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melanielocke · 2 years

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The Stars Collide - Chapter 22

This turned out to be a very long chapter from Alastair's POV. The loss in executive function after ECT is really a side effect that can happen, usually only the day of the ECT itself.

CW: domestic violence (in a flashback), ECT, unethical experimentation AO3 | Chapter list

Christopher had coordinated a continuation of Alastair’s ECT at the academic hospital in Lightwood. He went twice a week now. The days he had ECT on were horrible. He couldn’t eat or drink until after the ECT, his memory didn’t work until the day after, and he was sometimes experiencing severe executive dysfunction after the ECT. Alastair was tired and wanted to go to bed, but somehow he couldn’t figure out how to change into his pajamas. He had done this a million times before. He knew how to change clothes. He told himself to just do it. Take off his clothes, put on his pajamas. His brain refused.

Thomas was already changed into his pajamas and got into bed. ‘Are you coming?’

Alastair decided to give up and just get into bed. It wasn’t exactly comfortable to sleep in his day clothes, but there was nothing else to it.

Thomas frowned. ‘Are you going to sleep in clothes?’

‘Yes.’

‘What about your pajamas?’

‘Can’t find them. I’m tired.’

‘They’re right there,’ Thomas said. ‘You can sleep in whatever you want, but I can’t imagine this is comfortable.’

‘It’s not,’ Alastair admitted.

He felt buttons pressing against him. With his recent weight gain, his clothes were a little on the tight side and while he didn’t mind walking around in them, lying in bed in them was very uncomfortable. Nor did he want his clothes to get all wrinkly and sweaty.

‘Can you help me?’ Alastair asked. ‘It’s the ECT – I don’t know how change.’

‘Oh. Sure, of course.’

Thomas got out of bed and Alastair did the same. He tried to breathe as Thomas started unbuttoning his shirt, and stripped him down to his undergarments. It was mortifying. The only context in which he’d want Thomas to undress him was if they were going to have sex. Instead, Thomas helped him into his pajamas like he was a child who hadn’t yet figured out how to dress himself and they got back in bed together.

‘That must suck,’ Thomas said. ‘Did you forget how to change? Or can’t you make yourself do it?’

‘It was other things too, I think, but not as essential. When I couldn’t figure out how to cut an onion I could just say I was tired and then your mother did it for me. It’s like there’s so many steps involved and my brain decides to give up. No matter how hard I try I can’t make myself do it.’

‘I’m sure you’ll feel better tomorrow,’ Thomas said. ‘Good night.’

Alastair hated ECT. He did feel like he was getting somewhere. He dreamt of experiments and labs almost every night, but he still couldn’t quite touch the memories. At this point, Alastair was quite certain they were real. These experiments had happened. But he needed to be able to show Charlotte his memories, otherwise he’d have no proof anything happened.

His power did seem more consistent and reliable apart from those gaps, he wasn’t getting lost in memories the same way anymore, and when he did Alastair presumed those were PTSD symptoms. He’d started working on making a list of triggers he could avoid for now, because while he didn’t want to hide from life for a long time, he also wanted to protect himself from having multiple flashbacks a day. The Lightwood house was relatively safe. There was a lot of room to stay inside, and Gideon and Sophie Lightwood were very calm and gentle people. Still, there had been some things. Gideon sometimes wore a cologne that was too similar to what Charles had worn, and he’d had to change to something completely different. While Sophie rarely drank alcohol, she did like to use wine in her cooking and Alastair had to leave the kitchen when she did.

Everyone was easy to accommodate him when needed, but Alastair struggled to ask for it. He didn’t always know what he needed, and he didn’t want to inconvenience other people. More importantly, he didn’t want to show weakness, he didn’t want people to know how upset these little things could make him. Somehow he was losing the ability to hide it though. He didn’t know why that had been easier back when he was just surviving Charles.

Alastair woke up from another nightmare, another one that was slipping through his fingers the moment he tried to process it awake. It was driving him insane, to know it was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but when he needed it the most he lost it. Again.

Thomas pushed himself up to a sitting position. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

‘It’s the same as always. I know it was the experiment, but I can’t remember any details, or verify if it’s real,’ Alastair said.

‘That must be frustrating.’

‘It’s so close, yet I can’t access it.’

He moved a little closer to Thomas. Perhaps it was too much, but Alastair wanted this, he wanted to be close to Thomas, to be held by him, to feel his strong arms. They hadn’t done that again, and Alastair hadn’t known how to ask. But now it was all he could think of. It was ironic that there was so much distance between Alastair and the man he was married to. And it was nice that they’d taken time, that they hadn’t started sleeping together immediately. But now that Alastair did want it, he had no idea how to initiate, how to ask for it. He was used to Charles deciding when and where and how they’d have sex, and while he was happy to have the freedom to decide for himself, he also had no idea how to get back to being intimate and having sex without someone else taking the initiative. He only knew the way Charles had initiated sex and that was not something he would ever wish to do to another person.

‘You’ll get there,’ Thomas said. ‘I have faith in you.’

Alastair nodded. It was nice, someone having faith in him. Alastair himself was inclined to expect the worst, he’d always been rather pessimistic and didn’t have a lot of faith himself. Mira had been right about that, his self esteem was very low. But if Alastair wanted to stop hating himself, he would have to become a person worthy of love and he had no idea how to do that.

He moved a little closer again, hoping Thomas would somehow take the hint and make a move, but either Thomas didn’t notice or he had no interest.

‘Let’s go back to sleep,’ Thomas suggested instead.

Alastair turned around and pulled the covers over him. It took him a while to fall asleep again, and he woke very early the next morning. Not wanting to stay in bed without falling asleep again, he out of bed and started dressing himself. Thank the stars his brain was working again. He went to the library to continue with Thomas’ long book series. He was used to functioning on very little sleep and rarely had an uninterrupted night. He didn’t remember what it felt like to not be tired. This was fine.

After finishing the next chapter, Alastair remembered it might be a good idea to have breakfast. He closed the book and went to the kitchen, where Sophie was pouring oats from a big bowl into a small bowl.

‘Morning, Alastair. You want some oats too? I made a big batch last night.’

‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Would you like any toppings to finish the oatmeal? I have apple slices, bananas, cinnamon, maple syrup.’

‘I’ve never had maple syrup before,’ Alastair said.

‘It’s common in this area because of all the trees, but elsewhere on the planet it’s not used as often. I really like it with pancakes or oats,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s kind of an unusual flavor.’

The oats with maple syrup were very good, it turned out.

‘You’re up early,’ Sophie said.

‘I usually wake early,’ Alastair said. ‘Sleeping issues, I’ve had those for years.’

‘Oh, that sounds difficult,’ Sophie said.

‘I’m used to it,’ Alastair said.

‘I hope Thomas doesn’t wake you up with his snoring.’

‘He doesn’t snore,’ Alastair said. ‘Though he can breathe rather loud.’

‘He snored when he was a child. I’m happy for you that he doesn’t anymore.’

‘If he did, I wouldn’t be willing to sleep in the same bed, that’s for sure,’ Alastair said. ‘But as it is, I like having him near me. Somehow I feel safer.’

‘That’s good. I know it must be difficult for you to feel safe. It took me a while to feel safe around other people again after I left my abusive ex.’

Alastair’s interest was piqued, but he knew he shouldn’t ask questions. ‘I’m sorry that happened to you.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ Sophie said. ‘I regret what happened, but I’ve made peace with it.’

‘How did you recover?’

‘After I left, Charlotte offered me a place to stay. She was still Crown Princess then and had more time for me. She offered me her friendship and support. I owe her a lot, and she’s still one of my closest friends. Gideon helped me too. It took a while for me to believe he could genuinely be interested in me, my self esteem was very low back then. My ex gave me this.’

Sophie pointed at the scar on her face. Alastair had wondered about it, but had figured it would be rude to ask.

‘He told me now no one else would want me now that I wasn’t beautiful anymore. Not that he ever made me feel beautiful, he only ever tore me down,’ she said. ‘But Gideon only ever made me feel beautiful. It didn’t matter to him that I have a scar or that I gained a lot of weight after my pregnancies.

He was rather awkward at expressing his intentions when we first got together. He ended up blurting out that he intended to ask me out to our friends while I was also in the room. And then there’s the scone incident.’

Alastair grinned. ‘That must have been awkward. But he does seem like a good partner.’

‘He is. Thomas is a lot like him. Including the awkwardness, I’m afraid. He always struggles to take initiative when he likes someone, I really was surprised when he heard he was going to marry you, that he volunteered for it. I figured he must have really liked you.’

‘It’s an arranged marriage,’ Alastair said. ‘Thomas did volunteer for it, but I think that’s because Charlotte was pressuring Matthew into marrying me instead. He doesn’t really have feelings for me. But we are good friends now. That should be enough.’

He wished it was enough. Friendship was good, and valuable, something he had missed out on his entire life. But he wanted romance too. He wanted Thomas.

‘It does. But are you sure Thomas doesn’t have feelings for you? Because as I said, he struggles with taking the initiative.’

Alastair sighed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you want him to have feelings for you?’

‘I think so? I do really like him, and I’d want our relationship to be more romantic. But I couldn’t function in a romantic relationship.’

Alastair was barely functioning in a friendship with Thomas, and while he’d love the upsides of a romantic and sexual relationship with him, he knew relationships were difficult and complicated and he’d never quite been able to figure that out. All he knew was Charles’ increasingly difficult moods. All he knew was to escalate, to get mad and then end up getting beaten up. He knew Thomas wasn’t like that, Thomas wouldn’t hit him, but Thomas deserved a better romantic partner than him. The best Alastair could do for him was please him in the bedroom, and Thomas did not seem interested in that.

‘What makes you say that?’ Sophie sounded concerned.

‘I’m not sure how to explain it. But I’m not very good with people,’ Alastair said.

‘Lots of people aren’t good with people, what matters is you find someone who is compatible with you. I’ve seen you and Thomas interact, and I think you can read each other quite well for a couple that hasn’t been married that long. The issue, I think is, that the situation is a little awkward since you got married before establishing any sort of relationship and you now have to figure out what you want and need from each other. And Thomas is the kind of person to avoid difficult conversations.’

‘I guess that’s true. But he’s also very kind and caring. He does so much for me, and I’m not sure I have anything to give back.’

‘What’s most important to Thomas, I think, is to spend quality time with the people he cares about. Going to museums, walks in the woods, things like that. That’s difficult right now since you have to stay safe, but he also likes watching tv shows with other people and then discuss it, or discuss books he likes.’

‘That doesn’t sound too difficult,’ Alastair said. ‘We do watch tv shows together, and I read his books. And if it weren’t for all the threats against me I’d love to go to a museum with him.’

Alastair hadn’t considered such things as part of a romantic relationship. They were things you did in any relationship, he guessed, be it friends, or family, or romantic. It was something he’d missed with Charles, who’d often been too busy and only took him along to important state affairs, none of which could be described as fun. No one had really cared about his interests and the only time he had any fun with other people was when he watched Tilly.

That afternoon, he decided to go for a walk in the woods. Sophie had suggested Thomas might like it if they went on a walk together, and as long as Cordelia came along to keep them safe it was alright. Lucie had decided to come along too.

Thomas knew the way, while Cordelia knew how to keep him safe. Lucie had offered him some more charms for extra protection, one she claimed would make it so the people who meant him harm wouldn’t find him. There was no evidence anyone had followed him here so far, he hoped it would stay that way.

Alastair’s only earlier experience with the woods of Lightwood was in Thomas’ memory, when Thomas and Christopher had gotten lost in here. Alastair began to understand how that could happen, the woods were endless here. The seasons were more outspoken here than in the Fair palace area, the leaves had turned bright orange and red and the forest floor was covered. It was gorgeous.

Lucie looked around in awe. ‘This is exactly the kind of environment I need to set my next book in,’ she said.

‘Do different environments often inspire you?’ Alastair asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Lucie said. ‘I once spent a week on a submarine. Witch work. But it helped me come up with so many new ideas.’

‘Sounds terrifying,’ Thomas said. ‘I mean, what if it sinks and you get stuck? I imagine that would be a horrible way to die.’

‘What’s the point of submarines anyway?’ Alastair asked. ‘There’s no reason you’d need to go undetected and hoverships are far more environmentally friendly.’

‘They’re mostly used for scientific research,’ Lucie said. ‘Mapping out the ocean and such. I also heard there’s people working on figuring out how to live underwater. Like, build spaces people can live in underwater. We’re kind of running out of space on the planet, so people are looking for solutions in case we need to house more people.’

Alastair was hit by a sudden fear. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to get away, but he didn’t know where to find safety. There was no way out. There was no way out. But how could that be, they were in the middle of a forest. Then he wasn’t in a forest anymore.

Alastair stopped in his tracks. ‘Charles, what is this place?’

They’d been on a hovership for a long time, on their way to one of Charles’ new projects. Charles had been eager to show Alastair what he was working on, had told him that he would be very important for this project. Alastair was happy to be able to help Charles, he truly was, but he didn’t trust this place. The pilot of the hovership had stopped in the middle of the ocean, and then a submarine had come up, ready to catch them. He had followed Charles onto the submarine, down the hatch, and the submarine had taken them down into the ocean to an underwater facility. He had never known such a place existed. The walls to the outside were mostly made of glass, allowing a view of the ocean and the life in it. If it broke, they’d all die.

‘This is where my new project takes place,’ Charles explained. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of, darling.’

‘What is your new project?’ Alastair asked.

Charles had mentioned it often over the past weeks, and it was clear he’d been very excited about it, yet he hadn’t told Alastair what kind of project it was, nor why it was so important to him that Alastair came with him.

‘You’ll see. It is very important to me, and I expect your cooperation.’

Alastair was getting frustrated with these non answers but he knew he couldn’t let that show. He couldn’t pick a fight, not here. He took in a deep breathe and followed Charles. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad. Perhaps, for once, he could be what Charles needed from him.

A young man greeted him. ‘Dr. Blackthorn isn’t here today, but she’s made full preparations for the first phase of the project. She’s very excited about the test subject.’

‘Test subject?’ Alastair asked carefully.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the man said. ‘She’s excited about you, of course. Your powers are fascinating indeed, and there are so many potential uses for it. Far more than we believe you’ve explored so far. We’re going to help you unlock your real potential.’

The man led them to a lab and gestured at him to sit down in a chair. ‘I’m going to put on the electrodes now.’

‘You’re going to do what?’

‘The electrodes,’ the man repeated. ‘For the reading.’

The man didn’t wait for Alastair to respond, just starting putting patches on his head. Alastair didn’t think, he just ripped them off and before anyone could do anything he ran off. He needed to get out of here. He needed to go home. He had no idea where he’d come from nor where he was going, it was a maze. He found a glass wall that looked out into the ocean, and then he remembered. There was no way out. There was nowhere for him to go, he was trapped in here.

A firm hand grabbed his upper arm, pulling him back. Alastair flinched, it hurt. He turned around to meet Charles’ eyes.

‘Didn’t I just tell you how important this project is? What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I don’t want to do this,’ Alastair said. ‘Please, I want to go home.’

Charles shoved him against the glass wall with all the force he had and for a moment Alastair worried the glass was going to break and ocean water would come rushing in. Nothing happened, except the pain in the back of his head, his shoulders. Charles looked like he wasn’t finished, angry until a few moments later a calm seemed to wash over him. His moods had always been changeable like this.

‘I’m sorry, darling. Why can’t you just do this one thing? Why can’t you see how important this is to me?’

‘How would I know?’ Alastair hissed. He knew he shouldn’t raise his voice, he knew he shouldn’t get mad, but he couldn’t stop it. ‘You haven’t told me a single thing about this project. I have no idea what’s going on, why we’re here. I don’t want to participate in experiments. I don’t want people messing with my memory. And I would have told you long before we’d gotten here if you hadn’t kept it all from me.’

He heard a voice, someone yelling his name, and a moment later it wasn’t just him and Charles in the corner. For a moment, nothing made sense. What was Cordelia doing here, how was she even on Fair? She was accompanied by Lucie Herondale and Thomas Lightwood.

Cordelia pulled Charles away from him and threw him onto the ground.

‘Layla, stop!’ Alastair managed to say. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

‘Alastair, listen to me. You’re safe,’ Thomas said. ‘He can’t hurt you anymore. This isn’t real, this is just a memory.’

Just a memory… Of course, it was just a memory. The thing he’d been trying to remember for so long. This wasn’t his life anymore. Charles was gone, and he was married to Thomas.

‘I want to get out of here,’ Alastair said.

‘I don’t know how to do that,’ Thomas said. ‘It’s your power.’

‘Didn’t you just enter this memory?’

‘No, I thought you did that. I thought you needed help. Try to picture the forest, okay?’

Alastair tried not to look at the scene in front of him, of Cordelia shouting at Charles. There was so much she’d never gotten to say to him, and for Cordelia this was her chance. They couldn’t yell at real Charles anymore, but they could yell at a memory of him. He hoped it helped Cordelia feel better. He hated that they were here. Exactly how much had they witnessed? He’d never wanted anyone to see him like this, it was bad enough that they knew.

He closed his eyed and pictured the forest. It wasn’t difficult to bring to mind, he’d spend a lot of time taking in the details. The red colored leaves, the soft breeze. This wasn’t real, Alastair told himself. The forest was. The scent of autumn, something he had never smelled so strongly before. The sound of leaves underneath his feet, the feel of stepping into them.

He opened his eyes to the forest, shaking on his feet. Thomas was holding on to him, keeping him safe, and Alastair leaned into his embrace. He’d been longing to be held by Thomas for some time, he just wished that could have happened without having a flashback first.

‘Do you want to return home?’ Thomas asked.

‘I think so,’ Alastair managed to say.

He didn’t know what he wanted, exactly. He always felt so exhausted after a flashback, but he didn’t know if resting the rest of the day was the best way to deal with it.

‘It’s real,’ Alastair said. ‘The experiments, Charles’ involvement, all of it. It really happened.’

‘What happened? Did you learn anything about what the experiments were for?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Charles was very vague about it. He took me out onto the ocean without me knowing what was going on and then he suddenly said he needed me for the project and I needed to cooperate. And there was this lab guy, I don’t recognize him, and he didn’t care at all that I didn’t want this. He put electrodes on my head, so I imagine it must have been something like Christopher’s machine. I ran away, but of course there was nowhere to go. What are we going to do now? I know we should show Charlotte, but how am I supposed to tell her what her son was really like?’

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @leslutapologist @ikissedsmithparker

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Thomastair #Cordelia Carstairs #Lucie Herondale #Sophie Collins #the stars collide #the last hours #tlh

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moomoomooing · 1 year

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spiraling down into your arms

a/n: i read a jeonghan/mingyu/wonwoo time loop fic and it put me into a mood okay. i also missed how nice it felt to write smth comforting for leona and kyuu. also i didnt edit or proof read any of this so sorry in advance

He was spiraling again, he knew that. He knew it was bad, he knew that he should probably find a way to snap himself out of it, he knows, painfully so, that he’s not okay. That doesn’t stop his thoughts though.

He walked himself through another day. Repeating the same false smiles, the kind that never quite reach the eyes, but just enough to assure someone you are fine (and they believe you). He tells the same lies over and over again, the “I’m fine’s,” the “It’s okay’s.” and the ever so agonizing “Are you ok?” Because he desperately wants someone to see through his facade, to ask that question in return again, and pick up on how his smile can never reach his eyes, and how his eye bags are showing through his concealer. But no one does, so at some point he stops saying “I’m fine,” and instead gives them a weak smile and asks back, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He came out top of his class again, but he can’t tell if it was a mistake or not. He thinks that it’s best to pretend that he deserves it though, lest someone catches onto his pathetic attempts of pretending. He can’t even process Professor Trein’s praise, it only adds to the churning guilt in his gut. But he smiles, like always, and keeps whatever scraps of composure he had left.

He was avoiding Leona again, he knew how annoyed the lion would be, but he could barely convince himself to get out of bed again. Cater had only given confused looks at first, but now the same sad smile that Kyuu could only offer and return every few days.

Maybe, he thinks, I’ve gotten too good at acting.

By the two-week mark, Ruggie’s been trying to catch him alone, to probably drag him off to confront the ever growing rift between his boyfriend and him, but he can only give weak excuses and murmur something about Rook or Floyd to get Ruggie to awkwardly shuffle away. The next time he tried that, Rook really was around, and he offered to talk. Kyuu tried to find the hidden mockery, the thinly veiled distaste, in his voice, but he was a little too good at acting as well. Kyuu only shrugged him off, saying he had extra paperwork from the Equestrian club he needed to finish. Just because he thought he wasn’t nearly competent enough to help run a club didn’t mean he didn’t still have those responsibilities. Seven’s be damned if he let himself fail something else, he didn’t think he could take another look of sheer disappointment.

He had work today, he had put in a notice that he would need to take a break to accommodate the new workload from the last few weeks, competitions, meets, school events; he didn’t even know why he was being asked to do so much. Surely there were better people right? Determined to not be late, he briskly walked down to the Great Hall and through the Octavinelle mirror, ignoring the ugly churn of bile in his stomach.

He passed someone in the hallways, but he kept his head down. A gruff voice called out, “Oi.” He knew exactly who it was and only uttered a pathetic, “I’m sorry,” barely loud enough to be heard before he scurried down the rest of the hall.

Azul only gave him concerned looks, was he doing worse at his job? He hoped he wouldn’t be fired in favor of someone better, Kyuu thinks he’s been too cold looking at customers recently. There would definitely be better waiters than him. The tweels left him alone for the most part too, he didn’t know if he appreciated the space or loathed it. Time to think and gather himself, time to lose himself to the onslaught of anxiety and fear.

Untill Jade tapped his shoulder. “We seem to be short staffed in the back. I would appreciate someone skilled to aid me with orders.” Not knowing what else to do, he nodded and followed the eel into the back, only dimly aware of the other twin taking his place. The rest of his shift was nice, listening to Jade fill the numbing void his mind imposed on him was nice. He thinks that going back to work was good.

Closing the Lounge and leaving through the doors, strong hands grasp his arm and yanks him toward the mirror. Kyuu can’t even resist, he was tired, and he knew this would have to happen eventually. Maybe he had finally done it, chased the person that made his chest feel warm away again. He was on the verge of tears when they finally made it to Leona’s door.

Before it was pushed open, Ruggie pulled him into a hug, tighter than his usual ones. Kyuu was thankful he stayed silent though, any words might have broken him before he could even face the lion waiting on him. With a final, albeit hesitant, pat, the hyena pushed the door open and Kyuu stepped through to face what he felt was the end of the world.

Instead, he let out a soft “oomph” as his face hit a solid chest. Next, warm arms circled around him and hefted him up. He didn’t even know he was cold. He was brought to the lions luxuriously large bed, being uncharacteristically set down gently instead of the usually playful toss.

“I would’ve helped, you know,” Leona finally says. His voice is quiet, an attempt to not sound like he’s demanding anything. This has happened before, and it clenches his heart painfully to see Kyuu in such an unresponsive state. “...A lot of people would’ve helped.”

He knew he wouldn’t get a response though, and only clung on tighter. Bringing his hand to cup the back of Kyuu’s head, waiting until he heard choked sobs wreck Kyuu’s chest. Strangled “I know’s,” and muffled apologies leave his mouth as he buries his face even deeper into the crook of Leona’s neck. Kyuu forgot how much he missed this, his self-imposed isolation convinced himself he never needed it in the first place. Soft kisses on the top of Kyuu’s head ground him, the gentle circles Leona’s thumbs rubbed into his back and head. Soft assurances left Leona’s mouth, and for the first time in three weeks, Kyuu felt just a little bit better.

