hair. “Is that so...? Who’s the friend?”

“Her name’s Hinata.”

At the word ‘her’, his mother’s eyes go round, her mouth in a small matching ‘o’. After a blink, she calmly replies. “...I see. Well...I was going to work on my flowerbeds, but...if you need any help, let me know!”

“Will do.”

Once she’s out of sight, he breaks into quiet snickers.

Priceless.

His phone buzzes at about twelve-thirty, and she estimates a twenty minute bike ride. Setting up for her arrival, he’s just putting the finishing touches to his lineup of ingredients when the doorbell rings.

“Hey.”

“Hi! Um...w-where should I put my bike?”

“We can put it in the garage.” They might live in a nice enough neighborhood, but...well, better safe than sorry. Once her ride is tucked away, Sasuke leads the way in. “So, ready to see me fail miserably at baking?”

“Oh, you won’t! I’ll do most of the work, anyway. You can watch if you don’t want to do any steps.”

“I gotta give at least some of it a try.”

Hinata starts walking him through the steps (after complimenting his prep work), showing him how to activate the yeast. “See the foam?”

“Whoa, cool.”

Next they mix the rest of the dough, adding the yeast mixture and beating it until it goes smooth.

“Okay, now we need to knead it.”

Sprinkling flour on a marble slab Mikoto often uses in her baking, Hinata shows Sasuke her technique before letting him try. It takes a few turns, but eventually he gets the hang of it, Hinata occasionally dusting more flour when necessary and checking the consistency.

“That seems good! Now, it has to rise.”

“For how long?”

“An hour.”

Covering the bowl they set it in, they leave it in the warm kitchen before...turning to each other

“Um…” Hinata smiles sheepishly. “Anything you want to...do?”

“...we could, uh...watch a movie or something.”

“S-sure!”

He lets her pick, not knowing most of what his parents have bought and hoarded over the years. He could load up Netflix, but...he’s feeling lazy. Hinata, too, seems a bit unsure and picks one at random. Some newer James Bond movie he’s never seen before. They both settle on the couch and just...sit and watch, a timer set on Sasuke’s phone.

And of course it goes off during a tense fight scene, making them both jump. “Oh!”

Migrating back to the kitchen, they remove the cover and find the dough’s grown!

“Dang!”

“It’s supposed to do that!”

Mixing cinnamon and sugar, Hinata watches as Sasuke carefully rolls out the dough into a long rectangle, then brushes it with butter.

“Very good!”

They both sprinkle the mixture, and each help roll the whole thing up.

“...I think we might need two pans,” Hinata laughs. Carefully, she cuts the long roll into pieces, laying them in a thin layer of syrup along the bottom of the pans.

Then it’s back to rising.

Retreating to their movie, the pair watch in a far more comfortable silence than before. Neither notice as Mikoto wanders in for a drink of water, peeking at the two over the couch with a sly smile (and doing the same to their rising rolls).

Movie ending a bit before the timer, they find the dough big enough anyway. Once the oven heats, in go both pans, and then it’s time to wait one last time. Hinata sits on a stool, Sasuke leaned atop the counter opposite her.

“You were right - your mom does have an awesome kitchen,” Hinata admits sheepishly.

“Yeah...I need to use it more. Guess it’s a good thing I’m taking this class. Learning how, bit by bit.”

“Mhm!”

After a small pause, Sasuke decides to admit, “And I got to make a friend out of it, too.”

Jolting a hair, Hinata goes pink as the timer goes off. “I’ll...I-I’ll get them out!”

They look...amazing.

But they’re not quite finished yet. Hinata whips up the icing, and dribbles it over the buns while they’re still hot. “...okay. Time for the final step.”

“...which is?”

“Eating them!”

Sasuke fetches plates and forks, and Hinata dishes them up. She’s right: they look gooey and fluffy.

“Well...here goes.” Tearing off a hunk, Sasuke gives it one last glance before popping it in his mouth.

She watches, seemingly not aware of her intense expression.

To torture her, Sasuke chews slowly, exaggerating a thoughtful look. He will admit...these are pretty damn good. And he doesn’t ordinarily like sweet foods.

“...well?!”

He just gives a thumbs up, still chewing, almost choking as she gives a little cheer.

...that was cute.

They continue eating, sparing another roll as Mikoto joins them. Her own test goes just as well. “You must share your recipe with me!” she insists to Hinata, who sheepishly nods.

Together the pair clean up, doing the dishes and wiping down the counters. Sasuke refuses to let her leave without taking one of the pans.

“Trust me dear, we don’t need them all here!” Mikoto laughs.

“But then I’ll eat them all…” Hinata mumbles, going pink as her companions laugh.

With that...they reach an impasse.

“I’ll, um...I-I’ll bring the pan to school on Monday!”

“Yeah, sure. No rush.”

“I...I had a lot of fun.”

“Yeah...me too.”

...silence.

Nibbling her lip, Hinata carefully stores the pan into her bag, which she slings on her back before retrieving her bike. “I...guess I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Looking a little torn, Hinata hesitates before taking off. A hand waves back over her shoulder.

He waves back.

And...can’t help but feel a little lonely.

...maybe he’ll go have another roll.

More Home Ec AU! Ahhh I really like this one, it's so fluffy and pure xD Hinata finally gets to make her cinnamon rolls. And Sasuke gets to help! And inch a little closer to realizing that Hinata is TOTALLY girlfriend material. I think Mikoto approves x3 Buuut on that note, I'ma call it a night~ Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #hyūga hinata #uchiha sasuke #uchiha mikoto #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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minsugapie · 5 years

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Definitely Not Paradise Island

Injured! Jungkook x reader

Plane crash au

Fluff, angst (bc who wouldn’t be angsty in this kinda situation?...)

4553 words

Summary: (Requested) Jungkook and Y/N are stranded on an island with no means of communicating electronically to the world, dead bodies on a plane, and absolutely no way to talk to one another because you don’t speak the same language. Can you fall in love with someone without knowing anything about them?

(Unedited)

Doll X

—————————

You’d simply wanted to get home to your family after a holiday abroad, but luck had never really been on your side, had it?You were never unlucky, per say, but you wouldn’t cal yourself lucky either.

When you wake up, seatbelt practically cutting off circulation to your legs, and a useless oxygen mask dangling from your neck, you knew you were very unlucky today. Your head was pounding and when you moved the muscles in your face, you could feel the crackling of dried liquid —most probably blood.

Fumbling with the seatbelt around your waist, you manage to get yourself free of any restraint, but you failed to realize that the plane you boarded with good intentions was currently half filled with salt water. You were one of a few people that weren’t completely covered by either water or other people.

