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ahatintimepieces · 3 years

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It Comes Down in Buckets

Before Luka and Hattie ended up in Subcon, they faced many challenges on the road as they adjusted to Luka’s curse. This is a lil gift for Mak, @doodledrawsthings, and their “””Coffeeshop au””” where Luka pushes himself a bit too hard while trying to make the day special for Hattie. Please enjoy!

Word Count: 7,678

The rolling waves tumbled against the velvet sand and the morning sunlight skipped across the foaming crests, painting them gold. Hattie’s grip tightened around the old bucket she had found as she inhaled the salty, fishy air. Standing at the patches of grass that separated the edge of the forest from the beach, she gazed out at the shore. Her sketchbook waited in her backpack, begging her to pull it out and to memorialize the look of the sea and snapshot the ebb and flow of surging waves, but she had work to do.

She had to find the prettiest seashells before anyone else so she could sell them for some extra cash. Every little bit helped.

Weaving down to the beach, the warming sand caught between her toes and kicked up with each flop and flip of her flipflops. She swung the dented bucket with rust stains as she hurried to the lapping tide. She stepped into the water and immediately squealed before jumping back from the cold. The foam receded, as if teasing her, and an impish grin spread across her features.

As the water crawled back up the shore, Hattie fixed her old baseball cap and then leapt into the ankle-deep wave. Her initial screech dissolved into laughter. Splashing around, her flipflops tossed clouds of murky dust up and the sloshing, icy water splattered against her leg. She placed her hands on her hips and struck a pose as she gazed out at the sliver of light where the sky paralleled the ocean. With the cascading crackles of the snapping sea rumbling around her, it was hard not to let her mind wander into daydreams.

She could picture it perfectly. A calm day at the beach. No time limits for her dad, no worrying about money, and he could finally rest. He could finally be happy again. And she could play in the surf and chase crabs, pretend to be a pirate finding buried treasure, or draw and paint next to her dad as he napped. She could picture it so perfectly.

But she glanced down at the bucket as it bumped against her hip. Its creaking handle brought her back to reality.

Hattie let out a huff before shuffling out of the grasp of the waves, where it would be easier to spot shells. But before she did, a playful crest rolled back to reveal the tip of a fancy looking shell. Gasping, Hattie knelt and carefully tugged the shell free and revealed what she always thought of as a mini conch, though her dad would probably tell her that it was whelk of some kind since it had a rounder top and thinner end.

After checking the inside cavity for any snail or sea critter by poking a cautious finger around to confirm it was empty, she held the whelk to her ear.

She grinned when she heard the ocean. But she was also standing in it so the shell could still potentially be a dud. Nevertheless, she placed it into the bucket, and it slid around as she went searching for more.

As Hattie combed the beach, a couple people showed up to lounge on the sand or wade in the surf. It didn’t get crowded, since it was a workday, but when she wandered towards the opposite side of the long beach, where the sand was cut off by rounded boulders that jutted out into the sea, she ran into a tourist screaming at a seagull.

“What’s wrong?” Hattie called as she hoisted her bucket overflowing with shells to the side to make it easier to sprint forward.

“That darn seagull took my stuff!” The tourist gestured angrily towards a seagull perched on one of the rocks surrounded by water. It bobbed its head around as it stood proudly over a grey camera. Sunlight glinted against the lens.

“I’ll get it,” Hattie offered without hesitation. She placed the bucket down and scrambled up the boulders.

“Wait, kid, you don’t have to!” He waved his hands across his chest, trying to get her to stop, but it was too late. She didn’t listen as she assessed the slippery boulders and slowly navigated her way across.

She came to the edge of the final boulder and eyed the gap between it and the one in the waves. The seagull cocked its head towards her and let out a squawk. Pausing, Hattie glanced around, trying to figure out how to distract the seagull.

Before she could, the seagull snapped its beak towards something behind her and she glanced over her shoulder to find the tourist was waving a sandwich around. The seagull swooped over her, and she belatedly ducked as it soared over to the tourist. He yelped and turned on his heels before sprinting from the squawking bird.