The next day he felt only barely more energized, but it was something. There had been a silent agreement to skip classes today, a decision Leona made with minimal protest from Kyuu. A long stretch of his arms made him aware of the tension and soreness he had been ignoring from hours of hunching over work. He thinks a break would be nice. Right now, he didn’t want to look at his phone, but maybe later today, when Leona wakes up.

Maybe, he thinks, I’m not as good at acting as I thought. And he smiled.

#moomoos writes #leona Kingscholar x oc #twisted wonderland oc #im fine just in a mood-#i had too many moods and feelings to convey #and i did not convey any of them well

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starlightswitch · 8 months

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Someone On Her Side

@flashfictionfridayofficial I would probably have finished it last night if I hadn't been writing a very long story for Writer's Month day 30...

(also for Writer's Month day 31 prompt at a hotel. AU for my WIP Real Love where Leah works at a hotel-- maybe it could be a prequel, actually, since I don't think I ever said she didn't work at a hotel.)

“Well, I’m supposed to have two rooms.”

Leah thought about saying she was confused– the woman hadn’t said she was supposed to have two rooms, she had asked to book a second room. She knew by now that was a bad idea. A guest who’d shamelessly changed their story wouldn’t shamefully admit to it when it was pointed out. “I don’t see that in the system,” she said, “All I see under your name is that one room we already confirmed. Could it have been under a different name?”

“It’s under my name. Who else’s name would it be under? You’re probably just not looking it up right.”

Leah kept her voice even and logical and not the slightest bit accusatory. It helped that she’d been working on that her whole life. “The system shows all the bookings under the same name and I have the first booking here. If there was a second it would show on this page.”

“You must have deleted it. You deleted it so you could book the room again and make twice the money.”

“Our policy on overbooking–”

“If you won’t honor my booking I’m entitled to a refund.”

A refund for a booking they had no record of, to a customer who’d been talking about a single booking and asking to book another room until she found out there were no other rooms to be booked. That was a new one. “I can’t issue refunds,” said Leah. She was pretty sure that was true, and if it wasn’t she didn’t know how to do it. “Let me get my manager.” She turned around.

The manager was two steps behind her.

She waited for the judgment. Not a direct scolding out here in public– that would come later– but the subtle dig, spoken to the customer but directed at her, about what she could have done better.

She didn’t know what it would be, but there would be something.

Jeffery’s eyes met Leah’s for a moment with a little spark of amusement. He stepped past her and said to the guest, “Happy to help. You’re canceling your booking?”

“Of course not! I’m supposed to have two rooms. I’m trying to get them.”

“All right. Let’s see, it looks like we already have you pulled up here. It’s a booking for one room, though.” Then the conversation went about the same as it had gone the first time, until Jeffery said, “Do you have the confirmation email?”

She should have thought of that.

The woman handed over her phone. Jeffery looked at it, then at the computer screen. “This is the confirmation email for the room we have here. Did you get a separate confirmation email for the second room?”

“No,” the woman said, like that was a ridiculous concept.

Jeffery tilted his head and handed the phone back. “Then we don’t have any proof of that second booking. I’m sorry but we can’t honor a booking if we have no indication it was made.”

“Then I want a refund.”

Jeffery made a thoughtful grimace. “I’m not sure how we would do that if we don’t have a record of the booking in the system. Do you have a receipt?”

“A receipt?”

“A record of your payment for the second room.”

“Why do you need a record of payment for a refund?” The woman realized how that sounded when she said it, Leah assumed, because the next thing she said was, “I’m going to leave a review saying you’re scammers.”

Jeffery looked at Leah as the woman walked away. Leah was careful not to reply until the woman was out of earshot. “We’re scammers?” she said. “For… not giving her a room because she said she booked it, with no proof?”

“She didn’t say we were scammers. She said she’s going to leave a review saying we are.”

“Oh no,” said Leah.

“We can reply,” Jeffery said with a casual shrug. “I’ll let the marketing team know what happened. We’re sorry we were unable to accommodate you with a second room. For any interested customers who might be reading reviews– they can come up with a better way to say that– just be sure you get a confirmation email to confirm your reservation. If you don’t we encourage you to follow up to make sure your booking is properly registered.’ Some people won’t read it,” he acknowledged, “but there’s only ever so much you can do.”

And with that he turned and walked away. No direct scolding, no subtle dig.

It was so strange to have someone that much older than her who was in charge of her not assume that if something she was involved with went badly and someone got upset, it must have been her fault. Strange to have them step in to help without making a big deal of it, then reassure her and move on.

It shouldn’t have been strange, but it was.

Writer's Month 2020 day 31: Something New By Moonlight (there was only one bed! x FFF 64 made from stardust)

Writer's Month 2021 day 31: Grandma’s Blessing (purple)

Writer's Month 2022 day 31: Good At Asking Questions (rainbow + artist and model)

#writersmonth2023 #my writing

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autistic-apple-sauce · 3 years

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This still blows my mind

#like at work you can’t ask for accommodation until you show ‘’proof’’#and then once I get it people just use it as ‘’proof’’ I’m incapable #and I’m like Are You Kidding Me #autistic apple sauce #my art #autism #actually autistic

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unpretty · 3 years

Text

askdump with spoilers up to chapter 22! but also including some older ones because i keep forgetting

bramblepatch asked:

I LOVE the implication that the answer to Minnow's "cool, I wonder why there would be a door here?" is that Vaelon decided "cool, let's put a door here." Heroes Just Wanna See Cool Shit.

being able to set your own fast travel markers is the dream

@apparently-possessed asked:

I can't believe no one has commented on how Karzarul has the gall to call the Abysscale erotica scandalous. You made them to have sex with sailors you horny buffoon. You go off and find them in

Groups for frustrated sex.

No excuse my dude. They have always been the horny monster.

that was a PRIVATE INTERLUDE between a monster and several different ships worth of sailors and also sometimes other monsters and someone was INDISCREET which is RUDE and he would not have invited them if he'd known they would snitch

also tbh he was mostly offended by the implication that he was some kind of monster bimbo

anonymous asked:

"Monsters that are just slime orbs would have implications" yes, because the entire design and origin of Abysscales is completely without implications.

i find those implications less distressing tbh

@bramblepatch asked:

On rereading the last couple of chapters: as tragic as Vaelon's wish binding them all together is, it kind of seems like it might not be all bad for the world around them? Lynette already had her blessing at that point and I feel like a Sunlight Heir who didn't have that kind of persistent connection to the Hero and Monster would have the potential to go waaaay off the rails a lot more often than Heirs do anyway. Karzarul might be the one blatantly causing problems on most cycles, but having him and the Hero active when the Heir comes to power at least keeps them focused on their reincarnation bullshit...

you cannot deny that the hero does try to stop them from killing each other and also everyone else

he never said he'd succeed

@spinachwrap asked:

BIGGEST BOY It took me til chapter 20 to understand how Violet and the boys showed up and I about yelled. New! Monsters!!!

@asimovsideburns asked:

Sorry I’m just thinking about Astielle again and most if not all of Ari’s humanoid forms being at least partly imitative of someone he likes (and the others being made of what he thinks they’ll like) because moonlight is a reflection

@ephemeraltea asked:

part of what i love so much about your writing, particularly noticeable in astielle, is that you take a silly or off-hand thing and make it have true depth and emotional weight. like. collect one of everything from this open world video game. but for minnow, it's proof that she has desires outside of previous lives, that her experiences are not just slowly pixelating copies of things she's done before. this flower, i know i've seen it as me, because i have it pressed and saved at home. i have a memory of it that is only mine. and that fucking gets me!!!!

anonymous asked:

Karzarul getting all huffy about monsters naming themselves after descriptors *shakes my head* This is a TRADITION OF YOUR PEOPLE carried out EVEN TO THIS DAY *gestures to Violet who is... violet* I don't want to hear anything from you on the topic Mr. Beautiful.

anonymous asked:

RE: Karzarul getting huffy. It's probably influenced by the little Vaelon voice in the back of his head repeating "But that isn’t really a name..." over and over again, but still. I don't want to hear it from you, Mr. Beautiful!

anonymous asked:

Just from the way Karzarul responds to being told Elias died of being old with an Unconvinced Hm™ it seems like he knows about the immortality thing. But maybe they DO start aging after one (or more) of them dies?

@ceruleanvulpine asked:

RETURN OF “I WANT YOU WHATEVER YOULL GIVE ME” AHHHH

anonymous asked:

MA'AM. MA'AM HOW COULD YOU. I can't believe you did this to us VAELON NO

listen. i did it to myself also.

@punkpixieprince asked:

god even when I KNEW how it ended I still cried SO MUCH. I'm still crying right NOW. I imagined it in so many ways but honestly knowing it was an accident, that even after everything he killed her on accident, just really... destroyed me a little.

anonymous asked:

Vaelon: If I like everything *just the right amount* and not too much, then I won't want to commit suicide when it's gone. FORTUNATELY, I only have one person that applies to. And EXTRA fortunately she is now immortal. ... UNFORTUNATELY, there are now TWO people. EXTRA unfortunately, they are now trying to kill each other.

it turns out having gratitude-based cbt and existential nihilism as your religion has its limits as a depression treatment when literally no one around you has ever noticed that's what you're doing

anonymous asked:

What Vaelon Says: I don’t want any of us to be alone. What Vaelon Means: I don't want to be alone, and I don't mind leaving Karzarul alone if it means I can avoid being without one of the two people I can't live without.

vaelon has always vastly overestimated the extent to which karzarul wandered off to hang out with the many cool new monster friends his mom made him, and who he never wanted to introduce him to

anonymous asked:

Excited about the first mention of Moon priests. Also enjoy having my personal belief that the Sun priests are insufferable validated. Vaelon is STILL the only Void priest in evidence, ever. Understandable, seems like a difficult calling. *imagines poor little deluded Star priests running around in modern times being VERY WRONG*

anonymous asked:

They get a little mark on their hand to show who killed who? Does that work with people not-them? Did Leland wander around with a little sun on his hand from killing all the heirs? Is that how he's been telling everyone HE's the heir??? Did it happen to some random guardsman the first time and then Leland murdered him to try and get it himself? *chanting* Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain!

anonymous asked:

Idk if I should be happy or devastated for predicting what would happen for the most part in chapter 21 and 22. But also wth the sun on his hand???? Where are those terms and heckin conditions please tell me those were as immutable as the weapons

anonymous asked:

That Lynette died with her left hand clean makes me feel violent emotions. How many? Monsters with Vaelon’s face and deaths that Karzarul could feel. Enough to get used to it. She waited until he said he wasn’t connected to them. She spat monster like a slur. Sun circle advisors whispered in the ear of a woman who’d asked to be able to commit atrocities that her empire was the world. You’re too good at this, I don’t know if I can recover.

(☞ﾟヮﾟ)☞

anonymous asked:

Yeah, Lynette. You never asked for help, AND THAT'S THE PROBLEM.

anonymous asked:

“Why is it always my fault?” That's a very valid question, Karzarul. I can't think of any time the other two attempted to accommodate you, other than Vaelon mentioning he started helping people because he knew it bothered you, or him taking you back to the lake when you were in visible physical distress. Even when you hadn't done anything to cross her empire, when the only thing you'd taken from her was a small amount of Vaelon's attention, Lynette blamed you.

anonymous asked:

“Of all the fucking things you could have done, You made a new one. Another fucking monster, with his face. Do you think that’s going to stop me? Or do you think you’re proving something, making me kill him? Having to see his face, again and again and again, every time I kill one of those fucking things? His face, staring back at me, every fucking time and now you’ve made another one." ...Not everything is about YOU Lynette.

anonymous asked:

I loved learning that Vaelon designed Karzarul's moon/bug motifs.

anonymous asked:

Gaslight (Karzarul about things being his fault), Gatekeep (Karzarul away from Vaelon because if you can't have him *the way you want him* nobody can have him), Girlboss (of an empire that is actually only negatively impacting your mental health and it would be better for you to ditch that gig)

karzarul just hated to see a girlboss winning 😔

#original #writeblogging #astielleblogging #astielle spoilers

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eideticmemory · 3 years

Text

TWO GHOSTS II | MATTHEW G. GUBLER

It’s been 15 years. 15 years has to be long enough . . . right? Part 2! Read Part 1.

Set 15 years after the end of Ever Since New York, so give that a read first!

Word Count: 3.1k.

Warning: Usual angst, porn, and poor communication amongst characters.

SOUNDTRACK:

After Hours - The Velvet Underground

Mr. Loverman - Ricky Montgomery

Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now - The Smiths

“Ramona . . .” you whine.

“I know . . . a mess.”

“I, uh,” you set your phone down, keeping Ramona’s voice on speaker. “I have to get out of this hotel, I have to get home.”

“[y/n], no.”

“No?”

“No.”

You begin changing out of your pajamas, your hands trembling as you slip on a pair of jeans. “Are you telling me I can’t go home right now? Seriously?”

“Seriously. Unless you wanna get swarmed by paparazzi, and risk leaving the hotel at the same time as him, you need to stay put.”

“This . . . this . . . is a mess. This is a huge mess, I — Ramona, I’m leaving.” You ramble, grabbing your things from the bedside dresser.

“[y/n] [y/l/n].” Ramona says, sternly. “You are my boss, but I have direct orders from your publicist to make sure you stay put. So, sit down, chill out, I’ll be there in five. And, honestly . . . you should have some wine.”

“Wha — wine? It’s seven in the morning.”

“Y’know what? You deserve it. Be there soon.”

She was already on the way when she hung up, and when she knocks on the door, you’re sat criss-cross on the bed, sipping a glass of wine. She’s right, you deserve it. You hold the fragile cup in your hand as you open the door, and she waltzes her way in.

“You calm now?” she asks.

“Medicated,” you shrug, holding the glass of wine up in the air.

“Perfect . . . so, were you ever going to tell anyone that you used to date Matthew Gray Gubler?”

You scoff, wander through the hotel room, “I didn’t date Matthew Gubler,” you take a seat on the bed.

“Okay, were you going to mention that you used to fuck Matthew Gray Gubler?” She crosses her arms.

“I . . .” you stutter, go silent in response.

“Oh, God,” she groans.

“It was a long, long time ago! It’s no one’s business, and there’s hardly any proof that it’s anything but a rumor.”

“No proof? —“ She shakes her head, pulling her iPad from her bag. As she clicks a few buttons, she adds, “Did you not see what people were saying? . . . The pictures?”

“Pictures?” You gasp, setting you glass down. “What pictures?”

Ramona sighs, and hands the iPad over to you, avoiding eye contact. You slowly take the device from her hands, and let out a shaky breath.

“The first two were posted a, um, John Hearse on twitter . . .” she explains.

“I mean, if you and Gube just . . . I’m gonna say it - fucked - one good time, the two of you could get over this whole rivalry already.”

Ramona’s words start to fade, to rescind to dust and ash, as you absorb the image in front of you. It’s old . . . and slightly blurry, but you recognize every face. John, Steve, Matthew . . . and you, sat in his lap, head on his shoulder with a huge, bright smile on your face. Matthew had his hand on your waist, practically gripping your shirt in his hand, keeping you close. The next picture, he was making you laugh, all three of you, as you looked, lovingly, into his eyes.

They were posted in response to a final picture, of you and Matthew reuniting. You looking, literally, like an idiot, in the daze of seeing him and recieving a hug. Some professional photographer had captured the whole thing.

John’s pictures are captioned: Whoaaa glad to see these two back together!

“They used to be, heh,” you chuckle dryly to yourself as you read the tweet outloud. “Inseparable, wow. Remind me to call John up later and yell at him until he cries.”

“Wh — what happened between you two?”

“Me and John? Nothing much, we were good friends,” you shrug.

“No — [y/n], c’mon . . .” Ramona groans.

“It would take,” you sigh. “So much time, and so much energy for me to tell that story right now. I don’t have it in me, Ramona, I just . . . I just want to go home.”

“The place is surrounded by paparazzi, they’re harassing every celebrity that leaves the building, and I’m pretty sure your high on their watchlist right now.”

“Yeah, I’ve mastered the art of ignoring them, I’ll be fine, just call me a ride, please,” you grumble, setting the iPad down and rising to your feet.

She sighs, giving in, giving up, “There’s one waiting for you out front.”

“Thank you,” you nod.

Your belongings are removed from the room first, carried down by an accommodating bellhop. Ramona followed you down to the lobby, trailing you, like she always did. But keeping a closer eye on you than usual. You stopped in front of the revolving door, lips pursed in a look of annoyance as you came face to face with the hoard of paparazzi.

They noticed you through the glass before you had the chance to take a breath, and if you stood still for too long, you feared it would show as weakness, a reason to be suspicious. So, you held your head up tall, took in a deep breath, and stepped into the spotlight.

You’ve mastered the look of constantly-tired-business-woman-chic. Today, you’re running off a cup of coffee, and as always, throw on jeans and a graphic t-shirt. Comfortable shoes, because those heels destroyed your feet last night.

It’s a short walk to the car, but a million and one pictures are taken of you. You smile, respectfully, do a little wave. Don’t want to look too bitter. You drown out the questions, drown out the comments, because you swear if you hear his name, you’ll roll your eyes.

Ramona gets into the car after you, and closes the door. You let out a long sigh, and sulk in your seat. “This sucks,” you mumble, the car staring the ten minute drive to your home.

“Okay, [y/n] Gubler,” she replies.

“Hey!” You sit up. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” she whines. “I knew something was off last night. I could’ve helped you avoid him, I could’ve gotten his car towed, I could’ve sent him the wrong address. You just have to communicate.”

“That is . . . unprofessional, and Matthew Gubler is, apparently, very professional. And he . . .” you trail off.

“He . . ? What?”

“He, donated a very healthy amount of money to the program, which, has nothing to do with me, by the way. None of it has anything to do with me, he’s just . . . professional.” You roll your eyes.

“What the hell happened between you two?” Ramona asks, noticing your shift in tone.

“Ooh, damn!” You ignore her, looking out the window. “We should’ve stopped and grabbed donuts.”

“Fine,” she surrenders.

You were surprised to find no paparazzi surrounding your penthouse building. Ramona had packed away all your belongings, and sent someone inside to place them in your apartment.

“Stay off social media,” she tells you before you leave. “Okay? No posting.”

“Silent stalking, only. Got it.”

You hold your phone in your hand as you walk into the building, ride the elevator up to the fifth floor. It’s quiet, and it’s what you need right now. To be home alone, with your thoughts.

You crash onto the couch, face first, and groan as you roll over. Last night should’ve been joyous, and fun, and it was. But, it was supposed to be the end. It was supposed to bring peace, knowing that everything you worked for, payed off and went out with a bang.

But, because of him, and John, and these stupid pictures, it’s far from the end. A whole new storm has started, and it’s making you nauseous.

Yet, you can’t keep yourself offline. You spend hours scrolling through tweet upon tweet, instagram post after instagram post, and each and every comment is as gut wrenching as the last. The internet’s made up it’s mind, and you and Matthew Gubler are the perfect couple. You fit together, you look right together, you have history together.

A history that was better left buried.

Because, when it comes up, when you think about, and you think about that one decision that could’ve changed everything . . . you crack. You spiral. You can’t shake it for days. Weeks. You think about him, and what you could’ve been.

It’s a hurricane, and it sweeps you up everytime, even when you know it’s coming.

There’s a knock at the door, and your heart drops. It’s naive, and childish to think that maybe, just maybe, it’s him. Coming to apologize for being a dick. But the idea of it has you racing to the door, and flinging it open before you can think about it.

“Hey, Aunt [y/n]!”

“Hey,” Claire smiles. “We brought donuts.”

This is better.

The seven year old held onto your hand as you guided her and her mother in your apartment. “Oh, my goodness,” you beamed to Dorthy, earning a bright smile from her. “Is Roni with you?” You turned to ask Claire.

“She had to help her mother with something today, but I told her that I had to help you through a serious crisis.”

“Ah,” you nod. “You’ve been online, huh?”

You take a seat with Dorothea on the couch, turn on the TV. “Wanna pick something to watch?” You smile, and she nods happily, taking the remote from you.

You join Claire in the kitchen, and she hands you a cookies and cream donut. You hum happily as you take it from her, take a seat on the counter, “God, thank you.”

She nods, “Yes, I’ve been online. I’ve been tracking everything about you and your big, big night,” she chuckles. “So I was ready to run over here when I saw those pictures going around.”

“You saw them?” You gasp, horrified, with the donut hanging from your mouth.

“Oh, yeah, I don’t remember when they were taken, though?”

“Vegas, 2001,” you tell her. “You didn’t — you didn’t come with us.”

She sighs, tilts her head at you, “[y/n] . . .”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you nod, reassuringly. “I’m not going down a Matthew rabbit hole. Not right now. Y’know why? Because he is an ass, he’s rude, and disrespectful, and stirs shit up for no reason, and —“

“Whoa!” Claire exclaims. “Did I enter a time portal to 1999 or something?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you roll your eyes.

“[y/n], you knew seeing Matthew was a possibility last night, and that it would bring back all these emotions, and you swore you could handle it —“

“I did handle it! I handled it very, very well. He’s the one who lost his cool. You should’ve heard him, Claire,” you ramble. “Nothing I did tonight has anything to do with you? I’m a professional? I didn’t do it to cushion your feelings? He’s a dick! He — he threw everything in my face the minute he could, and now my name is connected to his, our history is out there for everyone to see, and . . . he probably fucking hates me,” you laugh.

You laugh.

It’s a dry laugh, a sad laugh.

Claire frowns, and steps over to you, putting her arm around your shoulders.

“He hates me,” you say. “And he probably has every reason to. But I can handle it. I can handle the emotions, I’ve handled them for a long time,” you look at her. “And it’s not my fault if he can’t do the same, right?”

Claire sighs, pushes your hair back, “No.” She shakes her head. “No, you’ve moved on. You should want him to do the same thing, and not cause anymore hurt. You deserve that.”

“Mom! Aunt [y/n]!” Dorthy calls from the couch. Her head pops up, and she grins at you two. “Best and Ballet is on!”

“Ooh, what show is that?” You chuckle, hopping down from the counter. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“Hey,” Claire calls, grabbing onto your arm before you can walk into the living room. “It’s like everything else in show business, right? People will talk for a few days, maybe a week, right? And then it’ll fade. It’ll pass.”

You give her a nod, let her know that you hear her, and that you’re going to push through this. Because you have no choice. Because above being a celebrity, a figurehead, a boss, a producer . . . you’re a teacher. A damn good one, and the last person who’s going to change that is Matthew Gubler.

You pack him away. The idea of him. Tie him off with a neat, little bow.

Because the show must go on.

“Rolling!”

You walk across the studio, behind the cameras, watching your students on screen. “Can you get a wide shot? You’re not getting the best lighting, nor every student in one shot.” You say to the cinematographer.

“[y/n],” the director calls. “We film from this angle every episode. Why change it?”

“Because every episode, some of my best dancers are cut from the shot beside of sloppy angles and the light from the windows blinds the mirrors the cameras?”

“Those are things out of our control.”

“Oh, yeah?” you turn to him. “You wanna tell that to someone who didn’t go to film school? . . . Twice?”