After a quick scan of the cabin, you realized that you were the sole survivor of this disaster. Moving around with sore muscles, you found that the pilot completely drowned in water. Just when the thought that you should have died as well crossed your brain, you heard a groan from near to where you were initially sitting.

Whipping your head around, you rush to the back of the plane, jumping through the water and over the dead bodies that you were sure to have nightmares about for the rest of your life. The boy, probably around your age, was stuck between two seats, looking to have possibly a broken leg and one of the deepest gashes you’d ever seen. Not that you’d seen many cuts because the thought of blood kind of made you woozy.

But now was not the time for being grossed out, and you knew that you needed to help this guy if you had any chance of figuring anything out, and getting help for the both of you.

“I’m coming, don’t worry.”

“We’ll get you out of here.”

“Please stay calm, I don’t want to hurt you more.”

These three phrases came from your mouth in a disconnected manner. You didn’t even realize that you were the one that was staying calm. It never occurred to you how you’d handle yourself in this sort of situation, but you were doing great. You always assumed yourself to be a panicked person. You always panicked. But now? You were calm and determined.

The boy mumbled something that was clearly another language than the one you were speaking.

Korean? That’s what you assumed because of the guy’s nationality. You knew you shouldn’t assume something like that, but now was definitely not the time for little things like that.

When you were finally able to pull him from the seats with a strength that you didn’t know you possessed, his arms wrapped around your neck and you stood there, hugging for a short moment. There were tears running down his face, and you suddenly felt your own tears start to fall.

After you realized that you were both still in the middle of a plane crash with corpses all around, you dragged the foreign boy to the door and tried to push it open.

You should have paid more attention to the safety instructions that they gave you before the flight.

Getting out of the plane with the easy part. However, realizing that you were, in fact, stuck on an uninhabited island made the situation a whole lot more complicated. All you could see on the horizon was water. The island itself didn’t look to be that large either. How had you gotten there?

Scanning around the beach, you saw a stick that looked large enough to be used for walking, so you quickly get it for the boy. He seemed grateful that you were thinking about him, but there was still pain laced through his features.

You knew nothing about survival. You knew that there was probably no way that you were going to survive this place if you had to actually catch food, find water, and take care of another person. An injured person.

You took a seat on the sand to think. You had to be rational. You knew that you had to think this through and make a plan. You see the boy sit beside you, also looking out into the wide ocean. Looking at your phone, there was no service, not that you expected there to be. Heck, the radio in the plane was toast too.

You swallow hard, looking at him before attempting, “Do you understand me?”

He looked from one of your eyes to the other before shaking his head. Ok, this was going to be a lot harder. As if it wasn’t already bad enough.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped your head on his should and thought. You’d need to make shelter, find sustenance, try to do something about his leg, and find a way to signal to either planes or boats that you were stranded.

Looking behind you at the forest, you decided that there was no way that you were going to go exploring that tonight. It was already getting later in the afternoon, judging by the placement of the sun, and you didn’t want to be stranded there for the night. For now, you’d stay with this injured boy on the beach, and use some of the leaves and branches that were readily accessible to makeshift something.

You noticed that he ripped off a part of his shirt and had tied it around the large gash on his thigh. At least he knew slightly what to do in a situation. You were useless.

Popping up, you caught his attention. He looked at you making signals with your hands that you were going to go scavenge the compartments of the plane for other clothes, supplies and anything else that you could get your hands on.

Nodding his head, he motioned for you to go.

You walked back to the plane, wanting to conserve as much energy as you could. If you were going to be there for a while, you knew you couldn’t exert yourself too much. You grabbed your bag and his bag (that you assumed was his from where he was sitting) before you through them out the door. What you were really looking for was the packages of crackers and cookies that you’d have to ration. The bottles of water and juice that would provide some sugar and hydration for a while. There was also clearly a necessity for the first aid kit.

It takes you a couple of trips to get the stuff to a shade area near the trees, where the boy decided to start slowly gathering a small pile of sticks. It was smart. You were definitely going to need a fire. Hopefully there were some matches in the survival kit. It managed to stay out of the water, thank God. Nothing was soaked.

Taking out a few blankets from the cabin, you make a sort of bed on the ground. You put leaves under the blanket, so it was not directly on the sand. The boy was grateful, and when he thought he got enough wood, at least for the night, he took a seat, wincing at the pain in his leg.

You immediately went to him with the first aid kit that you found. It had some pain medicine, so you have him that, although it would probably not do much since he likely had a broken bone. You didn’t think that normal painkillers did that much to help.

You didn’t want to touch his leg, in fear that you’d actually hurt him, but you knew you needed to look at his other wound. He let you take the material from around his leg and rip his pants so more of his thigh was on display. It was bad, but you found something to clean it, and some tape to use as makeshift stitches. There was no way that you were actually going to sew his leg back together.

He was fine with you tending to him. His hand was placed on your shoulder, and you did feel him squeeze it tightly a few times will you cleaned it. It had to hurt like a bitch.

Looking up at his face when you finished cleaning, you pointed to yourself and said your name.

He seemed to understand the gesture, and he returned, “Jungkook.”

You thought the name suited him, and for a brief moment, you noticed how handsome the man really was. If you’d noticed him before, there would have probably thought he was very attractive and maybe flirted with him. But he doesn’t speak your language, and that could have been a problem.

A small smile appeared on your lips. He reciprocated the action for a second before frowning. He lifted his hand to your forehead, rubbing a finger across the scab that you forgot your had. You were so busy worrying about Jungkook that you forgot that you had been bleeding as well.

He grabs an identical cleaning pad that you’d used on his and tidied your face of blood. By the look on his face, the gash on your forehead wasn’t small, and he picked a bandaid and put it on your forehead. It was odd, having a stranger take care of you like that, but if you two were going to survive, you had to have each other’s backs.

Your first night there, you simply made a fire to keep warm, but you knew that you’d have to burn some rubber or plastic to make darker smoke and also make an SOS signal on the beach for planes to see as they passed by.

You and Jungkook had your own beds at the beginning on the night, but you found that you had already started having nightmares. There were weird noises coming from the jungle beside you, and you’d never spent a night outside in your life. You woke yourself up by crying only to see that Jungkook was already looking at you, making sure that you were fine. You moved your leaves and blanket closer to him to feel more comforted before cuddling in closer to him. You always slept better with another person anyway.

Not only did Jungkook easily comfort you, but together, you were given more warmth as you slept.

—————————

A week went by and nothing was working. Planes were passing by regardless of the dark signals you had, and Jungkook’s gash looked like it was getting infected.