Hattie tugged her cap down in determination before turning back towards the rock. She took a cautious step back before lunging from the boulder and vaulting onto the next. Grunting after she smacked against the rock, she scrambled up and grabbed the camera. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and nestled the camera between her sketchbook and Professor Popcorn. For good measure, she tucked her dad’s hoodie around it to keep it extra safe.

Once her backpack was zipped, she looped her arms through the straps and got ready to jump back.

The tourist had returned to his spot, hunched over and panting with his cap askew and white and grey feathers stuck to his vibrant orange shirt. She inhaled a steadying breath and leapt back towards shore.

She misjudged the distance.

Nearly sliding over the side of the rock, she scraped her knee against stone as she clambered and clawed. Panic squeezed her chest until she could finally find her grip.

“Careful, now!” the tourist called as she hoisted herself up with her heart pounding. She glanced towards the worried man and gave him a thumbs up before crawling forward.

Her stinging knee threatened to buckle when she first stood, but she gritted her teeth and pushed onward. She navigated back to the beach and dropped down onto the sand.

“Geez, kid, that was dangerous!” the tourist sighed as Hattie pulled out his camera.

“But I got it!” She beamed, holding it out proudly. Her smile faltered when she noticed the identical camera that hung around his neck. His chin tilted down as he followed her gaze.

“I was trying to tell you, I have a spare,” he said apologetically. “But, hey! Since you got it, why don’t you keep it? It’s great for preserving memories!”

Hattie pulled the camera back, appraising the contraption.

Preserving memories? No matter how much she sketched all the places she and her father had been, it might be nice to be able to just take a picture to quickly capture everything. She could take a picture of the sea, in fact. But she stared into the curved lens with growing dismay.

Flashes of headlights and blinding snaps. Posters with blurry images of her shadowy dad offering money for anyone who could capture the pictured creature, dead or alive. And, even when he shapeshifted, he was still so jumpy around cameras.

Maybe she could sell it at a pawn shop for a little extra cash? In the meantime, it might not hurt to keep it on hand…

“Oh, hold on,” the tourist exclaimed, startling her out of her thoughts. She tucked the camera back into her backpack and blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. “You got quite the scrape there, let me help.” He motioned her over to his set up on the beach, complete with a towel and umbrella.

After the tourist helped her clean up and shared back-up sandwiches he had prepared, she let him choose one of the shells to take as thanks and set off to sell the rest.

She set up a little area at the top of the beach, halfway between the rest of the city and the parking lot for beach goers. After doodling a cute sign declaring her wares were ready, she caught the eyes of passersby and wove imaginative tales about the shells for anyone who came near. Since this wasn’t the first time that she had sold items that she salvaged while her dad worked, she had developed a good enough sense to get a read on personalities and how to appeal to them. Parents with children were easily swayed by silly stories about the shells. She even managed to convince a businessman walking by to purchase one since her wares were far cheaper than the nearby souvenir shops that sold the same shells. And, after all, hers were higher quality and, really, didn’t he want to support an aspiring entrepreneur? (It probably helped her chances that she practiced that word a few times prior to make sure she was pronouncing it right).

She bolted when she spotted some cops patrolling the area, though.

By the end of the day, she successfully sold more than half of her shells. She tucked the coins and cash safely into an inside pocket in her backpack, where her secret stash would help her buy food for whenever her dad inevitably got stuck in noddle form and couldn’t work. She had tried giving her earnings to him directly before, but he had only gotten upset, insisting she didn’t need to worry about money and it was his job to take care of her, not the other way around. But they both knew that he often pushed himself past his limits, and he couldn’t do everything himself.

She was just beginning to collect firewood close to their camp when footsteps tracked through the grass. Hattie froze, turning towards the sound and holding her breath. Golden light flickered between the trees and an approaching shadow broke into the small clearing.