He gulps, motions to the cinematographer, “Change the shot.”

You grin, order the camera woman to make the correct adjustments, “See?” You beam. “No glare.”

You walk off, Ramona trailing behind you, giving the director a pitiful smile. Once you’re away from the cameras, and the studio, you grumble, “Remind me to never be talked into hiring a male director again.

“You’re turning into Medusa.”

“What?” You look at her, furrowing your eyebrows.

“What? You’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy? Medusa? Turns people into stone? A . . . bitch?”

“Actual Medusa was not a bitch, she was cursed by a man.”

“Okay, fair, you were cursed by a man —“

“Dooooon’t!” You roll your eyes. “I’m not Medusa, I’m very nice.”

“You’re nice to me, and to your students, and the nice ladies that do your hair and makeup. Everyone else, stone.”

“Stop.”

“I wish you would tell me what happened,” she groans. “It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone! I’m just, worried about you, and a little nosey.”

“Ramona . . . it’s been how long since that weekend?”

“Well, well,” she stutters. “Only a week.”

“A week is a long time, I’ve moved on. I’ve avoided any and all questions on the subject, from everyone. I’ve been actively dodging it on social media. I’m doing well.”

She nods.

“Now,” you continue to walk down the hall. “I have a talk show interview tonight? What time do I have to be there?”

You stop when you realize Ramona isn’t following you. You turn around, and she stuck in her spot.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“Can’t move. Been turned to stone.”

You hated the Medusa comparison wholeheartedly. But, right now, you just want to yell at whoever booked you for a late night talk show. You’re tired after a long day of work, and you’re cranky, and crabby, and maybe, just maybe . . . the comparison isn’t too far off right now.

You’re charming, sure. Let’s go with that. But now, it’s all starting to dawn on you. Here, in this dressing room that’s lit up like a christmas tree. Revealing every ounce of exhaustion in your face, in your eyes. It’s nearly ten o’clock at night, and you’re placed in an elegant, black dress that stops just above your knees. Black heels cover your feet, and your hair and makeup were done half an hour ago.

You have to figure it out. You test different ones out in the mirror. Different smiles. You have to nail the I-have-to-talk-about-myself-for-an-hour-and-laugh smile. The happy, glowing, kind smile. You think you have it when there’s a knock on the door.

You keep the smile on, don’t want to lose it. You call Ramona in, and she looks at you, curiously. “You okay?”

“Yep,” you nod, brightening your smile. “Show time?”

“Are — are you having a stroke?”

“Okay, I’m trying to put on my interview face here, you’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry, you look great!” You smiles.

“Ramona,” you whisper, stepping close to her. “There’s a good chance they’re gonna ask me about him, right?”

She takes a breath in, prepared to answer, but no words come out. Your eyes are wide, innocent, hopeful. And she hates to lie to you.

“Yes . . .” is all she can say. “There is a, very, very good chance they will ask you about him.”

You sigh, duck your head. And when you pick it back up, your smile is on. “Okay, let’s go.” You step out into the hallway, Ramona closing the door behind you.

It was a time portal. The door. The hallway.

Matthew’s eyes land on you at the same time you see him, and you both freeze. Ramona bites at her nails, anxiously eyeing the two of you.

You feel your body, your soul, revert. Regress in every way to embody the spirit of you, at age 18, about 18 years ago.

You scoff, meaning your next words with every fiber of your being, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

TAGLIST:

@muffin-cup

@pinkdiamond1016

@ncsls0515

@spencersbed

@safertokiss

@calm-and-doctor

@spencerreid-mgg

@reidsconverse

@sizzlingclamturtlesludge

#mine #tg #mgg #mgg fic #matthew gray gubler #esny

238 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Thinking back to the earlier volumes, isn't it weird that Ozpin either 1) didn't notice Jaune faked his transcripts (imagine if he was a Salem agent) or 2) decided to just trust this kid with fake transcripts when he is so paranoid that not even his inner circle has his complete trust?

I've always worked under the assumption that he had to have known. Even just ignoring the unlikely event that Jaune managed to secure transcripts that were that persuasive and Ozpin never followed up with/realized that Jaune didn't attend a previous school as he claimed (the huntsmen world seems to be a small one, increasing the likelihood of Ozpin hearing about potential new students, and Jaune couldn't have passed the test Blake, Ren, and Nora did for those students with unconventional educations prior to Beacon), he also just acts like he knows and is keeping it quiet. Ozpin is not at all surprised by Jaune's lack of knowledge regarding landing strategies, or his genuine fear about the initiation. Some like Ruby may be nervous about teams, but no one else is scared because to a Beacon level huntsmen there's nothing to be scared of - this stuff is easy-peasy. A guy asks for a parachute to safely land? That would have immediately tipped Ozpin off if he didn't already know. Plus, the person in these scenes who does pick up on these discrepancies, Glynda, is the one Ozpin ignores. "Oh, you think Mr. Arc isn't ready for Beacon? Haha, no reason to address that little observation..."

He had to have known, so the real question is why he'd allow this. You're right that it was a security risk, but it appears far riskier in a post-Fall story. Yes, of course Ozpin always knew about the threat Salem posed even if the audience did not, but the Fall wasn't just a shock to us and the other characters. I think people forget that it was absolutely a shock to Ozpin too. As far as he was aware, things were going swimmingly. It's that wonderful time of peace! Yeah, he starts hearing reports of enemy movements around the same time that Jaune was allowed in (meaning that any worry wouldn't have started until he'd already taken a risk on Jaune), but no one could have predicted that within a few months the entire school would be overrun with grimm. Meanwhile, telling people about Salem has been a known risk for at least several lifetimes. Letting Jaune into the school without credentials is only perceived as such a big risk after we've watched Cinder pull that exact stunt: sneaking into Beacon as a student and helping to destroy it from within. But, given the knowledge everyone had in Volumes 1-3, it doesn't surprise me that Ozpin would see one action as a STAGGERINGLY bigger risk than the other. He doesn't tell his inner circle about Salem because every time he tells people about Salem they drop the fight, betray him to her, or fall into such despair that they're functionally no longer allies - as the group beautifully demonstrated when the secrets came to light. Jaune is just... taking a chance on a kid with potential. One is a proven risk within a war that impacts all of Remnant; the other is only at that same level of risk if Ozpin were truly paranoid and spiraling when it came to imagining the worst possible scenario for every situation. What if this bumbling kid is secretly an intelligent spy sent to undermine my school from within, despite every possible proof to the contrary?

But it's details like this that make me roll my eyes so hard at the "Ozpin doesn't trust anyone" rhetoric of both the show and the fandom. Not trusting everyone with everything - because different people are more likely to be trustworthy or not; different pieces of information have the ability to do more damage than others - is not the same thing as not trusting, period. Ozpin, like Ironwood, has never been paranoid. Everything he fears is true, proven again and again across multiple lifetimes. It's not paranoia when people are literally betraying you left and right. Yet despite this, Ozpin extends a shocking amount of trust. It's as you say, he does let this unknown kid try his hand at being a huntsmen. He lets a former White Fang member into Jaune's class, allowing her to hide her status as a faunus the whole while, outright telling her that she can keep her secrets until she's ready to share them. He previously allowed two bandits into his school - who later revealed they'd come with the explicit purpose of learning how to murder huntsmen!! - and despite being betrayed by one he still keeps her brother as his second in command. He trusted his inner circle with everything but the secret that has screwed him over time and time again. He trusted a bunch of nobody students when they randomly showed up at his safehouse, demanding to be a part of this battle. He trusted them again despite the horrific way they put his trauma on full display. And then hit him. Screamed at him. Ignored him for months on end. He trusts them so much that when four of them came back with Emerald he didn't even question it. This 14yo boy I'm inhabiting wants to risk everything by "trusting love" in the woman who, just a few hours ago, was trying to help Cinder murder our Maiden? Lol yeah sure, why not.

Ozpin extends an extraordinary amount of trust given his circumstances. That's canon to my mind. What's ridiculous is that the comparatively few times he's held back have been blown into this inaccurate image of him being paranoid, or so manipulative that he refuses to allow anyone else agency through information. But Ozpin trusting others 99% of the time is the part of the story that has always made sense. Trusting others with caution during such a dangerous war is not - and should not - be criticized for this extent, especially when the other option presented is pure foolishness. Which, frankly, is where I think Oscar is at, surviving his blind faith in someone like Hazel purely because the plot bends to accommodate that. It also remains a strange theme in the face of Ruby's current characterization. Ozpin, according to the show, is flawed because he didn't trust love... yet this is the same volume when Ruby tells all of Remnant that Ironwood can't be trusted. No explanation, no attempt to reach out, just a black and white dismissal that he is an enemy now, full stop. And we can't even contextualize that with, "Well, Ironwood is too far gone to ever trust again. There are some cases where love just isn't enough" when we redeemed both Emerald and Hazel within episodes of each other. The PTSD riddled former-ally doing horrific things in the name of saving at least some of his kingdom is too far gone, but the guy who murdered the majority of Mistral's huntsmen, works directly for Salem, and has spent his two major appearances trying to kill/torture a kid is not? Yeeeaahh. That's really absurd to my mind. At the end of the day, RWBY's themes of trust are just fundamentally flawed. There is no solid foundation to work from and no continuity across the series, let alone across different characters. Ozpin trusted Jaune, but is said to be too untrusting because the show is basing "trust" on whichever characters it likes most in a given moment. It is, again, why we get a "Ruby will save the day because she's so trusting. More trusting than Ozpin ever was" while she is, in that exact moment, keeping these secrets from Ironwood. Or themes of Ruby uniting the world... while she explicitly says, "But not that guy." Any compelling story about trust we might have gotten died the day the group stole everything from Ozpin, punished him for things outside of his control, cut him out of their lives until the plot forced them to work together again, and the story never once went, "Hmm. Maybe our supposedly trusting, forgiving heroes shouldn't have done all that."

#rwby #mymetas

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casnextdoor · 3 years

Text

due to the worlds best beta, i give you my first smut fic. pt 2 to this drabble .

warning; reader is specifically a poc, sexual content MDNI, sex under the influence, mention of alcohol, pwp (sort of?? this is pt 2 so there is a plot. just not here), fingering (fem receiving), jimin sucks her clit but i dont really consider that oral, A pussy slap, praise sort of, jimin is soft dom asfuck, pretty vanilla cuz this is my first time writing smut.

word count; 1.3 k words

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Jimin’s apartment building

Jimin’s fingers shook nervously as he fumbled with his apartment keys causing them to jingle. You’d wrapped your arms around his torso from behind, hands turned into sweater paws in Jimin’s notorious leather jacket.

You kissed the covered skin on his back, letting the five drinks finally take a hold of your rational thoughts and inhibitions.

“Hurry, Jiminy, I’m hot,” You stopped short for a second, letting out the cutest little giggle he’d ever heard.

“I do look good, don’t I?” You laugh cutely, leaning all your weight into his back. He chuckled over his shoulder at you, a wave of relief washing over him. You were still your normal self.

“Baby, get up for a sec, I need to unlock the door.” He hummed at you, huffing out a laugh when you groaned in annoyance.

When the door was unlocked and open, he pulled you to his side by your waist and led you to his room.

In your drunken state, something about Jimin’s room screamed sex. His room was draped from top to bottom in red and black. It smelled like him and it took everything in you not to pick up a pile of his clothes and form a nest out of it.

You’d been in his room before. You’d spent nights in his bed with him, just talking and binging episodes of criminal minds. But somehow, this moment felt more intimate. Fuck, is it hot in here.

Slipping off Jimin’s jacket, you flopped down onto his silk covered mattress, heaving out a sigh.

“Jimin. Why did you bring me here?” You sit up, eyeing him from across the room. He had unbuttoned his black shirt, exposing the white wife beater and the silver chain sitting pretty on his chest.

He looked up at you for a second. He couldn’t quite read you, which made him a bit anxious. You were like a children’s book for him most of the time. A quick and easy read. But after that kiss in the club, he hasn’t been able to get a real understanding of his or your emotions. He’s on edge, and the way you were currently looking at him wasn’t quite helping.

He glanced down at the boxer briefs and shirt he had pulled out of his drawer for you, avoiding your heated gaze. “You’re drunk, Y/n.” He said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

You threw your head back and let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head incredulously.

“Jimin. You and I both know I’m no lightweight. I’m a bit tipsy, yeah, but I know what I did. And I know what I want. Just tell me what it is.” You leaned back on your hands, dropping your cheek to your shoulder.

He stared at you for a moment. Trying to gather his thoughts. Weighing out the pros and the cons. There was just so much left unsaid. There was so much to lose. But he couldn’t deny, the way you were looking at him made him throw caution to the wind. Mm, Fuck it.

Before you knew it, you were drowning in Jimin. His lips were on yours and his hands running up and down the dips and curves of your body, committing it all to memory.

His lips were full and tasted like vanilla and rum. He licked at your bottom lip experimentally, still being cautious with you. You were quick to pick up on this, letting his tongue in your mouth with a welcoming hum.

His hands found the hem of the little black cocktail dress, tugging on it wordlessly, but it was all the action you needed. You pulled away from the kiss in favor of stripping the dress from your body.

To Jimin’s undeniable delight, your chest and legs was bare of anything but the metal bars with hearts at the ends going through your nipples. He was there when you’d gotten them on a late night adrenaline rush.

He took a step back, noting pridefully that you’d taken a step forward. He regarded your body with the utmost appreciation, enjoying the sight of your clean shaven legs and thick thighs that curved and dipped, leading him to the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen. Your bottom lips were wet, covered in your essence and his mouth watered at the sight. He’d find out if you taste as good as you look eventually.

“You’re so beautiful, baby. Let me show you how beautiful you are.” He approached you slowly, eyes searching your face for any sort of hesitation, finding nothing but lust and what looked to be admiration.

He pushes you back lightly by your shoulder, dropping to his knees in front of your already spread thighs.

“Can I touch you baby?” He asked, running a hand up and down your calf, receiving a nod back, to his dismay.

“Words, baby. Use them.” He tsked at you disapprovingly, causing you to whimper and breathe out an airy ‘Yes’.

“Good girl. Now tell me, do you want my lips, my fingers or my dick? And be honest, pretty girl. I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me.” He whispered the word against the exposed skin of your thigh, biting down on the plush skin when he’d finished talking.

You didn’t even need to think. “Dick. I want your dick, baby. I wan’ it bad.” You whimpered out pathetically, pulling your legs up to your chest by the back of your calfs and thighs, leaving you completely exposed to him. He hummed in response, tracing shapes into your skin. “Okay. I still gotta give you my fingers though, pretty girl. Gotta prep you.” And before you could fully process what he’d said, a long ring clad finger was plunging into your weeping hole. His finger sunk into you all the way down to his knuckle, causing your essence to squelch and leak to accommodate the intrusion.

The wind was knocked out of your lungs as your back arched due to the unexpected fulfillment. He slipped his finger all the way out of you, circling your spasming hole before plunging back into you, this time two, deep, pulling a gasp out of your chest. Your head was so full and so empty at the same time as he worked his fingers. You hadn’t realized how close he was until you felt his hot breath on your neglected clit. You instinctively bucked your hips up, in search of his lips. Jimin was quick to jump into action, lips enclosing around your swollen bud, sucking harshly.

You’re ears were ringing as you screamed and babbled nonsense at him. Your hips were jerking and bucking, searching for reprieve from his lips. Jimin hummed against you, wrapping his free arm around one of your spread thighs to keep you in place before he unlatching his lips from you, simultaneously slowing his fingers down.

“Stop moving or I won’t let you finish.” Though you were sure the threat was empty, you stopped squirming. His fingers had slowed to long, deep strokes, sinking all the way down to the knuckles and pulling all the way out to the tips. Every time he sunk his fingers back in to your crying hole, he hit that sensitive little spongy part that had you seeing stars.

Your moaning and senseless babbling hadn’t quieted a bit, and Jimin could sit and listen to you all night.

Your stomach started to get tight and your pussy felt hot. Your brain was drowning in Jimin and all you could do is let him take you there.

“You’re about to cum, baby. Come on, cum for me like the good fucking girl you are.” Jimin’s breath was hot on your pussy, causing you to leak more into his black sheets.

Before long, your toes were going numb and curling and your body started to shake as the tightening knot in your stomach snapped. Your body shook like a leaf against the ministration from his fingers and lips. He let you buck and grind into him, riding out your orgasm.

Your walls spasmed around his fingers and your clit throbbed in his mouth. He’d had you right where he wanted you.

When you’d calmed back down, breathing semi-normally, he pulled his fingers from you before slapping your glistening pussy.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

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PHAT hugs and kissed for the baddest bitch @deepseavibez for being my beta for this . she is so fucking awesome and please, if you know what good for you , go read her newest hobi fic. its the shit🥰. any mistakes made are 100% on me for not proof reading after making corrections .

#bts x female reader #bts x poc!reader #jimin x poc!reader #jimin x female reader #jimin smut #bts smut #sort of #first time writing smut so bare with me

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jaz-xedarix · 3 years

Text

The Return of the Star

So here we are. Finally after sooo many years of hiatus, I am able to go back to the action by translating this amazing work from our beloved Mr. Yoshida.

I want to thank to the proof readers that helped me checking this English version. As you know, English is not my mother tongue and plus it is not perfect at all, less in this late times that I haven’t talk at all with English speakers as before, as you see I manage to comunicate with you quite well but it is different when one need to comunicate someone else’s ideas XD So there might be some little mistakes in this text, feel free to tell me if there’s something wrong with it.

As for some words, one of them that is still making some noise in my head is “Hansom”. Usually I use google translate to help me with the job and usually it gives me some words that I have never seen before and that’s why I depend on you guys to help me correct XD So mr.G.Translate said “hansom” is “a two-wheeled horse-drawn carriage accommodating two inside, with the driver seated behind.”. And you can find this word a couple of times in this text, and reading the novel I think this is the best word for it, if there’s another word for it, please tell me.

Maybe this is the only word I had trouble with. Anyways I hope you enjoy this as I did translating this for you guys.

Thanks so much to Buffalo Borgine and Lamy for helping me correcting the text. ❤ Part II is in process, so wait for it soon ❤ So, with no more to say, here it is:

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

And I have given to them

knowledge of your name, and will give it,

so that the love which you have for me

may be in them and I in them.

JOHN 17.26

“Aaahh, I can't take it anymore!”

“Why are you whining again, father?” Esther Blanchett asked, in an annoyed tone to her companion, who was putting on a face like a man condemned to death.

Surrounded by the steam from the train, halfway down the ladder, she turned her slightly tanned face towards her interlocutor.

“Don't waste your time and come down immediately. If you stay there, you will disturb the other passengers.”

“Esther... couldn't it be possible for me to go straight back on this train?”

The evening light that was filtering through the stained-glass ceiling of the international arrivals platform had a reddish hue. In the wintry air, hard as a witch's kiss, the station passengers and employees moved busily.

The one who continued to complain stubbornly was the tall priest with the rebellious silver hair who accompanied Esther. If he had been quiet, it could be said that he was attractive, but he did not leave his miserable expression as he descended from the train with a suitcase in each hand.

“What is this so urgent that the Cardinal wants? If it's a report, we could have done it in Rome. Coming just here... I have very bad omens. I know something horrible will happen to me again.”

“Father, isn't it a common thing for Her Eminence to scold you? I thought you were used to it.”

Father Abel Nightroad nodded, still murmuring as Esther shook her long red hair theatrically. After a year of working together, she had already learned that there was no point in reasoning with this complainer. Lifting her suitcase with both hands, the nun started down the platform, expressionless.

The international arrivals area was packed with people. The participants of the ceremony that was to be held three days later must have been arriving. All the travelers carried large suitcases, and the air was filled with incomprehensible conversation. In the midst of the confusion, the nun began with a steady pace...

“Ahhh...!”

Feeling the night air in her lungs, Esther heaved a little sigh. As if finally realizing where she was, she stopped dead and looked out of one of the station windows.

“Sure... I'm back...”

The landscape that unfolded before her eyes was not that of Rome, where she has spent the year before. It was neither the one in Byzantium, where they had been until a few days ago, nor the one in Skopje, where they had stopped that day. The city surrounded by gentle hills and crossed by a meandering river was certainly like Byzantium or Rome. However, the twisted capitals and ceramic tiles gave the panorama a personality of its own, it was the landscape that had surrounded Esther for as long as she could remember.

The city of Istvan, protectorate of the Vatican.

It was the easternmost of the cities controlled by mankind… and the place where Esther had grown up.

“Nothing has changed... nothing...”

Facing the city that she saw again a year later, Esther heaved another sigh.

She had changed a lot, but her city remained the same. The running of the Danube, the cracks in the cobblestones... The sweet evening light embraced the same landscape that Esther had left back a year before.

However, even if you thought your city was still the same, could you feel at ease? There she had sad and painful experiences, the memory of which made her suffer. Maybe that was inevitable when one returned to one’s homeland...

“Aaaaah, what did they get me this time?”

The young woman was now absorbed in her warm memories but she came to herself as a rumbling voice rose like coming from the depths of Hell. Annoyed, she turned, and was met by a long figure who was sighing wistfully. The spectacled priest stroked his hair like a bad actor of tragedy who wanted to convey the idea of bearing all the pain in the world.

“Have they heard that I've set up a garden at the seminary? Or have they discovered those peaks that I added to the invoices...? Aaaah, Lord, protect your servant! Can't get them to turn a blind eye?”

“I have the feeling that before you became religious you were already a failure as a human being...”

Lord! That she could not even have a moment of peace being with that companion! Esther sighed deeply, feeling sorry for herself. Come to think of it, it was precisely in that place where she had seen the father for the first time, a year ago. That meeting had been the beginning of the person she had become. Under normal circumstances, it would be a very important memory. Why was she unable to get excited?

“But the truth is that you have some reason, father…” Esther continued speaking, being careful not to meet her eyes with her companion’s. “Why did Her Eminence make us come to Istvan? Even if they do the ceremony for the fallen, we don't have to attend ourselves… Do she want to hear the report about the Empire as soon as possible?”

“If that's just it, we'll be in luck... To get back to Rome from Skopje, going through here doesn't mean much of a change in route in terms of distance either. But the Cardinal does not like to change plans. That she had given a counter order is extremely rare... Aaaah, they must have caught me on something!”

At the surprised look of the nun, the priest squatted and clutched his head.

Two days before, once their mission was completed in Byzantium, they had reached Skopje, capital of the Marquisate of Macedonia. According to the original instructions, from there they were to take the road that go straight to west, to Rome. However, he had received an encrypted message ordering them to change their plans: «Instead of going back to Rome, go to Istvan to participate in the ceremony for the fallen. Report your mission when we meet».

The ceremony to which the message referred was in honor of the fallen in the battle of Istvan the previous year. It was promoted by the Archbishop of the city, the Vatican's Public Relations Minister, Antonio Borgia, and Pope Alessandro himself were going to be present. As Secretary of State, Cardinal Caterina Sforza was also going to participate, and that is why she was in the city at the time. In that regard, meeting in Istvan to present the mission report made sense.

What Esther did not understand was something else...

«Participate in the ceremony for the fallen.» Why had she explicitly summoned them to participate in the ceremony? Those who organized it were the Archbishopric and the Ministry of Vatican Public Relations. Esther, who worked for the Secretary of State, had nothing to do with them. Could it be that there was a new mission? Telling the truth, it looks a little strange

“Well, the easiest thing will be to ask the Duchess of Milan directly… Hurry, father.”