You still had a bunch of crackers and cookies left to eat and a few water bottles, but you knew that you needed to find some meat of some sort, so you decided to let him rest while you went out and tried to catch some fish with an old net that you found in the rocks a few days back.

It took hours, but you managed to catch a measly fish that would barely feed the two of you —but it was something.

Jungkook looked at you like you were his saviour when you came back to camp with a fish in your hands. Little did you know but that little look that Jungkook shot you was the beginning of many looks that you’d receive from him.

After two weeks, you could feel yourself becoming attached to and dependent on him. Although spoken communication was minimal, you two seemed to understand each other physically.

You decided that the next day you were going to get some of the engine fuel from the plane to see if it would make your signals more visible to the skies. The thought of getting out of there and seeing your loved ones was constantly on the back of your mind, sure, but tonight, when you were laying by the fire beside Jungkook and looking into his eyes, you couldn’t help but think that you were so grateful that you didn’t have to do this alone. You didn’t even want to imagine how lonely you would have been if you were alone. Would you have given up already?

Jungkook was such a rock for you at this point. You wondered what would happen to the two of your if, when, you got out of there.

Jungkook’s hand moving from his side to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear startled you from your thoughts. He was looking at you in pain, and you could barely stand to see him like that.

Pointing to his leg, you asked, “Ow?”

He clenched his teeth, nodded his head and swallowed hard. He was trying to put on a tough act, but you could see through it by now. And seeing him hurting was not something that you enjoyed. You wracked your brain, thinking of ways that you could make him feel better, but all you came up with was something that you wanted that he might not have wanted.

However, it was all that you could think of. It wasn’t like you had access to ice packs and a medical clinic, after all. Leaning in towards him, you tentatively put your lips on his. You didn’t want to force him into kissing you, but you hoped that maybe kissing would distract him, at least a little bit, from the pain that he was in. He simply needed to think about something other than his broken leg and mildly infected cut.

He wasn’t at all surprised by your lips on his. Actually, if you hadn’t have known any better, you’d have thought that he was thinking about it, too. Your lips weren’t smooth like they were when you first crashed, and you couldn’t even imagine how chaotic your hair and face looked but you couldn’t have cared less at that moment.

The hand that had tucked the piece of hair behind your ear grabbed the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss. You missed human contact like this, and you practically had to force yourself not to straddle him. You didn’t want to bring attention to injury when you had just managed to distract him from it.

The kiss was more than nice, really, because it was desperate. Your teeth and tongues met in fervour, not caring about anything else but the lips of the other person. His teeth were biting your bottom lip, and you moaned into his mouth at his actions. He knew what he was doing, and you wondered if he had a girlfriend back home. You hadn’t been intimate with a man for months before you went abroad because you couldn’t get your stupid ex-boyfriend off your mind, and being this close to Jungkook brought back emotions that you had forgotten you could feel.

Suddenly, you sat up. It occurred to you that you shouldn’t be getting that close to one another. You lived across the world from each other. You knew absolutely nothing about him, and he knew nothing about you. Heck, you couldn’t even understand each other’s languages.

You could still feel Jungkook’s lips on yours. A blush was present on your face when he sat up and looked at you worriedly. You had tears in your eyes that you couldn’t explain. You were supposed to be helping him deal with his pain, but here he was, wiping your cheeks of the tears and comforting you without knowing what was wrong.

You needed to get away from him for a second, but you didn’t want him to think that anything was wrong. Forcing a smile, you try to tell him to rest while you go look in the plane to see if you missed anything. It was something that you’d been avoiding because of all the dead bodies, but the both of you needed clothes, and you wanted to see if there was something more than you could use to try to get the attention of the planes and boats passing by. You were honestly so worried that you were going to die on this island. It was so frustrating that you’d been doing everything you could to make dark smoke signals, have an SOS on the beach for people to see, catching fish and finding whatever I could for us to eat. Jungkook’s condition was not improving. It made you nervous and mad thinking about what could happen to him if he didn’t get help. He would have surely died before you.

While you were scavenging the plane, you tried to ignore the old, dead bodies, because there were more pressing matters to attend to. You ended up finding a couple carry-ons with clothes and a flare gun!

A flare was going to change your lives. Running back to Jungkook, you found him in the same sitting position in front of the bonfire. The sun was completely set now, and it was getting chilly outside.

When you plopped down beside him, you put the flare in his lap. He barely spared you a glance, but he picked up the flare and gave a small head nod. You decided that the next time that you saw a boat, you were going to head out.

He handed you the flare gun, and you put it safely in the back with all the empty medicine bottles. Turning to look at him, you grabbed his hand and laced your hands. He seemed startled by your actions but relaxed into you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. You figured he would at least know that in your language, and by some miracle, he did understand.

A slight nod to his head when he squeezed your hand, he replied, “I’m sorry too.”

His words were sloppy, but you only turned your head and smiled at him in admiration. Who would have thought that when your plane crashed, you would fall in love, stranded on an uninhabited island.

With a groan, Jungkook laid back down on the makeshift bed that you had in front of the fire. If you could have, you would have taken all his pain away. Unfortunately, all you could do at this point was pray. Why couldn’t you have gone into something useful in university and not anthropology of all things?

Laying down beside him, you were surprised when he pulled you right into his side. It was there, tucked into his side, head in the crook of his neck, legs wrapped around his one good leg, that you fell asleep.

It was the most comfortable sleep you had had the entire time on the island, but it was abruptly ended when Jungkook pushed you up and yelled, “Boat! Boat! Boat!”

The sleepiness that you would normally feel after waking up left your body at the words. Getting the flare gun out of the medicine bag, you lit it and set it off in the air, praying that the boat would see you. It was fairly close to the island, so as long as someone was looking in your direction, you probably would have been fine.

God must have been on your side because not a minute later, the boat’s horn was heard. Jungkook looked elated at the sound, but the boat didn’t look like it was coming any close. It looked like it was simply staying put. Even after 10 minutes, the boat had no moved. Just as you thought that your only opportunity to get off this island passed, you noticed a small motorboat in the distance. You ran to the edge of the water and started waving your hands around, making yourself look as big as possible.

Jungkook hobbled over to you the best he could, but he’d been getting slower and slower every day. His face was getting sunken in, and he looked ill. His leg was surely killing him at this point. You noticed him and supported his weight as much as possible as the woman, who was driving the speed boat, could finally see your faces clearly.

