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forlix · 1 month

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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years

Text

The Suitor to Suit Her

We didn’t get to see all of the boys attempt a proposal 😂 so here’s some quick dialogues I came up with, written in the style of a play script for the sake of simplicity; it’s sort of a “what if” each of the remaining guys, including the four in the final rescue squad, had a chance to woo the Ghost Bride.

I was able to make each proposal a little longer than the proposals shown to us in-game! It was really fun to write these, especially the side banter.

Please note: I do include Ortho in this, but he is NOT proposing. In Ortho’s scenario, he is volunteering to be the ring bearer or a flower boy so he can at sneak over and inform Idia of the plan and/or so Ortho can swap the ring out for the magical one to banish ghosts.

Another exception to the proposal prompt is Malleus. Since he can’t propose to some random ghost due to his own status as crown prince, his scenario is framed as something different.

Operation Propose, START!

Riddle: HOLD IT!!

Eliza, the Ghosts, and the “guests”: !!

Eliza: What’s this?! A fresh new squadron of suitors?

Ace: You’ve got that right!! If you think you’re gettin’ hitched, you’ve got another thing coming!

Ortho: That’s right! Hands off of Nii-san!

Idia: O-Ortho! You brought all the other normies...!

Eliza: Oh, there seems to be no end to you!

Ghost: Of course! You’re the most desirable bachelorette there is, princess!!

Eliza: Tee hee! Oh, you’re flattering me!

Eliza, to the group: Very well. Let’s start with you, the one in the smart crimson suit that matches your hair.

Riddle, with a polite smile: Ah-HEM! Good evening, princess. I do hope I’m not intruding on your time. I’m thankful that I’ve been granted this audience with you.

(Cater: Look, there it is! Riddle-kun’s surprisingly suave side!

Leona: Well, what do you know? It looks like the red young master’s able to hold his own.

Deuce: E-Eh, Rosehearts-senpai is doing so much better than I did… How cool!

Ace: HAH? Who’s a ‘refined gentleman’, ‘surprisingly suave’, and ‘cool’?! I don’t remember Riddle-ryocho ever being this nice to us! Definitely not to me!

Trey: Ahahahah… Well, Riddle did have manners drilled into him from a young age. It’s not surprising that he’s caught the ghost’s attention.

Ace: You have GOT to be kidding me!)

Riddle, bowing to the Ghost Bride: I am Riddle Rosehearts, dorm leader of Heartslabyul–and I would be honored if you would permit me to court you.

Eliza: Refined as you are, the prince that I seek is at least 180 cm tall! I’m afraid that you are a far cry from that.

Riddle, face tensing: Grrk…!

(Everyone: !!

Idia: Y-Yikes, Riddle-shi looks like he’s about to go berserk mode!!)

Riddle, sighing and relaxing: ………………

(Cater: Nice save! He came in clutch and managed to calm himself down!)

Riddle: I assure you that what I lack in height, I make up for with my talents and abilities. You may test me however you like. I am certain that I can provide the perfect response to any question.

(Ace: … Huh? Is it just me, or is he treating this like it’s a written exam with a short answer section?

Trey: Er, I think that’s exactly what he’s doing.)

Eliza: Very well, then tell me this: how do you plan to sweep me off my feet without that princely height I long for?

Riddle, smirking as he crosses his arms: Simple.

Riddle, a hand on his hip: We’ll have afternoon tea beginning at 3 o’clock on the dot and concluding at 4. No sooner and no later than that. After that light luncheon, we’ll take a 30 minute stroll in a rose garden to let the tea and finger foods digest.

Riddle, waving a hand: From 4:30 pm to 7 pm, we will exchange colloquial conversation so we are able to learn of one another. Dinner will be at 7, and I will return you safely to your place of residence at 9 pm.

Eliza: …………………….

Riddle: ... Well? Have you reached your decision? I’m in a hurry here. There is an important deadline that I must meet—

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Riddle: ?!

Eliza: You don’t have any sense for romance! Plans? Schedules? Routines? Love isn’t something so rigidly defined!!

Riddle: What?! Just how do you intend to get anything done if you don't...

Eliza: Surprise candlelit dinners! Spontaneous serenades by the moonlight! Getting so lost in my prince’s eyes that I lose track of time! These are the hallmarks of the ideal romance, and they’re all lost on you!!

Riddle, face turning red: YEEEARGH!!! You seriously expect to marry a man you’ve just met to go along with all of that nonsense?! Have you lost your mind?!

Eliza: I’ll not hear another word from you! Bring me the next suitor!

Eliza: Next up is you with the heart.

Ace: You called?

Ace, smiling: Heh, I see you looking at me from across the way. I know I’m hot stuff! You don’t need to be modest!

Eliza: Eh?!

Ace, winking: Hey. Don’t even bother looking at any other guys, cuz I’m your man—and that’s that!

(Jack, Floyd, Vil: …

Vil, offended: … And just who does Potato #1 think he is, waltzing in with such swagger?

Riddle: That overwhelming cocksureness of his is rubbing me the wrong way.

Cater: Eeeh, it seems to be working though, doesn’t it? Ghostie’s got her eyes glued on Ace-chan!

Deuce: This somehow feels… wrong to watch.

Trey: I don’t know whether that says more about the groom or more about the bride.

Idia: H-How can you people watch this without cringing so hard you reincarnate into another world?!)

Ace, smirking: How about it? Have I captured your heart with my wicked charm yet?

Eliza: You’re so bold! So forward! Tell me, how did you temper that confidence?

Ace: Oh, you know! I’ve got tricks up my sleeves.

Ace, looking smug: Unlike those guys, I’m not forever alone. This isn’t my first rodeo, either! I actually know how to talk to girls AND I’ve got mad game!

Ace: You’d be crazy NOT to choose me!

(Everyone: ………………..

Riddle, looking disappointed but not surprised: Fool.)

Ace: Huh? Why’s everyone glaring at me? Don’t get mad just cuz I’m spitting cold, hard facts!

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Ace: OW OW OW OW OWWWW!!

Ace: What was THAT for?!

Eliza: Shame on you! How dare you talk about other women in front of me!! The last I want to hear about is your EX!

Eliza: If you’re still lingering on her, then how can I expect you to be faithful to me?!

Ace: HAH?! I didn’t even SAY anything about my ex!!

Eliza: THERE! You just did!

Ace, wincing: Gack…!

(Deuce, sighing: … Should’ve known something like this would happen. When Ace runs his mouth for too long, trouble’s gonna brew.

Riddle, looking smug: Hmph. It serves him right!

Trey: Riddle, you’re looking a little too pleased there...)

Eliza: Next! You, with the big ears and the lopsided smile.

Ruggie, mumbling to himself, ears flattened: Sheesh, I can’t believe I got called away from making bacon to make goo-goo eyes at a ghost… Oh well, whatever’s gonna net me that bonus for saving Leona-san’s keister.

Ruggie: Hey, I’m Ruggie! Ruggie Bucchi.

Eliza: Hmm? Did you say something before that?

Ruggie, grinning with his hands behind his head: Nah, don’t sweat it! ‘S nothing.

Eliza: What a winsome smile you have! It’s a little rough around the edges, but it conveys a lot of heart.

Ruggie: Nishishishishi! Thanks. You’ve got a good smile on yourself too!

Eliza, blushing as she cradles her cheeks: Oh my! Such a flatterer!

Ruggie: And your voice makes me want to break out into laughter! It just puts me in the mood to sing, like the sun lighting up the whole savanna.

Eliza: Oh, you…!!

(Jack: Hoo, boy… Ruggie-senpai’s really laying it on thick.

Leona: Hmph. He’s just got a real knack for kissing up to people. Reminds me of a certain octopunk, actually.

Azul, with a passive-aggressive smile: Ah-hem, I can hear you loud and clear, Leona-san.

Leona, smirking: Oh, don’t worry. I know you can.

Idia: My life’s on the line here and you’re just going to sit around and make sarcastic quips?! This isn’t a high school anime romcom!!

Floyd and Jade: Hehehe/Fufufu…)

Eliza: Wait, what’s that sticking out of your pockets?

Ruggie: Huh? Oh, you mean these?

Ruggie, pulling out a bunch of dandelions: There’s tons of these things all over campus.

Eliza: To think that you’d go out of your way to prepare such a thoughtful gift for me… Yes, yes! I’ll happily accept this bouquet!

Ruggie, looking mildly annoyed: Huh? Bouquet?

(Leona: Argh, here we go again…

Jack: ?

Rook: Ah, could it be?!)

Ruggie, getting defensive: You’ve got it all wrong. This ain’t a bouquet, and this ain’t yours. This is MY dinner.

Eliza: It’s…your dinner?

Ruggie: Yeah. Dandelions are basically free food, so I pick’m and cook’m tons of different ways.

Ruggie: I was working my tail off all afternoon hunting these down. If you want your own, that’s on you. No way am I sharing MY food.

Ruggie: *MUNCHMUNCH*

(Jack: Ruggie-senpai just chowed down on all those dandelions!

Leona: *Sigh* His appetite knows no bounds.

Rook: Ahhh, Monsieur Dent-de-Lion consumes his meals with such fervor and gusto! Why, it looks as though he is savoring every last morsel of his supper!)

Ruggie, rubbing his belly: Phew! That sure hit the spo–

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Ruggie: BLEGH?!

Eliza: Unbelievable! I’ve never seen such selfishness!! What kind of prince not only denies his princess of a present, but then proceeds to take that present for himself!? Reflect on your overindulgence!

Ruggie: Aw, man… I was doing so well, too.

Ruggie: I should’ve stuck with ‘every hyena for himself’!

Eliza: Next—

Kalim, bursting into the venue on a massive elephant (plus all the bells and whistles, a la Prince Ali style): SORRY I’M LATE!!

(Everyone: ?!

Idia: Kalim-shi?!

Jamil, off to the side and looking disappointed but not surprised: ………………)

Kalim, descending on the magic carpet and hopping off: I didn’t miss anything important, did I?

Eliza: Who’s this sunny fellow in the gold earrings?

Kalim, smiling: I’m Kalim! Nice to meet’cha!

Eliza: YOU’RE LATE! It’s simply unacceptable to be running late for a meeting with your one true love! If you cannot be on time, how can I be certain that our love is true? Do you realize how many misunderstandings have occurred because of tardiness?!

Eliza: YOU’RE O–

Kalim: I’m sorry! You’re upset with me. It’s totally my bad.

(Everyone: !!)

Eliza: !!

Kalim, smiling: Meeting your special someone’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So I spent a long time getting ready… and I got so busy with that that I didn’t realize I was going to be late!!

Kalim: But I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you with all my heart, so I came as fast as I could!

Eliza: Oh my!

*Step, step*

Kalim, circling Eliza: I haven’t seen many ghosts before! It’s so cool that you can fly all on your own! I’m pretty much grounded without my magic carpet!

(Jade: Fufufu. Kalim-san’s sincerity shines through each and every one of his words.

Jamil: … We’re doomed. Absolutely, positively doomed.)

Eliza, following Kalim with her eyes as he circles her: …

Eliza, looking serious: *Spin, spin* Kalim, smiling: *Spin, spin* Eliza, starting to smile too: *Spin, spin*

(Jamil and Idia: ?!

Jamil: I don’t believe it, Kalim’s redeemed himself–and he’s…

Epel: … dancing with the ghost bride?!

Lilia: Kufufu, that’s Kalim for you: charming in the most unpredictable of ways.

Cater: Go, Kalim, go! Slay that dance floor!

Ruggie: He could’ve gotten her attention WAY after if he just showed off his fat wallet instead of his dance moves!!)

Kalim: You’re a great dancer! So light on your feet, it’s like we’re floating!

Kalim: We don’t have to worry about stepping on each other’s toes! Come to think of it, do ghosts even have feet to begin with?

Kalim, smiling: Gahahah! You could have two left feet and I’d never know!

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Kalim: EEEEEH?!

Eliza: How rude!! My prince would never make such inconsiderate comments! He should be always cordial and sensitive to his princess’s feelings!! You sit there and repent for your careless words!

Kalim, surprised: Huh, did I say something wrong just now?!

{Jamil: The fact that you have no clue you said something wrong says it all!)

Jamil, stepping up: Please excuse Kalim.

Jamil, under his breath: ... He’s an idiot.

(Kalim, eyes sparkling: Jamil!! You’re coming to save everyone?)

Eliza: And just who are you with the intricate hair?

Jamil, with a small smile: I believe you’re referring to me? Jamil Viper, your majesty. I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance.

Jamil: I do not claim to possess nearly the same level of charm and talent that my peers do–but if you will have me, I would be happy to call you my own.

Jamil: If it appeals to you, I am quite skilled in matters of domestic work. Cooking, cleaning, and any kind of housework.

Jamil: I’m also a professionally trained bodyguard and I have extensive knowledge of first aid. I will be able to look after you and protect you well into your… golden years.

(Azul: My, it’s rare to see Jamil-san ‘let his hair down’ and be himself, as it were.

Idia: I-Is that really a good thing, I wonder...

Leona, scoffing: Real humble servant you got there, Kalim.

Kalim: Gahahah! Jamil’s just a modest kind of guy!

Floyd: Eeeeh, Sea Lion-senpai was totally just being sarcastic there.)

Eliza: What will you do to prove your love for me?

Jamil: Pardon?

Eliza: I said, ‘What will you do to prove your love for me?’ Would you scale a tower? Slay a mighty dragon? How far does your drive go?

Jamil: I will do whatever is asked of me.

Jamil, to himself: ... even if I don’t particularly care to.

Jamil, crossing his arms: If you request for me to scale a tower, then I will. If you say to slay a dragon, then I have no choice but to do so. My drive only ends where yours does.

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Jamil, wide-eyed and annoyed-looking: What did I do wrong?! I was certain that I’d gain the ghost’s favor if I went along with everything she asked of me!!

Eliza: Your devotion is extremely shallow!! Where is the emotion in your voice?! The enthusiasm?! Your eyes are deader than a ghost’s!! If you’re going to profess your love, DO IT WITH MORE CONVICTION!!

Eliza: How can you expect to win a princess’s heart with a deadpan expression like that and little meaning behind your words?! I can see right through your deception!!

(Kalim: Aww, you were really close, Jamil! If it makes you feel any better, I thought you looked really cool saying all that stuff!

Azul, smirking: Indeed! I very much enjoyed your heartfelt performance, Jamil-san.)

Jamil: You’re the LAST people I want to hear from!!

Rook: Bonjour, des fantômes!

Eliza and Ghosts: ?!

Eliza: Dear me, the one in the bob cut speaks in a tongue I have never heard before. What language might that be?

Rook, smiling: But of course, it is the language of…

Rook: LOVE!

*insert explosion of sparkles here*

Rook: I, le Chasseur d’Amour, have been searching far and wide for the one to call my own, my beloved. I have chanced a perilous journey through blistering cold and scorching deserts, risking life and limb to find my other other half.

Rook: And now! Now, I have discovered you at long last! Oh, be still, my pounding heart!!

(Leona: Tch. You Pomefiore lot are all shine and no substance.

Vil: Ex-CUSE you? Take that back this instant, Leona. I won’t have you insulting me or my dorm when yours could use a good polish.

Leona: Fat chance.

Jack: … Is now really the time to be arguing about this?)

Rook, dropping to one knee and looking at Eliza tenderly: Mon amour, mon trésor. From the time I first laid my eyes on you… you’ve captured this huntsman’s heart!

Rook: Skin and lips the color of sapphire, supple lips pleading for a kiss, eyes that light up the night sky… You’re truly a vision in your white gown, a beauty to all that behold you!

Rook: For this life, and for every lifetime and every afterlifetime that comes, you shall always hold a ghostly grip over my heart! I will be eternally devoted to you, were you to embrace me as your groom.

Eliza: Ah…!! How romantic!

(Deuce: HUNT-SENPAI IS HAMMING IT UP!!?

Trey: Yup, I’m not surprised. That’s pretty much how he always is.

Deuce: H-Hunt-senpai’s power level is seriously amazing…

Idia: IT’S SERIOUSLY GONNA MAKE ME HURL FROM HOW AMAZINGLY CRINGE IT IS.)

Rook, to Deuce: Ohlala~ Monsieur Spade, your compliment has set my heart aflutter! Such surprise, delivered with such earnest… Oui, your naivete carries your unique brand of charm!

Rook, to Idia: Roi de Ta Chambre. Your intense emotion moves me! Quiet as you typically are, when you call out... oui, the mountains tremble! The world shifts in accordance with your cries. The fear that coats your melancholy voice... it is as though a God of Death has appeared before me, eager to stake a claim upon my soul.

(Deuce: Uh, thanks…? I think.

Idia: A-Are you NUTS?! You’ve seriously gotta be!!)

Eliza: ……………….

Rook: Mon amour, what is distressing you?

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Rook: !!

Eliza: How cruel can you be?! Letting your eyes wander, and when I’m RIGHT in front of you?! And even flirting with my own groom... I’ll bet that you spout those sweet words to everyone you meet!

Eliza: You’re not a prince! You’re nothing more than a cad, a conman, a playboy!! Get out of my sight! I won’t have you playing with my feelings!!

Rook: Fufu. It appears that I’ve been dealt a swift and harsh rejection!

(Vil, looking annoyed: And yet you’re still smiling without a care in the world...)

Eliza: You with the cute face and large doe eyes! You’re next.

Epel: … Nngh!

Epel, to himself: Calm, Epel. CALM. Don’t lose yer cool o’er the first thing! Ya gotta woo this chick and show Vil just how cool ‘n strong ya really are!!

Epel, smiling and with a hand to his mouth: Eheh. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Epel Felmier. I hope I can… have the chance to be your prince.

Eliza: Appled cheeks, with a blush like apple blossoms and a sweet complexion… You are befitting of your name!

Epel, looking disgusted: *Cringes*

(Deuce: Epel’s soul looks like its left his body…

Ruggie: Where’d he even learn this kinda stuff from?

Vil, glaring: …………………….

Rook, looking proud: Fufu. Monsieur Crab Apple has come a long way.)

Epel, forcing a smile: Thank you, princess. Your kind words humble me.

Epel, to himself: So far, so good…

Eliza: Winsome looks and a polite demeanor… I shall be gracious and overlook your petite stature.

Epel, awkwardly smiling but obviously mad deep down: …………………….

Eliza: But how would you protect me if some dastardly villain were to kidnap me? You appear to be smaller and more fragile than even I.

Epel: !!

Epel: HOLD UP, DID YA JUS’ CALL ME WEAK?!

(Idia, groaning: Aaaaaand there goes any shot at victory.)

Epel, angry: Heh. Ya’d all be eassy pickins!! Ah’ll beat the crap outta ya ‘n show ya what for!! Ain’t no way ya’d stand a chance against ME!!

Epel: I’ll take ya AND yer whole ghost army on!!

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Epel: CONSARN ITTTT!!

Eliza: A prince would never speak in such an unrefined tone!! Your words blend together, and I can’t understand a lick of what you’re saying!!

Eliza: My prince must be able to clearly communicate his undying love and passion to me!

Eliza: And not only that! No prince would lose his temper at his princess! A prince is cool and mild-mannered at all times!!

Epel: Yer off yee rocker if ya think fancy talk ‘n temper got anythin’ ta do with it!!!

Eliza: Silence! You are no more than a petulant child playing pretend.

Epel: NOT LIKE AH WANNA BE YER APPLE PICKIN’ PRINCE ANYWAYS!

(Vil: Goodness. I held my tongue knowing that chatter from the peanut gallery would throw Epel’s concentration off—but here you are, having lost your composure all on your own.

Vil, glaring: What were you thinking, challenging the bride and the entire army behind her?

Rook: Ohoh! It was an honest effort from Epel-kun! Beauté! 100 points!!)

Epel: DANGNABBIT!!! So close and yet so far…

Ortho: Excuse me, Ghost Bride-san!!

(Idia, shocked: ORTHO?!)

Eliza: What is it now? Haven’t I already seen enough fake princes for 5 lifetimes over?

Eliza: Hmm? Oh, you… You look like my dear Idia-sama!

Ortho: Hehe. It’s only natural, since I’m Nii-san’s little brother!

Eliza: Little brother?! Idia-sama mentioned nothing of the sort to me!

(Trey: Er, that would probably be because he was too busy cowering in fear to bring it up.

Idia: Bingo...)

Eliza: But… you share too many features with my prince for it to just be mere coincidence. The luminous skin, the lustrous hair, the charming smile. Yes, I suppose you must be Idia-sama’s relative after all!

Ortho: Affirmative.

Eliza: So? What is it that you need?

Ortho: Requesting to participate in the wedding festivities!

(Idia: HUUUUUUH?!

Idia: O-Ortho, what’s with this insubordination, going to aid the enemy?! Th-This moment would for sure make its way up into a top 10 anime betrayals list!!

Ace: Ah, shuddap! We’ll explain everything to you later!!)

Eliza, giggling: You wish to join in the ceremony? As Idia-sama’s bride-to-be, I will allow it. It wouldn’t do to leave my dearest bridegroom’s little brother out of our matrimonial celebration.

(Everyone: She accepted it so easily?!

Vil: I’m… feeling faint.

Sebek: IMPOSSIBLE! HOW COULD A CHILD SUCCEED WHERE LILIA-SAMA’S CUTENESS COULD NOT?! THIS IS A TRAVESTY! A TRAVESTY, I TELL YOU!!

Lilia: Kufufu. Perhaps we should have sent in young Ortho from the getgo.)

Eliza: I think you’ll make for a very cute flower boy.

Ortho: !!

Ortho, with a sly, smug expression: I’d actually like to be the ringbearer. That way, I can hand off a very important item to my big brother.

Eliza: You already know what you want to be when you grow up! You’re a proactive little one.

Ortho: All I want is for Nii-san to be safe and happy.

Eliza: Awww! I’ll see to it that you have a proper place in the wedding.

Ghost: Princess, it might be a tight squeeze to make a last minute alteration…

Ortho: I can immediately run the necessary calculations to determine the most efficient way to incorporate an unanticipated guest into the logistics of this event. All I need to do is scan the venue and account for the wedding elements in my algorithms.

Eliza: What? I don’t understand anything that you’re saying.

Ortho: Hehe. You don’t need to! Nii-san says it’s a kind of ‘magic’ only I’m capable of. He’s amazing, right? He built this cool body of mine all by himself!

(Idia: Ortho...)

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Ortho: Uwah!!

(Everyone: ?!

Cater: Bride-chan’s not holding back!?

Trey: Such a quick change of heart too?!

Jade, sighing: Oya, how terribly cruel.

Floyd: Ehhhhh, Ghostie herself’s recoiling from hitting metal.

Idia: Ortho!! A-Are you okay?!)

Ortho: !!

Ortho: My circuits are locking up!! My commands to execute movement aren’t going through!

(Epel: So robots are affected by her touch?

Idia: Why’s this ghost so OP?)

Eliza: After 500 years of waiting... Today is meant to be MY special day! Mine and Idia-sama’s…!!

Eliza: I don’t want to compete with a relative for the spotlight, nor for Idia-sama’s love and attention!

(Idia: YOU NEVER HAD IT TO BEGIN WITH.)

Eliza, to Ortho: You’ll sit with the rest of them as our guests! I won’t have you anywhere near the altar!!

Ortho: No way… Mission failed?!

(Idia: N-Not even Ortho could stop this crazy woman... I-I’m doomed!! DOOMED, I TELL YOU!!)

*BAM!* (Doors to the wedding venue fly open on their own, and all the lights are snuffed out, then reignited with green flames.)

(Lilia and Sebek: !!

Idia: What? What’s this feeling? Why do I feel like there should be final boss music here?

Lilia: This magic is…

Sebek: OOOOOH! HE’S COME!

Sebek, to the others: DROP TO YOUR KNEES AND PROSTRATE YOURSELF BEFORE HIS GREATNESS!!