The agglomeration was considerable. If they didn't hurry out of the station and take a hansom, they would have to walk to the hotel the Secretary of State had reserved for them. To try to avoid it, Esther forcibly lifted her partner. Taking the tickets from the two of them, she headed purposefully toward the checkpoint.

“Staying here raving doesn't help much either. We have to meet with the Cardinal at once and make your report.”

For security reasons, the international arrivals platform was separated from the outside by revolving doors. Esther showed the officer her passport, which identified her as an employee of the Holy See, and quickly went through the doors to go outside. While the priest went through the same process, she turned to look for a hansom.

“Sister Esther!!!”

A brutal, deafening scream rose around her.

At the same time, her eyes were filled with white lights. She didn't even have time to realize that it was the flashes of a multitude of daguerreotypes. The nun turned her face away as a wave of voices washed over her.

“Sister Esther! Finally, you are here! A few statements, please!”

The chorus of voices followed by a crowd of men and women armed with notepads and fountain pens. Dazed by the flashes, Esther couldn't make out their facial expressions, but it didn't seem like those violent voices were directed at her by mistake or that it was all an elaborated joke. Among the mass crowded around the nun and the priest, the flashes continued to shine.

“Eh, eh?”

But what was happening?

Esther was stunned, surrounded by the sparkles.

All those people seemed to be reporters and journalists. Those who carried that heavy tape recorder, were they from the radio? They were of all ages and aspects, but they all wore press passes issued by the Ministry of Vatican Public Relations on their chests. But why would the media be so interested in her?

Stunned by events, Esther could do nothing but stand there. It was then that a laughter rang out behind them.

“Heh, heh, heh! Finally, my time has come! At last, the world recognizes my charisma!”

Abel, who had been just as surprised as she, began to show off with a boastful air, turning so quickly it looked like he was about to break a bone, he offered the cameras the profile he thought suited him best.

“Hello everyooone! As I see that you are so interested, I am going to tell you some secrets about myself. My full name is Abel Nightroad. I am an itinerant priest of the Vatican. I am Virgo and my lucky number is 13. Regarding my career, I am precisely considering writing some memoirs that… Eh !?”

With a cry like a toad, the priest was swallowed up by the mass of journalists who huddled mercilessly. Ignoring his painful moans, the reporters began bombarding Esther with questions, who remained motionless in the center of the crowd.

“Sister Esther, what impressions do you have when you return to your homeland?”

“It's been a year since you finished with Gyula, how do you feel now?”

Screaming echoed through the clicking sound of the flashes. Unconsciously, Esther recoiled from the throng of journalists and cameras.

“What... what do you want?”

When her brain began to function normally again, she realized that the goal of all this was her. But why? What did all those journalists expect of her!? She was just a simple nun!

Esther's questions were immediately answered when a middle-aged journalist, dressed in a dirty coat, showed her a piece of paper.

“Sister Esther, have you had a chance to see the script for this new opera? Do you have any comments about it?”

“Eh... huh...!? I do not have any idea of what is happening... An opera...? What opera!?”

Looking at the paper, Esther stood with her mouth open with the surprise.

It was a flier printed in high quality paper. One couldn't say that the colorful design or the propaganda phrases were the best taste, but whatever. More than that, what stunned Esther was the central illustration.

Against the background of a striking cross, a beautiful nun struck down a man with a sword blow, dressed in aristocratic clothes, the fallen one twisted his monstrous face and showed two long fangs between his lips. And the legend of the drawing said:

«The Star of Sorrow. Next release. Saint Esther and the devil Gyula: An apocalyptic fight!!! ». But what does this mean?!

“It is a commemorative work for the liberation of Istvan, Sister Esther. It represents your fight against the vampire... Didn't you know anything about it?”

The journalists looked at her, puzzled, but Esther didn't realize it. She was not for those things. Squeezing the paper in her hands, she tried to put the chaos of her thoughts in order.

“Saint Esther?”

But where did that come from?!

“Well, it's a very important work...” continued the journalist, with a certain pride in his voice, as if he were the scriptwriter himself. “Not only the casting, but also the production has had the support of the Ministry of Vatican Public Relations. The script was written by the Archbishop of Istvan himself and a budget of one million dinars has been invested. Tonight is the premiere... Ah! Is it for that why you've come today?”

“Eh? Well, no…”

At the question, Esther only had the strength to shake her head.

What was happening before her eyes seemed so unreal that it would be said that she was dreaming it. She wanted to return to her hometown to walk quietly through the streets again, visit the bishop's tomb, go to greet the families of her fellow partisans one by one... As she remembered her plans, a distant noise made her come to her senses.

“Sister Esther Blanchett,” a monotonous voice sounded over the sound of a horn.

Looking for that familiar voice, she saw that, beyond the mass of journalists, there was a car parked. The face staring at her from the driver's seat was one she knew all too well.

“Father Iqus!?”

“The Duchess of Milan has ordered me to come and find you. Get in the vehicle, please” explained Tres Iqus, Ax Gunslinger's agent, with his hands on the wheel. “Ignore the media and present yourself immediately. Those have been the words of her eminence. Get up at once. The Duchess awaits you at the Opera House.”

“Agree!”

What was all the fuss about? And what was the Duchess doing at the Opera House?

She had many questions in mind, but she nodded and followed the instructions she had been given. Her superior's orders were clear and Caterina herself would surely know how to explain something more about that bad taste joke.

“Father Nightroad, get up, we're going!”

“I ... it's my moment... I'm so charismatic...”

Dragging Abel, as if he were another suitcase since he was still semi-conscious, Esther ran with all her might amidst the rain of flashes and questions from journalists. Without turning to the chasing mass, Esther yelled as she approached the car:

“Father Iqus, open the opposite door!”

They had not seen each other for three months, but now was not the time for long greetings.

“Who they're chasing is me… I'll meet you later, but decoy me now, please.”

“Understood. Request fulfilled.”

The short priest did not hesitate for a moment. Probably, thinking about the possible courses of action, his circuits had reached the same conclusion as Esther. Quickly opening the other door, he added:

“Current time: eighteen-zero-zero. The Duchess of Milan is in the Opera House. Head there as soon as you can. I will mislead the media.”

Nodding firmly at the cold but confident voice, Esther let her luggage into the back seat and ran out the other side of the vehicle. Just when she had finished hiding behind some construction materials there, she adjusted the bonnet around her head, the car started.

“Wait, Sister Esther! Some statements!”

The plan worked and the journalists came out in droves after the vehicle that had left behind only the smell of the tires burned. Those who had been so sufficiently farsighted were set up in their own cars, and the other took hansoms. Between the whirlwind of yells and engines, no one noticed the place where the nun had hidden.

“They've already left...”

After checking that everyone had moved away, Esther got up and dusted herself off.

“What did it all mean?” Looking at the flier again, the young woman bit her lip.

«Commemoration of the first anniversary of the liberation of Istvan».

«Saint Esther».

«Devil Gyula.»

Esther crumpled the paper into a ball and put it in her pocket. Those sensational expressions had left a very unpleasant impression on her chest.

She had to speak to the Cardinal as soon as possible. She had to talk to her and hear from her own lips the truth about all this charade...

“Wait, Sister Esther, I still have a question for you”, a hoarse voice stopped her just as she was about to walk.

Turning around, she found a man in a soot-stained coat. It was the same journalist who had given her the flier earlier, so he was the only one who had noticed her ploy.

“I expected no less from the young woman who defeated the Marquis of Hungary. You are very clever. And thanks to that I have my exclusive… Ah, but I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Clement from the Picadilly Gazette in Albion.”

The man handed her a yellowish business card. Although he was smiling politely, he did not miss the opportunity to scan the young nun with his eyes.

“I've told you before that I don't know what you're talking about,” Esther replied, somewhat frightened, instinctively turning her face away from that penetrating gaze. “If you want to know more about the ceremony, I recommend that you go directly to the cathedral, Mr. Clement. I don't know anything...”

“No, no, what interests me is your personal circumstances, sister.”

So the one who smiled slightly mockingly at her on the deserted street was one of those famous paparazzi from the gossip press.

“I've been investigating your family... I know you were abandoned as a child and that the bishop raised you... Vitez, was her name? Therefore, do you not know who your real parents are?”

“I... I know something about my father...”

What right this man have to intrude like this in her private life? Lifting her face decisively, she snapped:

“But I only know he was from Albion. Are we finished with the questions, Mr. Clement? I'm in a hurry. We will talk another time.”

“Well, well, you don't have to be like that either.”

However, the journalist did not seem to be affected by her serious tone. Still smiling, he took a few yellowed sheets from his pocket. They were official documents of the city council, as indicated by the seals with the emblem of the city.

“What do you think this is? It's a copy of your birth certificate, which was filed at the town hall. According to these documents your father was Edward Blanchett, knight bachelor of Albion. The lowest rank of the nobility...”

“But how did you…?!”

Seeing the documents the journalist had, Esther flushed with anger and her breathing began quickening. She stood up to face him and said:

"Give me that! You have no right to snoop there!”

“If you tell me what I want, I will give it to you soon. It costs me a lot of money to get this copy. I cannot give it to you just like that. So... back to what we were talking about...”

Clement laughed, satisfied, as if enjoying the fact that he was once again in charge of the conversation. Waving the paper in the air, like a lure, the journalist continued:

“Well, your father was Edward Blanchett, but do you know what kind of person he was?”

“Didn't I tell you that I don't know anything else about him!?”

“Oh yeah? Well, me neither. And I am not the only one. In fact, absolutely no one knows anything about him. Because the truth is that he never existed…”

“Eh?”

Esther had reached out to grasp the document, but stopped short. She furrowed her eyebrows and stared at the reporter. What did he mean by “never existed”?

As if enjoying his interlocutor's confusion, Clement continued to speak slowly.

“According to our investigations, there is no trace in Albion of an aristocrat named Edward Blanchett. We have examined the noble records, the files of appointments, even the secret documents of the Institute of Heraldry, but there is no trace of anyone named that.”

“Uh... huh... But that...”

Hesitantly, Esther tried to find a way to answer him.

The truth was, she had consciously avoided investigating her father. Because of her work, she wouldn't have had a difficult time if she wanted to know more about him, but she was afraid of what she might find.

However, Clement's words were too impressive to ignore. Had there never been a nobleman named Edward Blanchett?

“Of course, identity theft or falsification of one's own past are not so rare things either. He would not be the first to arrive in the provinces and say that he is an aristocrat from a distant country... But there is one thing that intrigues me: that he used the name Edward Blanchett eighteen years ago...

“??”

It was clear that it was a trap. Even she is aware that the verbiage of her interlocutor was captivating her, Esther tried not to escape. In fact, she even encouraged him to keep talking with a fearful question:

“What puzzles you, Mr. Clement?”

“Well, now is when you and I can do business, sister.”

Seeing that his prey had swallowed the hook, the journalist shook the documents again and continued to speak slowly, showing nicotine-stained teeth.

“Why don't you join me for a moment? It would be better to go to a quiet place, where we can talk without being disturbed by anyone.”

“B... but now I don't have time...”

“Are you not interested in the deal?”

Clement's gaze narrowed like a reptile locating its prey. With a theatrical sigh, he put the document back in his pocket.

“Then there is nothing to do. I will publish the results of my research in my next article. «The secret of the origin of the Saint»... Ah, I'll send you a copy when it comes out. Do I send it here, or better to your office in Rome?”

Esther tensed her face and, instinctively taking her arms to her chest, moaned:

“Are you trying to threaten me!?”

“Ah, I see you have understood perfectly, sister,” replied the journalist, as if enjoying the young woman's reaction. And he added in a threatening tone: “You come with me now and you grant me the exclusive, or your father's secret...?”

“Threatening others using family secrets is not a very respectable hobby, sir.”

The voice that echoed in the twilight was contrasted with Clement's in its serenity. Turning quickly, the veteran journalist encountered a man who was slowly shaking his head.

“And more in the case of an innocent sister like this… Is it that those of your profession don't know the meaning of the word moderation?

“And who are you?”

Looking up, Esther saw the dark shape of a man.

He looked to be in his early thirties. His shapely face and the black Inverness coat that wrapped him were impeccable. Under his dark hair, intelligent black eyes shone through silver glasses.

“I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself. My name is Isaac Butler. I am a steward of one of the aristocratic houses of Londinium.”

The young gentleman lifted his top hat with his cane as he bowed gracefully.

“I did not mean to meddle in your affairs, but I was waiting for someone and by chance I overheard your conversation. Sir… Clement, right? The truth is that I cannot praise your professional ethics too much. Thus violating people's privacy and using it as a tool to threaten others… You should be ashamed.”

“What does it matter to you!?” The journalist snapped, looking at him with hyena eyes, in a tone that sounded more like a bully than anything else. “If you go where they don't call you, you can get scalded… Besides, I'm not threatening anyone. Here we are just talking without any coercion. I have not done anything bad.”

“Taking unauthorized copies of someone else's birth certificates is a crime,” Butler muttered, raising his hand. Seeing what was in it, Clement was dumbfounded.

“B... but when did you...?”

The butler showed him a paper stamped with the city hall letterhead.

Clement reached into his pocket, but… Esther's birth certificate was missing!

“Y… you're a thief! Give me those documents back immediately!”

The paparazzi paled for a moment and then turned red. Showing the teeth in a horrible grin, he reached for the man to try to forcibly get back the paper... but did not even touch it. There was a thud, and the journalist rolled on the ground.

“Good work, Guderian” whispered Butler to the man who had appeared like a wall between him and the reporter.

He was a somber man with gray hair. He was not too tall, but his body was athletic, and his pupils had a flash of predator gleaming. He made a move to approach the paparazzi, but Butler stopped him with a gesture and politely addressed the fallen man:

“Good, Mr. Clement. My companion, Mr. Guderian, is, unlike you, a gentleman, but he is also very ruthless. I do not recommend that you face him hand to hand...”

The butler lit a pipe and began to smoke while he continued speaking indolently.

“Besides, don't you have anything more important to investigate than disturbing the young lady? For example ... Oh yes! They say that this year the damage caused by the wolves has been extraordinary, after feeding on the corpses of the war last year, it seems that the wolves have begun to attack the cattle and the inhabitants of the place. Isn't that interesting news?”

“...”

Clement sat up, eyes full of hatred, but careful to take enough distance.

“Okay, I'll go... But sir... Butler was it? I never forget a face. We will meet again. You'll see what it means to antagonize with the media...”

“I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you again. Until next time, Mr. Clement.”

As if he had instantly forgotten the reporter who had cursed him, the man quickly turned to Esther. Slightly bending his waist with a smile, he respectfully offered the document which the journalist had used as a bait.

“What a bad night you’ve had, sister!”

“T... thank you very much, sir...”

Did they know each other before?

With a strange feeling of having seen the man somewhere, Esther lowered her head as she thanked him and took the document he offered her.

“Lucky you have appeared. I will never forget what you have done for me”.

“It was nothing. Helping a lady in distress is the duty of any gentleman. Oh, and please don't think now that in Albion we are all like that journalist. Most of us are true gentlemen.”

“Are you from Albion?”

At the hearing the name of the country of his father, the expression of Esther softened for a moment, but at once recovered the tension before. The man had claimed to be an aristocrat's butler, but what was someone like him doing there? Wouldn't that be another trick to gain her trust?

Suspicion was probably written on her face, because Butler gave a sheepish smile and proceeded to introduce himself in detail.

“You are probably wondering what a poor butler like me is doing here. The truth is that I am looking for someone. He is a friend of my lord, who disappeared a long time ago… Someone who had some problems… He caused a scandal in his youth and had to flee the country. My lord has found out that he arrived in this region and has sent me to search for clues as to his whereabouts.”

“It seems like very hard work...”

Butler's words made sense and he had explained without hesitation. He was probably telling the truth. Esther decided to believe that the man was who he claimed to be.

Butler's partner jerked his pocket watch to him, and the butler snapped his fingers. After putting out the pipe, he respectfully took Esther by the hand.

“What a disappointment! Seems that it is late! Sister, if you do not need us at all, we will withdraw, with your permission.”

“Oh, sure! I'm in a bit of a hurry too... Thank you very much for your help; really, Mr. Butler.”

“Oh, please, I don't deserve that much respect.”

Bringing the nun's hand slightly to his lips, the man smiled and whispered in Albion's language:

“It was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon…”

As the young woman flushed, the butler bowed politely and turned. The man named Guderian followed half a second later.

Esther was lost in her thoughts, watching the two figures move away down the dark street.

When she came back to reality, she realized that the streetlights had come on.

“Ah, I have to hurry!”

She had no time to waste. Clicking her tongue, the young woman ran to the opposite side of the street.

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

So this is it, Stay tunned for next part, we’re having a nice coloring next time. Love you guys! ❤

#TrinityBlood #TrinityBloodNovels #fan translation #abel nightroad #esther blanchett #ROM IV #Chapter1 #part1

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thessalian · 2 years

Text

Thess vs Progress

Bits and snips from the office - some kind of grumble-inducing, and one very, very good.

Scruffman’s taking his unused annual leave in bits and chunks, which gives my two fellow typists license to behave like the office is their own personal conversation nook. Doesn’t leave a lot of work getting done, except by me. I imagine I probably come across as unapproachable or unfriendly because I don’t join in these conversations often and I certainly don’t start them, but mostly it’s because I’m there to do a job and I can’t do it if I’m standing in the middle of the office gabbing.

Also, both other typists apparently have a thing against doing any dictation that reads as being longer than three minutes. As in, they will always, always, without fail leave the longer, more complicated bits of dictation in hopes that I will break down and do them, even if I’m typing things for the other site because the others “haven’t been trained on that site yet”. (Fuck that; I wasn’t trained on that site either but I figured it out. It’s not exactly rocket science.) I mean, do they really think I won’t notice the time stamp discrepancies as they pick and choose the quick and easy typing and leave the long-winded mastectomy, hemicolectomy, and prostate stuff to me? It’s fucking annoying. I’ve had a word with Temp about it once but she seems to have waved it off.

On the subject of the Temp... Well, Scruffman being out, he transferred the phones to the staffer I will call Sunshine (she is a sweetheart). But of course, Sunshine needed to have lunch too, so Temp offered to grab the phones while Sunshine was out. But that was apparently a huge mistake because when she got a call asking for a report, it came out that she didn’t know how to search the system for a report. Because apparently “no one trained me how to do that yet”. She has been here for months. Anyway, I said I’d take the call but then I would show her how to do a search for a report. She agreed ... at least until I got off the phone, at which point she tried, “Maybe this isn’t the best time...” I fucking insisted. I said, “It’ll take two minutes”. And that’s exactly how long it did take because it’s one of the most idiot-proof functions on our system. It’s literally “click a button that says ‘Search Entries’, add in at least some search information, click ‘Search’ and watch all the reports for that patient come up; then just weed out the one you want and make sure it’s authorised before you send it”. I know Temp just wants to stay on her typing groove, with only the shortest and easiest bits of typing to make her feel extra-specially productive, but fuck that; she needs to know this shit. It shouldn’t all land on me.

Now for the good news, though - one that will probably make Temp laziness less of an issue on at least some levels. Got an email from Grand High Poobah Manager saying, “So the IT people need to set stuff up on what will be your laptop so I need your login details”.

You know what that means?

That means that working from home is going to become an imminent reality!

Now, as I’m given to understand it, I’ll still have to come into the office sometimes. Probably towards the end of the week because that’s when we have the fewest people in the office. But it will mean even less travel and possibly even being able to go back to a five-day week! I cannot work an eight-hour day anymore, even if the commute is taken out of the equation entirely. But I can probably do a five-day week if I’m not having to cross basically all of London for those five days. We’ll see how I cope with four days a week with some of them work-from-home before I make any decisions on that score, though. That’s already been discussed with Mid-Manager (the one between Scruffman and Grand High Poobah Manager on the chain of command, as it were; the one I have meetings with to discuss my various accommodations) so it should be workable to make the change if I’m able to do so.

I’m just really glad that something concrete is happening here. I mean, given I was told “the end of last year”, it’s probably understandable that I was despairing a bit. But I think email from Grand High Poobah Manager talking about ‘my laptop’ is the best indicator I could hope for that things are actually moving. PROGRESS! HUZZAH!

I still wish I didn’t have to go into the office at all, but I’ll take what I can get; I do understand that they need someone to help deal with phones etc sometimes. Besides, I’m basically their tech expert; the place’d fall apart without me around to ask how to switch on the spellcheck function on Google Chrome or how to make a headset microphone work for their online meetings...

#Thess has a day job

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shiversdownyerspine · 3 years

Text

4. Respite

Part 4, get it while it’s hot! PART 5 COMING SOON TO THEATERS NEAR YOOOUUUUU!

One more time, you run your fingers through your wet locks. Feeling for any lingering shampoo or conditioner that would be betrayed by a noticeable texture, you deftly detangle any little knots brought about by your thorough scrubbing.

Satisfied, you carefully scrunch your hair dry with your pale blue towel, taking care to gently pat your feathery nape dry as you take a moment to recollect; yesterday hadn't quite gone according to plan what with Axel discovering one of your odd little attributes and delaying your preparations for the kittens...not to worry though, you had managed to track down a couple of toys and kitten-proof some potentially dangerous spots in your home before dinner time rolled around.

With towel held loosely in hand, you sigh and lightly rub a down feather between thumb and forefinger. Funny how such a small thing can cause you such trouble...but honestly, it could have gone a lot, lot worse. As a matter of fact, considering their occupations, the three men have been considerably decent towards you and your secrets. Towards something they have every reason to consider a threat, yet they don't.

Well...they don't exactly have the entire picture, so it's not too surprising they regard you passively. You can only imagine what they would do if they knew. You ponder the irony amusedly for a moment; you live with assassins, anyone else would be having conniptions at the danger that would present. But you're not anyone, and they're not anyone, so maybe you all...cancel the danger out?

You smile at the thought. Whatever it is that's keeping things relatively peaceful, you're thankful for it. Speaking of keeping the peace, you've decided to adjust the rules for these question sessions a little bit; nothing too drastic, but hopefully enough to satisfy everyone and allow yourself some wiggle room if their questioning gets a little too...personal. You take a deep breath and release the thought in favor of focusing on kitten planning.

Shiver crawling up your spine, you reach for one of your toastier sweaters and slip it on. Believe it or not, it was the cold that had persuaded you to take a hot shower even after your unplanned little washup from the previous day's kitchen mishap. It's not a particularly frigid morning, but if you're chilly, then you're chilly. A cup of coffee will be just the ticket.

And so that's where the early morning finds a sleepy you, hot drink in hand as you meander around your home collecting items, checking off a mental list as you go; Scratching post, check. Cozy blankets, check. Old towels, check. Litter, check. Extra litter boxes, check. Stain remover, check. Just a couple more things and some additional kitten-proofing and you're all set.

You eye Butternut and Pumpkin in their cat tree, snuggled up together as the big ol' Maine Coon spills over the side. Introductions shouldn't be too difficult...you swear Butternut doesn't have an aggressive bone in her body, though the tabby will probably be a little temperamental in the beginning as the pecking order is established. Pumpkin isn't really a bully, but with multiple cats soon to be around, you need to be prepared in case she shows aggression. You'll be trimming those claws and letting the cats meet the babies nice and slow, just in case.