————————

The medics on the crew ship took care of you, transferring the two of you to a hospital at the next port stop, but you hadn’t seen Jungkook basically since you two were on the island. You’d found out that the hospital was not equipped to handle his situation, so he was sent back to Korea. They’d give you a plane ticket to get back home to your family as well.

Apparently, the plane crash had been all over the news and everyone thought that you were dead. Meeting your parents again was emotional to say the least.

However, you couldn’t get Jungkook out of your mind. He was the only one that knew what you went through, that knew what it was like to be on that island, that knew the horrors of thinking that it might be the last day you were alive. You’d seen dead body upon dead body, and it just wasn’t a sight that left one’s mind easily.

You’d wake up in the middle of the night, screaming and asking for Jungkook. Occasionally, you’d yell things, but nobody knew what you were saying.

One night, your brother came into your room after your screaming woke her up, and he tried to comfort you. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Tears falling down your cheeks, you replied, “I don’t even know if he made it.” You hadn’t been able to say it out loud until that moment because the thought of Jungkook passing was enough to make you cry all over again, harder this time.

“The boy that was with you?” He asked, running his fingers through your hair because he knew that it helped to calm you down.

“I need him. I need Jungkook.” The statement took your brother off guard. Probably because you hadn’t told him that Jungkook was the name of the boy, nor that you became dependent on him within the time on the island. “H-he is the only one that can make my nightmares more bearable, and…and…”

“It’s normal to want to see him. You went through it together,” he whispered, taking you in his arms for a hug.

“But that’s not it,” you continued, knowing that he wasn’t understanding the depth of your feelings for Jungkook, “in the time we were there, I fell in love with him. I need to find him.”

You brother was silent. You’d admitted to him that you’d never really been in love, although you had been in multiple relationships over the years. Hearing you say that was probably surprising for him.

“Well then,” he finally said, taking a deep breath, “we better find the man.”

————————

Finding a man, who was essentially without a last name (to you at least) and that was from a different country, was a feat. Really, there was nothing to go off of.

You eventually found out by getting the records of the passengers on the plane. Word had gotten out that you were trying to find the person that you were with, and the people were actually willing to give you his name, although the rest of his information was confidential.

Jeon Jungkook.

A Google search didn’t pop up much about him. The only thing this guy ever posted on the internet were covers of songs on YouTube and a instagram account. You were certain it was him because when you watched the videos it was the face you had stared at every night for a long time. His instagram was all photography, and there were no pictures of him, but the link in the Youtube video said it was his, so you were going to take your chances.

“That’s him?” Your brother asked from his seat beside you at the kitchen table. You wanted to look him up right after finding out his name, but you had to go to your bi-weekly psychology appointment.

You nodded, opening up his instagram to message him. When your fingers paused on the keyboard, your brother continued, “What’s the hold up?”

“He only speaks Korean,” you admitted, blushing because you knew you were crazy to fall in love with him when you couldn’t even speak to each other.

With a small laugh, your brother replied, “He can translate it on the internet. Just tell him your name and whatever else.”

He was right. It was the 21st century after all. There was such thing as translating sentences.

You simply wrote your name and asked how his leg was doing, praying that he would answer. To show him that it was you, you also sent him a picture of you from on your profile.

Anyone would have thought that you were a stalker, but they hadn’t been in your position. tHey didn’t understand anything that you and Jungkook were going through.

You waited and waited for a reply. It took 47 minutes to finally get the little bubbles at the bottom of the chat. All he sent in reply was a phone number and the word facetime.

“How? You can’t talk to each other…” You brother stupidly said from beside you, but you were already plugging in Jungkook’s number and calling him. Really, you just needed to see that he was all right and healthy again.

The call picked up and the first thing you were greeted with was his smiling face. Not once in the time you’d known him he’d looked that happy. He looked like he wasn’t in pain. A smile formed on your face as you stared at him, only really needing to see him.

Your brother poked his head into the side of the video, and you saw Jungkook’s smile lessen. You tried to tell him that he was your brother, but it was no use, so you translated it and flashed the screen to your computer to show him.

He immediately nodded his head and smiled at you once again. He flipped the camera to his leg and you noticed that he was in a cast and still laying in a hospital bed, but he looked a thousand times better than he had. At least he hadn’t died from infection or lost his leg.

It was getting late, so with Jungkook still on Facetime, you said goodnight to your brother ad retired to your room. You were still looking at each other when you laid down on your bed, ready to sleep. It wasn’t nighttime where he was, so he looked refreshed, but he seemed to be okay with your going to sleep.

You stared at him with hooded eyes and admitted, “I need you.” You didn’t know if he would understand, so you closed your eyes and let a tear slip from your eye. This kind of communication was so hard.

He nodded his head. “Practice,” was the only word he said, but it made your heart swell. What else was a guy to do in the hospital all day.

“We meet soon?” He asked after a few moments of silence.

You wanted nothing more than to meet him and to tell him you loved him, but after that experience, you didn’t want to travel. Planes were going to be a terrifying experience.

But if the two wanted to be together, who was going to make the leap to travel to the other?

“I love you,” you whispered, heart breaking.

MASTERLIST

#bts jungkook #bts kookie #jungkook #kookie #bts imagine #bts one shot #bts request #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook request #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic

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autumnslance · 6 years

Text

Prompt #2: Silenced

As an infant, Aeryn was told, she never stopped babbling and making noise almost from the moment she left the womb. “The only time you were quiet,” Mother said, “was when you were fast asleep--and that never lasted long enough.”

She laughed about it, years later, but Aeryn knew it had been trying on her, and that Mother had done what she could to hush her child.

As a tot, teetering after her older brother, she had explored the words she could now say, quickly and often, repeating new words she heard, enjoying how they felt in her mouth, on her tongue, the way new sounds changed the shape of everything, how volume could force constriction or expansion of her throat.

“I used to wish you’d just shut up and give me a tick to think,” her brother said.

Aeryn remembered his childhood annoyance; that was easier to forgive.

As she grew into young childhood, silence was a punishment, a deterrent. Stand in that corner and say nothing for a quarter of a bell. If you’re quiet for a few minutes, you can have your dessert. Please stop talking, you’re giving me a headache. Good little girls should be quiet. If you don’t stop talking right now, by the Fury I’ll make you stop!

But she had so much to say, so many words to learn and try and form into...something. She wasn’t sure what, but perhaps if she found the correct combination of words, that feeling bubbling inside her would finally burst into what she was supposed to be.

Then the dragons came. There was no time to speak as they raced back home, as fast as the chocobos could go. No words she knew could describe the sight of their burnt home, the ruins of their village, the inability to find Father. No sound came when the Azure Dragoon himself stopped to speak to Mother, his shining black helm turning toward Aeryn, hiding behind Mother’s skirt and shying away when he offered the child a tight, tired smile.