Leona, angrily: In your dreams and over MY dead body.

Ace, to Sebek: We couldn’t kneel even if we wanted to!)

Malleus, appearing in a flash of yellow-green lights (Silver is close behind): Well now, quite a glittering assemblage we have here.

Malleus, looking at the other failed grooms: Royalty, nobility, the gentry… how quaint. Even the rabble.

(Everyone except Lilia and Sebek: Grrr…

Lilia: Malleus, whatever are you doing here?)

Malleus: You could say I was ‘in the neighborhood’. Passing by, as it were. It occurred to me that I should make a stop to grant Shroud and his bride-to-be my blessing as his peer.

Silver: My apologies, Fa… Lilia-sama. I tried to stop him, but…

(Lilia: Kufufu. No apologies needed. This is shaping up to be quite the spectacle.)

Eliza: I don’t believe this! Yet another wave of intruders seeking my hand?

Malleus: What strange ideas you have. I had no such intentions.

Silver, putting out an arm to stop his prince from stepping up: Please leave this to me, Malleus-sama.

(Lilia: Ohoh, so it all comes down to this.

Sebek: GO GET THAT GHOST, SILVER! YOU MUST AVENGE LILIA-SAMA!!

Kalim: Oooh, are we cheering Silver on? Lemme help out!

Jamil: By the Seven, PLEASE don’t.

Azul, smiling: Kalim-san’s enthusiasm is something to behold!)

Malleus: … Very well. I entrust you to act on my behalf, Silver.

Silver, sighing: …

Eliza: I don’t have time to keep entertaining any more of these preposterous proposals! Please vacate the premises at once, or I will have no choice but to…

Silver: Please wait. I don’t want to fight you any more than you do. All I ask is that you remain open to peaceful negotiations.

Eliza: !!

Eliza: You have mesmerizing eyes. They’re like an aurora borealis!

Silver: My eyes…?

Bird on his shoulder: *Chirp, chirp*

Silver, to the bird: I’m sorry, not now. This is important.

Eliza: … Speak, then. What makes you think you have anything worth offering when all the others before you have failed? They’ve only proved that Idia-sama is the only one in this world for me!

Silver, to Eliza: If it is a groom you seek, then I volunteer as tribute.

Silver: Truthfully, I don’t know whether I meet your standards, or how I compare to Idia-senpai, but… I know in my heart of hearts that I must do whatever it takes to defend to protect those who are not able to protect themselves.

Eliza: !!

Silver: If you must fight, I will be your sword. If you are in danger, I will run to you and be your shield.

Silver: If you were to choose me, I would ensure that you remain safe. I swear it on my life, and on my honor as a knight.

Silver: You have my word.

(Jade: My, Silver-san is honest to a fault.

Sebek, smugly: Of course he is!! Silver can charm the pants off of a snake!!

Lilia: That’s my boy~

Epel: Th-The ghost bride looks entranced… Is she seriously rethinking her decision?!)

Silver: …

Eliza: …

Silver: … Zzz…

(Lilia: Oh dear. What inopportune timing.

Jack: Oi, oi… This isn’t the time to be falling asleep!!

Floyd: I’m way more surprised that he’s able to sleep so soundly standing.

Idia: I’M ABOUT TO DIE, AND YOU’RE JUST GONNA SNOOZE?! Do any of you people have your priorities straight?!)

Eliza: ………………..

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Silver, snapping wide awake: ?!

His bird: *Nervous tweet as it flies away*

(Everyone: ?!)

Eliza: Never in my life… have I seen someone more princess-like than me!!

Eliza: Beauty, grace, and a noble heart… and even cute animal companions to boot!! You’re the dictionary definition of a fairy tale princess!! So much so that it hurts!!

Eliza: It hurts even more to watch you sleep!! You SLEEP prettier than me!!

(Everyone: HUUUUUH?!

Ace: What kind of a reason is THAT?!

Trey: She was so close to getting the point… before veering off to the completely wrong conclusion.)

Eliza: A sleeping prince and an alert princess… It’s all wrong!!

Eliza: It should be the prince that kisses the princess awake from her cursed slumber, not the other way around!! I won’t accept this kind of a role reversal!

(Riddle: In other words, she’s jealous.

Vil, sighing: Set to a certain script, it seems.)

Silver, to Diasomnia: I apologize for failing you, Malleus-sama. Lilia-sama. Sebek.

(Sebek: HOW?! How could a single ghost have bested us?! We’ve failed the young master...!!

Lilia: It’s quite alright. You tried your best, Silver, Sebek. We all did.)

Eliza: ENOUGH!! I’ve had enough of this charade. This nonsense of entertaining proposals ends here.

Eliza, giggling: Tonight, I’m going to be married to my one true love with you, my captive audience, as our witnesses!!

Ghosts: Idia-sama is almost ready to walk down the aisle with you, princess! Just a little longer until your fated happily ever after.

Eliza: Ooh, this is so exciting!!

Malleus: That is enough.

Ghost Bride: !!

Ghost Bride: This daunting, overwhelming presence… Just who are you, horned one?

Malleus, laughing a little: Oh dear, what an awkward situation. You must forgive me. I’m still feeling quite distressed at having not received an invitation to this momentous occasion.

Malleus: And quite miffed that you would so swiftly take out my retainers.

Malleus, raising a hand: Malleus Draconia. Crown prince to the Briar Valley. Charmed, I’m sure.

(Leona, annoyed: Oh, great. JUST what we needed, the lizard.

Sebek: QUIET, YOU CUR! You have no right to speak to Malleus-sama that way! You’re nothing more than a kitten paralyzed in fear before his magnanimous aura!!)

Malleus, to Sebek: Sebek.

(Sebek: YESSIR!)

Malleus: I believe I’ve already had this discussion with you on multiple occasions.

Malleus, smirking: See to it that you treat the… dignitaries of other countries with proper respect. Do not make me repeat myself again.

(Leona: Grrrr…

Sebek, looking crestfallen and conflicted, to Malleus: A-As you wish, young master…!!

Ace: Whoa, your lameness is so off the charts now…)

Eliza: !!

Eliza: My!! This is how a real prince SHOULD be!

(Everyone, including Malleus: ?!)

Eliza: Over 180 cm! An air of nonchalance! Luminous skin! Lidded eyes! A charming smile! Long lustrous hair! Lips that long for a kiss! Grace and poise beyond compare! Mindful and diplomatic, with a mysterious air about him!

Eliza: A real, genuine blue blood!

(Ace: Is it just me, or did she tack on MORE items to her list just now?!

Jade: It seems our Ghost Bride’s feelings may be just as fickle as yours, Floyd.

Floyd: Ehhhh, don’t compare me to her. It feels gross.)

Eliza, dramatically, with a hand to her head: A tall, dark, and handsome stranger disrupting the holy matrimony of my fated prince and I...

(Idia: D-Did that do it? Did Malleus-shi manage to win her over with the power of ‘the mysterious prince’ archetype?!)

Eliza: Oh, the sorrow of being ensnared by love on both sides! My beloved Idia-sama, faced with a sudden love rival! This is… THE FABLED “LOVE TRIANGLE”!!

Eliza: Oooh, having two suitors engage in combat for the right to a princess’s hand in marriage...!! It’s so romantic!

*Swoons*

(Everyone: WHAAAAAAT?!

Idia: S-Somehow the situation got even WORSE?!

Ortho: This is a scene straight out of one of Nii-san’s shoujo manga!!

Ortho: … But!! I have no doubt that he can overpower Malleus Draconia-san and claim victory!

Idia: P-Please! I’ve already been through enough today, I don’t need to be getting involved in any fights on top of that!!

Sebek: YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU SPEAK OF!! THE YOUNG MASTER COULD EASILY FLATTEN ANY FOE LIKE THE INSIGNIFICANT WORM THAT THEY ARE!

Jack: I don’t think the identity of the winner is the issue...)

Malleus, confused: … I beg your pardon?

Malleus: You are mistaken. I never came with the intention of proposing to a phantom.

Malleus, sarcastically: I would appreciate it if you did not assign arbitrary labels to me. I have only come to witness what I am sure will be the happiest of unions. I’m no home wrecker.

Malleus: In any case, did I hear correctly that you are a princess?

Eliza: …

(Deuce, wincing: Here it comes…! Please watch out, Draconia-senpai!

Idia: It’s the blue screen of death for me...)

Eliza: … Yes. I am a princess.

(Everyone: ?!)

Eliza: 500 years ago, my nation was attacked by a hostile neighbor. In my attempt to flee, I was…

Malleus: … I see. Yours is a story that ends in tragedy.

Eliza: I was never able to meet my one true love before passing. You understand as fellow nobility, don’t you? Isn’t that sad? Don’t I… Don’t I deserve happiness?

Malleus: ……………………… No, I disagree.

Eliza: !!

Malleus: The world does not owe anyone a happily ever after. Not you, nor I.

Malleus: Cruel as it is, it is the way of the world.

Malleus: And moreover… you are the sovereign of your country. It goes without saying that nobility must place the needs of the many over the wants and the feelings of one.

Malleus: Your duty is to your people and to your country, not to your heart.

Malleus, glancing around at the ghosts: A number of your attendants are with you. Have you given a thought as to how they may feel? What they may think?

Ghosts: Th-That’s not true! We... We just want our princess to be happy.

Ghosts: All this time, she smiled at us and told us “it’s fine”, when she was suffering deep down. Our lonely, tragic princess...

(Ace: AH GEEZ, HOW ENTITLED CAN YOU GET?!

Everyone: !!

Deuce: Oi, Ace! Are you looking for more trouble?!

Ace: What, you’re just gonna sit around and do nothing? Your mouths still work, don’t they? How about you actually DO something with them?

Ace: Listen up, lady! The perfect prince? He doesn’t exist!! And if you think he is, you’re only deluding yourself!!)

Eliza: !!

Malleus, to himself: Ohoh. That Trappola... Fufufu, quite the mouth on him.

Malleus, laughing: I came seeking a happy ceremony. Instead, I find shadows of the past, clinging on to desperate hopes and unfulfilled dreams.

Malleus, smirking: And a princess so vain as to put her own desires above those of her people, her guests, and even her bridegroom.

Malleus: Galivanting about, so blindly in pursuit of love that they cannot stop to think of how they are inconveniencing those around her.

Malleus: A sham wedding such as this is not worthy of receiving my blessing.

Eliza, looking sad: …

(Silver: Malleus-sama…

Sebek: Young master…!!

Lilia: Malleus…

Lilia, to himself: … You’re speaking from your own heart, hmm?)

Puffy Ghost: That’s enough!! You… How dare you barge in and begin lecturing the princess like this!

Puffy Ghost: You could never understand a maiden’s heart! You could never understand her!

*SMACK*

Puffy Ghost: !!

(Everyone: !!

Sebek: She… She just… slapped the young master…

Sebek: REJECTING LILIA-SAMA, SILVER, AND THEN MALLEUS-SAMA?! THIS ILL-TEMPERED BRIDE HAS TRASH TASTE IN MEN!

Leona: Oi, quit your shouting!! You’re going to blow out my ears!!

Vil: I hate to say this, but I agree with Leona.

Lilia, to himself: Malleus could have easily avoided that blow, but...)

*BOOM!* (Outside, lightning strikes.)

Malleus: ………………………………………..

Malleus, calm but cold: … Did that do anything to fill the hole in your heart?

Eliza: …

Eliza, to her attendants: Please take him away and seat him among the other guests--Idia-sama and I will proceed with the ceremony as planned!

Ghosts: Yes, princess!! (The Ghosts rush off for final preparations)

Malleus: To think that this is how I would be invited to an event... Hmph. How rude.

Eliza: I’ll show you…! I’ll show you the happiest of endings!!

Puffy Ghost, looking sad: …………………………………..

Eliza, to Idia: Idia-sama! Please don’t be shy! There’s no need for you to keep dodging my kisses. Let’s prove our love to all of these fake princes!

Eliza: Midnight and our happily ever after... they’re just a single peck away!

(Idia, looking defeated: ... Womp womp womp. Looks like it’s game over for me, no resets or extra lives or save scumming. Good-bye, cruel world. I leave my anime merch and manga collection to Ortho.

Ortho, distressed: Nooo, Nii-san!!

Ace, to the Ghosts: Hey, are you guys seriously gonna just move forward with this? You’re...

Ace: ...

Ace: ...?

Ace: Huh? I can move again? When did that happen...?

Malleus, quietly, as the ghosts cart him past Ace: ... I’ll entrust the course of this story to you, Trappola. Show me the truest of happy endings.

Ace: !!

Lilia, off to the side and to himself: ... My, so a youngster from Heartslabyul has been “blessed”.

Ace, grabbing his bouquet from the ground and smirking: Heh, looks like you’ve made a good choice~ I won’t let you down.

[From here, just picture Ace confronting Eliza again, Puffy buffing up, and basically the rest of the event playing out the same as it did in canon (maybe with some extra dialogue from the additional students, and Riddle/Epel/Rook still being frozen instead of mobile).]

***BONUS***

Grim: Step aside, ya chumps! The great Grim-sama’s here to woo the lady ghost!

(Everyone: ?!

Idia: Grim-shi?!)

Eliza: Who’s this… sassy lost tanuki?

Grim: I’M NOT A TANUKI!

Grim: I’m the great Grim-sama! Remember that name, cuz I’m gonna be the strongest magician in the world someday!! I’m gonna go down in the annals of magic history!

Grim: Check THIS out! *FWOOSH* (Grim breathes a plume of fire, just narrowly missing Ace and Deuce’s heads)

(Ace, angry: OI, WATCH IT!! I almost got roasted!

Deuce, sighing: I saw my life flash before my eyes for a second…)

Grim, crossing his arms: How’s that? Pretty impressive, huh?

Eliza: Be that as it may, I can’t marry a tanuki! My prince must be a human–or at the very least, something resembling a human!

Grim: What?! I’m WAY better than those saps! And how do ya know that I won’t turn into a handsome human when ya kiss me at the altar, huh?!

(Idia: E-Eh? But cats are just objectively better creatures overall than humans of any kind...)

Eliza: No chance, no way! I’d rather kiss a mucus-covered frog than a furry beast!

Grim, angry: Lady, you don’t know what you’re missing out on! The great Grim has more charisma in ONE paw than these sorry excuses for ‘princes’ have in their entire bodies!

Eliza: YOU’RE OUT.

*SMACK*

Grim: FNGHNYA!? THAT SLAP SMARTS!!

Eliza: A tanuki that talks back to its princess has no place being a prince! At best, you can be a cute talking animal companion or sidekick! I would invite you to come back when Idia-sama and I are seeking a pet, but we’re more of dog people than cat people!

(Idia: Th-That’s a lie!! Cats are obviously superior!!

Idia: ... Though she hasn’t been listening to a thing I’ve been saying all night anyway...)

Grim: YOU’VE GOTTA BE JOKING!!

(Ace: BAHAHAHAH! She got you good, Grim! Serves you right for almost boiling us alive.

Deuce: Oof, I guess the more, the merrier…)

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boypussydilf · 1 year

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I'm going to throw you a curve ball and say Sherly and that one guy whose name I don't remember who you ship him with (I think it's Soseki?)

idont know how to say this without unintentionally sounding mean but this is the second funniest ask ive ever gotten. (i was going to say funniest, but i cant lie even for comedic purposes- the funniest ask ive ever gotten was “shouldve KNOWN an AKESHU shipper would RIP MY THROAT OUT IN PUBLIC for mentioning shusumi”) i got curious and looked at all the relationship tags for dgs on ao3 until the site wouldnt let me anymore and i can almost conclusively say tht no one on this earth ships sherlock and souseki, which, to be honest, is kind of a surprise. on my journey i learned just how dire the state of the dgs ao3 relationship tags really are. i hadnt looked that hard, and i had thought, “oh, woe is me, only about 200 of these are homumiko” There are less than 30 with the susahao tag. theres like, a Small Handful of fics with kazuma interacting w iris or yuujin. This is. This is awful. Someone needs to fix this. What’s wrong with you people? You could have filled this website with one hundred Kazuma Asougi Gets Forcibly Absorbed Into The Greatest Family fics and you’re still asobaroing away? Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

Anyway it’s completely understandable to mix up souseki and mikotoba when you havent seen a ton of them they do both . have mustaches. thank you for thr ask and also for always calling him Sherly bc its cute here we go

describe their canon relationship/dynamic

*putsmy head in my hands* they have like 2 hours of screentime interacting its hard to describe a dynamic beyond “God they are so mean to each other”. its ok though. Its ok. the concept is very clear honestly. World’s Most Hyperactive and Completely Insane Man & Completely Normal Guy Who Goes Along With It. Oh My God They Were Roommates. lets see. serious notes. they trust each other completely and implicitly (mikotoba has to find a good home for The Baby He Was GOING To Raise But CAN’T and asks sherlock and he IMMEDIATELY agrees On The Spot my god ……) look . what do u call devotion if not saying “our home” about a place youve been away from longer than u ever lived at and thought youd never even see again & acting like you were never separated in the first place. Unreal. unreal.

anyway the fact of the matter is theyre literally just another variation on the Holmes & Watson concept go read an acd sherlock holmes story and imagine if they were ace attorney characters and idk i think youd more or less have it

your ideal/headcanon version of it? how does it differ from how it is in canon & why is this your favorite version? any other alternate versions of it you enjoy?

*pulls out my giant conspiracy board and 90% of it is just screenshots of fanfic The Legendary Pair by Meowzy on AO3* IF YOU LOOK AT IT. THE NOT-REALLY-INDICATED-BY-CANON BUT MORE FUN AND COOL TO ME VERSION OF IT. it makes this A Necessary Relationship. sherlock is. smart in Some places. definitely observant. But has. 0 common sense. you would think hes never been to this planet before with his apparent complete lack of frame of reference for what is or is not plausible or likely. there is too much shit going on in his brain for him to figure out which ideas are Actually Likely without taking like 2 days to work it out. Give him someone who actually has common sense and can crossreference What Sherlock Has Actually Noticed And Figured Out with What Actual Human Beings Generally Would Do.

OHGOD MAYBE I CAN TRY TO ELABORATE IN A MORE SERIOUS TONE ON MY FUCKING “YUUJIN MIKOTOBA SILLY ARC” POST. GOD. what im attempting to drive at is thinking abt . the idea proposed of 16-years-ago sherlock being more of a prickly little bitch and, Much More Importantly, mikotoba going to britain to try and escape the Grief Of Losing His Wife & subsequent Depression That Made Him Unfit To Take Care Of His Baby . and then theyre . again, worlds most hyperactive and completely insane man, and, again, GUY WHO TAP DANCES DURINVG INVESTIGATIONS ?!!!!?!???????????

basically fuck you *gives you by chance a fundamentally life altering friendship right when you need it*

Anyway i dont think theyre that different in my head than in canon but its hard to say.

what do you like about their relationship, why is it interesting or enjoyable to you?

i like it because i think they are neat. i like it bc i love families and fuck dude they sure do have one. i like it bc i am a dgs sherlock holmes kinnie and this drives my behavior,

what about the individual characters involved? what does this relationship mean to them, what makes it unique among their relationships?

*SCREAMS* BESTIES. anyway,

sorry for once again saying serious concepts in the dumbest fucking ways possible but Pov u are yuujin mikotoba age 26 leaving ur home to try and run away from the deepest pain of ur life & deciding not to stick with ur very close friends uve known for quite a while as you do so? For some reason? AND IT WORKS ???????????? in some part bc of this weirdo freak u moved in with impulsively who keeps almost blowing the fucking house up?

This is basically something i already said in this post earlier and i STILL . cant think of an actual good way to say it. I guess just . as many people on this blog may have noticed. me wh. me when stories involve the way positive connections with others help people <3

Also basically the only 2 reactions sherlock seems to invoke in people are “this guys insufferable” and “this guys insufferable but i also admire him” - god the trajectory of this train of thought just changed drastically im laughing so hard Bear with me . mikotoba is of course in th second camp bc thats where all sherlocks Positive relationships are. this is known to us. see: thr dialogue where hes like “Well your methods are unusual but ive always been willing to try them :)” (and then sherlock yells at him for being stupid.) anyway thats wonderful and its also Wonderful. mikotoba shortly after meeting sherlock watching this man rip up a handful of grass an d just eat it and then solve an entire mystery and mikotoba has to work out if this guys a genius or insane. He quickly realizes it is both. Anyway i guess to yuujin mikotoba sherlock holmes is his dear friend and partner & also the guy who cursed him to occasionally think “i DO wonder what that grass tastes like” at inopportune times

I don’t know WHAT the fuck i just rambled about for like ten minutes. So anyhow. sherlock describes mikotoba as “the only person i could truly call a friend” so shoutout to this friendless man i guess . no but literally hes a little weirdo freak and people dont tend to. like him. societal perceptions of ND people are not conducive to sherlock holmes having close friends . (Also he might not be. or might at some point not have been. particularly social in the first place - But this is my extrapolation based on acd canon and nothing in dgs at all so it cant be counted as anything other than my female hysteria.) and like. epic win for him finding someone who can Tolerate Him Enough To Live With Him and not just that but like . Actually Likes Him. Actually Likes Being Around Him And Would Like To Be His Friend. Congrats! also a win 4 him having like, a normal human being around. who can keep track of him and yknow. Help him remember important things. make sure he actually sleeps and eats instead of spending 42 hours straight trying to make The Sequel To Toasters (It’s Also A Juicer!)

favorite interaction they have in canon

oh,my god you know the thing is theres not a Lot of them but what there is is Really Good Actually.

on one hand we have the shit from the legendary pair scene like “:/ only JAPANESE mice go Chu. make a RUSSIAN mouse noise” or “YOUR BIRTHDAY? THATS FUNNY BC AS OF TODAY YOURE DEAD TO ME :D” “measured as always.” On the other hand we have the part from the scene after the last trial where sherlock thanks mikotoba for leaving iris in his care.

Basically i dont know how to decide. im going to say the Other part of the scene after the last trial where sherlock is excitedly telling mikotoba a story about something he did. With mikotoba. like a day before. and mikotoba lets him get through thr whole fucking thing before going Yeah i was. i was there.

favorite interaction they have in your head/a situation you want to put them in

OH GOD I DONT KNOW ACTUALLY. what is there to say beyond the Default List Of Every Homumiko Fans Shared Interests. its all been done. “Remember That Time They Raised A Baby Together For A Month”; “Have You Heard Of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Adventures of Sherlock Holmes? Great Here’s My Adaptation-“; “Put That Beast (Sherlock) In Japan LOL”. i will say that like. i dont remember where but theres some tiny bit of optional dialogue where iris says that sherlock playing the violin was a detail she wrote into the stories for fun and then after that he felt obligated to actually learn. i think a lot of people dont know this or dont use this. which is fine its a tiny random one off line i wouldnt even be able to track down. and a lot of people have the order of events go sherlock has violin -> mikotoba learns to tap dance, Look another musical thing matchy matchy :) . which again is FINE. BUT. isnt the other order of events - the order that it’s only reasonable to assume is canon - more fun ? Sherlock goes HEY GUESS WHAT I LEARNED VIOLIN NOW WE CAN MAKE MUSIC TOGETHER. He has not seen mikotoba in person in 9 years

thats the end of the post thank you i like the dads

#OH GOD 8M SO FUCKING SORRY !!!!!!!#THIS POST TOOK OVER AN HOUR TO WRITE #I REALLY. I THOUGHT IT WOULDNT GET LONG #AND THEN IT GOT LONG.#AND ITS PROBABLY COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY FUCKING INCOMPREHENSIBLE TOO.#HIIIIIII #basilask #dgs from my brain

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rucow · 3 years

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massive nerevoryn hcs, beware

I have nerevoryn brainworms that torment me day and night, so I answered this ask game under the cut (I did this for myself not for anyone else, pls be nice and ignore it if u don’t like something you see here!)