“Hey, kiddo!” Her dad, still in his human form, which surprised her, jumped forward with a wide grin and his hands behind his back. Wrinkles lined the corners of his eyes, but he was alert with enthusiasm as he straightened. A plastic bag crinkled noisily as it swayed behind him. “Guess what I got for our most important celebration tonight?”

“Celebration?” Hattie tilted her head, though his energy was infectious, and she cracked a smile.

“Don’t tell me you forgot what day it is,” he teased, bringing his hand forward and adjusting the delivery cap he wore for his morning job of delivering papers.

“Payday?” she guessed, crossing over to their firepit and dropping the dry twigs and branches she found.

“N-no, kiddo,” he faltered, quirking a brow as he revealed a plastic bag with local dollar store logo. “It’s your birthday!”

“Oh.” She blinked up at him.

“Did you really forget?” His features fell and the worn creases on his face highlighted the underlining fatigue. “We talked about it, right? When we were-when we were moving.”

“Y-yeah,” Hattie said. She did sort of remember now that he mentioned it, but she hadn’t thought too much about it since they had other things to worry about. “I just forgot what day of the week it is.”

He didn’t seem to believe her but he accepted the excuse.

“Well, I got hot dogs and marshmallows,” he added quickly, pulling out a bag of large marshmallows for emphasis. If he sensed how she tensed, he ignored it and gestured towards the direction of the beach. “I thought we could start a fire at one of the communal firepits and have a cookout!”

“What about our camp?” Hattie gestured to the little circle of rocks they had set up a few days ago when they first decided to settle in this city.

“It’ll still be here,” he promised. After tucking the marshmallows back into the bag, he walked over to her pile of wood and searched for the longest and cleanest sticks.

“But the beach is out in the open,” she pressed, nervously fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Don’t you need to change back?”

“Of course not!” he insisted with a little more force than he probably intended. In a lighter tone, he waved his hand dismissively with a smile plastered across his face. “I can hold it together long enough for your birthday. Come on! Let’s have fun!”

He placed a few sticks he deemed worthy for hot dog and marshmallow roasting into the plastic bag and then motioned for her to follow.

“But—” she hesitated.

“You know, I used to do this when I was a kid,” he jumped enthusiastically into the memory, not giving her a chance to argue. She frowned but grabbed her backpack and the bucket that still had the leftover seashells.

Hey, if they were going to be on the beach, she might as well keep an eye out for more.

“Any time we went camping, we would grab a bunch of hot dogs and marshmallows. Of course,” he added a bit quietly as they walked through the woods, “usually we had buns and graham crackers and chocolate. But I did snag some ketchup packets from the restaurant!” He beamed proudly.

Hattie forced a smile, though guilt gnawed at the reminder that he had worked two jobs that day, trying to get enough money together so that they could find a motel to stay at sooner than later. She considered giving him the money she had saved, but she didn’t want to cause him more grief especially since she could tell he was masking his exhaustion. Maybe she could hide the money where he would find it with his things? She could pass it off as him misplacing the bills!

Though, both of them had become increasingly vigilant when dealing with money in the past couple years. He would have noticed if that much went missing in the first place.

“Here we are,” he gestured to the firepit closest to the forest the second they walked onto the sand. “Sit tight while I get the fire going.” There was wrapped firewood next to the pit, all ready for them and their cookout. His water bottle was also leaning against one of the logs, indicating that he had stopped by before running to get her. While he finished setting up, Hattie gazed out at the sea.

The water mirrored the stretch of twilight. Orange-pink rays of dwindling sunlight lingered on the horizon and the occasional star twinkled in the darkening sky. Crackles and pops that came from the growing fire behind her mingled with the surging waves before her. And when her dad joined her side and held out his hand, she smiled as she took it, keeping her gaze locked on the horizon.

“It’s like that one picture in the book at the library in the last town,” she whispered, craning her neck back to meet his warm golden gaze. “The one with the watercolor illustrations!”

“It is!” he agreed, giving her hand a tight squeeze.

“I want to paint something like this one day,” she admitted, turning back to the sea.