It did not hide the rage radiating off him in waves. Aeryn felt only relief when he leapt away.

Mother found passage to the land of her birth. She told them, over and over, that she refused to allow Ishgard’s endless war to take anymore from her, to touch more of her family, and so they sailed away. She kept saying this would be a good change, and retold them all of the stories of her homeland and people, again and again.

Aeryn was a ghost, silently trailing after her mother or brother. Her mind kept replaying the ride home, clinging to her brother as their chocobo careened after Mother’s, the wind whipping past so fast it was hard to breathe.

It was as if that wind had stolen away her voice, when she could finally look up and see what remained.

“Such a good, quiet little girl,” an old woman said at the campfire. It was the first night they rejoined her Mother’s people, and the wandering caravan they were part of, traveling the length and breadth of the land for half of the year.

Mother shook her head, brushing Aeryn’s fine black hair with her fingers. “She used to talk ceaselessly. She’s barely made a sound since...it happened.”

Aeryn knew she was worrying Mother, but how could she explain? How could she fix it, make Mother not worry anymore?

The conversation continued around her, dull and distantly buzzing in her ears, their words nothing more than formless sound. She stared at the fire, liking the way it danced, and became aware she was being watched.

Another old woman held her in a steady gaze, kind and gentle. Aeryn tilted her head, and the elder tilted her head in response. Aeryn squinted, and the woman squinted back. Aeryn made a face, and when that too was mirrored, she couldn’t help but giggle, making the old woman smile, and startling Mother.

Shovanna was an old teacher; her son handled most of the children by then, but she took Aeryn’s hand and led her away from those classes, to have their own among the wildflowers and trees, by brooks and ponds, in near silence.

Shovanna said little, and Aeryn felt no pressure to say anything when with her; not like with Mother, or her brother, or grandparents and uncles and cousins. She could simply walk along, pointing out things she liked or found interesting, tugging Shovanna’s shawl when she needed her attention. She could help the old woman with her gathering and other chores, with her crafts and creative projects, and felt understood despite the lack of words.

Aeryn could almost breathe.

As they reached the winter camp and settled into the routine of something like their old village life, Aeryn had dreams of whipping winds and fiery wings and charred buildings. The sounds she made were screams and sobbing, Mother kept awake as if tending an infant again.

Shovanna began a new game with Aeryn; designs on paper, in the dirt, as they sewed. String the designs together, however...Aeryn gasped the first time she realized that was a word, and what it meant. Shovanna smiled, patted her back, and wrote a new one.

Making letters herself was difficult at first, but Aeryn learned quickly, driven to unlock this new way to use words. To describe what she saw, what she wanted, what she thought. Mother had to shake her awake at the table to put her to bed, taking away the pens, ink, and paper so Aeryn couldn’t try to keep going.

The nightmares lessened.

Just as Spring was coming and preparations were being made to return to their winding route along the countryside’s trade roads, Shovanna placed a piece of paper in front of Aeryn. She recognized the old woman’s tidy handwriting.

Why did you stop talking?

Aeryn figured out the words, and frowned. After several long minutes, she took the pen Shovanna offered, and carefully wrote a reply, trying to keep it neat.

The wind stole my voice.

“Hrm,” Shovanna hummed. She took back the paper and pen, and wrote a little more. Then she passed it back to Aeryn.

Tell me?

She held the pen out to the little girl.

Aeryn hesitated, then took it. She wasted some ink, blotching the paper as she thought. It came slowly at first, then faster, her handwriting getting larger and messier as the words came tumbling out, too fast for her hand to keep up and it was getting so hard to see the paper and her writing because her eyes were stinging so badly and...and...and...and….

An angry, shapeless sound tore out of her throat, like a dam breaking in a flood, as the words raced up her fingers--arms--shoulders--to her unblocked throat--out of her mouth.

Shovanna held her and stroked her hair until the torrent abated, leaving Aeryn shaking and hiccuping.

Her voice came in fits and starts, some days easier than others, but she was speaking again, and her family was relieved. The nightmares faded as she wrote about them, taking that fear and energy, channeling it into stories, songs, and poems. She wrote notes to her brother and mother, and letters to friends made along their travels.

She was still praised for being a good, quiet girl, but she was no longer entirely silent.

When she returned to the land of her birth, the praise became “stoic” as she became an adventurer, then a Scion, and then the Warrior of Light.

Yet she spoke, and sang, and wrote poems and letters. She met an elderly elezen with legendary bow skills but more interest in the power of songs, and a dashing miqo’te in red who wove spells and swordwork. She again met the man who used to be the Azure Dragoon, whose lance was as steeped in history as in combat.

Aeryn had spent so much time, in her incessant chatter as a child, in her ceaseless writing as a youth, trying to figure out that something she had once felt bursting inside her, that she had feared the wind had stolen away.

She prayed to the saints gone before to guide her hands, sang to encourage her allies, and called fire and stone down upon the realm’s foes.

Aeryn would not be silenced again.

((I feel like I ought to take this one and expand/rework it, it feels like the frame of something more. Later, though!))

#FFxivWrite2018 #Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #backstory #Aeryn Striker #trauma #childhood

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akaluan · 6 years

Text

WIPs And Me

Hahahahahaha... ... hah... ha...

Okay so. I’m basically sitting down and taking an accounting of what I have in progress RIGHT NOW (as in have words written for) and then I’m going to try to prioritize things so that I actually get things done.

(Y’all can weigh in a bit on priority, but keep in mind that I’m probably going to be pretty firm about the rankings I initially pick.)

(Doing a cut cause this is huge)

(Also, permanent link to this list HERE. since I decided to turn it into an actual page that I can more easily update and not lose.)

Dragon Eclipse Verse WIPS

Dragon Eclipse itself. 100% S Ranked priority, top of my list, I’m working on this every weekend at the very least.

A Dragon Flaps Its Wings. Probably B-Ranked priority? I really do want DE main story done first.

Shattered Eclipse. E-Rank. I’m not thrilled about this verse, it’s hard to write, it hurts a lot, it deals with themes I’m not always capable of facing. Just... definitely not a priority to me. I’ll get it done eventually, because I’ve got nearly 10k words written for it, but... eck.