(A lil clarification: I headcanon Voryn as nonbinary and I use they/them pronouns for them, also they’re ace and afab in my hc, pls look away if that makes u uncomfy) • How did they first meet? They met when Nerevar was hopping from House to House to ask to be supported as Hortator, he just kinda showed up at Voryn's home outta nowhere and was met with 38237 identical serious Dagoth siblings. I can’t think about it without laughing dgsfh

• What was their first impression of each other? Voryn thought Nerevar a fool at first, for coming all the way to Kogoruhn just to ask for political support and to justify /why/ he should be politically supported However, Voryn saw almost instantly that Nerevar was genuine and driven and had strong ambitions for Resdayn, and they ended up agreeing on a lot of things. Meanwhile, Nerevar's first impression of Voryn was...kinda non-existent? He didn't pay much attention to them and didn't differentiate much between Voryn and their siblings. They were all just a bunch of polite goths to him, so he liked them from the beginning 😹

• Did any of their friends or family want them to get together? Voryn's family was neutral and maybe a lil cautious, but ultimately didn't interfere at all and they quickly accepted Nerevar as part of their family Nerevar has no family, though I consider Vivec to be his family in some way. But no, Vivec didn't really want them to get together :') (he didn't like Voryn very much in the beginning, he thought they're boring, too serious, and has no sense of humor LOL but he warms up to them after a while.. he won’t stop messing with them tho, bc they’re rly easy to tease and that’s fun) • Who felt romantic feelings first? Voryn did. Nerevar's feelings only started ages later, he's not really the type to sit down and analyze/reflect on his feelings, so he didn't realize he had romantic feelings until they hit him full force LOL • Did either of them try to resist their feelings? Voryn tried, but gave up and opted for hiding their feelings instead of suppressing them 😔 • If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think? They would believe it. Nerevar wouldn't immediately assume it means "romantic soulmate" though, he already sees Voryn as a very close friend so the news that they're soulmates makes perfect sense to him. On the other hand, Voryn wouldn't be surprised to find out they're soulmates, but they'd feel like it's a cruel thing to do to them both, since they can't be together openly and in the way that they want to be. It would be heartbreaking to them :’/ • What would their lives be like if they had never met? Voryn's life would've remained quiet and uneventful, most likely. And they wouldn’t have ended up the way they did in canon. Nerevar is an unpredictable mystery though so I have no idea, maybe he'd go down a different path and take some impulsive bad decisions in his life 🤔 oh wait he already does that nvm • Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go? Nerevar initiated it. Voryn has had feelings for him for a very long time, but at first they didn't want to be in a relationship with Nerevar due to how complicated it would be, but yeah...they couldn't ignore their heart's call, and definitely couldn't refuse Nerevar when he started returning the feelings :') • Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like? YEAH!! I have no idea though! It would've been secret but very nice and romantic :'D • What was their first kiss like? It was intimate, and heavy. It was packed full of years of suppressed feelings and wishes. Voryn may have teared up a bit lmao • Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)? Nerevar has already had relationships (though nothing long-term) and has had...experience with ppl, in all meanings Nerevar WAS Voryn's first everything though! Mainly because Voryn has never had much interest in ppl before, and just the thought of kissing grosses them out, unless it’s with the right person ofc uwu • What’s their height difference? Age difference? Nerevar is 6'1 and Voryn is 5′6-5'7, they're the same age though! • What’s their relationship with each other’s families? Nerevar likes the dagoths. They don’t pry into his business (ahem, affair*) with Voryn and they always welcome him to Kogoruhn with no problem (aka they tolerate his out-of-nowhere appearances and occassional odd behavior). He finds it a bit unsettling that Voryn has so many siblings but he doesn’t question it. Voryn tries to get along with Vivec, even tho the younger makes it difficult. Voryn is an older sibling, so they have the patience to deal with a younger moodier mer who’s hellbent on disliking them for no reason LOL • Who takes the lead in social situations? Nerevar does, Voryn is really awkward at socializing and hates doing it too 😹 • Who gets jealous easier? They both do, but their jealousy manifests in different ways. Nerevar is much more vocal/open about it. Voryn doesn't give him any reasons to be jealous tho, at least not on purpose 🤧 • Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear? UHH neither of them does 😳 ...unless they've been drinking, then they both do it fjdhsn (Voryn won’t say anything explicit tho, just rly cheesy declarations of love or something SOBS) • Who said “I love you” first? Voryn said it first, but only after Nerevar had already confessed his feelings :’) they needed to be sure they wouldn’t get rejected bc that would just break their heart tbh • Who uses cheesy pick-up lines? Both do, but they mean it in all seriousness, and they believe every word the other says. • How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA? PDA is a big no-no for obvious reasons, unless it's only around trustworthy ppl like Alandro Sul and Voryn's family. Yes, Alan my boi is chill with all of this hehe • Who initiates kisses? Nerevar. He's very touchy uwu • Who’s the big and little spoon? Nere's the big spoon, usually. Voryn's like...a stick...though they can get clingy in their sleep /sobs • What are their favorite things to do together? Having time to spend together is rare for them, so they treasure every little moment they have. They both prefer spending time completely alone with one another, somewhere far and secluded where they can’t see or hear any other people. Nerevar needs moments of quietness to recharge after dealing with so many ppl in his daily affairs, so he really appreciates Voryn’s company bc their energy is very calming and they’re just quiet and pleasant in general.... they’re the type to sit in comfortable silence and just lean on one another as the world fades around them :’) • Who’s better at comforting the other? They know each other very well, so they're both amazing at comforting each other, except it's a lot easier for Voryn to comfort Nerevar solely because Voryn isn't as open about their emotions as he is, and doesn't want to worry Nerevar with anything, so they keep their emotions/pain private much more than Nerevar does. Nere's more open about things that bother him and spills his soul out to Voryn often lol • Who’s more protective? Oh gosh they are both overprotective of one another, they live dangerous lives after all. However, Voryn's the type to get physically sick by worrying over Nerevar's well-being... Nerevar doesn't handle it any better tho, he would become very spooky and destructive if anything happened to Voryn 👀 • Do they prefer verbal or physical affection? Nerevar prefers verbal affection from Voryn, because he knows Voryn’s words are always truthful. Voryn prefers physical affection from Nerevar though, because they know he uses verbal affection with a lot of people, so the physical kind feels more personal and genuine to them u_u • What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise? ... I must warn u. my taste in music is maybe TOO happy/sappy for these two, but anyway.. here u go (all these songs are from Voryn’s POV): 1. the lyrics and overall aesthetic and feel of this song.. it suits them in my hc a lot :’( 2. by the same singer, this song HHNGN the lyrics just make me think of how voryn sees nerevar 3. something even more light-hearted... sorry there’s no eng subs but trust me the lyrics are beautiful, the bridge especially makes me cry it’s so pretty.. and 「美しい心を持っている、ずっとこの海よりも深い」 😭 BASICALLY ANY LOVE SONGS MAKE ME THINK OF THEM 😭😭 • Who remembers the little things? Voryn's memory is impeccable. Nerevar is kinda airheaded, he doesn't remember things consciously but he remembers them in his heart • If they get married, who proposes? Voryn does! Though it's not a typical proposal, because their relationship isn't typical either. They simply propose that they both should undergo a ritual to bring them (more specifically, their souls) closer together... It’s the same ritual that Voryn’s mother did to their father, and they learned it from her before she disappeared/passed • What’s the wedding like? Who attends? It's a secret one, so no one attends it besides the two. It's not a wedding though, it's more like a romantic ritual conducted by Voryn themself, where they link their souls/hearts together :') it happens at nighttime in a secluded place, probably a cave with an open sky... somewhere in nature far away from any civilization • How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like? They have one very rambunctious but sweet daughter! She inherits a LOT of Nerevar’s looks and personality, even his ideals and stuff (once she grows up) • Do they have any pets? Nerevar doesn't have any, but he loves animals. Voryn's home has plenty of domestic animals/creatures though, much to Nerevar's joy 👌 (yes I hc the dagoths to be farmers bc I love the thought of a goth farm) • Who’s the stricter parent? Voryn. Though they're still very mild, just. more cautious about parenting than Nerevar is?? And unlike him, they actually teach their kid manners djfnsf • Who kills the bugs in the house? VORYN. They have no fear of bugs and actually know how to handle them really well! • How do they celebrate holidays? Not together :'( </3 • Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning? Voryn. Nerevar's an early morning person, while Voryn just wants to be lazy and stay in bed until noon. Voryn has sleepy b* disease • Who’s the better cook? Dare I say both??? >:)c Voryn likes baking more than cooking though, so when they have the time for it, they like treating Nerevar with sweets u_u✨ Nerevar doesn’t really have a sweet tooth though, he’ll just engulf anything that Voryn or their family cooks LOL

#I couldn't control myself I NEED to talk about them they're ruling my life ever since I played morrowind last year #nerevoryn #voryn dagoth #nerevar #voryn #txt #i love htem

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stardustryewriting · 3 years

Text

Original Plans

Law’s original plan - to die on Dressrosa - didn’t work out. Luffy’s original plan - to make Law accept his friendship - did work better than expected. There are just some bumps along the road.

Also on AO3: here

When Torao first proposed an alliance to him, Luffy was elated. An alliance was basically a friendship and you could never have enough of those. Also Torao was a good guy, no matter what his other crew members said about him. They don’t call him the surgeon of death for nothing, Usopp had argued rather urgently and Luffy had brushed him aside. The Marines had called Luffy chaotic, completely nuts and even dead before, and none of that was true either. (Maybe he was a bit chaotic, but the other things were lies.)

Pirate alliances are marked by betrayal, Nico Robin had said, always the wise one of them, and so Luffy had asked Torao if he planned to betray them. He denied and really, that was enough for Luffy. If Torao had wanted him dead, he just didn’t have to show at Marineford. While Luffy wasn’t sure why he did show up at Marineford - Torao never gave simple answers to his questions, and thinking about what Torao gave as answers for too long made Luffy’s head hurt - he was sure that Torao wouldn’t have been there if he wanted Luffy to die. He did risk his own life and his entire crew on top of it. You don’t just do that out of a simple mood.

So an alliance it was. While Kaido was arguably the Emperor he knew the least of, he was still a better target than Shanks was. Maybe taking on Big Mom first would have been smarter, since he already started an argument with her on Fishmen Island, but Big Mom could wait. He would take her down eventually anyway and if Torao thought it would be smart to go after Kaido first, than Luffy would trust his judgement. Torso was smart after all. Also this seemed oddly personal to Torao. At least the part of the plan that involved Doflamingo did.

It turned out, Torao didn’t betray them at Dressrosa. At least not in the way his crew thought he would. He did try to end the alliance and by extent their friendship, which counted as betrayal in Luffy’s book. But he was unsuccessful, because Luffy would have never ended their alliance at this point anyway. There was a time and place, when they would have to part ways again, eventually. But it wasn’t on Dressrosa, not when Torao looked like he was ready to die and not when he tried to protect Luffy. (There was someone, in a somewhat distant past, who lost an arm to protect Luffy and someone, in a not so distant past, who did give his life to protect Luffy. He wouldn’t let it happen again.)

So no, Torao was not allowed to end the alliance. Which annoyed him, of course, but Luffy didn’t care. He could defeat Doflamingo without the elaborate plan Torao had made. He didn’t even remember most of it anyways, and he was somewhat sure, that the plan had failed the moment Luffy entered the coliseum in an effort to get Ace’s devil fruit back. Plans never worked out for him anyway, not in the way they worked out for Torao. He had a general idea of what he had to do and he would get it done. Somehow.

Maybe the Marines weren’t so far off, when they had called him chaotic.

But Luffy wasn’t upset now, because Torao betrayed their friendship. They would have to talk about that eventually, but it wasn’t the main issue. Torao was prepared to die in Dressrosa. He expected it, he probably even had his death integrated in his plan somewhere. (Maybe Luffy should pay more attention the next time a plan was presented to him.) And that was the most upsetting thing that happened to him since they entered the New World. Because Torao didn’t lack trust in Luffy or any of the Strawhats. He pretended he thought their were idiots and he looked like he lost hope in humanity when Luffy, Usopp and Chopper had fun on deck, but he really believed in and trusted them. He was confident they would still follow his plan after his death after all.He just didn’t think Luffy could defeat Doflamingo.

I would have been insulting, if Torao was any less scared about Mingo.

He never told Luffy why he was scared, he never even seemed scared. (Not like Usopp and Nami and most times even Chopper did.) But he was. He was scared and he went up against him anyways, fully prepared to die and Luffy hated everything about this.

„Why are you brooding here?“, a voice snapped him out of his thoughts and surprisingly, it was Torao. He would have thought if anyone came looking for him it would have Usopp. Zoro would have also been a likely candidate, if there were any less alcohol. But the drinks were flowing, so Zoro wouldn’t miss him for a while. Luffy wasn’t exactly a drinking buddy, he rarely drank alcohol as it was and that made him an uninteresting companion for Zoro at parties. Not that he minded, there were plenty of other people he could do plenty of other things with. Just Torao wasn’t really on the list.

„I’m not ‚brooding‘“, Luffy used his fingers to make air quotes, „I’m not you after all. I was just thinking.“

„That’s new“, Torao answered, sounding way more surprised than he had any right to, in Luffy’s opinion.

„I can think“, he protested, crossing his arms in front of his chest, while turning away from the other. And then, for good measure he slightly lifted his chin and added: „And my thinking doesn’t end in me dying either.“Which was probably something he shouldn’t have said out loud. Not like that. But it was also true and something he wanted to discuss with Torao anyways, so Luffy couldn’t find it him to regret saying it. (He did regret the way he said it, later, when he’d calmed down.)

„My survival wasn’t essential for the plan“, Torao informed him professionally. The same way he told Luffy not to exercise too much after he’d woken up on the submarine. The way he told Jinbei to keep an eye on Luffy, if he didn’t want the Strawhats to die. The very same way he told Rayleigh, that Luffy’s training would have to be postponed for a few weeks or else his stitches would tear. It made Luffy sick.

„Your survival was important for me“, he argued and Torao looked like wanted to say something to that too.Except that he didn’t. His mouth opened but no words came out and then Torao closed it again. Luffy waited a few more seconds, in case there was something to say after all. Makino might not have succeeded installing manners within him perfectly, but he knew the basics. He always let people say their piece. (Unless he was distracted by something.) When it didn’t seem like Torao found something he needed to say, Luffy talked instead.

„We’re friends and I like you. Usopp says you’re scary, but you’re really not. You saved my life at Marineford - “

„There’s no need to thank me for that“

„You saved my life at Marineford and I liked you ever since. You have awesome tattoos and a really cool bear in your crew and you’re really nice.“

„I’m really not“, Torao denied, but he sounded like he’s already given up that argument. At least he was learning. Slowly, but he learned. Luffy knew that that argument was just for show anyway. A reputation to uphold, or however Zoro phrased it. Not that Luffy had ever cared about reputations, his or those of other people. But if it was important enough for Torao to put in the effort, Luffy could respect that. So, no need to remind him that he did help all those children in Punk Hazard. Law still remembered it anyway.

„You’re my friend.“, Luffy said instead, because really Torao was very slow on the uptake on that. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to call them ‚friends‘, they were friends anyway. Because Luffy said so and because he really liked Torao and because Torao seemed like he needed a friend. „Even though no one can say your last name“, he added as an afterthought, because a great as Torao was, he had the worst last name.

„Literally everyone but you can. And I’ve told you to just call me Law“, Torao shot back, tho it lacked any real fire. Like he was tired of arguing and was just accepting his fate. Good, he was Luffy’s friend no matter how often Luffy needed to remind him of that.

„I really like you“, Luffy told him, once again for good measure. He didn’t get a real answer from Law on that, but his cheeks got a light color, like Sanji’s cheeks did, when Nami or Robin complimented his food. Sanji was always really happy then, so Torao had to be really happy now. And Luffy just called him his friend. Which apparently Torao needed to hear that they were friends way more, if it made him this happy from just hearing it once.

„I really like you, too, Strawhat-ya“, Torao mumbled and he couldn’t even look him in the eye, but that was alright with Luffy. If Luffy brought it up in front of his crew, Torao would probably deny ever having said that, like Zoro denied being worried about Sanji, too. But that didn’t matter, because Torao had said it and that made Luffy happier than almost anything in recent memory. (Sabo still being alive was a big thing, that made him happier than he ever remembered being, but that was the only other thing. Even Sanji’s cooking didn’t come before this and Sanji’s cooking was perfect.)

„Okay, so no more plans that would have you die. You’re too important for me to just let you die. Okay?“, Luffy insisted and Toraos eyes glazed over like he remembered something very important and very far away. Luffy knew that feeling so he allowed Torao the few seconds he very obviously needed, before he inquired again: „Okay?“

Torso seemed like he was abruptly thrown out of something rather intense, but he didn’t seem mad. One side of his lips quirked upwards, as if he wanted to smile, but it didn’t become a real smile. Which was another problem that Luffy would tackle eventually. (He’s seen Torao smirk plenty of times but he couldn’t remember one genuine smile.) For now, Torao’s insurance that, yes, he wouldn’t bet his life this easily again would have to be enough. He didn’t want Torao to promise to survive. Not like Ace did, not again. But he wanted Torao to do his best, to see him become the pirate king. Torso smirked again, at that, and mocked Luffy for being too sure of himself.

„What if I find the One Piece before you do?“, Torao asked, clearly not as serious as he pretended to be. But he was lighthearted again, the tension in the air completely dissolved, so Luffy could humor him. Torao had asked an important question, after all.

„You won’t. But I will still really like you, even when I’m King of the Pirates.“

And somehow, Law seemed really happy about this. Maybe, liking Torao more than originally planned would work out for Luffy, after all.

#lawlu #lawlu fanfic #trafalgar law #trafalgar d water law #one piece luffy #monkey d luffy #luffy is luffy #luffy is people smart #law isnt #but we knew that already #heart to heart #law is bad at feelings

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buildingrelationshipsinanarchy · 4 years

Text

A New Intimacy Model

So what spurred this project is a culmination of a few things. Namely, frustration with the imprecise and incomprehensible words, Platonic, Romantic, and Sexual. The English language hasn’t been great at adapting the words for personal relationships as our times and values change.

I fell into Anarchism only very recently, stumbling into the language of ‘relationship anarchy’ through the internet in discussion with forms of polyamory years ago when I started this blog. Over the last year, I’ve been getting into radical politics and finding how my un-politicized opinions were validated, and then stretched the more I learned and studied up. While I’m still learning more about Radical politics, Anarchism, Marxism, Queer and Feminist theory specifically, the more I wanted to link some of my perspectives on intimate relationships with these political and theoretical texts.

“The Personal is Political.” - Carol Hanisch, Feminist Author.

@mythr1der wrote a post detailing a bit of the frustration I also share in regards to how the Dichotomy between Platonic and Sexual (which almost all definitions of Romance boil back into), leave much to be desired when discussing attraction, desire, intimacy and relationships in general. I believe that this very simple dichotomy reflects, oddly enough, capitalism and the history of the role of state power in culture. I rant a little bit about it as a response to @mythr1der‘s post here.

It’s long, and incomplete, but I proposed an idea of just building entirely new words, so we can build an entirely new map for talking about love, desire, attraction, and relationships that actually discuss what its like to be next to someone you like to be next to!

What is intimacy? It’s closeness right? To be near some ‘intimate’ part of another person, or them near something meaningful about why you’re you. I wanted to start this series by talking about what it means to be close to someone. If you remember my birthday without Facebook, that might make me feel a bit special. But if you remember how badly I was abused by an old friend, its because I trusted you enough to share some of the sadness that I’m not as loud about.

Intimacy isn’t always trauma, sometimes its tears of joy hearing that your cousin is out of prison, or the laughter of your friends. Being close to each other in a hyper-digitized age is a bit tricky, but phone calls, facetime, snapchat are only some of the tools we use to keep each other updating on what we’re feeling. Whether its about our love life, sex life, work life, or home life, just sharing that information can be real special, and bonding.

When we say that we have friends or that we are [Queer] Platonic Partners, does that mean we’ve decided how often we’re gonna talk or what we’re gonna talk about? What if we just send each other memes or rant about politics? Am I supposed to devalue those interactions because they aren’t the person I’m crying on the phone with?

Intimacy can be as deep as childhood scars and as simple as surprising me with my favorite snack. It all just means you know who I am, what I like, and what I care about. I want to intentionally forge those connections. And this why I set these definitions first.

Other Words:

A Daekkon (n.) would be person/partner whom you’ve developed intentionally this kind of relationship with.

If you desired this kind of relationship with a certain person, you’d be feeling Daekeen (adj.) for/about that person.

People who are desiring or actively doing these activities together are Daekkoning (v.).

This would be understood as Daekkonic (adj.) behavior; as in, “My roomate isn’t super talkative with me, but is deakkonic (adj.) with Sandra from the Mosque.”

“Tom is going through it, he’s felt deakkonically (adv.) deprived since the move.”

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In our sex-negative, ironically repressed culture, we seem to think that if you’re touching your bodies together at all, it means *something*. I want to remove that idea. I want to reclaim physical affection. I want to be touch and be touched by others. I don’t want my afab friends who have experienced some sort of sexual violence in their lives, to ever feel weary about the fact that I’m physically affectionate. It’s been my #1 Love Language for the last 10 years.

Fighting r*pe culture is a full-time fight, but I think adding a word, and therefore an idea[l], can be useful in reclaiming safety, and boundaries regarding bodily autonomy, for all of us. Clear communication and respected boundaries and asking consent for everything are the bedrock we need to continually practice. And as trust builds, I believe this could be very useful theoretically tool for improving the quality of our relationships and help create clearer discussion about our individual boundaries, needs, and desires. I feel like this leads me to a relevant question. What activities are inherently platonic, romantic or sexual? Is holding hands inherently romantic when almost all of us have done it with a friend? What about those of us who are religious or spiritual and have held hands with members of church, mosque or synagogue; do you think we’re out here non-stop blushing at the Pastor? Or when we held hands with family members? Doesn’t sound like it holds up, huh?

What about snuggling a roommate? Holding a teammate while celebrating a victory? The kiss my bestfriend gave me on our shared birthday dinner? Are we left to through our Aro and Ace friends’ out of the discussion, just because our culture has bad takes on sex and romance as the only forms possible of significant physical touch? Physical touch is such an important way to communicate love and affection, as well as care, concern, and comfort. They don’t get to cast their shadow on this space anymore!

Other Words:

If you had this desire for someone, or wanted to approach cultivating these forms of affection in a relationship, you could say you’re feeling Phaddish (adj.) for that person.

.Participating or initiating acts of a non-sexual physical intimacy Phadronic (adj.) quality are said to be phade-ing/phading (v.).

A Phadrone (n.) could be the name of a person/partner you share this kind of relationship with.

Phadroning (v.) would the act of cultivating this kind of intimacy with another person.

Phadronically (adv.) could describe a certain level of intimacy implicit in a physical touch between to particular people.

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Now lets talk about Sex. That’s the thing the everyone’s mind always gravitates to when discuss words like, intimacy, attraction, desire. It’s the thing we want to stay away from when you use the Platonic or Friendly. But, lets be real. Haven’t many of us had sex with people didn’t even consider friends? Or people who became our “Strictly Platonic” friends after we may have had sex, once or several times, with them?

People who gravitate toward polyamory or non-monogamy tend have had a “hoe-phase.” The boundary between friend and lover, or partner and fuckbuddy have been blurred in a good chunk of people’s lives. Non-monogamous or not, I think it’s useful to talk directly about our sexual experiences, desires, fantasies, and how different it can be with different people, or in different stages of our lives. But what makes an experience sexual? Maybe that sounds redundant or obvious; I mean, it’s got the word SEX in it, maybe that’s got something to do with it? But maybe not...