“I bet you can, and sooner than you think.” His smile permeated his voice. He gently tugged her hand and nodded towards the firepit. Despite the lines under his eyes, he did seem happy, and that was good enough for Hattie.

“Okay!” She joined him on a log, and eagerly waited for him to pass her a stick he doused with water to keep it from burning.

Her dad filled her in on his day as they roasted the hot dogs. He got her laughing with a few jokes his coworkers shared, and she nodded knowingly when he told her about some of the customers he had worked with. When he asked about her day as he broke open the bag of marshmallows, she explained that she was looking for seashells and presented the bucket with her findings.

“Quick, if you have twenty seashells and I take five, how many do you have left?” he quizzed.

“F-fifteen!” Hattie blinked, hesitating only a moment as she registered the question.

“Good girl,” he praised, passing over a marshmallow.

“If you bought one bag of marshmallows for tonight, how many marshmallows will you have tomorrow morning?” She blinked up at him, trying and failing to conceal her growing smirk.

“Hmm.” He speared his own marshmallow as he gave her a wry grin. “That’s a tough one, why don’t you give me a hint?”

“Zero!” She pulled her burning marshmallow out of the fire and quickly blew on it.

The flames dissipated into a plume of smoke, leaving a burnt crust behind on the marshmallow. Without waiting, she popped it into her mouth and the gooey burst of molten sugar melted on her tongue.

“Becath I’ll eat ‘em all!” she declared through her sticky mouthful.

“Just don’t choke!” He chuckled before putting his arm around her and giving her a side squeeze. She immediately snuggled into his side, comforted by his warmth.

As they worked through the marshmallows and the night cloaked the beach, Hattie pulled out the hoodie and tugged it over herself. The hoodie was far too big since it was her dad’s but despite the floppy sleeves and how it was more like a dress on her, it was cozy and kept the night chill away. She became even cozier when her dad plucked her up and enveloped her in a hug.

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered as he nuzzled his cheek against hers.

“Hap—erm,” her cheeks flushed since she had almost wished him a happy birthday back. “Thank you.”

He chuckled and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Okay, I have one more surprise,” he said, arching back and stretching his arm maybe a bit farther than a human arm should, and rummaged around the plastic bag.

She leaned over, trying to peek and his other hand moved over her eyes.

“Don’t look!” He shifted around a bit before Hattie felt something lower into her lap. “Alright, now you can.” He pulled his hand away and she immediately glanced down.

Watercolors. A plastic palette of watercolors rested in her lap with a tiny brush snuggly tucked into a divot on the side. A single golden ribbon was taped on for the birthday wrapping. Her chest tightened as she imagined all the things she could paint, all the things she wanted to bring to life with water-soaked pigments.

But how much did he spend on her?

“Well?” he prompted with an edge of nervousness. “Is it okay?”

“I love it.” In one swift movement, she hugged the palette before swiveling around and burying her face into his chest. A lump threatened to lodge in her throat, but she swallowed it as she hugged her dad.

“Oh, Hattie.” He leaned over her and held her tightly. “I’m glad. I know it’s not much.”

“It’s perfect,” she promised, grasping his shirt.

He did so much for her, sacrificed so much just to take care of her, and now this? She wished she could do more to help.

After a few moments of lingering in his embrace, she pulled back while rubbing at her eyes.

“Everything oh-ahem.” Her dad suddenly pulled his hand away from his task of brushing her hair back. She wrinkled her nose as she blinked up at him.

He held his hand behind his back and his nervous, forced smile revealed his growing fangs.

“Dad,” she shuffled out of his lap, “you need to change back.”

She glanced around the beach quickly, relieved that there was no one nearby to see him.

“No!” He winced when an edge of a reverb tainted his voice. He cleared his throat and waved his other hand dismissively. It had completely turned ebony-violet. “I’m fine! I can hold it for a little long—” he stalled as he glimpsed his other hand and snapped it behind his back too, “—longer.”