It isn't long until morning light peeks through your windows that the Swedes begin to stir; Butternut and Pumpkin perk up, and as the tabby jumps from Butternut's side to bounce down the hallway and wait at the door, the other feline decides she is too cozy to move. You take a moment to envy her extra snooze time before heading to your kitchen as the ding of your timer signals breakfast's imminency. It will be a light meal thanks to your work taking a good bit of your time and attention, but still you hope the three men will appreciate your fancy lemon glazed blueberry muffins and fresh fruit from your garden with a pot of coffee.

Axel pours himself a mug while Otto and Oscar inspect the muffins, and as the two younger brothers take their seats, you apologize for interrupting their morning time but you have made some changes that need to be brought to their attention. The adjustments you present for their question sessions is met with suspicious curiosity; repeat questions will still most likely not produce new information, so if they choose to ask anyway, you will instead offer personal information of your choice. You warn them not to get too excited, it will probably be just some small tidbit.

Oscar takes a massive violent bite out of his chosen baked good as Otto looks on with mild exasperation, "..So...hints? Of you. Little...like favorite things?"

You nod in response to Oscar's muffled inquiry as Otto takes a more civilized bite of his own muffin. With a little nervousness, you state the other change; if they ask a question you are uncomfortable with, you will tell them so and decline to answer.

Axel selects his own muffin from the basket, turning it this way and that before his eyes slide to his larger brother, "Jag tror att vi blir mutade."

Otto swipes his tongue across the pad of his thumb to remove a bit of glaze, "Det är en bra muta."

Oscar reaches for another, "Det bästa, jag accepterar."

You hesitate momentarily at their short enigmatic conversation before addressing their 'recruitment' question directly, "For example, you've been wondering if I have previously encountered the Commission, and you are right, I have. But it wasn't a recruitment and it has no influence on the work that I accept and enjoy. That's all I'm willing to say. The rest, as you may have guessed, is private."

Slowly chewing his own mouthful, Axel carefully compares your new rules with the quality of your bribe before accepting with an incline of his head. He is content with the changes...for now. Mouth a mess of crumbs, Oscar immediately asks about replacement information for yesterday's repeat question. You decide to humor him and offer, "I consider myself better at baking than cooking, I enjoy it more too."

Gathering your nerve, you quickly address one more thing; you're sure Axel already told them, but just to be certain, you take a seat at the table, turn, and reveal your nape feathers to them. It's only fair. Otto makes an inquisitive sound at the sight, not because they weren't aware of this feature, Axel did indeed report his findings from his pseudo interrogation, but rather as a surprised response to you willingly revealing it to them in an attempt to catch them up to speed. The plumes are small, just like you, and look just as soft as Axel casually admitted to them being when Oscar asked.

Otto notices the twitch of Oscar's fingers and the fixation in his eyes. The large man subtly leans forward and tenses as he locks eyes with the younger, body language a clear warning to behave. Oscar is tempted to ignore the warning, but taking note of the sheepish set of your shoulders he decides against discovering the texture for himself...for the moment. Being patient now will result in higher satisfaction, especially if he catches you unaware.

Really, he can't be expected to abandon the chance to find out if you'd squeak or squeal at an unexpected touch, not when your reactions to being snuck up on have thus far been delightful yet restrained. Otto's eyes narrow; the suspiciously blank look his sibling fixes on his face does little to hide the spark in his eye, nor does it do much to inspire confidence. He'd be keeping an eye on the impulsive brat.

Listening to your explanation, Otto turns his attention to Axel and nearly does a double-take; the look in his eldest brother's eyes is oh so abstruse and only lasts a split-second before you lean back up and shyly smooth your ruffled hair into place. He disregards the warmth he thought he saw as a trick of the light, interpreting it instead as approval of your continued thoughtfulness and accommodation towards them. Even after Axel’s scare tactics, you show them such earnest consideration.

The largest Swede bites into another muffin, barely containing a groan as the flavor bursts on his tongue. He wonders if you'd bake more often, maybe if Axel takes up dinner you'd have a little more free time for it? He knows his brother misses cooking. Otto's ruminations are interrupted by you snatching up a muffin in a paper towel and refilling your own coffee mug as you announce your need to continue your work, the new kittens are bound to arrive any day now after all. You insist that if they need anything they not hesitate to ask, and just like that you wander out of the kitchen with Pumpkin hot on your heels.

Leaving them to enjoy the last of breakfast in peace, you step to your bookshelf to collect several of your informative books on cat breeds, kittens, health, and behavior. With the small stack of books tucked in your arm against your chest, mug in one hand and muffin in the other, you wander over to your coffee table to deposit your goods.

Taking a seat with books beside you, you settle in to do some serious research. Content with the setup you had prepared in advance in your bathroom to provide the kittens with their own little bedroom, now you can focus on learning about the breed itself, what to expect, and how to care for them...so long as Pumpkin isn't too distracting. It's not like she's attempting to lay her body down in your lap or anything...right on top of the pages. You stare the purring feline down and lift your book from under her furry body. The tabby chirps as you use her as a book rest with a murmur of, "Don't complain, this is what you get."

A snicker gives away Oscar, and you turn to see the man behind you; one hand rests on the top of the couch, the other rubs Butternut's ear as she stretches on his shoulders. You flush at being caught talking to your cat but raise an eyebrow in playful challenge, "Can I help you?"

Pumpkin yowls in response to no longer being the center of attention, pulling your gaze back to her in lightly exasperated surprise, "...No, not you."

Oscar leans slightly over the couch, face scrunched and intense as he peers down at the books by your side. Butternut grasps a lock of his hair in her mouth and tugs for the heck of it. With a grin you lift the book on kittens up for him to take. He inspects the cover curiously and flips it to the back as you explain your need to know a little bit more about the Siamese breed, how you did the same thing with the other animals, how this is your first time with kittens so young, and so on and so forth. Your excitement for your work bleeds through as you babble on while Oscar listens and watches you with growing mirth. He doesn't have to glance back toward the kitchen to know his older brothers are listening in.

Some part of you realizes you're rambling, but before you can overthink it you ask, "When the kittens are here, would you like to help with them? You won't have to do all that much, just make sure they're not getting into too much mischief when they're exploring. I know you're all bound to start receiving missions soon, so it'll help keep boredom away in the meantime."

Oscar makes a show of considering, head cocked as he mulls it over before accepting with a shrug and a nod. You beam, seeing the spark of excitement not quite so hidden in his eyes and chirp knowingly, "Don't spoil them too much."

He snorts. Like anyone could stop him. Not wanting to leave your other two guests out of the fun, you ask if they have any ideas on names for two long skinny kittens. Both men regard you blankly, look to each other with furrowed brows, and back to you. You can't quite hide your amusement at the bafflement on their faces, making an educated guess that the question threw them for a bit of a loop and they have absolutely no idea. With your fun had, you save the men from your teasing, "You know what, it's best to wait until they're here. Figure out their personalities."

Otto folds his arms and nods sagely at your decision with a twinkle in his eye. Axel fixes you with a look of entertained vexation at your playfulness. You suspect both men don't really mind it. Oscar looks at you with unlimited approval as he leans further against the furniture.

You relax more into the couch, lighthearted with how successful the day was turning out to be. You shiver as the cold begins to nip at your skin and reach for your coffee with a sigh, careful not to disturb a napping Pumpkin. It's good to enjoy the little victories while you can.

———————————————————————————————————–

Jag tror att vi blir mutade- I believe we are being bribed.

Det är en bra muta- It’s a good bribe.

Det bästa, jag accepterar.- The best, I accept.

#the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #Could totally go for some baked treats right now~

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redmaneroster · 3 years

Text

Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [2] [3] [x-x] [6] [7] [8-9] [10]

PART 4 – Coping

Qrow isn't exactly the intimidating uncle so much as he is the nervous older friend. Sure, he comes in with cheek and swagger, but he hesitates sometimes and watches what he says. Things are uncomfortable for a while.

Jaune and Qrow are sitting alone on the sofa, eyes passed the TV and out the window. Jaune breaks the silence and asks him how he knew. Qrow, surprisingly, explains that he turned into a bird and followed them home. He fully intended to leave when they got into the door but then he overheard the bit about Ruby going missing so he sat by the window and waited for updates.

He fell asleep on the windowsill.

Yang's moaning woke him up.

Both men don't even dare look each other in the eye. They both agree not to bring that up with her for as long as they live.

It's minutes later after they've both taken a swig from their flasks that Qrow asks, "So what are you two?"

"I don't know," he answers; almost apologetic. Almost fearful, but not of Qrow. "We're close and trying to… forget things."

"Yeah, I can see that." Qrow takes another swig. "Tell me, is this about Tai and Rae?"

"More than a little, yeah."

"Those two idiots aren't the least bit careful anymore… I'm sorry she's lumping it onto you. If I'd done better, none of this would have happened."

"I don't mind just listening to her."

"I know. It's the fact that she has to go through it at all… She's still in school. Distractions are dangerous when you're still fresh on the hunt."

Jaune laughs. "She's been doing this for years. If anything, I'm the one that's still green."

"You runts don't get to be proper huntsmen unless you've faced a real, proper threat or graduated. To a licensed huntsman, there's a reason why you're all still in-training. All the glory and shit is the stuff you gotta revel in while you're still in the safety of these halls instead of roughing it in the wilds day after day, facing odds stacked against you."

Qrow is amicable, asking only that he doesn't also seduce Ruby. Jaune's confusion is answer enough. He's no Casanova. He isn't Taiyang. Qrow has it that he believes men like him are unprepared as partners and fathers. Jaune disagrees, saying that his own father was like Tai. To him, any man can work their way into being a proper partner.

They talk about it for long enough that Yang stumbles back into the apartment. She hopes Qrow hasn't spilled any embarrassing stories about her.

They're deftly quiet at that.

-0-

Yang doesn't stay long (it isn't like she spends every weekend with him after all), but she lingers at the door. She hears their muffled voices through the gaps but she doesn't strain her ears to decipher them. She isn't here to eavesdrop.

She hears them laugh. Briefly, she wonders if even Qrow knows Jaune more than she does.

Breathing evenly, she calms the fiery doubts and walks off.

-0-

"What are your intentions?" Qrow asks an hour later, once he's sure Yang is long gone because of course he knows when she's there.

"We didn't sleep together."

Qrow winces at the thought of them. Then it's so deeply uncomfortable that his whole body shudders. "Ah, god, fuck! Damn it, kid, I don't want to think about you two naked! How would you feel if I shared my stories with you!"

Jaune, similarly, melts down at the thought.

Yang actually comes back because she forgot Ember Celica. She hears them freaking out through the door and pivots into the other direction. Blake asks about her bracelets. Yang says it isn't important right now.

-0-

Jaune and Qrow sip their flasks at the same time. They joke about it.

When it's quieter, Qrow can see in his eyes that he wants to ask something so he encourages him to.

Jaune, with an uneasy breath, asks what Qrow is always drinking to forget.

Turns out, he doesn't drink to forget. Drinking is when he does the most thinking, actually.

Drinking is a hobby. Less a recreational drug and more a medicinal one. "Confused? Let me explain…" He doesn't recommend it but he's built up such a tolerance for it before he even went to be Beacon as a kid that it's all basically like water to him. Alcohol isn't his coping mechanism, but he confesses that he does technically have one if it can be called that.

He lost an old friend a long time ago and he isn't sure if his semblance is to blame. The thought has haunted him since. Grief mixed so deeply with poisoned guilt has made him obsessed with loneliness.

He enjoys the quiet nights sitting alone at home, eying the moon, dreaming of what ifs. He enjoys sitting in meadows, letting Summer heat hold him like a familiar embrace. He enjoys hunting solo and coming out on top, all in her name. It's proof that, even in death, she's still the best partner he ever had.

Alcohol is normalcy. It's where he thinks the most clearly, acts the most boldly, acts like himself. Being sober unsettles his mind, makes him act irrationally.

Somehow it makes sense. He always did seem the more sober man when he's got a flask in his hand. Even subconsciously, Jaune realizes that he's made that his gospel.

Qrow warns that it certainly isn't the same way with Jaune. (Jaune knows, of course. His tolerance is likely as weak Ruby's might be.) But Qrow confesses to being more worried about what he might do if he drinks too much. He saw all the whiskey in the fridge.

"I'm not going to hurt Yang. I stop myself from going too far."

"I don't mean Yang. She can handle herself around you, I'm sure." Qrow shows him a photo on his scroll. "This is what I'm worried about."

Jaune reels. He feels a few things. Mostly anguish, discomfort. Saphron and Terra are in Vale.

"When was this?"

"This morning. I thought they'd show up today and that I could be your convenient alibi for having an occupied guest room once they dropped in, but it looks they're busy doing whatever it is they're actually supposed to be doing in the city."

"They're going to come by eventually. Even if not today then…"

"I can't stay, kid," Qrow says, cautiously, quietly. "You facing them is just as inevitable as their visit. I'm no good at this stuff but... my advice: Don't run."

-0-

Yang comes back to Jaune sat at the sofa, staring at a movie he isn't watching. Yang turns it off and when the screen buzzes into silence, Jaune finally realizes she's in the room.

He doesn't notice the many bags she brought with her.

When she asks what's going on, he tells her that Terra is in town.

Yang asks if Saphron is with her.

He realizes that he forgot to mention his own sister.

Yang takes his hand and leans into his side. "It's that bad, huh?"

His free hand pulls out the now empty flask. "I might need more than the watered down whiskey."

She sits on his lap and pushes his flask away. "Get drunk on me." Her eyes are half-lidded and pleading, a promise etched into the wetness of her lips and heat rolling off her breath.

He does what she asks.

They press together so closely that he feels another one of inhibitions snap.

That night he decides – without really thinking about why – to steal a kiss while she sleeps. He realizes that the gesture is far too affectionate than it should be but can't bring himself to regret it.

She was awake the whole time.

-0-

PART 5 – Accommodation

Yang fixates on the kiss. Not that it's changed how she feels or how she's going to feel, only that she wonders what's changed for him with her. She finds herself lingering on his silhouette in bed, paying attention to subtleties in his tone, the way he moves around her or if he catches himself saying anything he wants to say but can't.

And all she's found in mapping him out is that he's no different from before.

Blake tells her that it could mean any number of things. Weiss maintains that it has to be burgeoning love. Ruby, much to their surprise, tells them that it was probably a moment of weakness and that he probably still doesn't know what it means.

The girls – Pyrrha included – suggest that Ruby is probably right. But Yang finds herself unwilling to accept it. She isn't one for sitting still. So instead of deferring to their wisdom… she hatches a plan.

It falls apart immediately.

-0-

Lingerie is her first idea, a vibrant red with thin enough material to tear off with ease. Scented candles to fill the spaces, lighting the bed and the nightstands while drowning the rest in dark. A nice ambient drone off the speakers in another room just to fill any silence. And makeup, the kind that layers thick and she feels physically on her face but comes recommended from Coco's article on a magazine.

She calls up Pyrrha to coach her on it, but the girl only blinks at her beyond the digital lense and asks, "Do you want him to sleep with you or fall in love?"

At first, Yang is confused until she takes a good hard look at herself in the mirror and… doesn't recognize who's looking back at her.

"I don't know," she says honestly. She smiles placatively and hangs up. Pyrrha knows she'll figure it out, but Yang has to first get rid of the mess she's made in his bedroom. Everything else will follow after.

She tosses the heels in the bin (they were cheap anyway), rips off her stockings, and covers up the rest in a bath robe. She tries to wash off the makeup but it smears and will take longer than she has time for. She tries too frantically to get the candles out and accidentally sets fire to one of his chairs – she ends up violently launching it into the tiled shower wall and leaves the shower running.

Finally was the music wafting in from the living room, playing off her scroll. She's already halfway into the living room when the front door opens. She freezes in place just as Jaune is letting in his guests, Saphron and Terra.

Yang doesn't know Saphron, not really, but there's a mutual trust between them when the older girl runs over to her, takes her by the wrist, and drags her back into Jaune's room.

Minutes later, Saphron is dabbing some solution on her cheeks. The makeup comes off in clumps – some semblance of relief comes with them.

"I'm Yang," she says suddenly.

Saphron's bemused smile banishes any tension she has left. Yang already embarrassed herself and not much could make it worse at this point when your first impression is half naked in the living room. She'd also spied the lingerie but she'd thankfully neglected to mention the familiar strap peeking off her shoulder.

"Saphron," she says but says no more. She focuses on the task at hand and Yang quiets with her. Then Saphron starts humming. It's familiar, as if carved out of a chapter in her life that she can hardly remember. Suddenly it's clear that this woman is a mother.

"My brother mention me a lot?" Saphron asks.

"He tries not to but can't help it. You always manage to come up in his stories to curb his nonsense. You'd be a punchline if the stories were supposed to be funny."

"Tends to happen." Saphron winks. "Us older sisters have to butt in all the time."

"He told you about me and Ruby?" She wasn't expecting to come up in conversation.

"No… I can just tell." Another smile. More secretly knowing. And she is briefly afraid that all her secrets have already been laid bare. "He told me you were his roommate."

"Ah." A safe descriptor. She'd been expecting a cover story like being his live-in girlfriend. She'd even prepared the lines and a backstory. It's a small a comfort that doesn't have to go through that.

Saphron pouts for a moment before her eyes turn devilish. "He also mentioned that you two share a bed and make out." Yang blinks at her. Her confusion also confuses Saphron. Isn't that supposed to be embarrassing? "Is… was he wrong?"

"Uh… no. That's exactly it. I guess I just wasn't expecting the truth."

"And you really aren't sleeping together?" Saphron peels the gown off her shoulder and tugs at the bra strap. Yang yelps when it snaps back into place. "With an outfit like this?"

"It was a lapse in judgement." She gestures to herself. "I swear this isn't how I normally am. I don't think I'll ever put on something like this ever again."

"Hm… a honeymoon might change your mind, but let's not dwell on that. You've got scented candles in the corner and I can smell…" – she sniffs the air – "burnt wood from the bathroom? What led to all this?"

"I'm… not sure I should say."

Saphron takes Yang's hands in hers. "You don't have to tell me, but it feels like you're struggling with something all on your own."

"I'm not, actually," she admits sheepishly. "I just didn't take anyone's advice. I don't like the idea of waiting for something to happen when I can already do something about it."

"There is value in patience."

"I don't think waiting is my problem. I think I'm just too proactive to do nothing."

"My brother leave you hanging or something?"

"Kind of? … I've said too much already."

"Or not enough." She smiles in that way again. As if knowing. "But I won't pry. I know that sometimes it's better to wait and come to your own conclusions. Right or wrong, a decision you make yourself stays with you and sometimes that's more valuable than being handed the keys to the castle."

"You really think highly of Jaune, don't you?"

"Hm? What makes you say that?"

"I've never heard someone describe the way to someone's heart as 'keys to a castle'."

Saphron gives her a catty cheek. "Oh, so you are in love with him." But she is surprised again when Yang doesn't blush.

She shrugs instead, looking away. Not out of embarrassment but to eye her own fragmentary reflection on the corner of the vanity's mirror. "I wouldn't know. I've never been in love before."

"But… you're so pretty."

"So is Jaune. So is my sister. And all but one of my roommates have never even kissed anyone before coming to Beacon. It isn't like we don't have time to fall in love, it's just not always our biggest concern. They drill it in you early that staying alive out there should be your priority." She eyes the bra strap on her shoulder in the mirror, hates what it represents, what it almost made her do. She pulls up the sleeve again, hiding it away, and she almost looks like herself. "I think that's why I like being around him. He doesn't pass judgement on whether not my problems are big or small. He just knows they're important to me and lets me be heard."

"Is being a good listener what you look for in a partner?"

"It might." She laughs. "It's hardly an extensive list, though, isn't it?"

Saphron huffs, settling herself comfortably beside her and dusting off her skirt. "Lists are overrated. Not that you shouldn't have standards, but if you want to extensively checklist every potential partner, you'll end up with a growing criteria less and less people will be able to fill. And trust me, I've lived a storied life – been dating people since I was fifteen – and I've found that it's easier to talk to people and let things click. Hell, I wasn't even trying to flirt with Terra when we first met. She was the wingwoman to the girl I was actually trying to get with and we just happened to get along better."

"Sounds like quite the story."

"Why don't I tell you over dinner? It'd be a nice little preamble to me and Terra. I suspect we'll be meeting quite often in the near future."

"I guess I will be tagging along with Jaune if you really want me to."

"If I really want you to? You sound a little meek there," Saphron teases. "Jaune described you as the kind of girl with confidence to rival a peacock. Was my brother wrong or are you just starting to sound like him?"

"Hey, I don't…! Oh shit, you're right."

"Fair tradeoff, I suppose. Jaune's got peacock confidence now and I guess you're to blame."

"Ha! No, I can't take credit for that. Pyrrha – his ex – I'm sure she's your culprit."

"We've met. Jaune brought her over last year before they started dating. Wasn't even going to take her to the dance, the little dunce."

"Oh, but they hooked up that night! After they both showed up stag and he tore up the dance floor in a dress."

"A DRESS!?" Saphron screamed, her eyes lighting up with mischief Yang realizes she's just armed her with.

A knock at the door. "Everything alright in there?" Jaune asks, muffled through the mahogany.

"We're fine!" Yang says.

"Peachy, little brother," Saphron adds with a flare of sarcasm, "but you're going to regret keeping secrets from me."

"Yang!" Jaune screeches, panicked. "What did you tell her?"

Yang laughs, hearty and comfortable with Saphron snickering beside her. It almost feels right, like it's something that always should have been, and she wonders why she was ever so afraid. "What you should have told her! You know you can't keep secrets from big sisters!"

"Oh really? I can promise you that there are secrets Ruby hasn't told you."

Yang shot up from her seat. "What!?"

Saphron sits back. "Aren't you two lively…" she whispers.

"I'm no snitch, Xiao Long!" Jaune shouts, snark clear in his voice.

"You'll fess up one way or another!" Yang, in her excitement, marches to the door.

Saphron bolts out of her place and grabs her arm. "You're still underdressed," she says calmly, belying the panic quickened in her chest.

Yang looks down at herself. She's showing a little cleavage too with the loosened bath robe. She takes an extra step back for good measure and clutches the lapels closed.

"C'mon. You're looking a little too comfortable now. Let's find you something modest." Saphron tugs her towards the closet.

"Backing down already?" Jaune said in what – to him – was a moment of silence.

"I'll get you yet, Vomit Boy!" Yang jeers.

Saphron perks up. "Vomit Boy?"

Jaune groans behind the door. "Yang!"

Yang, despite the grin tugging at her cheeks, silently promises to make it up to him later.

-0-

Jaune stands in the center of his living room, staring at his shut door. Saphron has just dragged Yang into it, and his mind has been reeling with what he'd seen. Barely dressed, slow music off her scroll, and with smeared makeup on? He doesn't want to come to any conclusions, not without talking to her first, but the obvious ones come to mind.

He isn't certain he can reckon with the inevitable outcome.

Behind him, Terra sensibly cuts off Yang's music playing off her scroll. Jaune nearly jumps when he's brought out of his stupor and into her beautiful, suffocating presence. Terra is still as captivating as he remembers, tinted with the gloss of a boyhood crush that refuses to die. At least with Saphron around he could suffuse it, but not alone in the heavy quiet of his apartment.

Terra gives him a bemused smile. Ever sympathetic. She pats the seat cushion beside her and Jaune joins her, plopping on the cushion with a held breath he eases out of himself.