Lets ask an odd question. Is sex inherently sexual? Who wouldn’t assume the answer is automatically yes? Well, my first thought is to talk to those in the Adult Entertainment industry or friends of ours who are sex-workers, in whatever capacity. Is every client sexy or shoot erotic? Those of us who have sex, have we never been doing it and been bored through most of at least one experience?

If sex is inherently sexual, why do we have so many Sexual Health Educators, Marriage Counselors, Pornstars, Yoga Teachers, Personal trainers and Writers telling us how to have sexy sex? Dating Coaches and Websites, telling us how we are getting something that’s supposed to sound so easy wrong.

I’ve come to the opinion that sex isn’t about body parts, genitalia, certain body motions, or even clothing [or lack thereof]. I believe that sex, or eroticism, is all about the context and the people involved. There’s nothing inherently sexy about fruit, or food in general, but if woman eats a banana in public, there are at least several men in area thinking of something than her healthy food choices.

This is why talking about sex directly is good. And understanding it as an energy that you imbue to any activity or circumstance, could help have better sex; and and on the flip-side, show us how we may need to more aware of how we may take up space with our body language. I do also feel, that in part, some of our Ace friends (those who aren’t sex repulsed), may be able to find some resonance with this model; sex doesn’t have to feel passionate or any particular way at all (other than good?), because sex isn’t about sexiness, but about human connection and pleasure.

Other Words:

Serotic (adj.) activities include any activity that is engaged due to, or is infused with, sexual desire and/or erotic intention. It also describes the type of desire you’re feeling for another person.

A Serato (n.) is any person you engage in serotic activities or feelings with.

An activity that was originally un-serotic (adj.), but became sexually or erotically charged, we could described as having become Serotically (adv.) charged.

When you are cultivating or charging an act with serotic energy, you are Seroticizing (v.) that activity

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Lately, especially since diving into Radical Politics, I find less and less desire in defining Who I Am as a part of a relationship unit. It’s an overlay from monogamy, The Couple being the only social unit that is recognized, as it’s necessary to the Nuclear Family; a super important thing for Capitalism to sustain itself. The relationships I cultivate with others, with whatever forms of intimacy or interactions therein, cant be understood by that model. I am more than my interactions with a handful of people; I am a human person, and my engagement with the world isn’t actually reducible to whether or not I’m having sex with someone or not.

We’ve talked about multiple forms of intimacy, and some of the desires or interests associated with them. Have you noticed that in the desire, or need, to discuss relationships on a basis of, ‘sex: yes or no?’, that we haven’t talked about the webs that form because we are all reliant on each other to survive? Not everyone in your community or workplace or online spaces, you’ll get to know or talk to. Do they, as people, matter less because they aren’t in your contacts list or your DM’s?

This is a space where not a lot of us to tend think or engage as much. An easy word to discuss this space is community. But is a community the people or the place you spend your time, whether online or off? Is the community the place you live and your neighbors? Is it the people who may share some of your identifiers or face similar forms of oppression, despite living in a different city, state, country?

We are multi-dimensional beings, and with the use of technology, there are so many ways to form relationships, and share resources. I think the ‘community’ is any space you find yourself in, which means that mutual aid is something you are always able to engage in. Whether it’s feeding the homeless guys who hang out by the intersection, or dropping a few bucks in a trans kid’s venmo, mutual aid is so much easier.

But what if that feels so inconsequential? It’s not! But it does, from time to time, feel like the problems of the world are so big, and that you and so many you know are suffering in ways you wish you could help. Well, community organizing is always happening somewhere, online and off. It becomes important to join up with others in order feel like we can actually make a positive impact on the lives of others. We don’t have to wait on a government who’s interest isn’t ours, don’t have to wait for some politician to fail on a promise to Make Things Better.

We have each other, and we are all we really have. At the end of the day, all of our concepts are man-made. COVID-19 showed us how drastically things could be different if the people in power made decisions that actually benefited us. A lot of us understand the need to do something. Capitalism says that competition is what drove human kind into evolution, the fight for survival in a meaningless, terrifying world. Anarchism, as I’m learning, throws the whole idea in the trash where it belongs.

Peter Kropotkin, whose been called both the Godfather and Santa Claus of Anarchism, penned in Mutual Aid: A Factor of Evolution (1902), “under any circumstances sociability is the greatest advantage in the struggle for life.”

We are better off together. Capitalism and the property relationships in our compulsively monogamous society try to tell us other wise. We don’t have to follow that model.

Other Words:

To Mudshop (v.) is to build a mudship with a particular person, organinzation, or community; Mud-shopping (v.).

A Mudshipper (n.) is an individual in a mudship of any scale.

I’ve said a lot. I hope this reads as accessible to as many people as it can be. I built this because I want to tell the people in my life why I love them as dearly as I do. And that I’d love to build relationships with as many awesome, lovely people as I can.

If you try to use the words Romantic and Platonic while you look at this post, and find it almost impossible, I’ve done my job.

I hope those words die along with oppressive ideas they uphold.

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majoraop · 3 years

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I wrote the first draft of this story for a zine that never happened, so I decided to revise, expand, and finally publish it for the “first meeting” prompt on my card of the One Piece Bingo organized by @op-pirate-fleet. My nakama (The-Replicant), suggested me the ASL secret code, and @starblazer124 kindly beta-read the old version of this story. I may write more fanfics based on this alternate timeline, but you can read this one shot as a standalone. ^^

The Marine Recruit and the Kind Pirate (Marine Headquarters, one month ago) That morning, Bell-mère had not expected to be summoned by the Vice-Admiral. Even less, she had expected a twelve-year-old rookie like herself to be assigned a mission of the utmost secrecy. At the age of twelve, she wasn’t even a sailor yet but just a rookie. She always took her tasks seriously, though, so she prepared her sack immediately: in a few days, she would set sail to a small kingdom in the East Blue. My very first mission. The young girl grinned with confidence, grabbed a tangerine from her personal supply, and peeled it while humming to herself. --- (Goa Kingdom, present time) “I’ll leave her to you then!” “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll keep this a secret.” Bell-mère observed the old vice-admiral grinning and chatting a little more with that young woman named Makino. Then, he rudely ruffled her hair with his large hand and said goodbye. Bell-mère sighed. Now, she had to re-do her ponytail. One day I’ll shave my head, she decided, fiddling with her rebellious fuchsia locks. “Let me help you, Bell-chan.” Bell-mère eyed the woman, still unsure about what to think about her. Garp was on friendly terms with her, so she must be a trusted person. However, Bell-mère had spotted an infamous red-haired pirate drinking in her bar. Her kindness felt genuine though, so she accepted her help. “Is something bothering you?” Makino asked while tying her hair up. Bell-mère didn’t reply immediately. She had noticed the bartender glancing at that pirate with eyes full of respect, fondness, and maybe more. “I don’t like pirates,” she just said, not wanting to hurt the woman’s feelings. “I see.” Makino smiled. “Well, let’s talk a bit about it on our way to Mt. Colubo.” Bell-mère nodded and followed her up a steep trail just outside Windmill Village. She was supposed to meet with Garp’s grandchild and some other kids who lived in the forest with a middle-aged woman: Garp had told her that she had been a bandit in the past, but now she was more like his trusted babysitter. “I know there are nasty pirates out there, Bell-chan,” Makino said as they walked through the trees. “But kind ones exist too.” “My parents were killed by pirates.” Bell-mère didn’t remember them, and the Marine was her family now, but sometimes she wondered what kind of people they had been. Makino stopped and turned around. “I’m sorry about that,” she murmured understandingly. Bell-mère saw that there was no trace of dishonesty in her eyes, so she smiled at her and said, “Don’t worry, Makino-san. You couldn’t know.” “One day, I would like to introduce you to that pirate you saw earlier. By meeting him, you will maybe understand what I mean.” “Ok,” Bell-mère said cautiously, mildly curious. Besides, even Garp himself often did borderline when not outright illegal things—for example, hiding children in the house of a former bandit. She didn’t know the whole story, but rumours said that one of the children was the very son of the late Pirate King. Another, instead, had lived in a junkyard until being “adopted” by that bandit called “Dadan”. And there should be two siblings from a faraway island, too. Bell-mère had heard Garp telling his superiors they were nothing less than the sons of a fallen World Noble. She had no idea how Garp had learned about such forbidden topics, but she had a job to do and would do it without making questions. “Dadan lives up there.” The sun was down on the horizon when Makino gestured towards a poor-looking house in the meadow ahead. More than that, though, what caught Bell-mère’s attention was a nearby miniature “fortress”. On its top, a flag made of patched fabric said “ASL’s Country”. Next to the shabby hut, a child looking no older than seven and wearing a straw hat sat on the grass, a sad expression on his face. Bell-mère could hear an animated discussion coming from inside and wondered if it had something to do with his mood. The next moment, though, the child ran to Makino and threw himself into her arms. “I missed you!” he said with the largest smile ever. “Me too, Luffy-kun.” Makino hugged him affectionately. “What’s happening?” She gestured towards the “fortress”. The kid’s expression changed back into a pout. “There are these new kids—I would like to become friends with them, but Ace doesn’t want!” “I’ll talk with him,” Makino offered kindly. “Sabo tried already, but Ace won’t listen!” Then, the child finally noticed Bell-mère. “Who are you?” he asked, tilting his head on the side. “I’m Bell, a marine in training.” Luffy’s smile came back. “So you know my grandpa?” “Sure!” Bell-mère grinned at him. She wondered if the Vice-Admiral had been like him as a kid. “Why don’t you become a marine too?” She was there for the very purpose of persuading him and the other children to join the Navy. “I’ll be your friend if you come back with me.” “No thanks,” the kid replied with an innocent smile. “What I’m going to be is the King of Pirates!” Bell-mère groaned. She already knew from Garp that his grandchild was a troublemaker, but she wouldn’t give up so easily. “What about becoming a marine hero, instead?” “Nope,” Luffy said, still smiling brightly. “Heroes need to share meat, and I don’t want!” “It won’t be easy to convince him, Bell-chan.” Makino chuckled. “Well, let’s see what’s happening in there.” When Makino knocked on the crooked door, a voice from inside recited, “If you bring a bone, just begone!” A secret code? That piqued Bell-mère’s interest. “The right answer is”—Luffy whispered in Makino’s ear—“‘if you bring meat, then take a seat.’” Bell-mère’s jaw dropped. Spilling out their secret code so nonchalantly…Garp’s grandson would never become a good marine like that! “Thank you, Luffy-kun.” Makino smiled at him. Then, she repeated the phrase louder. “Come in,” said the same voice of before. Once inside, Bell-mère’s eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light of the single candle sitting at the centre of a chipped wooden table. When she was able to see better, she noticed four children staring at them. The child with dark hair and an annoyed expression on his freckled face caught her attention first; then, she glanced at the three blond kids. One of them grinned at Makino with a missing tooth that gave him a cheeky look, while the remaining two children sat closer to each other: the shorter one had a messy fringe that covered his eyes, and he clung to the shirt of a slightly older kid wearing shades. Probably they were the fallen noble’s sons. According to Garp’s description, the eldest brother went by the name of “Doffy” and was the hardest to approach. “Why don’t you try to get along with your new friends, Ace-kun?” Makino addressed the freckled kid, interrupting Bell-mère’s thoughts. “I can’t be friends with spies,” Ace muttered, crossing his arms and looking sideways. Had he just blushed? Bell-mère couldn’t tell for sure, but she had an idea of what was going on there. Brat. She rolled her eyes. You are way too young for her. A bit surprised, Makino asked, “Spies?” “Yes, spies,” repeated the kid. “They've arrived here suddenly and look like spoiled brats—they aren’t like us!” “Here he goes again,” the kid with a missing tooth sighed. “Stay out of this, Sabo!” Ace snapped. “But Ace…” Luffy snivelled. “We’re wasting our time here. Come on, Roci.” The glasses kid made for the door with a grim expression, but his younger brother didn’t seem as eager to leave. “But brother,” he whimpered, “I’m hungry...” “I’ll find you something to eat. Now let’s go.” “Why don’t we all have dinner together instead?” Makino proposed. “Dadan is waiting for us.” Bell-mère glanced up at Makino’s reassuring smile. “I’m hungry too,” she said, trying to be helpful. “I want meat!” Luffy yelled, throwing his arms up. “Meat! Meat! Meat!” he bounced around, gaining a laugh from Sabo. Even Ace smiled at that, but he tried not to make anyone notice. A moment later, he glared at the “spies” and conceded, “You can eat with us, but I still don’t trust you.” “It’s decided then!” Makino clapped her hands happily. She took Luffy by the hand and added, “Let’s go introduce Bell-mère to Dadan and help her make dinner.” “Wait, who is this little girl?” Ace pointed with his chin to Bell-mère. “I’m not a little girl!” she yelled, realising too late she wasn’t supposed to lose her cool like that. Ace smirked. ��Of course you are.” “I’m still older than you. And I’m a marine in training.” “A marine? Disgusting.” Bell-mère was about to Garp-punch him when a tiny voice caught her attention. “I...I want to become a marine too. You—I m-mean, marines look cool. And strong.” Bell-mère turned towards the child speaking from behind his brother’s back, his cheeks red from the embarrassment. “Stop speaking nonsense,” his brother reproached him. Ignoring that remark, Bell-mère observed his younger brother. He looked frail and was way too shy, but with some training, maybe… “I want to play with you even if you like marines!” said Luffy, gaining a smack on the head by Ace. Sabo burst out laughing. “You’re so funny, Luffy!” he said, holding his stomach. Bell-mère chuckled, too. She wondered if, one day, Luffy would become one of those “kind pirates” as well… Garp won’t like this. The young marine recruit shrugged that thought off and followed the group to the bandit-turned-babysitter’s house with a grin on her face. Since she was there, she intended to have fun at least.

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smolbeandrabbles · 3 years

Text

My Last Name - Ralph Anderson x Reader (The Outsider)

@wltz-bby @happyskywhale

GIF CREDIT: X

Author’s Note: I was supposed to get this off the ground before the Holiday period so I could write my winter wedding fic and like... completely forgot about it until it was a little too late. So while you won’t get the Wedding this year, though I’m not promising inspiration won’t strike late, or... y’know if there’s demand, I thought I would still give you the proposal. Special shout out to a very good friend who keeps giving me SO much Ralph Anderson inspiration. I needed it and didn’t even know. Keep doing what you’re doing! 💕

We stan the pure form of ‘Daddy’ on this blog.

My Last Name - Dierks Bentley

Disclaimer: The Outsider (Book/HBO) Nothing to do with me / gif not mine / lyrics not mine / I’ve had this in my head so long and I’m not really sure this is the pay off but... here we are!

Premise: Ralph Anderson has a lot on his mind and that list is only going to get bigger. He’s not one for believing in confluence - it’s up to Yune to remind him sometimes things do just work out...

Words: 4517

Warnings: ....Insulin warning? For a buncha reasons. I mean I know you guys know what’s coming but reader doesn’t! / Swearing

_____

I learned how to write it When I first started school Some bully didn't like it, He said it didn't sound too cool So I had to hit him And all I said when the blood came It's my last name Daddy always told me far back as I recall Son, you're part of somethin', You represent us all So keep it how you got it, as solid as it came It's my last name Passed down from generations Too far back to trace I can see all my relations When I look into my face May never make it famous But I'll never bring it shame It's my last name So darlin' if you're wonderin' Why I've got you here tonight I want to be your husband, I want you to be my wife I ain't got much to give you But what I've got means everything It's my last name Oh, it's my last name

---

Whenever Ralph used to be woken up in the middle of the night it was usually a call. The kind where he would groan and for all of 10 seconds - whilst glancing bleary-eyed at the clock flashing some ungodly hour of the morning - wish that he wasn’t a man of the law. It still happened occasionally these days, but a little less and less; people seemed more respectful of his situation now and wouldn’t call him unless absolutely necessary. Or unless the scene really needed both of you on it, and right away. Instead Ralph was woken by the tugging of sheets. You were still fast asleep, and he wasn’t surprised; the case you’d been working on meant putting in the late hours. He was at least glad you’d hauled Yune onto it with you, even though as your partner (in every capacity) Ralph felt a little guilty about it. You kept telling him not to be silly, he had bigger things to focus on right now. But he couldn’t help it, and he always thought ‘bigger than this case, though?’ As he sat up to figure out what was going on, Ralph came face to face with your adopted daughter Renée. “Oh, oh, Renée, sweetheart, what’s wrong are you okay? Honey?” Although also half asleep she was currently crying and whimpering and Ralph was immediately alert and concerned, “Oh, honey… honey it’s okay… what happened?” He wound his arms around her and hoisted her up into bed, and she kept crying, burying her face in his soft sleep shirt, “Daddy… don’t let the monsters get me, daddy…” “Shhh… Shhh… It’s okay, sweetheart it was a bad dream… I promise it’s just a dream.” It better have been, because if anything like that shapeshifter ever came for the people he loved again Ralph Anderson would give it more than just hell. But Ralph couldn’t help but be a little flustered. She had never, not in all the time you’d been together, nor in the joint decision for him to move into your house, called him ‘daddy’ before. Not even on accident. ‘Ralphie’ was as close as he got to a cute nickname - although he despised it from anyone that wasn’t her. He couldn’t help but be overcome with joy as he wrapped her in his arms, rubbing her back, nor that it spilled to his heart, now beating faster. Ralph had wanted to hear it from Renée for a long time, he certainly wouldn’t deny that. But he wouldn’t force it out of her until she was ready - he was just a little concerned that it had come to her after bad dreams… Ralph’s eyes flicked to you, luckily still fast asleep, he didn’t want to worry you with this if he didn’t have to. Kissing her forehead gently he was glad to see that she wasn’t crying anymore, but she was still holding him so tight and whimpering every so often. “It’s okay, Renée… they won’t get you I promise. I’m here…” That only caused her to hold him tighter, mumbling into his shirt, “Can I stay with you and mommy?” Ralph chuckled gently, another spike to his heartrate that he knew was ending with a stupid grin, he wiped it off to be appropriately concerned, “Of course you can… C’mere, we’ll protect you…” She snuggled in the sheets between you, and Ralph put his arm around both of you, feeling your body move under his touch and your subconscious hum of content. “Goodnight Renée…” He mumbled, hoping he’d be able to settle back to sleep easily. “Goodnight, Daddy…” She already sounded like she was drifting. Ralph smiled again before kicking himself. Don’t get ahead of yourself… she’ll forget by tomorrow morning...

***

He was standing in the kitchen with his what felt like his fourth cup of coffee when you returned from dropping her at school. “You best be careful with those today… what with your Captain’s interview!” You chided, pouring what was left into a cup of your own, before kissing his cheek. Ralph’s smile came off as more of a grimace, “I’ll need all the help I can get.” You shook your head at him, leaning against the counter, “Come on. Don’t be ridiculous, you’ll ace it.” He shook his head, “No.” You sighed, taking his hand and tugging him to you, forcing his eyes to look at yours, “Ralph Anderson, I’ll tell you good luck if that’s what you really want, but you don’t need it.” He laced his fingers with yours, “It’s only contention, Y/N. It’s not a dead cert.” You raised an eyebrow, kissing his knuckles, “Nope. You’ll get it.” Ralph’s eyes flicked back to the garden and he chewed the inside of his lip frowning, you tried searching his face for any clue as to what was on his mind besides the interview. But this detective had you stumped. “What’s wrong?” “Renée called me daddy last night.” You froze, and not only because that was so out of the blue, you knew what that meant to him. How many times you’d teased him about the moment it would finally happen. Now she’d done it, but it wasn’t the FIRST thing he’d said this morning?! “And you weren’t gonna tell me-!?! Ralph, that’s-! That’s so good!” Ralph squinted at nothing in particular, “Look, she… she was half asleep. I don’t think she’s gonna remember it.” “Does that matter? You do.” You pushed yourself up on your toes to turn his face back to yours and you smiled, “Babe… tell me how you felt. Right now, tell me how you felt.” “Like when you first told me you loved me.” You scoffed, but Ralph continued, “My heart kinda… went on overdrive. I know I was grinning like an idiot. Just… overjoyed. I guess, but Y/N she won-” You pulled him to your lips to stop him from getting negative, “Channel it. That feeling and that positivity. Into your interview.” “Y-Yeah okay.” Ralph sighed, knowing he wouldn’t get away with it, and then couldn’t help but smile, “I’m sorry I didn’t wake you. But it was bad dreams, I didn’t wanna worry you.” “Ah, I did wonder why she woke up in our bed.” You kissed him again, “I gotta go, daddy, but I’ll see you after your interview.” Ralph hesitated in your arms at your repeated phrase; “...I’ll need 20 drinks at this rate.” You laughed, but the fact that he was now blushing didn’t escape your notice, “Me too!” “How’s it all going-?” “Oh no.” You shook your head, “Interview first, case later. I got some more interviewing of my own to do!” You turned to him at the door with a smile, and blew him a kiss, “Later, Mr. Anderson.”

***

Flint City PD needed a new Captain. This rumour of retirement had been circulating a while with absolutely no weight to it. But earlier this month the Captain had announced that this time, those rumours were true and he would be retiring in a few months’ time - interviews starting imminently. Ralph hadn’t needed any encouragement to sign up, he knew he was getting to the age where he ought to be thinking of desk work as the main part of his job. Also, how often did the opportunity come up? You’d had one simple chat with him about it, that one where he tried to convince himself of all the reasons why he shouldn’t apply, and you told him to shut up and go for it. So Ralph had, and his interview was today. He knew he wasn’t the only one in the precinct to apply for it, and he knew that there were applications coming in from outside Flint City - heck he’d seen a bunch of ‘em walk in to be interviewed. (Always with you and Yune looking at them and throwing comments around that Ralph thought were supposed to help encourage him, but wasn’t always entirely sure) But from what he’d gathered, most of the FCPD wanted it to be him that got the position. Ralph was - obviously - humbled, but he wasn’t one for counting his chickens.

As his interview approached, he’d broached the conversation more seriously with you. Right now you were his detective partner. There wasn’t a lot of conflict of interest there, because you always worked cases together. But if he was the Captain, and you were a detective under him, he could see why that would cause an issue. You’d moved to Flint City PD to further your own career, and Ralph didn’t want to put a halt on that just because he was the Captain of the department. And Ralph liked working cases with you - aside from you actually being his girlfriend - so there was that element that might disappear too. And he wasn’t sure he wanted that: “So, if I do get it - theoretically - I’ll have to promote you into a senior role. Otherwise you’re a ‘junior’ detective working cases that someone of my current role should be doing. Or I can just put you in my role… But then, do I pull someone else in? Y/N, I want to partner with you still. Would that be okay?” You raised your eyebrow and played into his ‘theoretical’ world: “You’re the Captain.” “Yeah, but conflict of interest.” You frowned, considering it, “Well, no-one has exactly said anything before now. But I see when you’d be in a position of authority over me why it’d cause trouble.” You shrugged, “See what the general consensus is; at work, with the people of Flint City. The DA’s office.” The legal side was very important. You couldn’t risk cases getting thrown out. “I don’t give a damn if the DA’s office cares-!” With that jokey tone - and the inference of your friendship with Samuels behind it - Ralph leant across and kissed you, “Good idea, Ms. S.S. Andersson.” You smiled, but shook your head at his nickname, he was always after that double-S. “I do have them, occasionally!”

Ralph knew that he wouldn’t get the peace and quiet he really required to prepare, when he rolled into the parking lot and Yune was standing outside the precinct doors, arms folded. ‘Just perfect.’ He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair - really Ralph wasn’t sure why he was panicking so much about the interview; he knew enough that was fairly certain. Maybe he wanted it too much… maybe - with the consequences of your relationship - he didn’t want it enough. He chewed on his lip, sitting in silence for a minute. You were likely right about him being a dead cert, but Ralph was not about to bet on it until that paper arrived on his desk officially.