Hattie frowned with her brows drooping. His irises radiated golden light as his pupils faded.

“Please. I know I can—” he faltered, pulling his hands back and holding them out before himself. His fingers trembled as they dripped, trying to reconnect. He bit his lip and grimaced when his lengthening fangs jabbed him. The familiar, purple-singed shadows spread from the expanding tips of his chestnut hair.

“It’s okay,” she insisted, turning around and rolling up the sleeves of the hoodie to start cleaning up so that they could head back to camp. She knew he was probably more exhausted than he let on.

“But it’s your birthday,” he whispered in such a broken voice that she felt a world of guilt press against her shoulders.

“And I can still spend it with you as a noodle!” She kept her tone light, giving him a smile strained from her concern.

The gold had encased his eyes and his teeth became backlit by a surging light in his throat. He considered her with tight dismay before scowling.

“No!” He pushed to his feet. “No, I can do this!”

“But, Dad,” Hattie called anxiously, unable to do anything but watch as he paced by the bonfire.

He held his hands out in front of himself, clenching them as he stared daggers into his purple palms. During his pacing, his legs began to quiver, and he paused, hunching as his hair began to drip. His fingers merged into mittens, taking on a gloopy appearance and Hattie thought that that was it, that he would just start getting bigger. She opened her mouth to try and get him to focus on saving his clothes, but the words died in her throat.

“Stop changing,” he wheezed in a wavering voice. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as he strained to keep a human shape. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, snuffing out his golden light. The flickering fire cast twisting shadows against his trembling form. His arms lost all pretense of having bones and flopped down like limp noodles. His legs buckled and he thrust out his hand to catch himself.

“Something’s wrong!” Hattie hurried to his side, reaching out as his mitten hand clenching the sand lost its shape entirely and expanded into a puddle.

“N-no,” his reverberating voice gurgled behind globs of dripping purple that stretched across his mouth when he parted his lips. “I can do this!” But just as he said that, he grunted and lurched forward. Viscous liquid oozed from his shoes as his legs melted.

But they didn’t form a tail.

They just pooled out uselessly behind him.

“Dad!” Hattie placed a hand on his arm, but it collapsed under her touch. He let out a strangled cry as his whole arm gave away and he slammed against the beach.

He continued to melt despite his groaning and straining. The trembling shadows spilled from his clothes and into the sand. Panic seized Hattie’s chest as she feared she was going to lose him to the beach. Glancing around frantically, her gaze fell onto the bucket, and she lunged for it.

“Hold on!” Hattie called as she dumped the shells out and slid over to her father, who had gone eerily silent as the pooling liquid oozed and spread.

She dropped the bucket into the sand and quickly tried to shove waves of the viscous liquid inside, catching particles of sand with it. Once half of him filled the rusted bucket and kept spilling out, she righted it before scooping up purple globs. She tossed handful after handful of the soupy remains of her father into the bucket. The trembling sludge sputtered and splashed. Tears stung the corners of her eyes when she saw some liquid darkening and fading into intangible shadows that disappeared into the sand, gone for good.

“Stay with me,” she whispered in a cracking voice as she scooped up every last bit that she could.

After wringing purple from his shirt, pants, and the edges of her sleeves which had tumbled into the puddle a few times, Hattie searched for any of her father’s features in the goop squelching against the edges of the bucket.

“Dad?” She lightly prodded the thick surface of the liquid and it shivered. A muffled groan bubbled up, though no golden light from his eyes or mouth followed. Hattie sighed, sitting back in the sand as she convinced herself that the fact that he had groaned meant he was still there. But now just as soup. In a bucket.

They’ve been through worse, right? This, too, should pass?

“Okay, you just sleep while I clean up,” she muttered as she pushed to her feet.

She collected their things and put out the fire, all the while glancing at the bucket as the goop settled. Once she had the plastic bag slung over her shoulder and her birthday gift tucked into her backpack, she slowly picked up the bucket.