"You seem surprised," Terra says. "And here I thought you'd already seen her in less."

"I did say we've only made out… and snuggled." He can't decide which one is more scandalous. Perhaps neither. Or both, given that they aren't even dating.

"Yeah, despite that being unusual enough to be true, I still had my doubts."

"Have any still?"

"No. You definitely don't look like the kind of couple that's seen each other naked."

Jaune's eyes narrow. "We're not a couple."

"I believe you," she says with a smile. She's so dangerously close to him that he can smell her perfume. A glance shows him that she's eying him expectantly. He's tense, uncertain, and it's clear that she can see that. She pulls away, giving him room to breathe. "Guessing you've still got a crush on me then?"

His spine gets stiffer, spotting her at the corner of his eye because he refuses to look directly at her. She's smiling still. Being cheeky. "Terra…" he groans.

She scooches a little closer again (taking a chance that his nerves might not erupt), and lets his heat wash over her and lets him feel hers. The affection is platonic, he knows that. He and his sisters huddle together for comfort often, and Terra has just learned to follow suit. But he can't help but revel in it, letting it sink into his pores till it leaves a familiar tingle.

A small part of him hates it but mostly hates himself for indulging.

"If I asked you why, would you tell me?" Her tone is quiet, almost a whisper. She's trying to ease him.

"Because you cared about me."

She chuckles because it's naïve and honest and oh so very like him that it's almost nostalgic. "Was that really all?"

"When you're young and naïve, that's all it takes."

"I didn't know you were lonely."

It was his turn to chuckle. "I wasn't. I was never some lonely little kid who didn't have any friends. I had enough love from my sisters alone to fill my heart a hundred times over."

"Then why?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. Do I need to have been missing something in my life to want to fall in love?"

Her feet shuffles in place. "I guess I haven't seen it that way. After I was old enough to date, I'd not gone a year without someone I wanted to be with or was already with. I always felt like love completed me, like it does now with Saph… Is that not how you feel?"

"I'm… I'm not saying love doesn't make me happy or anything. It's just that I don't feel like I need it to feel whole. I don't think it'd complete me, just that it might be nice to have too. Is that not how you feel?"

She chuckles again, a nervous uncertainty tinting her quiet, teahouse melody. "I don't know. Never been without it, really. At least not for long."

He looks at her – examines her, really – because her cheek is gone, as is her confidence, and it feels like she's revealing her artifice in a vulnerable moment. She's digging gaps into her own thoughts and he can see her pick apart her own internal logic and she seems more and less somehow. Like she's less the perfect cut gem he thought she was and sees the girl underneath it.

He's less tense all of a sudden.

And for a moment he feels like he can come to grips with everything that she is. Who she was to him, who she wasn't, and who she's become. A boyhood crush, flightful fantasy, and… he can't bring himself to think of the last. Fist clenching and unclenching, a slow motion that tries to hide the trembling in his digits.

He swallows and he worries if she can hear it. She doesn't, but she can see something's troubling him.

"How's Adrian?" he asks.

"Oh, he's –"

"A DRESS!?" Saphron screams from beyond the locked bedroom door.

Jaune jolts up from his seat and nearly bumps into Terra who'd stood along with him. She steps aside and he hurries to the door, asking after them. Terra tries not to pay attention (she can barely hear what they say beyond the door anyhow) but then he mentions Yang's sister, Ruby – the girl Terra thought he actually has a crush on – and Yang audibly shouts, "What!?" passed the door at him.

"Aren't you two lively…" Terra whispers.

-0-

Dinner is a largely pleasant affair until the alcohol gets introduced. The hills of drink they stack onto the table to peruse intimidates Jaune and he cautions that he cannot – will not – drink anything that isn't at least on the rocks. He'll shoulder tomorrow's regret but he doesn't want to sleep through the sun burning through the morning and afternoon.

Saphron and Terra share a glance before pulling something out of Terra's bag. Diadem, a vintage Vacuan drink stronger than everything else on the table. They only ask that he a takes a shot. It'll buzz him through the evening.

It's too strong and he nearly hurls.

Yang half remembers all the stories they tell. Saphron regales them with tales of how she met Terra, the proposal, the wedding, and even the honeymoon off the coast of Menagerie. Jaune spouts on about his team and a misadventure with his twin on an old farm and a horse, and Yang, somehow, talks about a food fight twice. It's funnier the second time around.

There's a gap in her memory of whatever story Terra was telling because she fixates on one part and can't focus on anything else. "…she's little Adrian's babysitter," she mentions briefly but doesn't have the faculties to ask about.

When Saph and Terra leave for their hotel, things wind down and Yang's sitting on the sofa in Jaune's hoodie. Yang returns the shirt and shorts she borrowed but she feels like wearing something that's his might help with tonight.

Jaune joins her, easing down slowly as his head rides the waves of a dying Vacuan storm.

"Who's Adrian?" she asks.

He's quiet for a moment, perhaps from the drink. "He's Terra's son."

Yang can see it. Saphron isn't mentioned deliberately. He doesn't just forget this time. "Oh! From a previous marriage?"

He shakes his head. "No, nothing like that," he says, sobering up.

"A previous partner then?"

Jaune says nothing. He's sitting upright. Rigid and awake. There's something there. Maybe Terra had a previous partner he didn't like, but then things click into place. Realization sets in like headlights through the fog, suddenly and violently.

"Oh my god…" she whispers, "…he's yours."

He doesn't answer. Doesn't need to. She grabs onto his arm and pulls him into a hug. She's hit a nail on the head and panic sets in when she thinks she's opened up an old wound. It's precisely the kind of thing they're supposed to help each other forget. Only, Yang doesn't realize that Jaune is so caught off-guard by her sudden burst of affection that he's at first startled and – when she goes in for a kiss and ends up headbutting him instead – he ends up laughing it off.

His mirth is almost strange until it makes complete sense somehow. She's done her job, kept her end of the bargain, and now she's laughing with him too.

When he's calmed down, he lies back on the sofa when she goes to get a drink. She comes back to find him lying across the sofa and she makes the executive decision to just fall on top of him. She crashes into his stomach with a hefty oof from him and she makes no apologies for retaliating.

"Sofa hog," she jeers from her perch on his chest, chin resting on her arms.

"I bought it," he shoots back playfully, eying her down from the arm rest.

"Still pay half the rent. And I never asked you to pay me back when I foot the bill for refurbishing them."

"Wouldn't have needed to if Zwei didn't tear them up."

"It was a joint decision that we took him in for the week. You're as much to blame."

He sighs. "I guess I am."

It isn't actually an issue. They've basically already had this discussion and Yang had insisted on covering for it at the time. They're only stalling. Even Yang isn't quite sure she wants to go on.

She doesn't know how long it takes her to summon the courage to speak again. All she knows is that he's willing to answer, even if it would be easier for both of them to stay ignorant. To let these problems solve themselves and never to bear your heart until it is absolutely necessary.

But she speaks anyway. "I thought it was the wedding that got to you."

And so does he. "No, it… it just happened at the wedding. Saph had to go talk to an old classmate and so she left Terra with me. I was already holding Adrian and with Joan running off somewhere, we were alone. Just me, Terra… and our son. It hit me then. Slowly, like when you stare at yourself in the mirror at the night of a recital. You think, 'This is it. This is where things fall apart… or meet in the middle.' I knew I had to make peace with it before it got worse."

"And your answer was watered-down whiskey the minute you got back home?"

He shrugs. "Qrow gives good advice."

"Hm… maybe. I still think mine is better."

"Oh? And what's that?"

She pushes herself up over him, arms at either side of his head till her silhouette is against the dim glow of the incandescent bulb, warm light pooling through her hair till it looks like it's on fire. "Get drunk on me," she says, her breath tickling his nose and burning his lips.

But he doesn't kiss her. She sees the way his lips quiver, almost wanting to, but he doesn't even try.

She retreats instead, nestling back onto his chest but his cheeks are still burning and she swears hers are too. The room feels like it's boiling.

"When we kiss, do you think of her?"

"Never," he says honestly, and that seems to be the part that stings the most to him. "That's the most dangerous thing about you. You don't taste, feel, or smell like anyone else." He looks at her and only her, and she shrinks away as she gets up and off of him because she feels like a moon in a sea of stars, and as he straightens up and sits parallel to her, his eyes never leave, like a captive witness.

He leans in, and she doesn't know if it's to kiss her or just her sheer pull on him. She ultimately doesn't decide. Their foreheads meet – her eyes are downward but locked to his lips – and she breathes quietly as she asks, "Jaune? Are you in love with me?"

"Yang, are you even sure you are?"

"I… don't know yet."

He pulls away just an inch as something unsettling furrows his brow.

He gets up. "Gimme a minute," he says, and he's gone for just long enough for her to notice that the familiar heat she had pressed against her is missing.

She doesn't know what to expect when he comes back with his hand clutching a small object, but she would have never guessed a ring. It's nestled in a velvety box that he sits on the coffee table and he leaves it open as he sits down and watches it with her like it's some alien thing. He doesn't speak but he gives her a glance and…

It's then that she realizes that she's afraid. The look on her is uncertain – she can feel it, and she feels it freeze on her features.

"Did you pick this out for me?"

He shakes his head. "It was supposed to be Pyrrha's."

She blinks. "Is… is this what scared Pyrrha off?"

"No… it's what scared me off." He leans back against the sofa and she takes that as an invitation to do the same. They're huddled close, shoulder-to-shoulder. "Our breakup was only supposed to be temporary. Some tournament rival tried to pin her to a scandal when they found out she slept with me."

"What? Why would that be a problem?"

He snorts. "I was too young." Out loud, it sounds absurd.

"You were seventeen," she reasons.

"And Pyrrha was eighteen. As far as the law is concerned, Pyrrha slept with a minor."

Yang can feel herself coil up like a loaded spring. "Well, that's fucked! You're barely three months apart!"

"Didn't matter to them. Tabloids would have pinned it on her for the rest of her career. The context doesn't matter to the public."

"Okay…" she says slowly, stifling her frustrations for later. "So, what changed then? Why did you set her up with Sun?"

"Because I went to the wedding and found myself thinking about Terra again. It gave me some unhealthy doubts. I loved Pyrrha, I really did, but it felt wrong when I danced with Terra that night, holding our son in our arms… It felt like I'd betrayed Pyrrha somehow, even in my own mind, by feeling those things. It didn't matter that I didn't actually do anything about it."

"That's not how feelings work though," she says. "You're supposed to have doubts sometimes because people aren't perfect or consistent. Life isn't fiction, Jaune."

"I know that now." He shrugs, resigned in a way. "I found out a little too late though."

"How did you even get Pyrrha to agree to this?"

"She's not very honest about her feelings. Doesn't have the courage to be. When she heard that I'd pushed Sun to ask her out because Nora can't keep a secret, she thought that I might have given up on her. By the time we got the chance to be honest about it, she'd already gotten to know Sun enough to start taking him seriously."

Yang glances back at the ring. Not quite as alien as it was earlier. It just seems strange now, like it's out of place. There's a small comfort in that. "So where does the ring come in?"

"I got it as a sort of celebration when would get back together, but then people started asking about what it meant and… it felt like I'd stumbled onto some finality between us. Like I'd somehow found 'the one' over a year of friendship, a few dates, and showing up to the dance in a dress."

Yang smiles. Not because he seemed silly at the time, but because he's smiling. Because, in spite of his somber reflections, he can't help but feel like what he'd done turned out to be a triumph.

Her arm loops into his and his head leans on hers in response. "Doesn't sound like a bad set up to me," Yang says, shrugging against his arm. "If anything, it sounds like the stars aligned for you two." She speaks honestly. Forgets herself and sees him as Pyrrha's too-perfect other half to a too-perfect couple. If things hadn't turned out the way they did, she might have cheered them on for the rest of their lives. But that isn't how it turned out.

"That's what everyone was saying. It's like we'd ripped ourselves out of a fairytale, only I was a dense, blind princess and she was some stoic, stubborn prince. But it put a lot of pressure on us, living up to that story, and it felt like I wasn't as ready as I should have been. I came to Beacon unprepared for a lot of things. Might have hurt the people depending on me by not being ready. I was lucky my shield arm was always sturdy, but my heart wasn't. I naively worried that my inexperience would hurt us irreversibly." He rolls a hand over his knuckles. Contemplatively, regretfully. "I thought I was leaving her in good hands, but even if that's true, should I still have stayed instead? Did I have any right to decide if we should have stayed together or not?"

Her fingers slide off his arm and weave into his. She's huddling closer now, feet off the ground and knees tucked up to her chest. "I think, when we fall in love, we have to decide for ourselves if we want to keep going. We don't choose for the other in that. We choose for ourselves cause we are who we're supposed to look out for. You have to protect yourself first." Yang clutches tighter, and somehow Jaune can tell that her mother is involved. "That's the beautiful thing about a love that works. We decide for ourselves and it all just happens to fall into place with someone else. It doesn't always magically align – sometimes you don't agree with what they want or how they take it – but real love compromises just as much as it just… clicks." Like her and her dad. And Ruby. And maybe – if things turn out alright – her mom.

He wants to believe her. Even if he and Pyrrha didn't pan out, they still love each other as friends and things ultimately haven't changed between them. They were always bound to work out their issues and it's clear now that they've compromised without needing to sacrifice the friendship they'd fostered together.

He wants to thank her, but her eyes are away and she's chewing her lip. Yang is thinking of something else. Her sigh cuts through the silence and she's too shy to look at him.

"Jaune, why did you kiss me?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Last night. In bed. While I was sleeping."

His eyes widen. He's been caught. "Is it really so unusual?"

"It is when you aren't thinking of Terra or Adrian. When you do it just because you wanted to."

"How… how could you tell?"

She can hear the panic in his voice. Caught and cornered, it makes her a little happy to know he's unable to hide it. But it's the speed of which he accepts his fate that gets her grinning, because it's as if a part of him is tired of hiding it. "Because you weren't trying to forget something. You weren't trying to tease me and I certainly can't flirt back when I'm asleep…" She shoots him a knowing look and he gulps through a feeble foundation of defiance. "It was none of that. You did it hoping I wouldn't notice. You did it because you were hiding something you wanted."

He crumbles under her teasing. "Y-Yang, I… I can't –"

"Shh, it's okay," she says evenly, defusing his tension and giving him a moment to breathe and look into her eyes. "Don't jump to a conclusion you aren't ready to make." Her tone is slow and deliberate, fingers gliding along the skin of his arm like a soothing, gentle caress. "I get it, Jaune. Like me, you're still trying to figure it out."

He pulls away but fixes her with a stern, serious look. She doesn't realize he's holding her hand till he's squeezing it. He's composed, certain, and so deftly drunk on her that Yang remembers Jaune telling her that drowning in drink gives him clarity. "That's just it, Yang. I know I feel something. I've been feeling a lot of things when I'm with you…" His confidence wanes before he admits that, "It's just that I haven't figured out what I'm supposed to do about it."

Yang blinks twice and tries to speak but can't. And suddenly she can't stop the curl of her cheeks when she feels a growing smile coming.

He's almost afraid. "Yang?"

"Sorry. I'm still… you know you just confessed, right?"

"Ha!" he laughs, heart squeezing his chest. Relief in many ways settling into his skin. "Were you expecting me to say 'I love you'?"

"…"

He chuckles. "Oh my god, Yang."

"Is it weird that I'm a little giddy about that total cliché? Say it again."

He thinks it a little much but the words are easy, flowing freely from his lips. "I love you."

"Agh! You're a serious cheat. Why is it so easy for you to say?'

"Cause I already made peace with it. You stood there in a white dress and I could see you tearing Terra out of that place in my mind and putting yourself there in her stead. I already knew. You've been nothing but a tidal wave to my emotions, just swallowing everything up and leaving little traces of yourself everywhere."

He settles back into the cushions, sinking comfortably into it. "I used to sit on this couch and scream curses at the moon through the window," he says. "Nowadays my eyes are glued to the screen watching a movie with you. I used to be careful about what I threw into the sink because I was afraid I'd have to call in a mechanic to fix the shredder again, and now I don't even give it a second thought."

"And you used to lie in bed thinking about her…" Yang teases.

"Actually, no. I was at peace when I went to bed. Pyrrha trained me to shut down once I got under the sheets. Nowadays it feels like the sandman keeps missing my eyes with the way you move me around in bed."

"I don't think your tongue's been doing much complaining."

"Seems you were willing to use more than just your tongue earlier," he says, teasing her. She shrinks a little, embarrassed. "What were you doing anyway?"

"I was, uh, trying to seduce you."

"Oh… What changed?"

She groans. "I guess my wires got crossed. I thought that if I got you to sleep with me, this" – she gestures between them – "would suddenly clear up. But I'm not that kind of girl. I don't put on lingerie all the time expecting you to see it. Not even sure I'm the kind of girl who wants her clothes ripped off when I get you riled up."

"Yeah, your outfits look expensive. Custom fit and embroidered."

"I wouldn't hit you if you tried, FYI. I'd maybe cry or get upset."

"I'll try not to ravage you through your clothes if that ever happens."

"If? Still don't think we're gonna end up doing the dirty tango after all we've been through? Seems inevitable at this point."

"I think we'll either do it when it makes sense or decide we aren't meant for each other."

"I don't know. I'm pretty snug right where I am." She gives him cheek, brimming with certainty. Confidence. "Still," she says more seriously, "are you really so ready to give up what we have? I don't see it happening, but it looks like you think we're just as likely to stay together as splitting up."

He looks away. Yang is surprised to find him embarrassed, not concerned.

"You don't actually feel that way," Yang says gleefully. "You're as sure as I am."

"I'm not ready to take that risk just yet," he confesses.

She moves to straddle him and loops her arms around his neck. "I can wait."

His hands grip her waist through the thickness of the hoodie. "I can't ask you to do that."

"I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. I told you that love was about deciding for yourself and settling into compromises if our choices don't align. I'm choosing to stay. And – I hope – we agree to compromise."

He takes a moment to look away before locking eyes with her. He leans in and pecks her lips so briefly that she doesn't get the chance to kiss back.

"Wh-what?"

"It's how I'm supposed to say yes, aren't I?"

She laughs and so does he. Yang was expecting to cap off the night with a kiss, pressing bodily into the sheets as their hands roam their bodies, but none of that happens. They clean the dinner the table, take separate baths, and settle into bed together.

She does kiss him on the neck for good measure but he realizes that he can still feel the kiss and it isn't because there's a tingle there. Cracking an eye open, he notices the gloss on her lips. "Are you wearing lipstick?"

"The light kind," she says. "Told myself I'd leave a mark on you during my little lapse earlier. I've decided not to give you a hickey. Consider it an act of mercy."

He shuts his eyes and tries to ignore it but can't. He's painfully aware of it and he just knows he's gonna smudge that on something. It'd be funny if it's Yang's face but he'd hate to get it on his sheets. He sits up. "Yeah, nope. I'm washing this off."

"What? C'mon!" She grabs onto him, anchoring him back into bed.

"Nope. Not doing it," he says defiantly.

"Have it your way, Arc. Hickey it is!"

"Wait, Yang! Yang!"

-0-

Jaune is reminded everyday that he showed up to brunch that following morning with a hickey his scarf couldn't hide. Yang makes it up to him by buying dessert.

The get-togethers go on and Yang is less and less embarrassed about openly teasing Jaune and showing her affections publicly. Jaune retaliates, of course, and they even get hot and bothered in the hallway of a movie theater. They spend the rest of the movie in a stall. Terra finds them and is honestly just surprised they haven't taken each other's clothes off… ever.

Jaune and Yang don't tell them that neither of them and ready to go that far yet. Jaune takes the brunt of the blame and says that if he doesn't hold back, they'll end up doing something stupid. Saphron slips Jaune a condom and he regrets everything for the rest of the night.

Two weeks pass with much the same. Sometimes they introduce Saphron and Terra to some of their other friends, and they even manage a weekend together in a cottage near the coast. They're excited about reuniting with Pyrrha and they even meet Sun on her scroll.

Yang finds out that Saphron is every bit a mother as she is a big sister, and Jaune reminds her that she is practically no different herself.

Jaune learns that Qrow and Terra are old classmates and that they had more in common than they thought.

And after Joan is caught scheming with Nora and getting her and Ren back together, after Blake engorges the shrimp platter on a Schnee-sponsored dinner, after Weiss tames a friendly rivalry between Winter and Saphron about who has the cuter sibling, after Ruby gets her cheeks pinched till they go red cause she lost a bet and showed up in an adorable beowulf costume, and after Penny freaks out and her head pops off at dinner (her severed head still tries to chew on a salad)… their two weeks together are up and they're standing at the train station, ready to see them off.

It's been raining for the last few days and everything is damp and cold. Even the air is still thick with the smell of misty rain water and the sky hasn't seen the sun even peek through the cloud cover. It's almost a somber way to say goodbye.

Saphron is introducing Yang to her babysitter and little Adrian over a video call. Jaune stands aside, unwilling to let the last few weeks burn away at the sight of his biological son gurgling through the screen.

Terra nudges into his side. "Can we talk?"

He nods and she pulls them away beside a pillar. Saphron notices and winks at her wife.

"Is there something wrong?" Jaune asks.

"Nothing, actually. I might even say our impromptu vacation here might as well have been perfect."

"Impromptu?"

"I guess it never came up but… we were only supposed to be here for a few days."

"Why did you stick around then? Wouldn't that have been imposing on your babysitter?"

"Oh, Taffy was plenty happy to be at the house with Adrian. She's an orphan and she takes every excuse to come over." She leans in to whisper. "We might even adopt her once I get a raise at the office so look forward to a niece! And, really, is it such a surprise that we enjoy spending time with you and your friends?"

"After the bonfire? I guess not."

"Good. Now that isn't why I needed to talk."

"Oh…" He glances at Yang a few feet away. He can barely hear her and Saphron through the rancor of the station.

"I know you've been holding back."

"Did Yang tell you that?"

"Call it a big sister's intuition."

"You're an only child."

"Not anymore, I'm not. Now I've got six little sisters and a not-so-little brother." She pats his chest then busies her hands with straightening his collar. "A little brother who is too afraid to take a chance and would much rather play it safe than play at all."

"Terra…"

"I know you're afraid that you aren't ready. I wasn't either. Hell, sometimes I worry I'll mess up and ruin a perfectly good marriage. These are all normal things to be afraid of, and for some people, these fears don't go away. We just learn to live with them."

She slides her hands to his arms and down to fingers till she's holding them softly and looking up at him. There's a quiet concern in her sad little smile that he isn't sure how to respond to.

"I think you've driven yourself to be so careful with your feelings that you've forgotten to just take things as they come," she says. "I know you have to be careful with your heart but the thing isn't made of glass. Even if it hurts, even if it hurts easily, the fact that you're still in one piece should be more than enough proof that you aren't as fragile as you think you are. Maybe take a risk. Maybe love will hurt, but so few of us get better at it without giving it a shot first. Like a lot of things, Jaune, it takes a lot of trial and error."

"I've been down this road before already…"

She squeezes his hands. "And you'll go down it again and again. Sometimes people find love once and that's all it takes. But for the rest of us? For most of us? We gotta keep trying."

With a kiss on the cheek and a whispered 'good luck', Saphron and Terra disappear into accelerating train until even it vanishes into the horizon.

Jaune stares into the middle distance and Yang, much like Terra, nudges into his side. "What did you talk about?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Stuff."