Yune came strolling over the second Ralph opened his car door; “How you feelin’?” “Honestly, pretty terrible. I’ve had more cups of coffee this morning than I can count. I haven’t had a real interview in years. I don’t even know what I’m expecting in there. Usually I’m the one asking questions.” “Well don’t act like a suspect and you’ll be fine!” Yune chuckled, but the quirk of Ralph’s eyebrow told him that wasn’t helpful, so Yune jogged his arm instead as they walked towards the precinct, “Man you got this in the bag!” “Look, can I just have the interview first-? Speaking of, I thought you were helping Y/N today?!” Yune shrugged, “I offered to get everyone coffee.” “So you could stand outside and wait for me?” Ralph pushed open the door, turning to his friend, “A little. But while she’s in there I can talk to you!” Ralph’s smile was a little crooked as he opened your office door, “About what?” Although he knew full well where this conversation was going. “C’mon man! About what!” Ralph threw his jacket over the back of his chair and booted up his computer. His interview notes were still on top of his desk where he’d left them yesterday; you had little cue cards you’d been asking him questions from and he’d been able to answer with a confident smile on the drive home. Maybe he just had to pretend the Captain was you - Ralph had second thoughts on that helping. “Can I just get through today before you get onto me about any of that.” “Geez, what are you so worried about today for?!” Ralph bit his lips together and again blurted it, “Renée called me daddy last night and I- I just… I dunno what I do with that.” Yune’s eyes immediately widened, “Holy shit-” “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It was after a bad dream, she wasn’t properly awake-” Ralph waved his hands towards the floor to calm Yune down, but it didn’t work. “-This is all falling into place! Especially when you’re thinking of…!” Yune’s face lit up, “HA!” Ralph shook his head, “Geez, but it’s all a little too convenient right? Like it’s all just happening a little too… at the same time.” Yune let out a frustrated sigh, making sure the door behind him was closed, “For fuck sake Ralph, just propose to the girl already, you’re killing me here-!!” Ralph looked panicked for a second as he waved his hands once more and pressed his finger to his lips to shut Yune up, looking pretty stern, “Shush!” “She loves you, her kid loves you, you’re gonna get this Captain’s job. It’s all gonna work out. Sometimes things just work Ralph. I know you’re not a big believer… even when you know there’s other forces at work out there.” “...Things don’t just work… there’s gotta be reasons!” “Yeah, I just gave you three, they aren’t connected, they’re just happening at the same time. Stop looking for trouble where there isn’t any.” Yune crossed the room and shook his friend’s shoulders, “Cheer up! Ace this interview!” Then he chuckled, “Now I’m gonna go get coffee before Y/N kills me.” Ralph couldn’t help but chuckle back, “Yeah. I would, and I won’t be stopping her!” “Aw,” Yune feigned hurt as he walked back through the door, “now that’s unfair-! After all my support!?”

Ralph sat back at his desk, finding himself needing to take an even bigger deep breath and wishing Yune hadn’t brought up the proposal. It had been a tentative idea thrown out there the last time the two of them had after work drinks, and Yune had immediately leapt on it. He liked asking if Ralph had thought about what he was going to say, and where, and how, and if he’d got a ring yet. And although Ralph was serious, and he knew in the back of his head such a proposal was imminent, he didn’t know anything beyond the fact he was going to do it. He placed a hand to his forehead and groaned, turning back to his notes - this was priority one, everyone was right. Once Ralph knew what his future was going to hold, he could start thinking about what his future with you would look like - and exactly how he’d change that last name of yours.

***

Anderson and Andersson had been a running joke between nearly the whole damn city since you’d arrived here. Yune had refused to tell Ralph your name until the Captain had introduced you. And you’d had to on the spot explain to a surprised looking Ralph that ‘mine is spelt with a double-S’ - hence his sometime-nickname for you. With Yune standing by trying his very best to hold in his laughter with a poker face. How you had to introduce yourselves as “Detective Anderson & Andersson” and everyone got that look on their face. And how you started adding the quip of “Yes, we’re partners.” when you’d started dating. But people started to think that you were already married - and then began the process of explaining the spelling, to every person in Flint City who gave the same little amused smile.

When Ralph had started to joke with you about the possibility of getting married, he’d always said something along the lines of; ‘We need to get rid of that extra S - shouldn’t be too hard!’ You’d never really known - or particularly cared - if he was serious or not. You never seemed to be fishing for marriage, the only time you’d brought it up semi-seriously was when you’d had a tentative conversation of having kids of yours own, your comment being ‘At least change my last name first-!’ Your main concern really was his influence on Renée’s life - and you didn’t need to be married for that to continue the way it was going. She didn’t need to refer to Ralph as her father, but he was certainly a father figure for her. Although ever since that night he’d wanted her to say it again, accidentally, or maybe again in a half-asleep state; it hadn’t happened. And you’d watched Ralph try not to look disappointed, or try not to look like he was wishing for it so hard… You both knew it would take her time, but it looked like it was killing him.

He got the Captaincy easily enough, it was barely even an interview; basic competency questions before what felt much more like a chat. Although Ralph was very cautious of slip ups even then. Of course the Frankie Peterson case was brought up, and all Ralph really had to say was that lessons were learned, no-one was perfect, Terry was done right by in the end. We got the guy - though for obvious reasons he didn’t add that. Ralph was fully prepared to admit to mistakes, but thought the rest of his career would speak for itself. And it clearly did. Basically the whole precinct had been called together when it was announced and had a party for him. (Your little family and his closest friends had a more relaxed and intimate dinner together afterwards, where Ralph let himself go a little bit). Ralph was very humble about accepting it, and careful about his transition period. Especially when it came to you, everyone seemed alright with things as they stood - they had watched you both for several years as partners and how the relationship had played out there. It was all very ‘let’s see how it goes’ - and Ralph would take any complaints or comments about professionalism, favouritism or conflicts of interest very seriously. He had sent a general enquiry to the head of county police, but hadn’t heard anything back yet. Ralph just didn’t want to have to move you somewhere when you were so settled. You joked about going to the DA’s office, but that didn’t go down well - for obvious Bill Samuels related reasons, but also because Ralph thought that might make things even worse. You only ever rolled your eyes at him, “For the millionth time I’m not gonna run off with the guy-! He’s a very good friend.” “I thought he was your best friend.” “Ralph Anderson.” You smiled gently, brushing your lips to his, as if he didn’t know. “You have gotta be out of your mind.” Of course, once the position was in hand, there was barely a day that went by that Yune didn’t give him a look of significance. Ralph quite often had to kick him under the desk or strategically hit him with a folder. ‘Now isn’t the right time.’ ‘No, now is perfect! Don’t tell me you’re scared!?’ ‘I’m not scared-!’ ‘Good, cuz you faced off against a shapeshifting thing in a Texas cave, you can propose to your partner.’ Ralph’s laugh was choked, ‘How is this less scary than that-!?’

Ralph was a little scared of getting down on one knee. He had no plan. No game play. Heck he didn’t even think he knew your ring size - some detective he was! - and Ralph didn’t think he had the skill to enquire nonchalantly, or steal one from your jewellery box to get measured somewhere without you noticing. And he wanted it to be a surprise for you - another reason why Ralph wanted Yune to keep his damn mouth shut. Either you were bound to overhear, or gossip would get it back to you. But it was his last name. Would you want to change yours? It might have been one letter, sure but… you’d still be taking his name. You’d often said of his last name that it was ‘lazy’ when he told you yours was spelled wrong: ‘Somewhere along the line someone got lazy and decided they couldn’t be doing with that second S.’ ‘Why can’t yours be spelled wrong!?’ ‘Most popular surname in Sweden, definitely not spelt wrong.’ Then you’d look up at him; ‘Or you’re Scottish. Anders-son. Son of Anders. Vs… I think yours is Andrew. With that missing S.’ He’d quirked his eyebrow ‘Something wrong with that-!?’ ‘No.’ Though you gave him a teasing little smirk as you’d mused on it for a minute, ‘I’m still going for that lazy angle!’ Not that Ralph thought that would factor any into your decision to marry him, but it was a conversation that kept flooding his brain as he got more and more anxious about asking you.

Then, suddenly, the perfect idea came to him…

***

You’d had another day visiting smaller ‘crime scenes’ and filing legal paperwork. Overjoyed when Bill kept congratulating you on being the only one who actually did half this stuff yourself. “One of a kind, Y/N, I tell ya!” “Anything for my favourite DA, of course.” “Which is why we gotta work against those idiots in the PD, right?” “Team work!” You grinned, “Although one is about to be the permanent Captain.” “Ah yeah, well, I’m still the DA. So, if he gives you trouble-!” Although Bill’s smile was warm - Ralph and he had their differences in the work place, but would certainly consider each other friends out of it. You laughed, “Oh, I’ll be right over!” Now you were back at the precinct and pretty buzzy with good energy. All your work was done for the day, and there was nothing too strenuous to pick up from the crimes either.

Your new Captain was standing outside, hands on his hips and smile on his face. You stopped in the grass and tilted your head at him. Ralph looked so happy, but also a little shy about it. You wondered what was up. But couldn’t help but think how lovely it was to see him looking like this. “Captain.” You grinned as he crossed to you, “You need me for something?” “Well I have been waiting for you.” “Oh, not long I hope?” “Well, I mean, I guess I’ve been waiting a while but… better now than never.” “What is?” Ralph reached into his jacket pocket and held out a little booklet for you. It looked like a detective badge, although you wore your own on your belt you always liked the ID booklet ones. Maybe you’d start using one more if this was a new one. You knew that your own promotion was imminent, in line with his own. “It’s about time you started spelling your last name right.” That smile on his face was gorgeous, and yet altogether quite indescribable and you couldn’t help but smile back.

A little confused at first, you took it from him delicately, opening it up. At first you noticed the title at the top. Quite correct: you’d been bumped up a rank; that didn’t surprise you, Ralph already had discussed with you that was something he would do if he got the Captain’s position. Then you scanned the rest of the document and paused.

‘Y/N Anderson’. You stared at the name for a good few seconds, even though you knew exactly what this was. Your small smile ended up stretching across your cheeks and you could feel your blush rise as you looked back up at him again slowly. Ralph looked like he was trying to fight a smile until he had the answer, although how he could think he’d even need one was really beyond you. “Yes.” “Yes?” Somehow he looked surprised, even at the confidence in your voice. “YES!” You threw your arms around him, perfectly aware that you’d just shrieked it and you were about to start crying. “God, I love you SO much Ralph Anderson!” Ralph held you close with a laugh, “I mean I don’t have a ring; we’ll have to go shopping. but I-” “Are you kidding!?” You pulled back for a second looking back at your new badge, that wasn’t something you cared about right now, “What were you going for, most original proposal ever!?” “I mean I can get down on one knee and actually ask the question, if you want me to. Heck maybe I should I just--” You shook your head and wiped your eyes, “Just ask me. If you want to ask, you don’t need to. This is… perfect.” Ralph chuckled again, and took a deep breath, “Y/N, will you please let me take that damn ‘S’ out of your last name?” You couldn’t help but cackle, thinking that he might just ask you straight, “You may!” “So you’ll marry me?” He grinned, and instead of answering you pulled him into a kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck as Ralph pulled your body closer to his. He would change her name too, that significance was not lost on you. If he was your husband, he would be Renée’s step-dad… and maybe he’d get called it regularly. Time would surely tell if Ralph Anderson would get his unspoken wish.

Your making-out in the parking lot had not gone unnoticed by Ralph’s best friend, and Yune’s whistle broke you apart. “Hey! Captain! Did she say yes!?” You both looked to each other and then to him. You were still holding that little booklet in your hand and you looked from Ralph to Yune and back. Ralph’s eyes remained on his friend, grinning although he didn’t answer, arms still around you. Of course Yune knew about this, of course he was in on it. You left your very-new fiancé and sprinted across the parking lot to hug the police lieutenant, very nearly screaming: “WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!”

Ralph shook his head watching you almost drag Yune to the ground with your hug, but laughed. Oh, he knew what he was getting himself into alright. He crossed the parking lot to help his friend before he got too smothered. Day 1 of the rest of his life, and that proposal hadn’t been so bad. You had just specifically agreed to take his last name, and Ralph’s heart swelled. If he was a crier, he’d let the happy tears he could feel prickling at his eyes fall. He guessed the jokes would have to change now… Still, he’d trade those jokes for this.

Detective Anderson & Anderson didn’t sound so bad to him, after all.

---

Thank you for reading my precious babies! 💙💙

#Anderson and Andersson Detective Co.#Ralph Anderson #Ralph Anderson x Reader #The Outsider #The Outsider HBO #HBOs The Outsider #Harmony Andersson #(or should that be Harmony Anderson ;) )#Renee Andersson #198 #This time next week we'll be at 200!!!#Harmony and Samuels totally high-fived in that segment but I didn't want to write it in here...#too embarassed...!#BUT you know she called him screaming about this afterwards right?#ALSO can you image Renee when they tell her-!?!#Oh my gosh #Okay I'll write this winter wedding at some point I P R O M I S E #The first few scenes might not seem /so/ important for this but they're important for the wedding I PROMISE

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sexyrasputin · 3 years

Text

anything, alice

"Mind if I walk you home?" James asked Alice in a gentle voice. Dinner had been nice once everybody had stopped talking about ending her potential love life with murder and switched back to English. James had been seated across from Alice, and with Nathalie next to her, he spent the majority of the night making silly faces at the toddler. With her favorite kind of niece in giggles, Alice knew any chance of taking a step back from James was now nonexistent. He was great with kids, or at least with Nathalie, even if he was an assassin. Of all the assassins (and heck, members of the Coalition in general), Alice knew about three who were great with kids. Torin, her deceased mother, and now James.

So yeah, she'd let him walk her home. Even if it did end in another marriage proposal.

"That'd be nice," she replied with a smile. James' face lit up into an even bigger grin.

After saying their goodbyes, they left for the short walk to her apartment.

"I forgot how nice mom-cooked homemade meals are," he expressed, one hand resting on his stomach. It was flat as ever, him being and assassin and therefore ridiculously muscled and all.

"Do your parents not live nearby?" Alice asked. The hesitation in James' reply socked her in the gut. Bad question to ask, apparently.

"You don't have to talk about it," she hurried to say. James' smile returned.

"No, it's fine. My parents died when I was five." He spoke casually, like it wasn't a life altering event that would traumatize anyone, let alone a little kid.

"My mom died when I was five," Alice whispered back, surprised with her openness. She didn't talk about her mom with most people, just Ace and Ravyn. Alice only had a few strong memories of her mom, but the last one had been her mom teaching her to make chocolate pudding from scratch. A week later, her mother was assassinated by an enemy of her father's, someone who he'd turned into the Coalition or spied on. Alice wasn't supposed to know any of this, but curiosity got the best of her, and she'd done some hacking when she was fifteen. That was about the time she entered the Coalition. Rather than punish her for breaking into secure files, they welcomed her into the hacker training path with open arms. She'd been a prodigy ever since.

"You miss her." James didn't ask, but rather observed. Alice nodded.

"Do you miss your parents?"

"Well," he shrugged, "yes and no. I grew up with my uncle, an assassin, and he took me on every mission. I never went to school until the Coalition took me in for training. I learned everything on the street, through home school, or just by reading every book I could get my hands on, no matter the language."

"That sounds like an adventure," she said. He smiled at her, a bittersweet smile with more sweet than bitter.

"It was. My uncle is great, but he's never been my parent. He's always been a mentor or teacher. I remember my mom used to sing me to sleep every night, and my dad would play card games with me every Sunday afternoon. I started learning poker as soon as I could play Go Fish." James chuckled at the memory.

"My parents were great, but they're gone, and there's nothing I can do about it. So I grew up without them, and I made do with my uncle."

Alice nodded in understanding. "That was me with my grandma. She helped raise Ace and me, since our dad was always gone on missions." And when he was home, he was beating Ace up and yelling at both of his children. The day Alice had moved in with her brother and Ravyn after they got married had been the best day of her life. Alice only went back to her childhood house when her father mandated it, which luckily wasn't often.

"What's she like?" James asked. He opened the door to her building and they headed towards the elevator. Alice was disappointed the evening was almost over. She was seeing a new depth to James, a new side that wasn't snarky or charming. It was just James: a little ridiculous, but sweet.

"She died when I was fourteen, but she made sure I learned French and Russian. Ace only ever sat still long enough for French, though. But she made sure we had the best tutors, the best teachers, everything. She taught me herself how to play piano." She had tried to teach Atticus violin, piano, and even guitar at one point, but none of them had stuck. Her brother never could sit still. Alice wondered how he sat still as a spy on missions. Probably 'cause the risks were higher and therefore more exciting.

"I'm glad you had her," James said, breaking Alice away from memory lane. She looked over to him with a small yet bright smile.

"Me, too. My dad isn't the greatest, so having Nana Blackbourne there, even if she was strict and cold, was refreshing." They were on the second flight of stairs now, and Alice was glad they had to get to the fifth floor and all the way down the hall to her apartment. It gave them more time together.

"What's your uncle like?"

James laughed sharply at that question, but it wasn't critically. It still made Alice jump in her shoes, nearly knocking her over. James reached out to steady her, fast as lightning.

"Sorry, I forget sudden noises aren't your thing." He sent her an apologetic look. Alice was just touched he'd notice, but he made it even better by trying to remember and apologizing for failing when he had forgotten. He was so genuine with her, it was astonishing.

"My uncle is great, like I said," James continued, pulling his hands away from Alice's slowly, letting one hand trail down her arm to brush past her own hand. He left a trail of shivers in his wake, and it took most of Alice's self-control to keep herself still. But there was a knowing glint in James' eye, and the blush on her cheeks didn't help, either.

"He's a little insane. Definitely good at his job, and always tries to be creative and have fun with it. He's the one that got me into poisons, since he doesn't like blood much, either."

"Wait--" Alice interrupted, "you're an assassin who doesn't like blood?"

His expression was now sheepish. "Yeah, it's a little ridiculous, isn't it?"

Alice laughed. That was a good way to describe him in general: a little ridiculous.

"Uncle Satchel--yes, that's his real name, my grandparents were weird--is mostly retired now, but he gardens whenever he's not traveling for fun. 'Course, his garden is entirely poisonous and toxic, to varying degrees, but it's a beautiful place."

She couldn't help smiling at how fondly he described his uncle. Also, the description made his Uncle Satchel sound like a fun guy, even if a goofy one. So that was where James got it.

Sadly, they had reached her door. Alice reached for the handle at the same time James did, causing their hands to brush again. Looking up at James told Alice that it hadn't been an accident.

"Thanks for walking me home, Jamie," Alice said, wincing internally as she used the nickname he didn't like. She wasn't teasing him, and she didn't want to use the name unless he deserved it by being a real pill. When she looked again to apoligize, his smile had grown.

"I like when you call me that."

"Really? I thought you hated being called Jamie."

James shrugged. "Not when it's from people I care for. Not when it's from you."  

Okay, her cheeks were absolutely the color of freshly spilled blood now.

"I'll see you soon, Alice," James said, pulling his hand away slowly from her now open door. He stepped back, and was about to turn around, when Alice replied.

"Are you free on Saturday?"

He looked surprised at her inquest. "Yes, why?"

Alice knew it was now or awkwardness forever. She had already started this, and it was time to carry it out.

"For our first date."

He stared at her. James was shocked, mouth agape type of shocked. Alice froze in fear.

"Did I--did I misread?" She so hoped she hadn't. Alice had been so certain James was flirting with her. He was always closer than necessary, always so playful and teasing, always so good to her. More than anything he'd be with a normal friend.

James shook himself out of his shock. "What? Yes. I mean, no. You didn't misread. I just--what?"

Had she really sent him into a nervous breakdown by asking him out? This was so not how Alice had predicted this going down. She could have sworn he would have been sarcastic as he said yes. Or at least proposed again.

"If you want me to take your marriage proposals seriously, you'll have to at least take me out on a real date," Alice said, working her hardest on maintaining eye contact. She didn't want to be awkward about this.

"I'd love to take you on a date on Saturday," James replied, practically instaneous in his response.

"Really?" Alice squeaked out. She cursed herself. James liked her. A boy liked her. It wasn't that shocking or unheard of. Boys had liked her before Lev, and after Lev. And now there was James, a guy she finally liked back.

"Really," he chuckled. "I just thought I'd have to flirt for another month before you asked me out."

Wait, he'd been waiting for her to ask him out? What? Didn't guys usually make the first move? James seemed like the type to make the first move.

"Why wait?" Alice asked, confused.

"I don't want to pressure you into anything, or make you feel obligated to say yes." He spoke so casually, as if that were a perfectly normal thing to do. If only he knew. But the eager grin on her face told him how much his respect meant to her. She had her own autonomy, and James didn't want to challenge that at all.

"Thank you, Jamie, for everything," Alice said, taking a reluctant step into her apartment. James' ever wide smile caught her eye.

"Anything, Alice. Anything for you." With those incredibly sweet and scarily genuine words, James left her apartment to find his own way home.

Maybe having a boy break into her bathroom at three AM hadn't been such a bad thing after all.

#a coalition story

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marvelmadam08 · 4 years

Text

Baby Blues 2/?

Summary: Chris and Alex bring Ace home and revisit a conversation about nannies.