“Oof,” she huffed as she heaved the bucket up, wincing when droplets splashed over the side. “Why is magic goop so heavy? That’s stupid,” she grumbled as she slowly made her way across the dark beach and back to their camping area. As she paused multiple times to give her arms a break and catch her breath, she swallowed the rising lump in her throat and pushed onward.

Luka groaned and on top of the usual reverb that came with his noodle body it sounded oddly like the gurgle of a garbage disposal choking on water. He blinked tired eyes and the golden glow rebounded against the daffodil-yellow inside of Hattie’s baseball cap.

Oh. Had he shrunk down and dozed while Hattie was shopping? That didn’t seem right. Actually, what had he been doing before this?

A surge of panic bubbled up as he recalled trying to hold onto his humanity at the beach. He remembered the tighter he held the form, the more it slipped through his clenched fingers. He heard a slosh of thick liquid when he tried to lift his hand.

He couldn’t lift his hand.

He couldn’t even turn his head! His eyes darted around frantically, catching the rim of some sort of curving, metal wall in the corners of his vision but he could only really look straight up at Hattie’s cap.

“K-ki—” he sputtered as some sort of gunk trickled into his mouth. Expelling wet coughs only caused more of the viscous goop to slip in. His anxious attempts to move coupled with his hyperventilating only increased the panicked sloshing that sounded like puddles disrupted by pricks of rain.

“Dad?” Hattie’s sleepy voice responded.

“H-help I’m—” he gagged on a particularly large glob.

“Hold on!”

He tried to spit out the gunk and a heavy droplet plunked against him. He shivered from the sensation but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what was going on. Relief swelled when the cap was removed and Hattie looked down at him, with sunlight filtering through the trees. Squinting at the sudden light, he tried to squirm around.

While not happy, she at least looked safe and sound. She wore his delivery cap, and he could see the dangling strings of his hoodie. If the sunlight was any indication, he must have slept through the night. He grimaced, hoping she hadn’t been too uncomfortable or cold without his coil to protect her from the elements.

“What’s going on?” he forced out, feeling like he was talking through a wad of bubblegum.

Hattie sat back, making it harder for him to see her at his angle. He twisted to try to get closer.

“You’re in a bucket,” she answered tiredly. When she glanced up and realized she was wearing his delivery cap, she jolted and swiftly took it off.

“A bucket?” he echoed in distress. His eyes shifted around as he glimpsed the walls and the occasional splash of purple-black goop if he moved too quickly. He blinked.

“Oh my god, I melted.”

“Yeah,” Hattie sighed as she rubbed her eyes with the baggy, purple sleeve. “Are you okay?”

“Um.”

No.

“I’ve been better.” He winced, realizing all the gunk that was getting caught in his mouth was himself. Fantastic.

“Do you need anything?” she prompted with hesitation as she glanced around. “Like water or something?”

“I need to get out of this bucket!” He pushed his eye against the rim, and he felt himself ripple. “Here, dump me out! I can try to—” he coughed, “—pull myself back together.”

“I lost so much of you on the beach though,” Hattie objected. “And y-you just disappeared, like the goopy stuff turned all shadowy.”

He caught the crack in her voice, and frowned, both from hearing how part of him just up and evaporated—okay, a lot of him if what was left of his monstrous noodle form could fit inside a tiny bucket—and from how much he had frightened her.

“I can’t stay like this, though,” he argued. “I have work! And you can’t stay in the woods on your own!” He shifted around, trying to figure out how to stretch his neck or anything but his neck and everything was gone! First, he lost his body and now he lost his monster body? This wasn’t fair! He couldn’t live like this!

In his frustration, he tried to will himself to have arms or hands or even his tail would work. The goop bubbled and frothed, and he grunted from the strain, but he could do it! He could pull himself together!

“Stop!” Hattie commanded. He yelped as he felt small hands jut into the goop and scoop up his features.

He felt himself spread out and winced as strands dripped back down into the bucket with heavy plops. It was like the world and his body were spinning around him, disconnected and far from his grasp as his head remained stagnant but stuck. After blinking and spotting Hattie’s thumb acting as a barrier as trickles of him slipped through the cracks of her fingers, he grounded himself in her frustrated blue gaze.