Dragon Eclipse Side-Stories: lots of these, lesgo:

Karakura Crew Viewpoint: S-Ranked, second only to DE itself. I’d like to get it caught up to current DE chapters soonish. I need to finish Uryuu’s viewpoint during the training, then a scene during dinner, the early morning discovery of jinzen, and the moment Kaito separates and what the others do after that point

Learning Shinigami Sealing: B-Ranked, I need to consider if this actually needs another part or not. It feels pretty good where it ended, but there’s other things I could add

Shiro + Sewing: B-Ranked, cute little scene, not very long, needs finishing. This one actually shouldn’t be too bad to finish off

Tatsuki Requests Training: A-Ranked, I really want to get this done and out. It’s already like 3500 words, but there’s a whole lot of stuff I’d like to cover in this side story, including the friendship that grows between Tatsuki and Kaito that eventually results in her calling him “Kai” during the xmas scene

Kaito Napping Around the Teens: D-Ranked, just a cute little scene that shows Kaito trusting the crew enough to fall asleep in their presence, and the things some of them notice. Not really a big deal, just something cute

Relaxing Together: A-Ranked, I want this scene done, it’s already basically done, I just need to find a good end point

Meeting Ryuuken: B-Ranked, not quite as high priority as the rest cause I haven’t posted any of this, but... this is Kaito meeting Ryuuken for the “first” time. It’s... not a particularly happy moment. I feel it’s important tho.

Kisuke Confronts Ryuuken: B-Ranked, follows from Meeting Ryuuken scene. It’s uh... Angry!father confronts Annoyed!Ryuuken, basically. Look Things Happen in the previous scene and Kisuke is Not Happy.

Kaito Discovers Kurotsuchi’s Death: C-Ranked, follows from Tiger Protects. I like this one, but as I haven’t posted any bit of it, not quite so high on my priority list.

Christmas Fluff: A-Ranked, I’d like this DONE. WHOOPS.

The Zanpakutou Rebellion: D-Ranked, there’s some important stuff going on in this one, but I need to know a bit more about how Kaito interacts with a few Shinigami before I can really focus on this, also it’s probably going to turn into a proper full story arc instead of just the “reveal who I was” oneshot that I posted

Dragon Wings/Dragon Eclipse AU Crossover: C-Ranked, super awesome, I love this so much, but it’s literally an AU that’s not canon at any point? It’s purely self-indulgent hilarity that’s turning into Deep And Meaningful Content and WHY IS THIS MY LIFE.

Shattered Eclipse Side-story, Outside Looking in: E-ranked, I need to be working on SE before I want to work on this one at all, since it’s Ryuuken and Isshin’s POV (currently, more chars might be added as I write) that follows SE.

Things Unrelated To The DEVerse

Unnamed Werewolf AU: A-Ranked, honestly. I’m really getting interested in writing this via all the reading I’ve been doing. Unfortunately this means I need to find a title, whoops

Our Attain[AB]le Dreams: B-Ranked, I love it to pieces, but I need to sit down and do it right if I’m going to continue this

Drunken Uryuu: A-Ranked, basically done, needs tidying up. Takes place before the crew gets teleported into the Nier: Automata world.

We’re Listening This Time: B-Ranked, I feel like this is going to end up being a long one, but I’d like to end NOEL on a happy note finally, for those who want a bit of optimism in their lives after me ripping their heart out in NOEL.

Soul Gifts AU: B-Ranked, I’m actually really interested in this too, especially since Tatsuki gets a major role in kicking ass and taking names.

It’s Only A Small Dragon: D-Ranked, I know this was a drunken oneshot I wrote, but the idea’s been festering a bit in the back of my head and I’ve been making a couple random notes here and there about it. It could be pretty fun.

Unnamed Epilogue Fix: D-Ranked, Uryuu goes mad-scientist and goes back in time because seriously screw the epilogue. Potentially very fun, but not a big deal to me at the moment since I have all of about 300 words written for it

Unnamed Kid!Fic: E-Ranked, Ichigo awakens as a Quincy at his mother’s death, Uryuu finds him, cue childhood friends who no one else realizes are friends.

Unnamed Theater Kid!Fic: E-Ranked, making an assumption on early schooling and putting Ichigo and Uryuu into the same theater club together. This becomes theater-trained-from-young-age teenagers coming face to face with Shinigami shenanigans and basically being little shits about everything because why not.

Things Unrelated to Bleach Fic

Oh look, I’ve branched into the MCU too, whoops.

Clouded Silver Wings: A-Ranked, it’s fun and a different style of writing than my Bleach stuff, so it’s basically a good gear-switch. Also it’s sitting on AO3 unfinished right now so I should probably stop being a dork about it and write more.

Unnamed Fireborn/MCU crossover: C-Ranked, BUT DRAGONS! But basically I haven’t written much to this, so it’s not really a high priority on things to get off my plate, also it’s gunna be long because it’s starting before Iron Man 1 so yeah.

Unnamed Breath of Fire/MCU Crossover: E-Ranked, what even is my brain, why do I keep doing weird crossovers, I’m so exasperated at myself. Is there a switch I can turn off to stop this from happening? And why am I only doing crossovers in MCU, wtf brain.

And then my poor, lonely HP/Loz fic.

Scholarly Savior: E-Rank, probably pretty fun, but I’m not quite on the same HP kick as I was when I started this, so it’ll be a while I think.

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velvetchen · 7 years

Text

Dynamic | pt. ii

[ back to masterlist ]

Scenario: Superhero AU Pairing: Chen/Reader Word Count: 3009 Rating: T (warning for language)

Summary: You’re the leading superhero of the city, and you’ve fought Dynamo for years. It’s the way it should be - good vs. evil, hero vs. villain. But what happens when a bigger evil threatens everything?

<< previous part x next part >>

The alarm blares, startling you out of your sleep. Then your phone alarm rings, too, and it’s halfway across the room, so you have to get out of bed and turn it off. You’re completely groggy, your eyelids sticking together like paper. You’re about to lie down for five more minutes – it was a Saturday, wasn’t it - when you remember what it is and groan.

Orientation.

Not yours, of course. Your classes already started two weeks ago. No, this was for the elementary school you volunteered at. You’d be meeting all the parents today, so you had to be dressed professionally. Groaning again, you stumble towards the bathroom. It’s six-thirty. In the mirror, you see your droopy eyes and drool crusting over your chin. You brush and then step into the shower, turning the water as cold as it goes, hoping it’ll shock you awake.

Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed up past midnight sewing your cape. But you were invited to an inauguration in a few days, and it had to be ready by then. Kyungsoo was even helping you with some programmed LED lighting that would look really cool – lighting up the cape in flashy patterns. It was only for public appearances, of course. You’d be damned if you actually fought with a cape. You’d probably cut it up with your blade on accident.