Chris Evans x Black Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex and fluff

A/N: Ace and Alexander are the same baby, I prefer using the nickname (Ace) to prevent confusion between mother and child. Also if any moms or dads would like to chime in on their own experiences with parenthood, I would 100% appreciate it.

~~~~~~

2 Days Old

Alex didn't think Chris could drive as slow as he did on the way home from the hospital. She swears if he went two miles over designated limit, he'd shave off five just to be safe. But she didn't mind, Chris just wanted to make sure they got home unscratched and without waking the baby. She was just as bad, leaning over to the backseat to check on him every two minutes.

Alex didn't think Chris could get more attractive, until she saw him with the baby carrier in one hand and the diaper bag in the other. If she wasn't so tired, and required to wear a pad the size of a diaper, she would've been all over her husband.

Dodger could be heard running to the door the second Alex and Chris walked in, immediately going to Alex and following her and Chris into the living room.

"Hey Dodge." Alex scratched him behind the ear

"We have a surprise for you." Chris sat the carrier next to Alex on the couch.

"Welcome home, Alexander." Alex undid the clasp on the carrier to take him out “Meet Dodger.”

Alex leaned down to put Ace at Dodger’s eye level. Dodger sniffed the newborn, inspecting the newest addition to the family. Ace whined and fidgeted before full on crying. Dodger backed away, defeated.

"Oh, it's okay Bubba." Chris pats him on the head "He's probably just sleepy.”

“Soon you’re gonna be best friends.” Alex said to Dodger, but her eyes remained on Ace.

He stared back, watching his new surroundings. Chris took the opportunity to sneak a quick picture. The first of many. Normally Alex would catch him in the act, but she was so enchanted by Ace, she didn’t even see him moving behind the couch, watching over her shoulder.

“We can put him the nursery, get him use to it.” Chris suggested

“Okay.” Alex made no effort to move

“Al, you gotta put him down eventually.” he tells her

“Yeah- but not now.” she lightly brushed the soft hairs on her son’s head “I am a little hungry though.”

“I can make dinner.”

“Since when?” Alex joked

“Well I can reheat the leftovers.” Chris headed for the kitchen “I swear I’m gonna learn how to cook more than just eggs and pancakes.”

Alex knew her husband’s cooking skills fell short. She often wondered how he managed to survive before they met. She’d never forget the time when she first cooked for him, three months into their relationship, and he practically proposed right then and there. Chris swears that if Marvel told him ‘Stop eating Alex’s cooking or stop being Cap’ he would’ve chosen Alex each time. But now that he wouldn’t be wearing the signature red, white and blue uniform anymore, he happily chowed down on home cooked meals.

Having Chris home after he’d been away for months was always the best time for the both of them. Alex waking up to either fresh pancakes or morning cuddles. Chris getting to dive into the new stack of books he’d collected.Their movie nights that would end up in neither of them actually watching what was on TV, but instead with sloppy kisses and wanting moans. If she did the math right, Alex could more than likely place Ace’s conception on one of those nights.

Alex finally decided to put Ace down in his nursery, which Chris happily over stocked with Disney themed furniture and plush toys.

Ace fussed and whined the second Alex put him down in his crib.

"It's okay." She soothes, letting his fist grip her finger "Momma's still here."

"Hey, food's ready." Chris announced louder than expected. Ace jumped and began to cry. Alex scolded Chris when he rushed into the nursery. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He leans over to pick the startled newborn up again.

"Daddy's sorry." He hummed and rocked back and forth "Daddy didn't mean to scare you."

Alex couldn't stop her eyes from roaming all over Chris in full Daddy mode. Watching him one handedly hold Ace, while reaching for a swaddling blanket. She sat in the armchair next to the changing table, examining Chris while he wrapped Ace in the blanket. But mostly she was mesmerized by him repeatedly referring to himself as 'daddy'.

"Al?" Chris pulled Alex away from her thoughts "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm just- tired." She shifted in her seat, eyes shamelessly glued to her husband’s ass while he laid Ace back down in the crib. Her stomach grumbled, pulling her from her thoughts again “And hungry.”

“Let’s go eat then.” Chris held his hand out for Alex to take and pulled her alongside of him, out of the room

“He’s probably gonna get hungry again soon.” Alex bit her lip “We figure out a feeding and sleeping schedule for him.Would it be a bit weird to eat in the nursery while he slept?”

“Not entirely, but let’s give it a day before we start hovering.” he joked

It was ten minutes into their meal when Alex checked the video baby monitor on her phone when Chris got up to let Dodger. She strained her eyes too catch any slight movement, she didn't like how still he was.

"Are you looking at the baby monitor?" Chris peeked from over her shoulder

"Just to make sure he's still breathing." Alex's squinting continued "Does it look like he's not breathing? I'm gonna go check on him."

"Al,” Chris gentle pushed her down by her shoulders, then his fingers started to dig into her tensed muscles. She soon gave in with a sigh, resting her head on Chris’s forearm “Better?”

“Kinda, I still wanna check on him.”

“I know, but you like you told me, we can handle this.” he kissed the top of her head and continued to massage her shoulders “And all without a nanny.”

Alex tensed again "You said you agreed with me when I said I didn't want a nanny."

"I did, still do. It's just, once we go back to work-"

"I'm a writer, Chris. I can do most of my work from home. I can handle working and being a mom."

He half nods "Okay."

"Unless you don't think I can." she pulled away from him

"I didn't say that, Al." he paused “I just don’t want you piling up on everything and getting overwhelmed. There’s nothing wrong with having help.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea that a nanny can just come up to me one day, and tell me Ace took his first steps or said his first words, without either of us being there.” Alex pouts “And what if they end up being a nut job? You watched ‘Hand that Rocked the Cradle’ didn’t you?”

“Baby, that was fictional.”

“What about Carlina White? That was a true story, I saw the interviews.”

Chris sat down in the chair next to her “Al, I say this because I love you, but you bite off more than you can chew some days. Remember when you had your book chapters due, and a screenplay, and then you volunteered to help your best friend with her bridal shower all in the same week.”

“I got it done though.” Alex said confidently

“Yeah but you were so burned out by the end of it you couldn’t enjoy any of it.” he held her face in both his hands, squeezing her cheeks until her pout went away “Promise me, you’re not going to run yourself into the ground, by trying to be superwoman.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Good.” Chris leaned in a little closer “Have I told you how beautiful you are today?”

Alex giggled “Not yet.”

“You’re beautiful.” Chris brought his lips to hers for a soft but meaningful kiss. Ace’s cries followed shortly after, Alex all but jumped up from her seat

“Momma’s coming.”

Chris smiled at his wife’s fleeing figure then turned to the baby monitor on his own phone to watch in and listen to them both.

#Chris Evans #Black Writers #chris evans x black ofc #marvel fanfiction #babyblues #new mom #Christopher Jamal Evans #100 days of productivity #bucky x reader #stucky #newborn

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gainaxvel3o · 3 years

Text

A Miraculous Tale of Rubybug and Cat Blake Chapter 4

Previous / First / Next

The Scorpion and the Frog

"Today, students, we are going to be picking partners."

Everyone groaned. Glynda had expected this reaction from years of experience. She also expected them to get with the program once she laid out the rules.

"It is true that fashion is a competitive industry," She continued. "However no one gets to the top by themselves. Designers and models need to be able to work together in order to get anywhere. I will be picking out the teams for the rest of the semester."

Ruby Rose shook nervously in her seat. She knew that something like this would have to happen. Bringing her hands to together she prayed to get a good partner.

"Let's see here… May Zhedong and Nolan Porfirio…"

Darn, she was looking forward to teaming up with May. She looked so cute with the jacket and beanie! Okay let's see who else was up.

"Coco Adel and Velvet Scarletina, you two worked together very well I'll admit."

Another missed opportunity. Maybe she could ask them tips on fashion? They've done work in the industry maybe she can-

"Ruby Rose and Weiss Schnee."

Oh no. Oh noooo.

Ruby slowly turned her head to the girl next to herself. Weiss stared at her, her eye twitching in annoyance.

"…"

"… heh heh, hi?"

Weiss looked away, passing her judgement towards the smaller girl. It was going to be an exhausting assignment it seemed.

_______________________________________________________________________

They've been at this for hours.

Roman's bruised face swelled in pain from the baton that had been used to torment him. The cop, a dark-skinned woman with platinum blonde and brown hair shaved on the sides, had been interrogating him for information. Her name was Harriet if he heard right.

"What do you know about the bug?" She yelled at him. "Where did you get that power?"

Roman chuckled darkly, in spite of the agony he was in now. "What's there to know? She beat my ass. I don't remember what I did. That's what I told you."

"Fuckin hell no one gets powers and then forgets!"

"I did. Now quit whining to me."

"Enough Harriet." A pale man came over. He grabbed Harriet's arm. "We're not going to learn anything about the situation by beating him up. Let's move on to more pressing matters."

Harriet scoffed. "Fine. You got lucky pal."

"Yeah I feel soooo lucky right now…" Roman wiped the blood from his face. "Take me back to my cell so I don't have to deal with you animals."

Harriet roughly picked him up. Vine and herself opened the door and escorted the prisoner back to his cell. They passed by several guards who saluted them.

"The Chief isn't going to like this," Harriet said. "With Mayor Ironwood's campaign in question the city's going crazy. If I could get my hands on that ladybug…"

"Now is not the time for that." Vine said. "When they show up, they'll show up. For now we gather information."

"Yeah…"

As they were enveloped in their conversation, they didn't notice one guard fidgeting nervously. Travis Cornetto pulled out a loaf of bread from his pocket, passing inside of the cell.

"I couldn't get more," Cornetto said. "Sorry."

A pale hand took the bread. He examined it a bit, before immediately devouring it. Tyrian Callows hasn't had food in a while."

"You're such a gracious host…" Tyrian ate the food gladly. "Maybe there's a chance you can be made beautiful yet."

_______________________________________________________________________

"Relax Ruby, this isn't so bad."

"Not so bad! This is terrible!"

Ruby paced back and forth in the bathroom ass Tikki tried to calm her down.

"I'm teaming up with WEISS SCHNEE, the crabbiest girl I ever met even though she's a model and she could be really helpful to me but I made her mad on the first day so my career as a fashion designer might even be over before it began-"

"Ruby."

"-and she's my roommate so what if I show up as Ladybug and she finds out it's me? What if she uses me for some evil nefarious purpose like shining her shoes or taking her places even though one of those bad guys attack-"

"Ruby."

"Oh my goodness this is the absolute worst thing that could possibly happen to me!"

"RUBY!"

She let out a tiny gasp as Tikki got right up to her line of sight.

"Listen Ruby," Tikki said. "You're gonna ace the assignment and be fine. Nothing is going to happen. Now we need to talk about Nooro."

Ruby nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah you're right. I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"We need to figure out where he's being located. I can sense darkness sometimes, but not himself. Do you think we have time to patrol today?"

"Sure!" Ruby said. "I can make time. I mean, Weiss might try to go to the teacher to get a different partner so during lunch break I can sneak away. A magnificent plan if I say so myself hohoho!"

Ruby pointed her finger at no particular place as she puffed her chest out. She posed as if she was a sea captain out on a maiden voyage. The image made Tikki sigh a bit in fond exasperation.

"Oh Ruby," Tikki's ears started vibrating. "I hear someone coming! Return!"

Tikki disappeared into Ruby's earrings. Just as she did, the door opened. Blake Belladonna came through the door, looking up in surprise to see someone was already inside.

"Oh it's you Ruby."

At the sound of Blake's voice, Ruby jumped.

"HOLY CRUD IT'S BLAKE!" She nearly screamed. "Sorry. I was uh… thinking? Out loud? With my lips? Human beings have lips I think."

Blake chuckled. "They certainly do. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well today is supposed to be the day we partnered up for the semester." Ruby explained. "I got teamed up with Weiss Schnee!"

"Ooof, I wish you the best of luck with that." Blake then blinked. "Wait she was in your class?"

"Yeah. She missed the first class due to a scheduling slip up." Ruby sighed. "Now what am I gonna dooooo?"

"It might not be so bad. A partner who's also your roommate can be very useful, especially someone like Weiss. She probably has a few fashion tips?"

"But she's so crabby! I want a non-crabby partner…" Ruby then realized. "Why don't you be my partner?"

"Me? We don't attend the same class and… I'm not pretty enough."

"You're very pretty! But you're right, not the same class. Daaaarn."

"Maybe you should to get along?" Blake tried to ignore the blush that was on her face. "You might be able to get something interesting done. If worst comes to worst just ask the teacher to pair you up with someone else."

"Uggghhhh why are you so right Blake?"

"I'm just experienced I think," Blake brushed a few hair strands away. "Sorry Ruby I need to um…"

"Oh oh! I can go!" Ruby laughed. "I need to go find Weiss anyway! Thank you!"

Ruby ran back out of the bathroom. Blake watched her go, letting a smile form on her lips. As she did so Plagg emerged from the ring. His smile was a little bit more mischievous than Blake's.

"Someone called you were pretty~ When's the wedding?"

"Shut up Plagg."

_______________________________________________________________________

Tyrian Callows was not a murderer. He was a serial killer.

Why distinguish the difference? Because a typical murderer is too broad, too plain to describe a being such as himself. To put it simply, Tyrian was beautiful. His hands twitched with powerful uncontrollable desire. He waited to snap the neck out of anyone who would get close to him. He wanted to take knives and stab them into someone's face. He wanted tear open insides and spread them around himself. These are the things that made him feel beautiful.

Tyrian was not insane. Insane would imply Tyrian didn't know what he was doing was wrong. He knew that he was a being of evil and did not care, because in those moments where he butchered and murdered he felt beautiful.

Cornetto was… fine. Another meat puppet alongside other meat puppets. He at least brought the food. They've been starving him for days, so someone keeping him alive is something commendable. He'll still die of course, but Tyrian will make sure he goes out beautifully.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a pretty little purple butterfly floating towards him. Tyrian remembered one time as a kid where he managed to capture a butterfly and slowly sliced off it's wings. He wanted to see what a butterfly looked like without it's wings. Tyrian took the butterfly in his hand.

"Gotcha," Tyrian smiled. "I needed a distraction from this shitty cage."

"Would a distraction really be enough to satisfy your needs, Mr. Callows?"

He got up startled. "Who the fuck are you?! How'd you get in my head?!"

"Allow me to introduce myself. I'm your Monarch, here to fulfill your wish."

"My wish?" He laughed, utterly bewildered. "My only wish is to be beautiful! Someone like you wouldn't understand what I've been searching for."

"Oh but I do. I've seen the way you work. That death, that chaos, those things make you a most magnificent specimen. I wish to see more of it."

"You… you do?" Tyrian said in a small voice. "You understand?"

"Indeed. Such beauty is what I seek as well. However, may propose something to you? Something you may not have considered?"

"Hmmm… go on. You peaked my interest."

"I'm glad I have. You do what you do to find beauty for yourself. But what if you could make the world around you beautiful as well? What if I can give you the power to cave out your desires?

Tyrian's eyes widened at that. Beauty for the world? He had thought such a dream was impossible to fulfill. A foolish desire! But here the voice in his head had offered him a chance to fulfill it?

"You're certainly being tempting," Tyrian bowed. "What's the catch? What do you need me to do?"

"Oh not much. I only require a set of earrings and a ring from a pair of teenagers unworthy of your talents. Other than that… you can bring as much death and destruction as you want. Why keep the world from seeing beauty for what it is?"

"Yes… yes yes YES!"

Tyrian got onto his knees and bowed. He held his head low in gratitude and awe.

"I'll serve as your Huntsman, my Queen, and bring you what you desire! It is my thanks for allowing me to find what I seek!"

"A Huntsman… I like the sound of that… Go my partner. Bring me the miraculous!"

Outside the cell, Cornetto had been hearing Tyrian whisper to himself over the past few minutes. He was disgusted as much as everyone but the crimes Tyrian committed, but he was not a man who wanted to see people suffer. That was why he brought food for the criminal.

"Tyrian please keep quiet the others are trying to-"

The cell door was destroyed right away. A slash from a tail incapacitated Cornetto, dropping his carved body to the ground.

"What the hell!?" A guard yelled. "This shit is happenin' again!"

They tried attacking with batons, but the villain was quick. He used his new pincers to stab their throats with bursted with blood. He raised his head towards the ceiling.

"I have a calling to fulfill, an order to complete!" The newly powered villain screamed across the prison. "I'm Scorpio, one of the Monarch's fine Huntsmen, here to bring beauty to this world!"

Cornetto for his part clutched his chest. He looked at Tyrian weakly, trying to form a single sentence.

"But… why…?"

Tyrian heard the question and grinned maliciously.

"Because I'm beautiful."

_______________________________________________________________________

Okay this was going to be hard.

Ruby had been heading to the table with Yang and her friends (she assumed they were friends, they wouldn't all sit together on the same table if they weren't right?) until she spotted Weiss sitting by herself.

She had the same demeanor that she had in class and the past few days. Indifference. Annoyance. The threat to murder anyone who dared to talk to her. Ruby was reluctant but she figured there was no better time to take Blake's advice. It was here or in their room, where Weiss could shut her off by slamming the door to her part of the dorm.

"Here goes nothing…"

She steeled herself. Ruby walked over to Weiss with the best smile she could muster. She sat her hand on the table, ready to say something hopefully awe inspiring, something that will get Weiss Schnee to finally-

"No."

Ruby blinked. "But I didn't even say anything."

"I knew what you were going ask." Weiss said. "No, I don't want to work with you, I won't work with you, I will not be working with you. An obvious upstart like yourself has no place in a University like this one."

Ruby blinked again. "Oh. Well thanks for making it easy then!"

She started moving away, which made Weiss' eye twitch in annoyance.

"That's it? You just give up immediately?"

"Yeah," Ruby shrugged. "I mean, you don't like me, I think you're a jerk, I'm not gonna sit through a million rounds of you putting me down while we work. Go ahead and get another partner. I don't mind at all."

"Hmph," Weiss crossed her arms. "If you fold like that so easily you won't make it far in the fashion industry."

"And if you act like a jerk then the only people in your fan club will be your butler. That you probably paid for." Ruby stuck her tongue out. "Have a nice day!"

She skipped a few steps away from Weiss, who had been left sputtering at this act of defiance. Internally Ruby was screaming at herself.

‘HolycrapIjustinsultedWeissSchneemycareerisoverbutthatfeltsogoodbutsobadbutsogoodbutsobad-’

"Hey Rubes!" Ah, Yang was waving at her sister. "What's the deal with you and Ice Queen?"

"Oh not much I was partnered up with her and then I may have just insulted her."

"Ooooohhh," Nora bopped Ruby's nose. "Tell us how it went! Were her schnees broken in despair?"

"I think Ruby would end up suspended if she did that," Ren said. "Ruby, you should be covert in your revenge. I have plans I can share."

"Can we not talk about revenge at the table?" Jaune said. "I'm trying to eat my bagels."

Pyrrha offered up a bagel of her own. "Why not have this?"

Jaune took it, looking rather funny as he devoured the bagel. "You're a life saver Pyrrha, an angel among this Earth."

Pyrrha smiled, an action that made everyone on the table skip a beat due to how pure and sweet and wonderful it was. Ruby herself would be entranced by it if it weren't for her earrings suddenly vibrating.

'An alert? Oh not now, I haven't eaten lunch yet Tikki couldn't you wait a minute-?'

The TV interrupted the thought process. Lisa Lavender appeared on the screen to give the news.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a breaking news report! Another super powered being is on the loose in the city, maiming and doing worse to civilians down on the street!

The camera switched to footage on the scene. A shaky, barely medium quality of a scorpion creature attacking people appeared. The camera was shaky

"He is calling out for Ladybug and Chat Noir to find him, the connection between them uncertain. Could they be in league?"

"Now that's bulloney!" Nora slammer fists on the table. "Ladybug wouldn't be in league with any bad guys! Didn't she save everyone from dumb bowler hat guy and his donkey army?!"

'I most certainly did Nora, and I have to go over there quick!' Ruby thought. 'I gotta get outta here!'

"Uh I need to…" She said out loud. "Find materials for my project!"

"Already? You just got here though?" Yang raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have class later?"

Ruby was already making her way to the exit. "I do, but if I hurry up I can make it! Bye!"

The group watched their youngest leave, Yang already feeling sad she left. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"She'll be fine." Pyrrha said. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."

"Yeah Yang," Jaune laughed. "I mean, It's not like she's gonna go fight the guy on the tv or something."

_______________________________________________________________________

The quest for beauty was going surprisingly well.

These ugly, dirty people stared at him and ran, terrified in the face of himself. Scorpio was now true beauty. Not that anyone would understand of course. No one except, of course, his Queen. The Monarch offered him a chance to bring true beauty to all. He just needed to get the Miraculous.

"Hey! You brats!" Scorpio yelled. "Show yourselves Ladybug and Chat Noir! I want the Miraculous you got!"

A shadow dropped from a rooftop. Chat Noir narrowed her eyes at the creature before her. His skin was scaly, looking less human and more armor-like. He had a trench coat with a white sleeveless jacket underneath it. Leather belts were strapped to it, along with white pants. A bright red amulet around his neck stuck out like a sore thumb if offset by golden eyes that shimmered with sadistic glee. His tail slithered from side to side.

"Who are you?" Chat Noir asked. "What do you want with Ladybug and I?"

One of them was here. Good. Scorpio grinned.

"The Monarch wants your Miraculous, kitty cat." He said. "As her Huntsman, I came here to take it for her!"

"No thanks," Chat readied her staff. "You'll have to work for it."

The battle thus began swiftly. Tyrian lunged at the cat themes heroine, but she slammed her staff into his head, slamming him head first into concrete. Chat narrowly dodged the tail strike to the face. She kept her distance as pincers bursted fresh from Scorpio's hands.

"I know plenty about work," Scorpio grinned. "I'll get the miraculous and then carve you up into something truly beautiful!"

As the pincers came close to her face, Chat used the staff to block them. Scorpio was pushing her to the defensive, forcing Chat Noir to step back bit by bit.

'Think Blake, think!' Blake thought to herself frantically. 'I need to keep him busy until Ladybug gets here.'

Where was Ladybug? Blake really wished she had asked for her phone number or something. Only Ladybug had the power to de-grimmify this… Huntsman he called himself? The whole business is getting more insane the further Blake delved into it.

"What's the matter kitty cat?" Scorpio called out again. "Need a pound of tuna?"

"Sounds delicious but no." Chat said. "I'm in the mood for some tail though."

She swiped the staff towards his left leg, knocking Scorpio off balance. At another swing from his tail Chat jumped above the man, avoiding it slamming the staff against his stomach. Chat kept the staff ready as Scorpio clutched his stomach.

"Ugh, not bad not bad." He said. "I've never won a fair fight to be honest. Maybe that's why-"

He jumped away from Chat, flipping around to catch a civilian in his arm.

"-I like pull a fast one!"

"H-help!" The woman's neck was held tight, cutting off her words. "Hck-!"

Chat Noir found herself in a tough bind. Scorpio was not someone to be trusted. If he had his way, he would kill that woman and herself as soon as the miraculous was in his hands. But could she risk this woman's life for a gamble?

"Come on! Give me the ring, or whatever you use to make that trashy suit!"

Blake gritted her teeth. She moved her fingers towards the ring-

"Hold on Chat Noir!"

Ladybugs are often said to be creatures of luck. It seems it held true to the costumed heroine, who caught the villain's hand with her yoyo, pulling him away from the civilian. Ladybug landed next to Chat Noir, standing up to retrieve the yoyo.

"Hope I'm not too late Chat."

"Could have been a little faster honestly." Chat said. "Otherwise thanks for coming."

Due to the distraction the civilian ran away from the scene. As soon as Scorpio recovered and saw the two heroes, he knew he was in trouble. One against one was one thing, but two against one is a bit much for his brain to compute.

Yet he knew couldn't disappoint his Queen. She had given his life purpose! There had to be something, ANYTHING he could do.

"Seems you got me cornered." Scorpio said. "I'll take a page from the cat's example, I'll make you work to get to me!"

He made a jump, surprising the heroes by how high he could get. He made it to a rooftop and ran.

"We need to go after him!" Ladybug prepared her yoyo. "He might be up to something, so don't split from me okay?"

Chat Noir snorted, as if offended by that remark.

"Like I was going to leave you out my sight, my lady."

_______________________________________________________________________

Weiss Schnee stomped the hallways with purpose.

That annoying upstart… not only were they roommates, not only were they attending the same class, but she had to nerve to insult her like that? It was madness. She had to get another partner immediately. One who knew better.

She made a turn to the left of the hallyway, in the direction of Ms. Goodwitch's classroom. That teacher better have an explanation for her pick-

"Huh? Miss Schnee!"

Weiss had almost bumped into the Headmaster. Salem Ozpin recovered, and sighed upon noticing who bumped into her.

"My apologies. How is your day going?" Salem asked warmly. "Is Beacon to your liking?"

"It's… fine." Weiss said. "I'm trying to exchange partners."

"Oh I won't be keeping you. Who is your partner?"

"Ruby Rose," Her name came out so bitterly on Weiss lips it's like she's choking on poisoned air. "That upstart is an insult to this school. She comes here thinking she knows better than me, a model in the industry? I wouldn't be surprised if she got here through connections!"