"Oh, well that's lame. Should've had more to say to someone you really care about." It's clear she doesn't buy it.

He knows she doesn't. "Yeah, real shame I wasn't more profound and emotional."

She rolls her eyes because she'll let it be and won't pry for his sake. "C'mon, it's getting chilly out here and it might rain again with the wind picking up." She makes to walk off.

"Hey, Yang?"

She stops. "Yeah?"

For a moment he doesn't speak, his eyes are uncertain and elsewhere but then his fists clench as if he's just convinced himself to do something. "Wanna get dinner?" he asks, reaching out to take her by the hand. "We can put on something nice and there's a real fancy place with the best lobster in town."

Yang isn't sure how to take it. She doesn't resist when his thumb brushes over her knuckles, but she summons a bit of bravery herself, stepping closer and resting a fist against her beating chest. "Is… this a date?"

She yelps when he pulls her in. He kisses her, drowns her tongue and melts their bodies together till she's flush against him and tugging at his hair. There's still fear in his eyes when they pull away, but there's a determination in there she's happy to see. "Is that answer enough?"

She giggles through the haze of her burning cheeks. "Plenty."

Then she's on him this time and tilting him backwards with her lips alone until he's just as hazy. Still, he doesn't expect it when she clambers onto his back and slips into a piggyback ride before she starts laughing uncontrollably.

"Hiya, noble steed! To the bike!" she cheers from her perch atop his head.

He's laughing too, even if he's huffing a little from the jog to Bumblebee. "What's gotten into you?"

"I can't help it…" she whispers into his hair, excitement mixing into a bubbling cocktail with a giddiness she can't stop. "I'm happy."

#Jaune Arc #yang xiao long #jaune x yang #yang x jaune #rwby dragonslayer

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curlyhairedhoseok · 4 years

Text

my patient

requested by @z-stitch

word count: 6.4k

pairing: psychiatrist!reader x patient!namjoon

warnings: mentions of murder, schizophrenia, mental illnesses, smut, fingering, spanking, creampie, unprotected sex (use protection), vaginal sex, oral sex, fluffish

author’s note: I am sorry if this sucks. also the smut is at the end cause i am lame. also i didn’t proof read. sorry. its like 1am here and i am tired.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim, I hope you slept well,” You said through the door’s grated window. The patient just smirked as he stood by the window, waiting for his morning medications to come through the small slot in the door. “As you know, I had to up the dosage on your Clozapine. Nothing big, but a little more should help with the things that you explained to me during our last two sessions.” You explained while sorting his various medications.

“Let’s be real, you're just drugging me up so that you can sneak into my room and steal me away.” Namjoon teased. You cracked a small smile before pushing the small tray into the slot.

“With the increased dosage there are some side effects that can occur; dry mouth, headaches, dizziness, and fatigue. So please make sure you are telling the guards so that I can make any adjustments that might be needed,” You finished before leaving the door.

There were very few patients that you delivered their medications to but Namjoon was one of them. You and he had built a somewhat pleasant relationship, which came as a surprise to you. In the beginning, Namjoon was set on making your job as difficult as possible. You were no therapist but you did like to have more personal conversations with your clients since being in such a barren environment was not always easy.

You knew that on certain days Namjoon was restrained and thrown into a solitary cell, those were his bad days. On his good days, he seemed fine, good enough to interact with others at the hospital. You liked to forget his bad days and only liked to pay attention to his good days but it was hard to ignore the fact that he was sick and needed help. After all, he was put into a mental hospital for a reason. This fact helped to bring you back when you found yourself lingering too much on Mr. Kim.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon was sitting in his cell, attempting to read one of the books you had given to him when he heard your voice from down the hall. He set the book down and had quietly crept towards the door to listen in on the conversation. He could tell by your tone that whatever you were hearing you were not pleased with.

“I think that would be a terrible idea. He is improving here, I see it every time we meet. When was the last time he was put in The Hole? Exactly. Other patients will benefit from a transfer to such a facility. He doesn’t need punishment anymore, what he needs is rehabilitation.” He heard you exclaim. A quiet moment went by before he heard your soft knock on the door and the guard’s keys jiggling. He shot up from his spot on the floor and sat down on his bed with his book.

“What have I done now?” Namjoon teased after his door opened. You smiled and shook your head before closing the door behind you. Namjoon always found it interesting that you chose to close his door but yet you would keep other patient’s doors open during their sessions.

“I came to check up on you,” You explained while pulling his small desk chair out, to sit on.

“Well, I’m bored,” He began. He was scooching up the bed until he could rest against the metal headboard so that he could get a good look at you. “I’m feeling a little...frustrated.” He admitted, his eyes burning into yours.

“Bored? I’m afraid there is not much I can do about that although I could get you another book even though you are supposed to be here as a punishment. Now, what do you mean, frustrated?”

“Do you believe that it was me?” He asked, disregarding your question.

“Believe what?”

“That I tried to kill him? My father.” He clarified. His eyes were staring at your form, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what is going through your mind.

“I believe that we all have done things that we are not proud of. But the only thing that matters is getting better and that's where I come in.” You attempted to redirect the conversation. His mind was working against his better judgment when he attacked his father and he just couldn’t handle it anymore. You also believed that his father might have deserved the attempted attack “Now, tell me about being frustrated.”

“I’m frustrated that I am still stuck here. Just imagine the fun we could have” He described with a small chuckle at the end.

“Anything else I should be aware of?” You asked as you took notes. Some of the comments you found hard not to crack a smile at. You had a small smile painted on and so, of course, Namjoon had to point it out.

“What are you smiling for? If I am stuck in here that means no fun for us.”

“Okay, enough,” You muttered while giving him a pointed look. “If there is nothing else you would like to tell me then I must be going because much to your dismay, I have other patients.” You made your way to the door before Namjoon called your name.

“Dr. (Y/L/N)? Am I being transferred to another facility?” He asked. You could hear the concern in his voice and you found it hard to try and lie to him.

“No, you are staying here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a quiet day at the institution, you had no sessions today so your entire day was supposed to be dedicated to reviewing patients’ files and deciding who was allowed to be integrated with the other patients.

That changed when you received a phone call from the lead security guard.

You all but sprinted down the hall to The Hole. Three security guards were outside of the secluded cell, talking amongst themselves.

“Excuse me, I need to speak with Mr. Kim.”

“Listen, I know he is your patient but right now he is solitary which means no one gets in to talk to him.” The guard explained.

“I know what that means but I need to speak to him. I am his doctor and right now I need to talk to my patient so that this all can be avoided in the future.” You persisted. The guard sighed before unlocking the door. The heavy metal door creaked open to reveal Namjoon sitting on a bed, his hands were strapped into the jacket. He had his back to you and was facing out the single window. He didn’t say anything which you found unusual.

“Mr. Kim,” You started. His head turned slightly as if to show that he was listening. “Can you tell me why you are here?”

You were only met with silence, he turned to face the window once again. You sat on the bed with the intention of not leaving until he answered. Even in the beginning when he was dead set on making your job difficult he still said something.

“Namjoon, you can be honest with me. What happened?” You asked once more.

“Are you asking as my doctor?” He whispered. “I attacked a guard. He was talking about you. I could hear him from my room. When he came in-,” He cut himself off quickly when he heard the door opening. The head of the institute, Mr. Choi, was standing in the doorway, motioning for you to go into the hall.

“Mr. Kim, your next session is in two days. I hope that we can make progress.” You said before leaving. You followed the head into the hallway, but you refused to talk to him. You made it into your office when he finally started talking.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), I need to discuss your status at this institution.”

“My status?” You all but snapped at Mr. Choi. “Is there something wrong?”

“Since the last psychiatrist left, it has just been you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re great at your job but there is just not enough of you for all the patients. A new psychiatrist is coming in, as the head of the psychiatric unit.”

“Very well, I can’t wait to meet them. When will they be joining me?” You asked with a tight-lipped smile. It took everything in yourself to not flip out at the man in front of you. You were the best psychiatrist that the institute had seen in years, and now they were degrading your work but you had to respect their decision no matter what since you were never hired as a solo working doctor.

“They will be starting next week. Once they arrive some of the patients you once had will go to the other doctor, Dr. Jung.” Mr. Choi had explained. You nodded and began gathering another patient’s file as Mr. Choi continued to explain the upcoming changes.

“Thank you, Mr. Choi, but I have to go check up on the rest of my patients. Please email me if there will be more accommodations that have to be made.” You curtly thanked him. Mr. Choi quietly shut the door on his way out and it wasn’t until you heard the door ‘click’ did you finally let out a groan of frustration.

A new doctor would complicate things but you knew that you needed help with the amount of work around the institution, it was never your job to run the mental health ward all alone. You silently prayed that the new doctor would make gradual adjustments, not only for the patients’ sake but also for your own.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed by relatively quickly for you, so when Monday came around you felt like you could take on any problems presented to you. However, that was before you stepped foot into what used to be just your office.

Your desk had been moved to one side which mirrored another desk across the room. The new doctor was here and it felt bittersweet. His side of the room was plain so far while your side was filled with various filing cabinets and bookshelves. As you set your bag on your chair you noticed two filing cabinet drawers that were wide open and empty.

A knock on the door startled you but you were met with a handsome cheery face.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), right? It’s nice to meet you, I am Dr. Jung, but you can call me Hoseok,” He introduced. You smiled back at him and told him your name too. “I hope it is okay that I took some of the patient files. Mr. Choi was the one who opened them.”

You quickly nodded in assurance, “It’s completely fine. If you ever have questions about certain patients don’t be afraid to ask. Sometimes it takes them a while to trust you since you are not a nurse or their typical therapist but most of them warm up pretty quickly.”

He thanked and took a seat at his desk before you unloaded your bag. You walked over to the filing cabinet ready to get started for the day when you noticed a few typical patients of yours were missing. You figured that they were now Hoseok’s patients since they were all known to need more attention and observation, and as the head psychiatrist, it was his job to deal with the more extreme cases.

As you made your way through the institute and down your patient list, you were surprised by how quickly the morning medication distributing was going. You were done before ten in the morning which rarely ever happened before.

Perhaps Hoseok being here isn’t that bad after all, you thought to yourself.

As the week progressed, you were quick to notice how Namjoon was no longer on your patient list. It wasn’t until you walked past his assigned room that you noticed he wasn’t in there and neither were any of his books.

You rushed off to your shared office and began searching his name up in the system. Thankfully, he was just relocated but he was relocated to the isolation wing. The isolation wing was different from The Hole in the sense that The Hole was for patients to be separated from everyone for a short period of time, typically while the patient calmed down. The isolation wing, on the other hand, meant that the patient was too dangerous for other patients to interact with as well as doctors, guards, and visitors.

Why he was moved seemed beyond you since Namjoon had never had an issue with other patients since he was put on medication, which was over five year years ago. All patients started there but he was quickly moved once he showed progress. He only had issues with guards but the guards were not always the kindest to the residents.

“Excuse me, Dr. Jung, I was curious as to why one of my previous patients, Mr. Kim Namjoon, was moved to the isolation wing?”

“Please, call me Hoseok,” He started and you nodded while muttering a quick ‘Of course’. “Mr. Kim was relocated after he attacked his brother Kim Taehyung while he was visiting and another patient by the name of Park Jimin. All parties were okay but these were not isolated incidents. His previous attack on the guard a week ago indicates that his behavior is growing more erratic with time. Given his violent history with his father, Mr. Choi and I decided that it was appropriate to move him to the isolation wing.”

The news baffled you since Kim Taehyung was a pretty regular visitor and Park Jimin was one of the few residents Namjoon actually enjoyed interacting with. “Thank you, I was just surprised that’s all.” You explained.

“I have been a doctor for a few years now and the one thing I noticed is that people like him are unpredictable, they change at a moment's notice. It is our job to help them.”

“I am well aware, thank you.” You practically sneered. You did not appreciate the way Dr. Jung referred to Namjoon and others like him. While you were sure he meant no harm, it just rubbed you the wrong way.

That night you decided to stay longer, just to organize some files and try to get things ready for the upcoming weekend. Hoseok had left a few hours ago, and the clock was nearing nine o'clock at night. Most residents were in bed by now or doing their nightly routine. You found yourself quietly walking towards the isolation wing, with Namjoon’s room number and key in hand.

12...13...14...15, you counted in your head as you stopped at the fifteenth door.

There were no guards in the wing right now since the shift change was about to happen. Night crew was going to be here soon which meant you had little time to get in and out. Doctors were not permitted on this side of the hospital unless granted authorization by Mr. Choi and now, Dr. Jung since he was head of the psychiatric unit

You released a breath you were holding as you quietly turned the key and opened the door. You shut it behind you as you looked at Namjoon, who was lying there staring at the ceiling. His foot was handcuffed to the footboard and all his books were gone.

“Dr. (Y/L/N), you finally visited me after banishing me here. I wondered how long it would take.” He said, sarcastically.

“Namjoon, please explain to me what happened.”

“Ask the new doctor.” Was all he replied with. You tried to tell him that you did but Namjoon refused to elaborate.

“Very well, I am sorry that you are here. Just know, this was not my decision as you are no longer my patient.” You whispered before leaving his room. The lights in the hall flickered as you locked the door behind you. There was still no sign of the guards so you slipped out undetected.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A month and a half had passed since the night you visited Kim Namjoon for the first time. You tried to make sure he was okay a few times after that but you knew you had to stop when you almost got caught the last time.

“I won’t be able to come to see you anymore. I think they know someone has been getting in, I don’t need them checking the cameras and seeing me sneaking around.” You mentioned. As usual, it was pretty silent on Namjoon’s end. He talked much less these days and just listened.

“I must be going, hopefully, I can convince Dr. Jung to move you back into your old room. I think it would help you.” You quietly said.

“Help me or help you?” He finally broke his silence and just stared at you. It had been almost three weeks since he had last spoken to you. You felt like he was angry with you.

“Help us.” You confessed. Your treatment and favoritism went beyond just being his old doctor, and you both knew that. “I am trying to help you which in turn will give me peace of mind.” You closed the door after that and you felt like you just revealed to him a huge secret. In part, it was big since you finally admitted that you worried about him daily.

As you were heading back to your office to pick up your bag and laptop before you left, you were surprised to see the office light shining from under the closed door since you could definitely recall turning it off before you went to visit Namjoon. As you opened the door, you saw Hoseok, who you thought had left an hour ago.

“(y/n),” He began and motioned for you to sit at your own desk. “It has come to my attention that you have been staying longer but I don’t know what for. Would you care to fill me in on that?” He sat down at the chair on the other side of your desk.

“Dr. Jung,” You said pointedly, “I have been just studying each of my new patient’s records and trying to figure out the best way to help them. I like to know these things off the top of my head, I don’t want to have to rely on a folder each time I see them.”

“You care deeply about those assigned to you?”

“Of course, that is why I became a doctor.” You said, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Is that why you have been sneaking off to the isolation wing for weeks now?” He asked bluntly.

“You have no proof that I have been doing such a thing. Besides, any well-trained doctor knows that those patients need more stimulation than they are currently getting. I don’t care if they don’t do well with others, they deserve some sort of fulfillment beyond what we are currently providing.” You defended. You did not take well to being accused of things, even if they were true.

“That’s not why you are going, Dr. (y/l/n). You’re going because your favorite patient got sent there.” He smirked and got up from his seat, walking towards the door.

“I don’t have favorites.” You told him. He raised an eyebrow but continued for the door.

“Well, then I guess you will be pleased to hear that Mr. Kim Namjoon will be moved to another facility, out of the city. One that is more, equipt to deal with his very violent outbursts.” Dr. Jung let slip.

“He is many things but I refuse to believe that he is still a violent man. The only time he has been violent is when he was provoked and off his medications. Yes, he is affected by schizophrenia but that does not make him inherently violent. Besides, you need both of our signatures to send him away and I refuse to sign something that will hurt him.” You argued.

“No, I don’t, not when Mr. Choi already signed for you. Mr. Kim Namjoon will be leaving this institute this Friday. So I suggest that you find someone else to baby.” Hoseok said harshly before slamming the office door.

Your mind began going into overdrive as you began thinking of ways to help him. The only way for him to be released was if a doctor discharged him or he was checked out by his brother, Taehyung.

Your fingers typed furiously fast as you pulled up Namjoon’s records. His younger brother’s number was in his file and you quickly dialed it.

“Hello?” You heard his brother’s voice almost immediately after dialing.

“Hi, I am sorry to bother you at this hour but I am Dr. (Y/L/N), your brother Namjoon’s previous doctor.” You explained. “I was calling about an incident that supposedly happened about two months ago. On file, it says that your brother had a violent outburst while you were visiting him but you never filed a report on the incident.”

“Because there was nothing to file. He didn’t have an outburst, we got into an argument but nothing major. The argument was simply about our mother who recently fell ill.” Taehyung explained. “He was just upset that I didn’t tell him that she fell ill sooner. She is better now but I haven’t had the chance to tell him. They won’t even let me send him a letter.”

“They recently moved him to another wing which does not really allow mail,” You carefully explained. “However if you send me a letter written to him I can try and have it delivered to him.” You offered. As the call ended, you felt like Dr. Jung was doing more harm than good. He was proving to be a thorn in your side and a damn good liar.

You looked over to your clock and you realized that right about now all the night time guards typically took a break, leaving one in charge of watching the cameras and making sure no one did anything out of the ordinary.

You knew right now was the only time to get Namjoon out without anyone suspecting something. You pulled up a release slip and printed it out before forging Dr. Jung’s signature. You knew if there was a release slip in Namjoon’s file then when they found the empty cell they would not think much of it and just assume that it was a mistake. You scanned the slip onto the computer and put in the information to make it seem like his release date was yesterday.

When you finished, you grabbed a patient’s profile that needed to be filed while also stealing a hat from your desk and one of Dr. Jung’s white coats before picking up your bag. You locked the office door behind you.

As you made your way to the surveillance room, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The night time surveillance guard was a very young man but he was nice. He always helped you in the past if you needed to see some footage, and right now he was the only one with a master key for the handcuffs that held Namjoon to his bed.

“Hey, Jungkook, I had a favor to ask of you before I head out.” You said politely and he nodded for you to come in. “I was wondering if you could go put this patient folder on Mr. Choi’s desk? All the other guards are on break and I know you always have a key.” He smiled and scratched the back of his head but he soon gave in.

“Yeah, what’s so important about it though?” Jungkook asked as he took the folder from you.

“Oh, it’s just Jimin’s folder. I am switching him to a different medication since he isn’t responding to this one well and I need Dr. Choi’s signature since all medication changes need to be run by him, especially after the last doctor started stealing all sorts of medications.” You explained and he nodded in understanding.

“Okay, sure. Can you just stay here and watch the cameras though? I am sure nothing will happen but I can’t be too sure.” You nodded and sat down in the chair that he was previously sitting in.

You watched him through the cameras and waited until he got onto the elevator to position all the cameras away from the stairwells and to turn off the parking lot camera. You looked to the camera that pointed towards Dr. Choi’s office and you saw Jungkook unlocking the door. You replaced the cameras’ image from the isolation wing to live feedback from your office and live feedback from the rowdy group of guards on break.

You heard the elevator ding which meant that Jungkook was just about to come back. You quickly swiped the master key from his desk drawer and slipped it in your white coat pocket. You gathered the extra coat and your bag and stood up while waiting for Jungkook to return.

“Thank you so much Jungkook, you’re a lifesaver. Have a nice night!” You said when he finally came back. Jungkook was not dumb by any means so you had to rush to the isolation wing, which was a floor below you, before he fixed the cameras. When you finally reached Namjoon’s door you quietly stuck the key in and slowly opened the door to avoid any creaking.

“Who is it?” Namjoon asked, it was dark and he couldn’t tell who it was until he heard your voice.

“It’s me. I need you to be quiet. Don’t ask questions.” You said as you grabbed the handcuff master key from your pocket. You unlocked his ankle and handed him the hat and white doctor’s coat. He slipped his laceless shoes on while putting everything else on. You gave him a face mask to wear as you fixed his hat to cover his hair. You hopped when you passed the guards outside they would just assume it was Dr. Jung since that is what Namjoon’s coat said.

“Why are you doing this?” He questioned.

“Because everyone is right. You are my favorite patient and I made a promise that you wouldn’t move facilities. I intend to keep that promise.”

“I didn’t know that you heard,” Namjoon muttered as you made your way out of his room. You left his door wide open before ushering him to the stairwell. You told him to stay quiet in the stairwell as you went back upstairs to Jungkook’s surveillance.

You softly knocked on the door which startled him. He was trying to fix the cameras when he finally looked over his shoulder. “Oh, Dr. (Y/L/N), I’m sorry I didn’t notice you. I was trying to fix the cameras. They must have reset. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I just wanted you to know that there was a door open in the isolation wing. I don’t know who’s room it was but I noticed it when I was leaving. I could have sworn there was a noise coming from down that hall.” You lied and Jungkook sprung into action, heading for the elevator. You could hear him call for the other guards over his walkie talkie. You quickly slipped the master key back into the drawer before running off to the stairwell. You could hear yelling coming from below you which meant the guards from break were taking the stairs.

“Keep your head down and follow my lead,” You whispered to Namjoon as you took his hand and started taking the stairs downstairs. A group of guards rushed past you and Namjoon without even giving both of you a second glance.

As you made it to the parking lot you rushed Namjoon to your car. You could hardly breathe. You and Namjoon got in quickly and it wasn’t until you were driving away did you realize what you had truly done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive to your apartment was silent. Your uneven breathing was the only noise. You had just ruined your entire career for one man, a man you barely knew beyond his mental health issues.

“Dr. (Y/L/N),” Namjoon started as you pulled into your parking complex.

“It’s (Y/N),” You cut him off. You shut the car off and leaned your head against the steering wheel. “We can talk once we get to my apartment.”

The elevator ride to your apartment was also silent. You quickly unlocked the door and rushed him inside. When the door was closed you let out a deep sigh. Namjoon took off the doctor’s coat, the hat, and the mask which left him in his clothes from the institute.

You wandered into your bedroom and pulled some of your ex’s old clothes out for Namjoon.

“This is all I have, I hope it fits.” You muttered before heading into the bathroom. “I’m going to clean up and we can talk when I come out.” You shut the door to the en suite bathroom and turned the shower on.

Your mind flooded with the reality of what you had done. You stripped your clothes off and stepped into the shower. The warm water felt good against your skin and helped calm you down. You were so enraptured in the feeling of the water that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open nor did you sense the presence of another person.

It wasn’t until you heard the glass door slide open did you finally see Namjoon. His body was rid of anything clothing and you tried to keep your eyes focused on his face.

“Namjoon, what are you doing?” You meekly asked. He motioned to the shower and moved to step under the showerhead. As his back was to you, you admired his back. His smooth skin seemed so inviting. He turned to face you and you finally allowed yourself to look down. His cock stood hard and proud, his tip was so pink and he was very thick.

“You risked it all for me. Let me repay you.” He explained before smashing his lips against yours. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer. He pushed your body against the shower wall and he let his hand trail down.

His fingers dipped down and you felt him brush over your clit. It had been a while since you had been with anyone, so you could already tell that you were going to be wet. His lips broke from yours as he attached them to your neck. He was leaving kisses all over until he found your sweet spot.