Sighing, you finish up your shower and dry off, stepping out wrapped in only a towel. Kyungsoo isn’t home, and Jennie hadn’t come back last night, so you were alone. You hum as you get dressed – a tune that turns into a song as you pull on your formal pants and button up your shirt. Then you do your makeup nice and simple and finish off with some perfume. It's seven-thirty when you put on your blazer and stand at the front door.

You don’t have a car, of course. Who needs a car when you can teleport? After making sure you have everything ready and shoving some toast in your mouth you close your eyes, think of the shed, and blink yourself there. It's close enough to the school to walk, but far enough away that nobody sees you. You step out and make your way down the street for the second time in two days.

When you reach the school, you're relieved to see that you're early. Miss Park is there already, making sure the classroom looks good. The handprint art the kids did a few days ago is pinned up on a clothesline across the room, and the bulletin boards are covered in older work.

“Hi, Y/N! Sorry, I didn't notice you come in,” Miss Park says. “You're early, that's good. Can you do me a favor and just tidy up that paperwork on the desk, thanks!” She flashes you a smile and hurries out the door. You're alone in the room, so you blink yourself around the room, putting away papers there, cleaning up here. You're done by the time she gets back.

“Oh, done? Good,” she smiles. “The first parents are arriving.” You follow her outside to greet them.

Miss Park isn't that much older than you - still in university, maybe twenty-four or something. Still, she looks younger, childish even. She's so fun with the children, and you love chatting with her during breaks.

“There,” she gestures down the hallway. “Hello, I'm Miss Park…” The introductions trail off as they go on, and finally you've been introduced to all the parents.

Everyone's seated inside the classroom, the kids all quiet, Miss Park ready to start talking. There's a knock at the door. She gestures for you to open it.

Staring at you is the guy from yesterday, and next to him is tiny Minah, cheeks red and puffy from crying. He doesn't seem to recognize you in your fancier clothes, his gaze instead passing over to Miss Park, apologetic and with the same pout he had yesterday. “Sorry I’m late,” he says, wincing. “We had a bad morning and Minah wouldn't stop crying-”

“No problem,” says Miss Park, gesturing for them to join the rest of the group. She starts off with the orientation, but you're staring at him - Jongdae. His black hair is combed but messed up and his dress shirt is a little disheveled, but he's listening intently and his hands rest protectively on Minah’s shoulders, calming her down.

Your guess yesterday was that he couldn't be much older than you. But he was a father already? He must be much older than you first thought.

He catches your eyes on him and meets your gaze, and you watch him take in your face and realize who you are. The corners of his mouth lift before he turns his attention back to the orientation.

You catch him in the hallway afterward - or rather, you bump into each other again.

“Oh, hey,” he says, nonchalant. “Y/N, right?”

“Yes, that's me,” you say, fixing the shoulder strap on your bag. “Small world, right?” His smile relaxes and you continue. “I mean, I had no idea you were a parent here.”

“I - uh, Minah’s my niece,” he says, scratching at the back of his head. “My brother couldn't make it today, he’s busy. So I brought her.”

“Ah, of course” you reply awkwardly. “I thought you were a little young to have a daughter in first grade.”

“Right, I’m still in uni,” he laughs again. “You?”

“Oh, I just volunteer here,” you say. “I’m also a student.”

The conversation surprisingly goes smoothly, and by the end of the orientation you've exchanged numbers. He promises to text you, and you - as subtly as you can - bring up the idea of going to lunch.

“I can't today,” he frowns and checks his watch. “I have to drop off Minah, then I have...plans.”

“That’s all right,” you say as casually as possible. Stupid. He probably doesn't want to. “See you around then.”

You get the ping a little while later, just as you're finishing up lunch, on the National Superhero Network radar. Chaos downtown, a jewelry store hijacked and the owner held at ransom. The attacker disabled all the surveillance without any hassle and made away with some of the most expensive antique jewels.

It reeks of one thing - Dynamo.

You quickly pay for lunch and hurry to the bathroom, which is thankfully empty, before you blink yourself into the shed. There you step into your supersuit, paste the mask over your face, and tie up your hair. Purple contacts replace your glasses. Your Blades strap to your back, your extra gun at your hip. With so many years of practice, you’ve learnt to do this in under three minutes.

Then you blink yourself to the scene. It doesn't matter who sees, because you're Rush now. The unstoppable superhero. Dynamo’s arch nemesis. You grin and blink forward, appearing and disappearing over short distances until you reach the scene to conserve your energy.

You were right - it is Dynamo. There's a crackling fence of electricity surrounding everything. When you blink past it and into the jewelry shop, there's the familiar black-clad figure, the telltale scorpion embossed on the suit.

“Couldn't even wait a day to see me? Talk about desperate,” you call out. He turns to face you, and you feel him grin again. It's like a charge in the air.

“Ah, my lady has arrived at last,” he says and then your wrists are suddenly bound together by a thick rope of lightning. Your ankles, too.

“A jewelry heist,” you jab, trying not to look like you're bothered by this development. “So original. You really can't come up with anything else?”

He tightens the lightning-ropes and you wince, remembering the shock from yesterday. “I mean, last time was a bank robbery. Before that, another fucking bank robbery. Don't you get tired? I know I do.” You fake an exaggerated yawn as you try pulling your wrists apart.

Zzzzzzzp. You hiss. You're really trapped.

“What can I say?” Dynamo says, stepping closer. “The mafia’s been avoiding me recently, and I ran out of businesses to embezzle weeks ago. Besides,” He leans in, and you can actually hear his breathing inside his helmet. “There's just something romantic about meeting you in a jewelry store, isn’t there?” Fingers go down your spine. A burst of electricity follows, and you bite your tongue to keep from crying out in pain.

Now that was low. Maybe it was revenge for yesterday.

He walks away, over to where the jewelry store employees and bystanders are incapacitated in the same way as you, except they all have gags, too. You eye Dynamo. If you could distract him...it must be taking a lot of his concentration to maintain so many binds.

Think fast!

“Well?” you taunt. “Aren't you going to fight me? Or are you just scared I’ll beat you in front of the whole city...again?” The shock was making your nerves buzz, there was no way you’d be focused long enough to blink out of them.

“You're just going to tie me up and say it's a victory? That's a cheap victory and you know it,” you say, and he turns around to face you once more, hands crackling with lightning.

“Okay, you want a fight?”

“Damn right I want a fight.”

He doesn't wait another second, just flings a ball of lightning at your chest. This time you don't see it coming and blink away a second too late, reappearing sprawled on the floor and groaning in pain as residual sparks light up your body. “Fucking hell,” you groan. “Ass. You do that every time.”