"Oh I see…" Salem said. "Miss Schnee, do you know who recruited Ruby into this school?"

"A dope I presume."

"Well admittedly I can be that sometimes, but I think my decisions have turned out for the best."

Weiss blinked.

"That girl is quite remarkable. She was the class president for three years, arranged banquets and parties while designing truly impressive fashion work. Ruby had posted some of the work on her blog, which was how I found her out."

Weiss blinked again.

"If you give her a chance, Weiss, I think she can be really useful for your career as well as her own." Salem's smiled never left her lips. Not once. "Was there anything you needed?"

"… no ma'am." Weiss said quietly. "I think I just remembered something."

"Oh I know what that's like. Just one more thing before you go though…" Salem crossed her arms. "You are not the only one who works hard Miss Schnee. This is a privileged academy and few enter here without a skill of some sort. You cannot operate alone as you are now. My husband believed in strength in numbers when he was around. I think the same way. Do you understand?"

At that, Weiss nodded. "I will take your words into consideration, Miss Ozpin."

She walked off. It was less of a stomp and more of a gentle click clack of the heels that made noise on the hallways. Salem's smile became slightly more mischievous as she saw her student go.

"I bet you're proud, Ozma. She and Miss Rose certainly have potential."

_______________________________________________________________________

Scorpio was fast. But Ladybug and Chat Noir were pretty fast too.

"He's entering the warehouse!" Ladybug threw the yoyo at a nearby pole. "He might try to isolate us while we're inside."

"Right. Let's stick together."

With that exchange, Chat wrapped her arms around Ladybug's waist (which didn't make the red and black hero blush in any way, no siree). Once secured, Ladybug swung them both across the street, smashing through the windows. They landed squarely on the floor.

"Should we have broken through the window like that?" Chat asked. "We're probably going to get fined for that you know."

"Eh, I can fix it with a Miraculous Cure anyway." Ladybug said without worry. "Not like either of us have superhero insurance. Or would it be miraculous insurance?"

"Beats me." Chat just shrugged. "What do you think we should do?"

The two inspected the area. Several boxes were stacked together, a forklift still having boxes on the lift implying that work had been done here recently. No sign of Scorpio… yet.

"Stick together. Did he give any hint about where his possessed item could be?"

"Hmmm…" Chat tapped on her staff thinking about it. "No hint I'm afraid but I think his amulet could be it. We should focus on disabling his tail."

A pair of eyes peered from behind a box, gazing down at the unsuspecting duo.

"Good idea. If we can take that down, we'll be able to search for his object more efficiently. First we gotta find him."

The duo jumped when they heard a sinister laugh echo across the room. They kept their guard up.

"How cute. Just taking out my tail and you think you're enough to beat me? Not in a million years will you be able to take out a prized Huntsman of the Monarch!"

"Monarch huh?" Ladybug seized the moment. "Is that who you're working for?"

"Yes… She is a Queen among queens, a goddess to be revered! She understands the true beauty in death and chaos, she completes me! With the miraculous her ultimate plan will be fulfilled! HehehehehehehehehBWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

That laugh made both heroes shiver in fear. Ruby had heard it on the news, but it was here in this moment she remembered she wasn't dealing with a regular villain but a serial killer who would do whatever it takes to kill her.

'I need to trick him somehow.' She thought. 'How did Yang always trick guys into giving away whether they wanna get into her pants or not? Oh wait, it's reverse psychology!'

"If she picked you the Monarch's clearly off her rocker." Ladybug said out loud. "I mean, Scorpion guy? How uncreative can you get?"

"Tch, I see what you're doing but it's not going to-"

"No she has a point." Chat continued. "For someone all about brining beauty to the world you are simply ugly and disgusting. You never belonged in a world like this one."

Scorpio's eye twitched. "I am beautiful."

"No. Jewels are beautiful. Cats are beautiful. Butterflies are beautiful. You though? You're an ugly scorpion guy who can only make ugly things."

"Do not listen to them Tyrian," Monarch whispered into his ear. "They are trying to trick you!"

"OH YEAH?!" Scorpio- no, Tyrian, yelled. "JUST YOU WAIT, I'LL CARVE YOUR BODIES INTO THE MOST MAGNIFICENT SCULPTURES THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN!"

His purpose forgotten, the villain lunged at the opposing duo. His tail struck nothing except the ground where they originally stood.

"Ladybug, we have a chance now!"

Tyrian felt a yoyo wrap around his tail. He realized quickly what they were trying to do.

"No," He panicked. "Not the tail not the tail not the- AAAAAAHHHHH!"

Tyrian missed it as soon Ladybug decapitated the stinger. She. Cut. Off. His. Stinger. The beauty he possessed had been ravaged into disgusting ugliness.

"We got him Chat!" She yelled. "Search him!"

No. Scorpio could not allow this to stand. Tyrian will not allow this to STAND.

"YOU'RE DEAD MEAT NOW KIDS!"

The amulet glowed red. With speed the heroes had no time to react to, Scorpio slashed at their abdomens, then elbowed them to the floor. He turned around, grinning at seeing Ladybug in pain. The girl took her away his stinger, now he'll take her life.

Or would if his pincer hadn't been blocked by the staff.

"You seem to be forgetting it's two against one." Chat said, panting hard. "Come and get me."

Ladybug swiped at his leg. He pulled it back to avoid the attack, but Ladybug kicked his stomach in the mean time.

"Come and get us." Ladybug said. "Grab the amulet, Chat!"

Scorpio swung his tail around, trying to hit them with anything even without the stinger. However, Ladybug and Chat were quicker. Ladybug threw the yoyo at the villain's chin as Chat readied her hand.

"Go for it Chat!"

"No… no please!" Tyrian pleaded. "I want to be beautiful!"

"CATACLYSM!"

As soon as the words were spoken, the amulet was destroyed. A glowing violet butterfly flew out from the broken object.

"Right then!" Ladybug captured the butterfly in the yoyo. "Miraculous…"

"NO PLEASE STOP!"

"… LADYBUG!"

A red glow came and went, an army of ladybugs swarming the area. The damage from Scorpio's pincers were undone, as were the windows repaired from the heroes' breaking into the place. Tyrian no longer had the scaly body he possessed before. Instead, he wore his prison uniform, his dark hair and desperate face visible for all to see.

"No… no I disappointed my Queen…" Tyrian dug his nail into his head. "I failed, I failed, I didn't bring beauty like I was supposed to!"

Ladybug and Chat Noir could only stare at each other awkwardly as the now de-powered serial killer sobbed pathetically onto the floor. In spite of everything he had done and tried to do Ruby couldn't help but feel just a little sorry for him. Only a little. Pity was not the same thing sympathy.

The doors opened. A pair of cops stormed in with guns pointed at the heroes

"FREEZE RIGHT THERE!" Harriet yelled at them. "You're under arrest for vigilantism!"

"You have the right to remain silent." A female officer with short brown haired and dark skin said. "Resist and we won't hesitate."

Ladybug and Chat held their arms in the air. Ruby was confused by this turn of events.

"Um, we just stopped the bad guy?" She said. "We even fixed the damage, so what the problem?"

"My lady, I don't think they'll take anything but our surrender into account." Chat said. "We need to make a break for it as soon as possible."

"Try anything and we'll fire!"

Tyrian didn't hear the police's words. How could he? The butterfly's beautiful voice had disappeared. The quest for beauty was in vain. Now… he stared at Ladybug, who had his back turned to him.

He will have revenge.

"I really think you're being a bit unreasonable officer," Ladybug continued. "Perhaps if you lower your weapons we might be able to have a conversation-"

Suddenly a pair of arms surrounded her neck and stomach. Tyrian snarled.

"I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU FOR RUINING EVERYTHING! I WON'T EVEN TURN YOU INTO A WORK OF ART, I'LL JUST USE YOUR SKIN TO WIPE MY ASS WITH IT!"

Chat looked on in horror as Ladybug struggled against his grip. If it weren't for the police holding guns at them she would do something. There was one trick, but Chat wasn't sure she was fast enough to try it. She reached into her pockets.

"L-let go of me!"

"YOU TOOK AWAY MY POWER! I WAS SCORPIO! I AM SCOR-"

His words were cut off. Whatever they would be, Ladybug only heard a loud sound and felt the arms around her slip away. She turned to watch Tyrian fall to the ground. A bullet wound on the forehead bled across the face. There was no peace in his eyes. Only shock.

"If you move then you're gonna end up like him," Harriet pointed the gun at them again. "Get down!"

"NINJA VANISH!"

Smoke bursted from the shell Chat threw onto the ground. It was thick and instantaneous. One… two… three… Harriet fired the gun into the smoke but she didn't hear anyone get hit.

"Damn it!" She looked around. "Find them!"

As they searched the warehouse from top to bottom, Chat helped Ladybug up to the rooftop. Ladybug let out a sigh of a relief.

"That was a pretty cool trick you did Chat. You really pulled us out of a jam."

"I didn't know if it was going to work. Glad it did." Chat put a hand on her partner's shoulder. "You alright?"

"Y-" Ladybug caught herself. Her eyes grew wide. "No. No I'm not okay. They shot a man in the head! I know he was a killer but- but what the hell?!"

She felt arms wrap around her. Ladybug hugged back.

"It was a difficult situation, my lady." Chat said. "It was shocking, wrong even. If had to be his death or yours I'm not shameful over it but it goes to show we need to be more careful from now on."

"I… I should have been better. I could have sensed him or-"

"No. That man jumped you. It was unexpected. You are not at fault for what he did, just as you are not at fault for what the officer."

"But-"

"But nothing. We got away and prevented another disaster. There is nothing more to it than that."

Ladybug held onto Chat tighter. Five minutes were spent like that, trying to make sense out of the freak accident they fell into. Blake had been afraid about what would happen during an encounter with the police. She thanked her stars that neither herself nor Ladybug got out of there without much of a scuffle.

A moment later, Ladybug let go of Chat. "Thank you Chat. Glad to have you as a partner I can count on."

"Heh, same for you my lady." Chat smiled. "See you around?"

"Sure!" Ladybug returned the smile. "Thanks again Chat!"

_______________________________________________________________________

As it turned out, Ruby had been pretty lucky to avoid her next class. Judging from what she had heard, Professor Port's lectures had only gotten more rambly and pointless.

She returned to her room and shut the door quickly. The image of the man's head exploded from a bullet was still burned into her memory. Ruby breathed in and out repeatedly. She needed time away from people.

"Ruby Rose."

That was a person. That was definitely a person Ruby just heard. Weiss Schnee was sitting on a chair in Ruby's workspace. She had been inspecting a paper detailing a new design idea.

"Weiss, please not right now." Ruby waved her away. "I'm tired and anxious and the last thing I need is you coming in and putting me down again-"

"If you would let me talk you might hear something different." Weiss said. "I am willing to be your partner."

Ruby blinked. "What?"

"I'll help you Ruby Rose." She got up. "I realized that I was being unfair in my assessment of you. Clearly you have some skill in order to get into this University. This design?" She handed the paper to Ruby. "It's not a bad one. With sharpening it could be brilliant."

"… thanks?" Ruby was definitely surprised to hear that. "So what? You want us to remain partners?"

"Yes. I will be critical, but if we can put aside our differences we just might be able to get through the semester. I will try to give useful advice, and you have control over how the final project will turn out."

Weiss stretched our her hand. "Deal?"

Ruby looked at the hand. Then back to Weiss. Then back again. She took the hand and shook it.

"Huh. I guess you're not all bad Weiss."

"Shut up dolt."

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ikemensweetheart · 4 years

Text

Fireflies Chapter 3

A Luka x Reader story

You grew up next door to the Clemance brothers.

You would consider Jonah your best friend and there was something more between you and Luka.

Some time after Luka leaves Red Territory, you find yourself trapped in an arranged marriage.

Desperate to escape, you follow his example.

There, fate brings you back together.

But how will this love story play out?

A/n: Just in time for Luka's birthday. Happy Birthday, precious!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2,

"Oh my gosh, it smells so good!"

Luka smiles as you turn to him grinning from your place in front of the stove.

He had been spending the day teaching you some simple recipes, and you had been learning quickly. He was proud of your progress.

"Now, what's next, teacher?" You ask him eagerly.

Luka thought for a moment, it was almost time for whoever was on kitchen duty to start supper. So, the two of you should probably get out of their way.

"Clean up." He told you. "Okay!" He couldn't help but smile at your enthusiasm.

Together, the two you begin cleaning up the kitchen.

"Thank you again, Luka." You say as you wipe down the counter. "For taking the time to teach me. I'm sure there are plenty of things you would rather be doing."

"You're welcome." Luka replied.

Honestly, Luka never did anything particularly interesting on his days off. He was just happy to be able to spend time with you.

"Somebody looks like they're having fun." Both you and Luka turn to see Sirius standing at the door to the kitchen. "You're MC, right?" He asks as he steps causally towards you. "That's right… um…" Your brow furrows. "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name." You confess, blushing with embarrassment.

"It's alright. You can call me Sirius." The Queen of Spades replies with a small chuckle. "Are you two finished up here?" He then asks.

"Yeah, we're just cleaning up." Luka responds. "Excellent. How would you like to join us for supper, Miss MC?"

Your eyes widen slightly at Sirius' proposal. "Oh, no! Thank you, but I wouldn't want to be a bother."

"It wouldn't be a bother at all." Sirius assures you. "In fact, we'd love to have you. Right, Luka?"

Luka freezes at suddenly being put on the spot. "Well, I- I'm… Sure…" He finishes meekly.

"It's settled then." Sirius declared. Nodding in satisfaction. "Why don't you two go on to the lounge when you're done?"

"Yeah, okay." Luka mumbled, a little dazed by the sudden turn of events.

You and Luka quickly finish cleaning up and go out to the lounge.

"This is a nice room." You comment as you and Luka sit down. It was simple but cozy. A lot like the rest of Black Territory now that you thought about it.

"Yeah, I guess." Luka murmurs.

The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence. Just enjoying each others' presents until a loud voice interrupted you.

"Hey! Luka! There you are-" Luka turns to see Fenrir walking to the lounge. Fenrir stopped, staring wide eyed at the sight of Luka sitting next to you.

It took him a moment to recognize you. "Oh, hey. You're the one from the dance, MC isn't it?"

"That's right..." You reply. You cast a pleading glance at Luka. "Did you need something, Fenrir." Luka asked, fighting back a chuckle. You had been terrible with names ever since you had been a kid. It had led to plenty of awkward moments in the past.

"Nah, I'm just surprised you're in here and not out training." Fenrir says. He then walks up to the couch and leans on the back. "So, what brings you to our Headquarters, MC?"

"Luka was giving me cooking lessons and…" you look at Luka again. "Sirius?" Luka nods. "Sirius invited me to stay for dinner." You finish.

"Oh really." Fenrir gives Luka a knowing smirk. "Well, I gotta go do things." He starts backing out of the room. "Important things, ya know."

As soon as he's out of the room, Fenrir runs down the hall.

You and Luka share confused expressions as you hear his retreating footsteps. "What was that about?" You ask. Luka shakes his head. "I have no idea." He did have a sneaking suspicion though. He was reluctant to say it out loud.

Supper was soon ready and the rest of the Black Army started filing into the lounge.

"Luka, who's this?" Ray asked as he entered the room. "This is MC. Sirius invited her to stay for dinner." Luka explained. "MC, this is Ray."

"Hi." You say with a smile. "Ah, so you're the one I've been hearing about. It's a pleasure to meet you." You blink in confusion at Ray's words. Luka was talking about you? That seemed unlike him, but you decide to let it be. Maybe Luka had found a confidante.

"MC!" Suddenly, Seth was sliding up next to you. "I'm Seth, do you remember me? We met at the dance."

"Oh, yeah. You were one of the ones that pushed Luka into me." Seth stalled. Ray and Fenrir snickered at this.

"MC, why don't you have a seat." Sirius pulled out a chair for you. "Thank you." You reply as you take the offered seat. Luka sits down to your left, Sirius sits on your right. Meanwhile, Ray, Seth and Fenrir sit across the table.

Ray gave the order to eat and everyone dug in.

"So, MC." Fenrir says after a few bites of his food. "You've known Luka since you two were kids, right?" You nod. "That's right."

"Got any juicy stories?"

Luka chokes. He then shoots Fenrir a disapproving glare, but the Ace of Spades ignores him in favor of you.

You frown as you search through your memories for a good story. You soon find one. "Well, there was this one time Luka tried to get a kitten out of a tree, but he ended up getting stuck too."

Seth and Fenrir stared at you in stunned silence. Then burst out laughing. Luka quickly turned bright red. "How-" Fenrir said between gasps. "How in the world did you.. manage that?"

"I had never climbed a tree before." Luka mumbled. "And I was seven." That caused Fenrir and Seth to laugh harder.

"Well, I thought it was very gallant of you, Luka." You say softly. He had gone out of his way to save that kitten. Was far as you were concerned. He had been a hero.

The laughter stopped. You froze when you realized everyone had heard you. You quickly duck your head down focusing on your food in order to try and hide your embarrassment while Luka stares at you in disbelief.

"I-uh… really?" He stammered. You nod. Luka's entire face was redder than before.

Meanwhile, Seth and Fenrir exchanged knowing glances.

The meal continued on, the time was filled with jokes and laughter. Soon it was time for you to return home.

Sirius and Ray walked with you and Luka to the gate. "Here." Sirius hands you a basket. You look inside to see an assortment of ingredients. You recognized them from your lessons earlier. "Oh. You didn't have to do this." Sirius gives you a gentle smile. "It's fine. Anything for a friend of Luka's." He then pats you on the head. "Take care, now."

"I will." You say. You turn to Ray. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise." Ray replies. "You're welcome to come by anytime."

You smile at him. "Thank you."

"Come on, MC. It's getting late." Luka says. "Oh! Right." You hurry over to join Luka at the front gate.

With that, you and Luka set off down the road.

"I had fun today." You say once you and Luka were out of sight of Headquarters. "I'm glad." Luka murmured.

"I'm happy for you, Luka." You add. He looks at you in confusion. "What?"

"You finally found a place to belong and I'm happy for you." You explain. He looks away. "I wouldn't go that far…"

"I would. Everyone was having fun, including you. You never got to do that kind of thing when we were kids. It's like you all were one big, rowdy family. It's nice."

Luka falls quiet as he walks beside you. Becoming lost in his own thoughts. You smile as you watch him.

Luka had been very lonely as a child. Aside from you, he never had any friends, but seeing him interact with the rest of the Black Army officers. It was clear to you that the one thing he didn't have in Red Territory: A family.

The two of you continue walking until you reach the field. The fireflies were out once again. Dancing in the air.

Both you and Luka stop without saying anything. Taking a moment to enjoy the sight before continuing on.

You two if you say your farewells as you part ways at your garden gate.

****

"Thank you! Have a good day!" The vegetable seller called to you as you left his stall. "You too!" You reply as you step away.

The market was busy today. Vendors hawking their wares, as people strolled about on their errands.

The weather was perfect for a day of shopping. You glance down at your list.

Luka's cooking lessons had progressed far enough for you to start purchasing ingredients and cooking on your own.

You now had everything on your list. It was time to start heading home.

As you start making your way out of the market, a familiar voice stops you. "MC?" You turn to see a face you hadn't expected to see. "Jonah?"

To be continued...

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

I hope you all enjoyed!

Stay safe everyone!

#ikemen series #luka x reader #ikerev luka #ikemen luka #ikerev #ikemen revolution #ikemen fanfiction #luka clemence #ikemen writing

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plaidbooks · 3 years

Text

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 7 part 1

A/N: So, this chapter got a little bit away from me. And instead of posting all 14k words in one part, I’m splitting it into two parts (I’ll post part 2 tomorrow, though, instead of making you wait a week!) This first part is a lot of tension and even more angst! Their first real fight! And a cliffhanger? Wowza! I also got to make up a lot of Barba’s background in this chapter, so bear with me. Little bit of Spanish that’s also translated right then. According to my friend, Adrian, there’s no “direct translation for motherfucker into Spanish which is why it’s that long.”

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: mentions of cheating, minor character death, screaming/yelling

Words: 7k+

Taglist: @the-baby-bookworm @beccabarba (lemme know if you want to be tagged!)

Office of Rafael Barba

1 Hogan Place

Thursday, April 30th. 10:05am

Ever since the night they read about Marco Sorrel, Devon had pushed to train Barba harder in his self-defense training, especially with weapons. For the past three weeks, she taught him to disarm an assailant armed with first a knife—still sheathed—and then her gun, safety on. Barba hadn’t seemed too thrilled about the idea but agreed that it was necessary. And while Devon had to admit that he was pretty good in the training, that meant nothing when it came to the real thing. She had met many an agent who had excelled in training, and then froze in the field, leading to injuries or worse. Plus, the fact that it had been three weeks with no signs of any Aces made Devon uneasy. Very uneasy. She was sleeping less and less, hardly eating, and jumping at every sound. Barba, being his normal, collected self, didn’t seem disturbed by the news; he simply went about his day, doing arraignments, trials, meetings, and whatever the hell else he had to do. Which was a good thing, Devon supposed; it would make her job harder if they were both anxious.

Today was one of those days that was going to drag on forever, Devon knew. They had gotten to the courthouse early, skipping Barba’s office entirely, doing arraignments until almost noon. They then made it to his office for an early lunch, knowing that Barba would be in court for the rest of the day. Not that Devon was complaining; being stuck in the courtroom wasn’t all that bad, even though Barba had mentioned how boring it must be to sit in the gallery all day. But in all honesty, it was a nice break for Devon. She was still aware of people coming in and out, of course, but for the most part, once a trial started, everyone settled in. She didn’t have to worry too much about an attack once in court. And only once had a defendant gotten out of hand. But once he started shouting, the bailiff was on him, dragging him out, before Devon had fully blocked off his path to Barba. She knew he wasn’t in the Aces, but she was still going to protect the man.

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. It is pretty personal,” Barba commented, bringing Devon’s mind back to the present. They were just finishing lunch in his office, relaxing before the rush to court. She suddenly realized that he had asked her a question.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about stuff. What’d you ask?”

Barba sighed. “We were talking about, uh, past relationships. I asked how your last relationship ended.” Devon remembered now; they were talking about some cases that they both did with SVU, just a walk down memory lane over food. Barba had brought up the Muñoz case, which led to him talking about Yelina. Devon could tell by how his face softened when he spoke of her that she held a special place in his heart. After asking he agreed that yes, while he had flings and relationships since, Yelina was his first true love. After she left him for his best friend, he had found a couple other partners, but none that had gotten as close to him as her. “You always remember your first,” he had said.

Devon smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Does she lie to him? Tell him that she’s had a couple relationships and leave it at that? “I’ve, um…I’ve never really been in a relationship, per se.”

Barba put down his takeout container at that, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I thought guys would be all over you.”

She laughed his comment away, flattered. “I mean, don’t get me wrong; I’ve been, uh, intimate with people before,”—her face flushed. Why was she telling him this?—“but I’m just not the, uh, relationship type, I guess.” Why were they talking about this again? Though, she knew if she wanted to stop, she’d only have to say so. But she was curious about Barba; he was a very private man. She was interested—and a wee bit excited—that he even wanted to open up about this side of him. If that meant that she had to do the same, then so be it.

After a few moments of silence, Barba thinking through his words, he finally asked, “but haven’t you ever wanted to come home to someone?” It was an innocent enough question, but it filled Devon with such a strong sense of yearning. Of course, she did. Who didn’t want someone who would understand them, who would love them unconditionally?

“I mean, it would be nice, yes,” she kept her voice even, neutral. “But I don’t have the time, not with my job. Plus, how would someone react to something like this?” she gestured broadly. “I was out of the state for three years, then home for a week before moving in with a complete stranger, a man…no offense—”

“None taken—”

“--so, how would dating even work when I’m not even home or when I’m sleeping at someone else’s house?” Devon finished, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. She didn’t mean to get so emotional, so personal with the answer. But she was trying to make him understand.

He thought for a while, stabbing at his chicken. “I guess it would be tough with a job like that.” He took a piece out, chewed thoughtfully. “My last relationship ended because I was never home. I put my work first, so she found her home in someone else’s bed.”

Devon sat there, dumbfounded. Someone cheated on him? “What a bitch,” she mumbled. He stifled a chuckle and Devon realized she said that out loud. “Whoops,” she said, hand flying to her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That was years ago; I’ve moved on,” he replied. Then, “The hardest part was returning the engagement ring.”

Devon’s heart hurt for the man. She couldn’t imagine being so in love, planning on being married to someone, and then to find out they were cheating. She couldn’t think of anything to say; she didn’t think saying sorry would help, but she didn’t want to ask any more probing questions.

“Do you ever plan on getting married?” Barba asked, staring at the desk.