You gave a light moan as he sucked, surely leaving a mark. His fingers played with your clit slightly before Namjoon sunk a finger into you. Your hands that were once caught up in Namjoon’s hair were now on his chest and on his wrist to prevent him from pulling out. He added another finger which made another moan emit from you.

“Oh fuck, Joon,” You let out as his fingered worked in and out. He smirked against your skin before going faster. “Please, don’t stop.” You practically begged. Every word you spoke was like music to his ears. Never in a million years did he imagine he would be with you like this but here you were begging him to keep finger fucking you.

He quickly pulled his hand away and brought one to your throat. “As much as I loved hearing you beg for me to continue, I want to fuck you properly.” He said before he stepped out of the shower. You hated that he left you hanging but you quickly turned off the shower. You wrapped yourself in a towel after drying your hair. When you walked into your bedroom you saw Namjoon in boxers, waiting for you on the bed.

You let the towel fall and you saw Namjoon’s eyes trail up and down your body. He walked over to you and grabbed your face before roughly kissing you. His hands moved to the back of your thighs so you jumped to wrap your thighs around his waist. He practically threw you onto the soft bed.

His lips attached to your nipples and you threw your head back in bliss. His sweet mouth trailed down your stomach, leaving kisses and stopped between your legs. Your lower half was practically hanging off the edge of the bed, and Namjoon was knelt down before you. You became bashful for a moment and attempted to close your legs but Namjoon forced them open.

“Don’t hide from me.” He growled. He ran his tongue between your slit before paying attention to your clit. Your hands pulled at his hair as he relentlessly tongue fucked you but you finally let out a moan when he stuck two fingers in you as he sucked on your sensitive bud.

“Shit, baby,” you whimpered as you felt an orgasm approaching. “Please, I’m close,” you confessed. Your legs were closing around his head while a wave of pleasure washed over you. “Ah, Joon, fuck, I’m cumming.” You loudly moaned. He continued to lick and suck throughout your orgasm before he stopped. He crawled up towards you and kissed you deeply.

You could taste yourself on him and moaned when you felt his member press into your thigh. Namjoon was an incredibly patient man but all you wanted after that was him inside of you.

“Namjoon, I want you to fuck me.” You said. He let out a small chuckle and went to peel the boxers off. His cock was rock hard and he had beads of precum spilling from his tip. He pushed your legs open and put one over his shoulder.

“Fuck baby, you’re perfect,” He admitted while giving his cock a few strokes. He eased into you and he threw his head back in absolute pleasure. “Ah shit, your feel so fucking good.”

“Joon, please just,” You were cut off as he began to thrust into you. “Ah fuck, yes, fuck me harder.” Namjoon couldn’t help but smirk as he fucked into you harder. “Oh my god, yes, just like that. Fuck!” You moaned. You were slightly aware of the fact that your moans only rivaled that of a porn star’s but you didn’t care.

“This pussy is mine, got it?” He growled as his finger played with your clit. You only moaned in response which made him stop his movement.

“Joon, please,” You begged. You tried to move your hips but that only made him pull out. He flipped you over so you were on your stomach. He pulled your hips, forcing your face into the mattress.

“I said, your pussy is mine,” He groaned as he sunk into you again. “Now, who does this cunt belong to?” He slowly asked.

“Fuck, you Joon. I am yours. Now please, use me. Fill me with your cum,” You begged. He began to roughly pound into you after you said that and you muffled your screams with the sheets.

“You’re my slut got it. I’m gonna fuck you so good that this cock is all you think about it.” His hand struck your ass and left a red mark as he continued to fuck into you. Your lust-filled screams flooded the bedroom, and you knew for a fact that your neighbors could hear.

As he fucked into you, he reached down to get a grip on your hair. He pulled you up and brought his mouth to your ear while holding your hands behind your back. “Fuck baby girl, you’re pussy is so tight. Like it was made for me.” He grunted.

“It was, fuck Joon, I was made for you.” You moaned. He let go of your hair and slapped your ass again. “I’m close.” You said.

“Cum for me, baby, let go,” Namjoon encouraged. Your walls spasmed around his cock and a loud grunt came from him.

“Joon please, cum inside me.” You begged and that was all it took before he covered your walls in white. “Yes, fill me up.” You said innocently with a smile. His thrusts slowed before he pulled out. His cum was dripping from you and you could just tell how full you were.

“Damn baby, you look so good with my cum dripping from you. Just how I like it.” He kissed down your back before getting off the bed. He went into the bathroom and found a rag folded upon some bigger towels.

“Joon, where are you?” You called. He gave a low chuckle before you felt a damp cloth wipe his cum from your thigh.

“I am right here,” He said as he stuck a finger inside of you. “Just so you know, I am far from done with you.” He took it out soon though and laid down next to you once he was done cleaning you up.

You cuddled up next to him and ran your fingers through his hair. He was so handsome and part of you thinks that's why you were able to be swept off your feet by him.

“You know that you can’t go back to work.” He whispered as he kissed the top of your head. You nodded but didn’t say anything. You knew things changed but you were okay with it. “Why did you do it?” You took a second to answer before you got up and straddled him.

“I did it because I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing you again. I didn’t want you to go somewhere without me. I would have missed you too much.” You shyly confessed.

He smiled and nodded as you leaned over to kiss him passionately. Kissing him and being here with him made you feel complete.

“You’re the only person to understand me. I couldn’t ask for anything more,” He told you in between kisses.

“I signed a release form. So even if someone does find you, the form says you were released at the permission of Dr. Jung.” You finally let it slip. He grabbed your face and looked you dead in the eye.

“Never say his name again. I don’t even want you to think about that scumbag. Not while you're with me.” He commanded.

“How about you help me forget about him?” You taunted.

“Gladly.”

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #rm smut #rm au #namjoon au #bts one shot #namjoon one shot #bts requests #bts smut #kim namjoon #kim namjoon smut #namjoon dirty imagine #bts dirty imagine

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hklnvgl · 3 years

Text

but for their voices (iii)

(for the first week of the Mister Impossible Countdown by @pynchpromptweek : Adam’s College Experience! tw: past child abuse.)

3/4 | ao3 | prev. chapter | from the beginning

Breaks were the worst, Adam was starting to realize.

It’d also been like that back at the trailer, because with school off it was inevitable that his dad saw more of Adam, and he had more days to recover, too.

Ronan’s text came out of nowhere. Plans for thanksgiving?, and he left it at that, not offering plans of his own, not clarifying if this was him asking Adam to come down to visit or it was to make sure Adam actually did have plans.

But Ronan had no way of knowing Adam didn’t. In Ronan’s eyes, Adam had a perfectly normal family waiting for him back home to celebrate Thanksgiving with. Once, when Eliot had asked if he missed any homemade meals from home, Adam had said his mother made this awesome soup in chilly days. The only soup the real Mrs. Parrish had ever cooked was the canned type you got at the supermarket, a four-pack for less than four dollars. And it was up to Adam to heat it up most days, when his ma came late from work and his dad got cranky if he didn’t eat at the same time every day.

Might go home, Adam wrote, because it was the expected thing to write. You?

we normally gather here but my brother insisted on hosting this year. We’ll see how the shitshow goes

Fletcher asked, too, and only when Adam saw him freaking out because he’d run out of space in his hand luggage did he realize he needed to also start packing if he wanted it to be believable that he was travelling home.

“Packing is the worst,” Adam said, carefully folding his already ironed shirts on top of his comforter, wishing Fletcher would hurry up so he could hang them back into his tiny closet before any wrinkle appeared.

“And then you have to unpack,” Fletcher said, finally sitting down to tie his shoelaces. “Well, Adam. Have fun, yeah?”

“You too.” Adam forced a smile to cut his face. Fletcher waved as he wheeled away his suitcase.

Adam counted to ten after he’d left before he crossed the room to the door and locked it.

When he was younger, he’d been naïve enough to tell himself he’d be able to stop lying like this once he reached college. He was used to it, of course. He didn’t need to think too much to keep all his lies on track—he made sure to never tell stories that could contradict each other, even to people from different circles. It wasn’t even tiresome anymore—it just was. He’d been lying every hour of every day since he could remember. To his parents, to his teachers, to his classmates.

He didn’t believe his own lies, of course. Despite what his dad liked to say, Adam knew the difference between a lie and the truth. But once he told a story he made it real, in the way that he now had memories of having told that story, and the other person had no proof that what Adam had said hadn’t actually happened. So it was not only in Adam’s head.

Nobody wanted to hear the truth, anyway. The truth would just turn everything ugly and sad. It would ruin everything Adam had managed to build here, as flimsy and fragile as it all was.

He didn’t text Gansey, who was also staying in town, to meet up. He’d mentioned he had plans to go hiking somewhere anyway—nobody had questioned that he hadn’t joined his parents on their Europe trip. But they would question Adam if they knew he was staying.

So he ordered takeaway and stayed in his room, alone, catching up on his reading. He didn’t clean too much, so that when Fletcher came back he believed that Adam hadn’t been there either.

When Ronan texted him a picture of him and his brothers, Adam had a minute urge to throw his phone to the wall. He reined it in, of course, and sent back a smiling emoji before switching the whole thing off.

Sure, it must be nice to gather together around a big table with people who didn’t hate that you were born and enough food to put on a couple pounds. It was just not something Adam could hope to have.

He had work to do, anyway, so he spent the weekend catching up on his reading.

He was actually relieved when Fletcher came back, until he reminded Adam that it was less than a month until Christmas break.

Everyone here was thrilled about going on break—did they not want to be at Harvard in the first place? Why were they all so eager to leave?

So Adam had to cave and go along with the default sentiment and pretend he was also excited when he learnt that the dorms were closed for three full weeks so he had to find some alternative housing if he didn’t want to sleep under a bridge or something.

Ronan was back, too, but Adam wasn’t really in the mood to talk about vegetables and cattle when he was about to spend all the money he’d so carefully saved during these months in some shitty apartment that would charge him extra for staying such a short time.

He should probably look into off-campus accommodation for the following year.

Ronan, of course, noticed he wasn’t really feeling the holiday spirit.

“It’s just—,” Adam began, and Ronan’s face was so open, as he listened to what Adam had to say. As if Adam wasn’t using him to feel better about himself. “Exams are next week,” he lamely finished, hating himself for it.

“You’re going to fucking ace them, man.” Ronan raised his glass of soda in a mock cheer.

Adam nodded, because if he hadn’t Ronan would’ve known there was something else going on.

They hadn’t kissed again. Adam was hoping they could maybe do so tonight.

“Gansey’s been fucking annoying, too,” Ronan said. Adam remembered they were talking about exams.

“Yeah, you being here must be an unwelcome big distraction,” Adam nodded, before he realized what he was saying, by when it was too late to take it back.

Ronan laughed.

“That’s the reason I’m fucking here,” he said.

Adam looked away from him, at Gansey dancing with Benjy under the bright lights. Of course Ronan was here to visit his friend. Why had he let himself believe that Ronan had driven the whole eight hours it took to get here from his farm just because he missed Adam? After just a kiss that neither of them had mentioned ever since?

Adam truly was stupid.

“So you going home for break?” Ronan asked.

Adam looked back at him.

“Isn’t everybody?” he said, feeling cold all over despite how stuffy the pub was.

“Do you think—I mean, if you’re not busy, maybe I could come visit?”

“What? No, that’s—”

“I don’t care if it’s far. I just have my brothers over on Christmas day, but the rest of—”

“You can’t,” Adam snapped.

Ronan frowned, probably because Adam had let too much of the real him show.

The curve of Ronan’s eyebrows was asking for an explanation, but Adam didn’t have it in him to care to elaborate one. He went back to his own drink.

Ronan eventually stood up and went to talk to Gansey. Not long after, they both left.

Sorry for assuming, Ronan texted him later, when Adam was in bed reviewing his notes for his first exam on Monday morning.

He could have said something, then. A no problem, or I have a lot to study, or I miss my parents and want to spend some time with them. Whatever would make Ronan not run away. But he really needed to get a good grade in this exam and his eyes felt heavy already and he couldn’t let himself be distracted from the real objective here.

So, with a sigh, he went back to his notes.

He took his exams. He found a place to crash during break. On the 25th, he briefly considered sending Ronan a Merry Christmas text, but then chickened out when he remembered Ronan would be with his family.

The day he moved back to his dorm, Gansey called and said he wanted to meet with everyone. Adam hadn’t talked to anyone for weeks, outside of the job he’d taken refilling supermarket shelves, so he agreed to go.

As they walked to the diner, Fletcher told him all about the cute trinkets his grandmother had gifted the whole family. Adam kept asking questions about it so that Fletcher wouldn’t remember to ask Adam about his own presents.

He only realized Gansey had failed to mention he wasn’t coming alone when Benjy was already hugging him hello.

Because, sandwiched on the booth between Gansey and a girl Adam didn’t know, there was Ronan Lynch.

(next chapter)

#pynch #adam parrish #ronan lynch #the raven cycle #trc #pynch fic #tdt #cdth #but for their voices #fic #cw child abuse #d

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sittingoverheredreaming · 3 years

Text

Same Prompt Party! Usagi: New Year’s Fireworks

I told myself that I would get this done much sooner than the last minute because I’ve grown as a person since the last same prompt party, but that was a fucking lie ahaha. Here it is, though, just shy of 2,200 words!

______________________________________________________________________

Fireworks weren’t supposed to start until midnight. Everyone knew that. But when Usagi opened a groggy eye to check the time after the first roaring booms, it was barely ten. Not that she knew that right away-- the clock was still up on the nightstand, entirely out of sight from the mattress’s current position on the floor. She had to fumble around for her phone instead, as careful and quiet as she could ever be. Only then did she see that it was a touch past ten, and that she had more notifications than her phone could display, the last several of which were texts from Mina.

still time for you to come out!

lots of hot guys here tonight, what mamoru doesn’t know can’t hurt him ;) ;) ;)

kidding, of course. i miss you!

Usagi turned her phone over and curled her body back around Chibiusa. Apart from a scrunch of her little eyebrows, she seemed undisturbed by the growing ruckus outside. Usagi put a hand on her tummy anyway, just in case she needed some comfort.

She could have gone out with everyone, even with a six month old. There was generally little they did all together that couldn’t accommodate a baby. There wouldn’t have been any fuss if she’d asked for it. Last year’s party at Haruka and Michiru’s house had even been alcohol free, just because she couldn’t drink. It had seemed like everything might have been okay then-- it was the first year they rung in in peace, Usagi was pregnant with their promised princess, and if their powers had deserted them and the crystal towers of Serenity’s palace had yet to rise, that couldn’t compare to the hope that lit up Usagi’s heart the same as the fireworks lit up the sky.

But like the fireworks, it was short lived.

Usagi shifted her arm under her head. She’d read in a book-- she’d tried very hard to read a great many books before Chibiusa was born-- that you weren’t supposed to let a baby sleep in bed with you, but she hadn’t been able to stick to it. A bed was so large if you slept alone. But she’d done what she could to be safe. No pillows. A blanket only for her feet, because even in socks they got so cold. She wore layers of sweaters to bed. Sometimes when she woke up she was drenched in sweat beneath them, but always when she woke up Chibiusa was breathing. It was a fair trade.

And she hadn’t done it the first few months. Newborn Chibiusa had slept in her crib beside the bed, though Usagi probably didn’t deserve credit for that because she’d had Mamoru in bed with her then. It had been easier-- not easy but easier-- to leave Chibiusa where she was supposed to be. It was only around the four month mark that he’d sat on the edge of that very same bed they’d shared and said “I feel like we’ve played our roles and run out of script.” His voice was so low that she almost hadn’t heard, that she knew he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all, but it had been the end of it all the same. She’d asked him to leave. She hadn’t told the others yet. She didn’t need to give them the idea before they came to it on their own.

She ran her hand softly along Chibiusa’s face, then through her hair. Her straight, dark hair that shone red-brown in sunlight but otherwise had no hint bubblegum pink. That had been the proof. They weren’t in the future they thought they were fighting for. The future Mamoru and the others had signed on for.

There was another crackle and a bang. The room lit up for a few seconds before dropping back into its long shadows. Usagi wished they would stop. What was there to celebrate? If last year had been the first year without war, this was the first year without hope. The first year where everyone would know there was nothing keeping them tied to Usagi. The first year Usagi was bringing in alone, or very nearly.

Her phone buzzed again and she didn’t bother to look what it was. Everyone had their own things to do, and even as they made a show of trying to bring her in, they were still off doing them. And that was better. She’d never meant to trap anyone, however much she wanted them to stay. She was never like Serenity in that way. Maybe that was why she no longer was Serenity.

She tried to make herself sleep instead of thinking. It had always been such an easy thing, but even that was different now. Always exhausted, hardly able to sleep-- was she even Usagi still? Was she anything? What was left of her that hadn’t faded alongside her powers?

More bangs, one after the other, bounced against her ears to join the cacophony of thoughts between them. It took her a long moment to realize the noise was not paired with the flashing lights of more fireworks. Usagi shot up. Someone was at the door, pounding their fists against it by the sound of it. She hesitated for a moment over Chibiusa-- she was sleeping so well, even moving her over to the crib seemed cruel. She kissed her cheek and left her there, willing her with all her might to stay still.

Usagi threw a robe over her pajamas and hurried to the door as the knocking grew somehow more insistent. She didn’t yell that she was coming for fear of waking Chibiusa. Whoever was at the door didn’t seem to have the same concern.

“Usagi! I know you’re in there. I will break down this door if you don’t open it right--”

Rei stopped short as Usagi flung the front door open. “Shhh! Chibiusa is asleep.”

“Sorry, sorry. You weren’t coming.”

This was the part, Usagi knew, where she was supposed to snap back that she was, and comment about Rei’s impatience or whine about how unfair she was or make some sort of production, but she didn’t have the heart or the energy. A beat passed in silence. Rei frowned.

“I decided,” she said as she stepped inside and shrugged off her coat, “That we can’t bring in the New Year like this.”

“Like what?”

Rei looked her in the eye, still all fire even without Mars. “Don’t like what me. You’re hiding away here when you should be with me. With us, all of us.”

“I have to take care of Chibiusa.”

“So? We love her. Or let her stay with Mamoru, wherever he’s living now.”

Usagi’s stomach dropped. Rei wasn’t supposed to know, no one was supposed to know. It was her most awful secret. She didn’t know if she felt angry or sad or relieved that it was out, maybe all three, or nothing at all, or--

A soft thump from the back of the house broke her train of thought. “No, no!” she hissed, running back to the bedroom as Chibiusa began to wail. The mattress was not spectacularly thick, the fall to the ground was only a matter of inches, but still. Inches could be enough, and then Usagi would have nothing, nothing left at all. She scooped Chibiusa into her arms. The little girl quieted immediately. She looked fine, not so much as a red mark anywhere she might have hit the ground, no blood, no bruises. Startled, probably. That was all. Usagi held her tight anyway.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Haven’t you heard of privacy? A Usagi who no longer existed snapped from deep within the Usagi who did’s head. “It’s safer this way. If she’s not in the crib. It’s safer like this.”

She watched Rei take it in, the mattress on the floor next to the bed frame, the lack of pillows, the singular blanket, Chibiusa’s crib gathering dust in the corner. “Usagi… what are you doing?”

What does it look like? and What I have to, and What are you doing, Rei? sounded in the back of her mind, but Usagi only shrugged.

“We’ve been waiting for you to say something, anything. Mako thinks you need time, but god, Usagi, how much time could you need?” She put her hands on her hips, readying for a fight Usagi didn’t have in her. “I’m not starting a year with you lying to us.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Like hel--” She looked at Chibiusa, face dipping towards sheepish before hardening again. “Like heck you didn’t! There have been three times you’ve said Mamoru was here when he--”

“Rei. What does it matter?”

Rei’s jack went slack. She mouthed through several silent words, through surprise and anger and emotions too quick for Usagi to catch. “We’re your friends.”

“For how much longer?”

“What?” Rei looked furious enough that she might have slapped Usagi if she weren’t holding a baby.

Usagi held Chibiusa a little tighter. “It’s over Rei. I’m not Serenity, you don’t have to stay.”

“Have to-- after everything, you think-- over?” Rei stopped her foot and turned out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Chibiusa began wailing again.

Usagi rocked back and forth to try and calm her down, but not thirty second later Rei banged her way back in. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re scaring her.”

Somehow, Rei thought the correct response was to pluck Chibiusa out of Usagi’s arms. Infuriatingly, it worked. Rei bounced Chibiusa against her shoulder and Chibiusa stopped crying in favor or yanking on a hunk of Rei’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither is anyone else.” The anger in her tone was undercut with the cooing voice she took on when speaking to Chibiusa. “After everything we’ve been through--”

“After everything, this isn’t even the future you were fighting for!” Usagi felt might cry, not the big wails that used to bring her comfort but the awful, hopeless tears that left her dry and exhausted-- more exhausted-- in the aftermath. “All that, and now it’s just… this. You were promised a different world, and I couldn’t give it to you. I messed it up somehow. Of course I did. Of course, stupid Usagi... but now you don’t have to be stuck with me. You can just live your life, you don’t have to ruin it anymore.”

“Usagi…” Rei gently placed Chibiusa in her crib and grabbed Usagi into a hug. “That’s not how it is at all.”

Usagi started crying in earnest, glad she could hide her face in Rei’s chest. “You don’t have to pretend--”

“Cut that out,” Rei barked, but she stroked Usagi’s hair with all the same tenderness she’d shown Chibiusa. “I’m not your friend because of the Moon Kingdom. That’s why we met, but that’s not why I’m here now.”

“It’s not?” Usagi hiccuped.

“I’m here for you. And god, I never wanted-- Crystal Tokyo scared the shit out of me, and I know I’m not the only one. When it started to look like things would just be normal, it was a relief.”

“But…” Usagi couldn’t think of how she wanted to protest. It didn’t sound like it could be true. Crystal Tokyo had seemed cold and severe, but it was the good future, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it what everyone wanted?

Rei pulled away to look Usagi in the eye. “If I had a choice, this is the future I’d pick. Except--” she pressed her knuckles against Usagi’s head. “I’d change it so you don’t try and hide everything.”

“I thought if you knew, you’d leave, too.” Usagi stared at the ground.

“Stupid.”

“I am.”

Rei flicked her nose. “Shut up. Help me get this mattress back where it belongs.”

Usagi helped her-- or tried to, by some measure-- hoist it back on the bed frame, and then before she could protest Rei had found pillows and blankets to pile on top of it. She climbed in and gestured for Usagi to join her.

“You’re not doing this alone, even if you want to.” Rei put her arms around her. “You’d have to move far away and change your name to get rid of us, and even then I’d probably still find you.”

Usagi laughed despite herself. “Probably.”

“Let us help you. Let me help you.” Rei brushed some hair off her face. “You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.”

“Go to sleep, then.”

Usagi wanted to tell Rei it wasn’t that easy, but the next thing she knew she was roused by the pop and crackle of more fireworks. Her head was still on Rei’s chest, and something warm pressed against her back. Ami curled against her on the silver of open bed space. Flashes of light illuminated Mako and Mina sprawled on the floor. Usagi swallowed a sob, but it tasted like warmth instead of despair. She closed her eyes again as the fireworks escalated to their finale outside, feeling a small sparkle of hope begin to bloom again in her chest. The new year, their whole new future, had arrived, and she wasn’t facing it on her own.

#same prompt party #sam writes #surprisingly this is not a seiusa fic! I am a little disappointed in myself for that but I liked this idea

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