“And you get hit every time. Sucks for you.”

Ignoring the aftershocks, you blink behind him immediately, arm wrapping around his neck in a chokehold. Electricity courses down your body again, a strong current that makes your muscles twitch, but you hold tighter. You can hear him gasping for air. The current gets stronger and you push the both of you forward until you hit the ground with an oof. Dynamo groans.

“There,” you pant, still wincing from the shocks. “Fucking finally.”

“If you wanted me under you so bad, you could have just asked.” His laugh is mixed with a cough as he rolls over and you stand up, putting your wedge-heeled boot on his chest.

“I could have, but where’s the fun in that?” You bat your eyelashes at him, then step off. “Come on, time to get out of here.”

He stands up watching you for a second. Then he shrugs, grabs the bag of jewels, and flies off.

“Hey, I meant without the jewels, you son of a -” Muttering under your breath, you sprint forward, drawing your Blades as you follow him. Damn Hoverboots! You really should have got some.

Blinking higher through the air, you follow after him as fast as you can, leaping from roof to roof, blinking onto windowsills and light poles as you go higher up. Soon you’re leaping from the top of the skyscrapers, a good fifty feet above him. Your blades are in your hands - two long katana-like swords, lined with glowing lasers to cut through anything. The third one, a ring shaped Blade that you wielded like a really sharp Frisbee, is still strapped to your back.

Hmm, maybe you’d try that one. Switching weapons quickly, you blink up to a good vantage point and fling it towards him. Dynamo spins around as it reaches him, catching it in a web of electricity and flinging it back at you. It slows down enough for you to catch it as it recognizes the sensors in your suit. Scowling, you throw it again, this time tumbling through the air and blinking forward so when he dodges it - just barely, you note smugly - and rebounds off the asphalt below, you blink into just the right position for you to catch it and throw it again.

You vault forward to match its speed, ricocheting off the nearest building and blinking into existence right behind Dynamo, just as the Blade thunks into his armored shoulder. You wrap your arm around his neck again, and you plummet to the ground together.

Dynamo’s Hoverboots kick in at the last second and you come to rest gently on solid ground again.

“I’ll take that,” you say, retrieving the bag of jewels. “And that.” You pull your Blade out of his shoulderplate and strap it back on.

“Ow,” he rolls his shoulder. “That's going to leave a bruise.”

You grin. “Something to remember me by, so you don't call me back for a toy store robbery just so you can see me again.”

He’s sulking, you can tell.

You wink at him and blink off, speeding back along the ground towards the store. Along the way you can hear cheers, shouts of your name, and you slow down in places to wave or sign autographs.

“Mom, look, it's Rush,” says a little girl wearing a shirt with a cartoon of you on it. When the merchandise started rolling out, you were more than a little overwhelmed. Only the big leagues got that kind of hype - Archangel, Glamour Girl, Whirlwind - you’d grown up with their action figurines, their faces advertising things and plastered on the covers of magazines. When you joined them, it felt ethereal.

“Hey, little superhero,” you say, going up to the girl and taking the pen and paper she gives you. “How are you today?” You sign the paper and step back, blowing her a kiss. Then you blink and are on your way.

It wasn’t just Dynamo and the other villains you had to fight. With them, your life - and their lives - were never really in danger. It was just a show of good trumps bad, light beats dark. It was a show of hope for the people. That's why you’d never kill Dynamo, or he’d never kill you.

It was the smaller things, like saving people from fires, helping people in disasters, stopping the back alley muggings and murders. That was the stuff that threatened you. That was the stuff they never telecast on the media unless you were successful, and if you weren't - if you were injured or killed, they covered it up.

Heroes were hope. They couldn't lose that, and it made the pressure huge sometimes. You wished it was all just fun and games.

You stop by a few more people, shaking hands and smiling. A small crowd by a supermarket calls out to you, and you blink over, smiling.

A teenage girl gets a kiss on the cheek. An old man gets an autograph. The next person, though, surprises you.

You almost say his name, but catch yourself at the last second. Instead you bite your tongue and smile again. “Autograph?”

“I, yeah. I’m a big fan.” Jongdae smiles shyly and holds out a tablet. Oh god, you’re blushing. Thank god for the mask.

You sign it and hand it over. When your fingers brush, it sends familiar tingles up your arm. Pulling away as quickly as you can, you hurry and blink back to the jewelry shop.

After returning everything and making sure everyone was okay, you reappear in the shed and slump down on the floor, not bothering to take off your suit yet. Using your powers drained you and made you drowsy, but a quick nap and some sugar usually fixed it.

Here isn't the place for a nap, though, you tell yourself, and pull yourself to your feet. Peeling your suit off limb by limb, then your mask, then your contacts. You dress in your regular clothes and step out again, walking as casually as you can down the street and to the main road, where you can catch a bus to your apartment. Thankfully, you don’t encounter anyone on the way, and soon enough you’re at your door, fumbling with your keys.

You can’t wait to go take a nap, but you have to eat something first, so you grab some ice cream out of the freezer. Not the healthiest option, but hey, you just saved the day, right?

“Hey, Y/N, when did you get back?” your roommate Jennie asks, walking into the kitchen. She looks like an absolute mess, her hair plastered to her head and makeup streaking down her face. She’s still in party clothes from the night before, a bright red bandage dress that’s half-unzipped.

“Just now,” you reply through a mouthful of mint chocolate chip. “You look like death. How was last night?”

“Insane,” she says, but with a groan. “I was dead drunk, couldn’t even walk. Someone took me home and I woke up in bed with another couple.” She shakes her head. “I have, like, the worst hangover of all time.”

You hold out your ice cream and an extra spoon, and she takes it. “Thanks. Ugh. How was your day?”

“Usual. Wait, I met this guy. He’s nice as hell and he gave me his number.” Your phone buzzes. “Shit, I think that might be him.” Jennie leans over to look at your screen as you open up the message.

[unknown]: Hey Y/N it’s Jongdae! ^-^ [unknown]: Sorry I turned you down today, do you want to get brunch tomorrow?

“Wow, that was fast,” Jennie says, raising her eyebrows. “Say yes, what are you waiting for?”

You: No problem, I’d love to! What time?

Jongdae is typing . . .

You bite your lip.

Jongdae: Does 9 30 work for you? You: 9 30 is perfect, I’ll see you then :)

The phone screen fades to black. For the first time, you actually have a date. You’ve been asked several times, sure, but you always turned them down – what if you had to leave halfway? What if you keep having to leave halfway? You blow the hair out of your face, thinking. This was just brunch, right? What was the worst that could happen?

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