The question caught Devon off-guard; she never really thought about it before. Maybe when she was a kid, as a last-ditch effort to escape her parents. But not anytime recently. “I’m not sure, really. I’ve never considered it…maybe if I met the right person, though I think I’d like to retire before hand. And I could not imagine having a wedding—too expensive. And rings are so old-fashioned and over-rated; have you seen the new movement of people proposing with beautiful, intricate knives?” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop herself. Barba, to his credit, looked up from the desk, smiling and laughing at Devon’s increasingly ridiculous marriage proposals, awkwardness and past pain soon forgotten.

“Mr. Barba?” Carmen said, sticking her head into his office, causing them both to stop their frivolous talk. “Mr. Thompson and Mr. Buchanan are here to see you.”

“There goes the fun,” Barba mumbled. Devon grinned, but moved to stand behind him, bodyguard-style, her normal place by his side.

Courthouse

Thursday, April 30th. 7:08pm

Court had lasted much longer than either of them had thought; the Judge was intent on finishing the trial today, letting tomorrow morning be for closing arguments and then letting the jury deliberate.

“I need to head back to my office; I forgot a file,” Barba had said as he gathered his things. Odd, Barba never forgot anything; man’s head was a steel trap.

“No problem. I got nowhere to be tonight. You know that we’re still training, though, right? Staying here late doesn’t get you out of it.”

Barba sighed. As much as he knew training was important, his body was still sore from where she hit him, blocking an attack, the night before. “Yeah, I know.”

“Don’t worry; this will all be over soon enough,” Devon commented. It was true; during the trial, Devon’s phone had gone off with an update text from Olivia. 47 Aces were now sitting in jail. 18 reported left, though 5 of those 18 were reportedly no longer in New York. Once they learned that most of the police force were after them, they had picked up and left. So, in reality, unlucky 13 were left active in New York…including Marco Sorrel, who no one seemed able to pinpoint. If Devon was free to move throughout the city, she knew she could track him down. But she had to trust in the NYPD’s abilities.

Barba was elated at the news—not having to worry about being shot was a weight off his shoulders—but at the same time, he felt upset at the thought of Devon moving out, moving on with her life. He had grown accustomed to her being there; her laugh, her banter, her presence. He didn’t know if they would remain in contact after this was over. He realized that he didn’t want to lose her. And after their talk this morning, he felt…no, he didn’t want to admit it, not to himself, or to anyone else.

They made it to the courthouse elevator, no one else in sight, and started going down to the ground floor. Barba made up his mind; he had to ask, to know if there was any chance of them having…something after the Aces were in jail. “You know, about that…I mean, after this is all over….” Barba started. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped off, Devon first and Barba right on her heels. The words died in his throat as he felt someone grab him roughly from behind, the cold steel of a gun pushing against his head.

Devon had heard his case fall from his hands, turned and had her gun up, aiming right over Barba’s shoulder before her brain had a chance to catch up. How’d I miss him? she thought, chiding herself. Then, her mind went blank, instincts and training kicking in, no room for any other thoughts. The elevator doors closed behind them, effectively pinning Barba and the man against the wall, facing Devon. Devon locked eyes with the man, ignoring Barba’s frightened look, and for a moment she was in a brownstone, looking at Nathan Woods. But she blinked again, and it was a Hispanic man, gun to Barba’s head, tattoo on his neck.

“Drop your gun, or I splatter this bastard’s brains all over the hallway,” Marco Sorrel said. She could feel Barba’s eyes on her, but she stayed focused on Marco, watching his trigger finger, pushing down the panic that was making her heart race.

“Counteroffer; you drop your gun or you’re dead before you pull the trigger,” Devon replied. She held her gun steady despite her rapid pulse, and started shifting her position slowly to the side, taking such small steps, she hoped Marco didn’t notice. This could end one of two ways, and she was deciding how best to approach it.

“Look, la loca es la primera (crazy bitch), I’m not afraid to die. But I’m taking this el cara e verga es el segundo (motherfucker) with me,” he dropped his voice, talking into Barba’s ear, barely loud enough for Devon to hear, “I hope you’ve made peace with whatever God you believe in.”

Devon felt the floor drop out from under her; she made up her mind in that moment. She took another step to the left, gaining a clear shot. She took it, squeezing the trigger. It was like watching a scene in slow motion. One moment, Marco had a gun to Barba’s head. Barba looked terrified, frozen in place. Then, a hole appeared between Marco’s eyes; his head snapped back and red splattered the elevator doors. His body hit the doors, and he slid down until he was slumped against them, gun clattering to the floor. Barba had ducked from the loud gunshot; he stood slowly, shakily, and turned to look at him while Devon slowly lowered her gun. She holstered it, putting the safety on—she knew she’d be turning it over tonight.

People started showing up then; Devon wasn’t sure where they were coming from. But they must have heard the gunshot, the hallways and curved ceiling making a perfect echo chamber. She stepped up to Barba, who was still looking at Marco’s dead body. She reached a hand out to him, saw her hand shaking slightly, clenched it into a fist and dropped it.

“Hey, are you alright? Are you hurt?” she asked, voice surprisingly steady for how shaky she was feeling.

Barba couldn’t take his eyes off the dead man, his face a little green. “You—you killed him. You just murdered a man.” He had whispered it, so matter-of-factly, voice dead.

The tone he had—or lack thereof--hit Devon like a physical blow. She reached out, hand not shaking this time, and took his hand, leading him a little down the hallway, putting the body behind him so that he was forced to look at Devon. That was almost worse; he looked rattled, shaking slightly, his green eyes wide. He yanked his hand out of her grip as if she had stung him.

“Uh, yes, I did…. You heard him; he was going to kill you in the next moment. I saw my shot and I took it; it was a good shoot,” she explained.

Barba had seen dead bodies in the morgue and in autopsy pictures before, but he had never seen someone killed, been close enough to feel the man’s weight fall off him. To fear, even for one moment, that he was the one who was shot. It felt like his brain was moving through sludge; he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It all had happened so fast; it was amazing how quick, how easy it was to kill someone.

“Police are taught to de-escalate a situation. You’re a damn negotiator, for fuck’s sake! You didn’t have to kill him.” Barba didn’t know where this anger came from, but it was a familiar emotion. He knew anger, so he wrapped himself in it like armor, let it protect his frazzled mind.

The rational side of Devon’s mind knew that this was simply a reaction to shock; when she was in the same situation 4 years ago, her reaction was to shut down. But anger, she knew, was also a very normal reaction to shock. Sadly, another reaction to someone yelling is to go on the defensive. And with all of her senses heightened, adrenaline coursing through her, that’s exactly what Devon did, replying, “yeah, I am a negotiator! And I know when a negotiation doesn’t work; I’ve seen enough hostages killed to know what it looks like. I was not going to let that happen to you.”

“He didn’t have to die, though! You know how to disarm perps!” he shot right back.

Devon shook her head, ran her hand through her hair in frustration. “I had no options, Barba. I hesitate, and you die! I shoot the hand with the gun, and there’s a damn good chance I hit you. Like I said, I saw my shot and I took it. Do I wish I didn’t have to kill him? Of course! But I will not apologize for doing my job.”

“That’s not good enough!” Barba yelled.

“Then what is, huh? What would you, a fucking ADA with apparently expert knowledge on hostage situations, have me do?” Devon answered, blood boiling.

Barba had no answer, so he let out an annoyed huff, and pushed past her. He made his way to one of the benches left outside a courtroom, intended for those waiting to go in, and sat down hard. He leaned his face into his hands, elbows on his knees. Devon took deep breaths through her nostrils, knowing that she needed to take a step back, to control this anger that seemed to stem from nowhere. And she needed to try and calm him down, too, whether he liked it or not. But first, she had to make a phone call.

The crowd that had gathered was staying well away from the body, and even further away from the two of them after their shouting match. She was sure that the police had already been called, but Devon still took out her phone and dialed Olivia’s cell, asking her to alert CSU and IAB. While it was true that the FBI had their own Internal Affairs, and Devon would have to talk to them, too, she was technically working for SVU at the moment, so IAB and 1PP would be involved. It was always tricky with them; they loved to remind her that she wasn’t an NYPD officer, but they also loved to throw her under the bus when they thought she fucked up. She had a grim curiosity about what policies they would take with her this time. Once she hung up with Liv, she figured she’d inform Barba.

Without moving closer, Devon spoke to the wall in front of her. “IAB is going to want to talk to you, too. You’re an eyewitness.” Barba sat in silence, no indication that he even heard her. Devon took another deep breath; she was going to have this conversation with him at some point, might as well be now while he wasn’t yelling.

“If you want someone else to protect you, I have no objections. I understand if you don’t trust me now,” she said softly. The words ripped a hole in her heart to say, but it was his right to have a choice, something he didn’t have when Liv shoved Devon onto him. Plus, she couldn’t get the image of his face after Marco was dead out of her mind: the fear, the anger, the betrayal. Like she was the worst person in the world.

Barba had a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind; they swirled, and he couldn’t seem to clear it. He knew he had to answer her tonight, so he finally said, more to the floor than to her, “I just want to go home for the night; get a good night’s rest. I…I need time to process all of this.”

Well, that was normal after having such a near-death experience, and he wasn’t giving her the boot quite yet. Though, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop; by tomorrow, he’d be done with her. Recognizing that the conversation was over, she thought about their sleeping arrangements. IAB wouldn’t allow her to stay with him tonight; it was against protocol. They could concoct a story about all of this, lie for each other. Her adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving her exhausted. But they had to wait for Olivia to get there, to deal with this situation.

Thankfully, they only had to wait another five minutes, though it felt like an eternity in silence. Olivia was somehow the first on the scene, the rest of SVU on her heels. The detectives started clearing the courthouse of spectators, while Liv came over to the agent and counselor. Devon took off her gun and knife, handing them over.

She took them but turned to Barba first. “There will be an unmarked car watching your place tonight. I think you should get a good night’s sleep before talking to officers tomorrow morning. I’ll give you a ride home tonight, and then come by tomorrow for your statement.” He gave her a stiff nod, then Olivia turned to Devon, sighing heavily. “IAB has instructed me to escort you to the hospital for a blood-alcohol test,”

“That’s normal—” Devon started, before Olivia cut her off.

“And then to place you under arrest until they investigate this further.” Ah, there it is, Devon thought.

She smiled grimly. “And when will that be?” Devon asked. Officers had up to 48 hours to report to IAB after an incident like this, and Devon was sure that they’d make her wait the whole time, incarcerated...if they counted her as an officer. They could potentially make her wait indefinitely. As shitty as that was, all she could think about was who would watch Barba tomorrow at work.

Liv shook her head. “I don’t know; they didn’t specify. Detective Rollins will escort you to the hospital, and then to the cage at SVU.” Better than Rikers, Devon thought ruefully. She glanced at Barba, trying to make sure he was alright, but he was still staring at the floor.

Olivia gave her a look full of concern, before nodding to Rollins. Devon placed her hands behind her back and Rollins cuffed her, looking upset that she was the one chosen to do so. She read her her rights as they left the courthouse. Barba finally looked up as she led her away, a tightness in his chest. Arrested for murder…arrested for saving his life.

Liv sat on the bench next to him. “Are you alright, Rafa?”

He pulled his eyes from Devon’s retreating form, looking at Olivia, her expression full of worry. “She saved my life yet again, but by killing someone. I’m...I’m not sure how to feel about it.” He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it could come to this, that she may have to shoot someone to protect him. But his life had almost always been painted in black and white; murder is bad, illegal. Sure, there were exceptions, but they were few and far in between. And even then, he always viewed justifiable homicide as a last resort. Was killing Marco a last resort?

Liv mulled over her thoughts for a while before replying, “I’ve known Devon for years; she wouldn’t shoot someone for no reason.”

Barba suddenly realized that she had no idea what happened here; Devon wasn’t allowed to tell her without having counsel with her, and Barba didn’t count since he was a witness. So, Barba gave her the broad strokes of what had happened, including Marco’s threat that had pushed Devon over the edge and their conversation afterwards. Liv almost stopped him—he shouldn’t be telling her or anyone besides IAB about this—but he wasn’t a trained officer, and he needed to tell someone about this. Might as well be her.

So, Liv listened in silence, nodding along with his tale. She sighed when he finished, saying, “look, Rafa, you know that I’m against murder as much as you are. But this sounds like a good shoot. She shot him not in self-defense, but in defense of you, which may be a stronger pull, especially for someone like Devon. Trust me, though, she’s not nearly as accepting of this outcome as she may seem.”

Barba took that into consideration; maybe killing a man was eating her up inside. He knew that she had shot people before, but he didn’t know if she had killed someone before. And all he had done was yell at her, blaming her for saving his life yet again. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t control himself, his emotions; he knew Devon at this point. She wasn’t some serial killer. She was his friend, and she was risking her life every day making sure he was safe. And now she was in jail.

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Liv said, breaking through his thoughts. He picked up his briefcase on the way out, unable to stomach even glancing at the blood on the ground. They rode in silence, enraptured in their own thoughts; Olivia worrying over how IAB would handle this case—she knew that IAB wasn’t particularly fond of SVU’s relationship with the Federal agent—and Barba going over the whole scene in his mind over and over again, from the moment those elevator doors closed to Devon’s back as she was led out in cuffs. After saying their goodbyes, Barba headed into his building. He noticed the unmarked car parked in front, but it didn’t feel like a comfort, not like Devon’s presence felt. He opened the door and locked it behind him, arming the doorstop like she had shown him. His loft seemed so empty, so quiet. Grabbing the thickest book he could find, he checked every room for intruders; a mockery of how professional Devon usually conducted the search. Barba felt foolish doing it himself, book in hand, but he knew it must be done if he wanted any peace tonight; his blood was still rushing in his ears. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he slowly stripped off his jacket and looked at the time. 11:36pm. He knew there was no chance of sleep tonight, but he’d have to try. To hopefully help him sleep, he dug out his favorite bottle of scotch, pouring himself a glass. He had to sort out his mind if he was ever going to sleep, though the alcohol may help calm his nerves, too. Plus, he needed to figure out how tomorrow was going to play out. He’d never talked to IAB before, nor been an eyewitness to a crime…at least, not like this. For court, he had his bullet-proof question tree, his responses to whatever the opposition said written down and memorized. Now, though, he was the one on trial, and he had no idea what to say.

Apartment of Rafael Barba

Friday, May 1st. 7:00am

Barba showered in the morning, after tossing and turning all night. He didn’t go to bed until after 1am, but even with how exhausted he was, not to mention slightly drunk, he could not sleep. He kept thinking about the look of conviction in Devon’s eyes as she pulled the trigger, Marco’s dead body, blood splattered everywhere, his anger and fear as he took out all that energy, all that adrenaline, on Devon. Every time he thought about that conversation, a fresh wave of shame washed over him. He knew that victims sometimes lashed out after something traumatic happened, but he wasn’t a victim…right? He never thought of himself as one; he was simply a marked man. But even he knew that was a bunch of crap.

He got a text sometime while in the shower from McCoy, telling him to take the day, and the weekend, off. First of all, he knew that IAB would want to interview Barba about the dead body found by the elevators last night. And second, he knew that Barba probably needed the time off to collect his thoughts after having such a close brush with death. True, McCoy knew the ADA well, knew that he could handle himself and could feasibly work if asked, but the DA knew it would be better to let Barba relax for a couple days.

Don’t worry, I got a continuous on all your cases. McCoy texted him.

Sighing, he got dressed in a suit, though not one of his expensive court suits—this was more of a “weekend” suit, as he liked to call them. Though, Devon loved to tease him that they didn’t look different. He tried to explain it once, about the different material, the different cuts in shape, but she only laughed harder. He came out of his room, mumbling a quiet, “morning,” then looked to the couch when there was no answer, finding it empty. Oh…right, he thought, missing her singsong, perky voice in the morning. Then he realized that that meant there was no coffee made yet.

As he moved in the kitchen. his phone went off, causing him to jump and almost dropped his mug; it was a message from Liv letting him know that IAB had pushed back the meeting and that she would update him with a time when she knew. She would be there in a bit for his statement, and the unmarked car would stay posted until further notice. At least that gave him some time to finalize what he wanted to say to Devon when…if he saw her. He had solidified his testimony that he would say to IAB. With nothing else to do, he sat in his armchair nervously, fiddling with a pen in his hands.

SVU Department

Friday, May 1st. 7:00am

Devon stared at the ceiling of SVU’s holding cell. Thankfully, she was its only occupant all night. Rollins had given her a pillow and a blanket and told her to try and get some sleep, but they both knew that that wasn’t happening. Instead, Devon counted the bars on the walls, did her normal workouts that she performed in Barba’s loft every morning, and thought about anything that wasn’t Barba’s face, full of fear—fear of Marco, or her?—from the night before. But as the time trickled by and night gave way to dawn, Devon was forced to confront last night’s events. She meant what she had said; she wasn’t sorry that she had killed Marco. If she had done nothing, if she had hesitated for even a second longer, there’d be two bodies in the morgue. She was pretty sure the Barba understood that, but she did not expect him to flip out like he did. Shock makes people lash out, she told herself. Though she wasn’t thrilled that she had killed someone, it wasn’t her first time, either. And Barba was right; in a perfect world, she would have been able to de-escalate the situation, even though she knew deep down that she only had the two options; kill or be killed. She took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She thought back to the fight with Barba; she had dealt with…troublesome victims before: she’d had people yell at her, take a swing at her, threaten her and everyone she loved. So, why was this different? Why did this hurt so much more? A thought in her mind caught her attention. She tried to ignore it, to squish it, but it remained. You love him. She shook her head—no, no! She didn’t, couldn’t. They only met a few months ago! This was just a crush, a superficial infatuation based on living in such close quarters...ignoring the fact that he was ridiculously handsome, smart, funny, caring.... Okay, she had to stop thinking about it. It would pass, it had to.

“Morning,” Fin greeted. Devon jumped, not hearing him approach; she was too wrapped in her thoughts. She sat up and saw that he held a coffee out to her. “Don’t tell anyone I gave you this.”

She took the coffee from him. “Thank you,” she said gratefully. She took a sip, letting it warm her; the cell was cold, despite the blanket. “So, what time is it?”

Fin checked his watch before answering, “seven. And bad news, IAB pushed your interview back. No official time yet,” Devon huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes; of course, they were going to make her sweat, waiting in a cell. Plus, it was Friday; they may make her wait all weekend. “Also, they told us to keep you in cuffs until you go into interrogation.”

“Ah, right. IAB: guilty until proven otherwise. Tucker still in charge?”

Fin smirked. “You think that asshole has anything better to do?”

Devon grinned, then took her seat on the bench that served as a bed, trying to calm her nerves. She sipped at her coffee but didn’t really taste it. Her mind was racing again; she wasn’t afraid of IAB, per se, but that wasn’t the only variable here. Tucker already had a deep dislike of Devon. And then there was also Barba’s statement. Was he still pissed at her? Would he throw her under the bus, tell IAB that she didn’t need to kill Marco? She honestly didn’t know, and that worried her most.

The day passed by slowly, but thankfully no other perp was added to the cage. She was only let out to use the restroom, and none of the detectives felt like making her wear the cuffs. Devon sat in silence, going over her testimony again and again, making sure she had an answer for everything. She was going to tell the truth, but IAB was good at twisting words and actions, and she wanted to be prepared. She replayed every moment from the night before…except for the fight with Barba. She knew she’d have to review it eventually, but she really didn’t have the strength after the sleepless night.

The detectives were all busy; Liv and Fin stopped by every now and again to check in, update her on IAB’s timetable and to see if she needed something. Technically, they weren’t allowed to talk about what had happened, even though Devon waived Miranda. It wasn’t until about 2pm that she had any real company. Detective Amaro came into the cage, bringing a plain bologna sandwich for Devon’s lunch. Government money at work.

“Thanks,” she said, sitting up. Amaro surprised her by taking a seat next to her.

“Mind if we talk a little bit? I feel like we haven’t really talked much,” he replied, handing her the sandwich. Devon unwrapped it, took a bite. Better than nothing, and her stomach was empty outside of shitty precinct coffee. It was true, though; besides bringing Barba in for cases, Devon hadn’t really been around SVU enough to really “meet” the new detectives. Not including the awkward hospital visit from the night before with Rollins.

“Uh, sure, as long as we don’t talk about last night; don’t want IAB coming down on your head, too. What’s on your mind?”

He held out his hand for her to shake. “Detective Nick Amaro. Transferred from narcotics. Been in SVU for a little over a year, but I don’t see myself doing anything else. Partnered first with Benson, and now Rollins. And trust me, I don’t need another reason to have IAB coming after me.”

Devon shook his hand, a little bemused that he was introducing himself. “Ah, Senior Special Agent Devon Motely. FBI for 20 years; started as negotiator and added on undercover. Don’t have a partner, but I do have a team, much like NYPD’s ESU. I trust them with my life, even if I don’t work with them as often as I’d like.”

Amaro sat for a moment, taking in her words. “I looked in your jacket, this is your third kill. Last two were clean, too.” He seemed a little nervous talking about her personal file but hid it well with a charming smile.

Third in the jacket, Devon mentally corrected, and that doesn’t include firefights, where it’s impossible to tell who shot whom. But that wasn’t something she was going to bring up, not now. Devon remembered the other two that were in her file, though. The first had haunted her for weeks afterwards, even if he did deserve it. The man was a bastard; trafficked young girls, even “tested” them out, to make sure they could perform. He had run when Devon confronted him, then started shooting once cornered. She just happened to get him first, total luck, and she knew it. Probably why she didn’t sleep for two weeks afterwards. The second one still hurt, even years later. It was a 22-year-old man—a kid, really—who was caught in a bad situation. He was abused, both physically and sexually, by his father since he was 13. Then one day, he snapped. Took a gun, went to his parent’s house. Devon was called in to try and de-escalate the situation. She got out of her car, and gunshots went off. The kid had shot both parents, then came out the front door just as Devon was rushing in. He had the gun facing down at the ground and didn’t raise it fast enough by the time he shot, hitting Devon in the hip. She reacted on instinct alone, shooting him in the stomach. He died in her arms, bled out before EMTs could get there. She still had nightmares about it, every time she looked at the scar on her hip. She was lucky; the bullet had gone clean through, hitting nothing. A one in a million shot.

“Devon?” Amaro asked, pulling Devon out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I, uh, I have shot two people before Marco, correct,” she replied. “Wish I hadn’t, but things happen on the job. I’m sure you know that.”

Amaro nodded. “Yeah, I—I’ve taken some shots before, too.” He let out a breath. “Takes a toll after a while, huh?” Devon agreed. It came with the job, and therapy was a lifesaver. But some scars took longer to heal than others. “So, how did this one go down?”

Wait, was he trying to interrogate her? Come in as a friend and pry into the case? Or was Devon looking into it too much? She wasn’t sure, but she also didn’t know the guy.

“I think that Tucker would be pretty pissed if I talked to an SVU detective about this,” she deflected, keeping her voice light.

“Oh, I wasn’t trying to grill you or anything. But I agree; he already doesn’t care for me, anyways. Don’t need to give him more ammunition against me.”

“That’s something we have in common. You think they had to ‘push back’ this investigation because IAB is busy? CSU still processing info? Nah, Tucker hates my guts,” Devon chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“I think that’s just Tucker,” Amaro replied, smiling.

Just then, Fin walked up. Amaro stood to leave, as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Just so you know, they finally set a time. 3pm.” Fin announced. Thank god; having a set time took some of the weight off Devon’s shoulders, but it did make her stomach drop all the same. Both Amaro and Fin left then, Amaro giving Devon a small smile, a peace offering after her accusation.

Fin came back 20 minutes later and reluctantly cuffed Devon once more. At least he left them a little loose, so she wasn’t losing circulation. He took her to his squad car, and he, along with Rollins, drove her to IAB’s headquarters.

#rafael barba x oc #everyone deserves love #everyone deserves love chapter 7 p1 #edl #edl ch7 #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #oh no they're in love #it's happening

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