“If you keep hurting yourself, you’ll just make it worse!” Her nose scrunched up into a hard scowl, but he heard the lump in her throat underneath her irate bite. “Just stop!”

“Sorry,” he gurgled quietly. Her brows furrowed even more, and he added as gently as he could, “I’ll rest, kiddo. I’ll take it easy.”

“Promise?” She stared him down.

“Promise,” he breathed out, slumping.

She lowered him back into the bucket and a soft bloop sound was followed by flickers of drops as she pulled her hands out. He hummed to relieve some distress as he tried to force himself to relax.

“Maybe you just need sleep,” Hattie offered. She grumbled a bit, but he could tell she was trying to soften her tone.

“That’s usually all it is,” he agreed.

He did feel a similar exhaustion to all the times he pushed his time limit and got stuck in noodle form. Only this was much worse. Even when he was a human, he wasn’t sure he could ever remember a time he was so tired that he couldn’t move his muscles.

Leaning his eyes against the rim of the bucket for some semblance of security, he desperately hoped he wouldn’t be stuck like this. But even if he did eventually turn back to monster-normal, he had a sneaking suspicion he really screwed over his already sparse shapeshifting time.

“Do you want me to put the hat back over?” Hattie lifted her cap into his view. “To help you sleep?”

“No,” he said a little quickly. She lowered the hat and he added, sheepishly, “I know I can’t see much from here, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Okay. Go to sleep. Let me know if you need anything.” She scooted over to their campfire, and he heard the click of the lighter.

He sighed but tried to let the distant crackle of flame and the low tap of Hattie sketching on paper lull him into a semi-relaxed state. His eyes closed into tiny slits and as he dozed, a gentle and continuous rumble bubbled up from within.

“Dad?” Hattie whispered after a stretch of time, scooting back into view and looking down with her hair slipping from behind her ear.

“Hmm?” His eyes cracked open, slowly registering the rumbling sound. In his peripheral vision, the surface of the ebony-violet goop rippled steadily.

Hattie cracked a grin.

“You’re purring!” she said in slight disbelief before exploding into giggles.

“I’m—?” he began before he recognized the familiar and involuntary purr. A dusting of faint gold emanated from beneath the surface of the goop as he blushed.

“The whole bucket is shaking!” Hattie covered her mouth as her laugh trickled out in mirthful chimes.

Despite himself, Luka smiled, glad to hear her laugh.

“I guess it looks pretty silly,” he admitted, imagining the bucket wiggling around. Though now that he was becoming more alert, the rumbling slowed to a stop. In their absence, he realized how comforting the vibrations had been.

Hmm. Maybe the purring was a way to pull himself back together? It wasn’t something he could force or speed up, though. Typical.

“Do you want any food?” Hattie perked after she calmed down from laughing. “I was roasting some hot dogs.”

“I’ll try a bite,” his eyes and mouth shifted up and down in an affirmative nod that sent tiny waves splashing against the side of the bucket.

He couldn’t really tell if he was hungry, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to eat but he would do anything that would help him replenish some energy.

When Hattie returned with a torn piece of a hot dog, Luka opened his mouth and let out a gurgling, “ah.”

With a giggle, she gently lowered the hot dog as close as she could before dropping it. He felt the hot dog plop down and coughed. Hattie winced in apology as he closed his mouth and pensively chewed.

“I’m fine,” he said after a thick swallow. He couldn’t feel the lump of the hot dog anymore but in the past few years of dealing with his magic, goopy body, he learned to not ask questions he couldn’t answer and near the top of that list was wondering what the heck replaced his melted digestive track.

Hattie fed him a few more pieces and he swallowed the dismay of not being able to feed himself. Even though he had grown accustomed to relying on Hattie for help when his chameleon paws couldn’t work with delicate silverware, the familiar sorrow from the early days returned now that he didn’t even have hands.

After what he was certain was a late lunch, he napped on and off as Hattie remained nearby. When he would check in with her, she would present her latest sketches proudly, and even had one completed work in watercolor. It was a scene of the ocean, and while her sketchbook paper wasn’t meant to hold so much moisture, causing it to crinkle and warp when it dried, she excitedly explained that she was going to do other paintings exactly like it, but all showcasing the ocean at different times of the day. He told her that he was eager to see them, overjoyed that she was having fun with her gift like he had hoped she would.

If only he had been able to save up enough for a motel in time for her birthday, or at the very least, if only he hadn’t melted on her. But that was really his fault for pushing himself so hard.

He had just so badly wanted to make it special. She hadn’t even remembered her own birthday! What else was he supposed to do? Let himself turn into a monster? She deserved to have her actual dad on her birthday.

“Hey, Dad?” Her voice drew him out of his sinking despair.

“What’s up, kiddo?” he shifted his eyes in the bucket, trying to find a position that best allowed him to see her.

“What should I tell your boss?” She held out his phone, which was lit up with messages with letters in all caps.

Luka groaned.

“Can you read the messages for me?” He mentally prepared for the nerve-wracking ordeal of trying to explain himself without admitting to his boss that the reason he couldn’t make it to work was because he turned into a bucket of silly putty.

With Luka directing her, Hattie responded to the understandably angry but maybe harsher than necessary texts from his boss at the restaurant. Once that was done, he let out a heavy sigh, accidentally blowing a bubble in the goop, which shortly popped and splattered. He flinched when a drop landed in his eye.

“Do I have anything from the newspaper office?” Luka asked, dreading the thought of not only the manager getting upset when he found out no one had delivered newspapers in the morning, but of all the people who would no doubt call to complain about empty doorsteps.

“No,” Hattie replied slowly.

“Really?” Luka wasn’t sure if he should count that as good or bad. Either way, he was probably out of a job. “I’ll need to start looking for something else.”

“Why?” Hattie scooted closer, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked down at him.

“They’ve probably already decided to fire me,” he lamented with his mouth sinking and gurgling in the gunk.

“Nah.” She glanced away, tapping around on his phone.

He blinked up at her.

“Nah?” he repeated. When Hattie kept her gaze down and her lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “Hattie? What did you do?”

“I maybe did your deliveries for you?” she offered guiltily.

He stared at her.

“You what?” he sputtered, causing his sludge to ripple as panic seized him. “By yourself? Hattie! You just turned eight! My route is a couple miles long, and you would have had to bike before dawn! There are child labor laws! What do you mean you did my deliveries?”

“I had help!” Hattie hurried to explain. “I ran into a nice tourist I met yesterday, and he gave me a map and delivered half of the newspapers for me.”

“You worked with a stranger?” Luka demanded, shifting around in the bucket. “Harriet Princeton, you are not supposed to talk to strangers!”

“So, I’m only supposed to talk to you?” She threw her hands up in the air.

“No! I mean—that’s not the point!” he faltered, sloshing around as the bite in her words stung. Bits of goop splattered over the rim and Hattie jolted.

“Stop freaking out!” She helplessly tried to grasp at the stray droplets. “I can’t lose you again!”

He paused, tensing. Well, tensing as much as he could as a viscous liquid.

“Wh-what do you mean lose me again?” he pressed tightly.

“I thought you were gone when you melted,” she said with a cracking voice. She hugged her legs and rest her chin on her knees. “I thought I didn’t get all of you in time and you were gone, and I just wanted to help because you’re so tired all time but—” she trailed off in a squeak as tears filled her eyes.

“Hattie—” he shifted towards her, but the goop sputtered as he instinctively tried to reach out to his daughter. Liquid stung his eyes and he blinked rapidly. “Hattie, look at me please.”

She turned and revealed tears streaming down her cheeks.

Gold blurred his vision, but he pressed on.

“I’m sorry,” he began in a congested voice, thick with gunk and reverb. “I know you were just trying to help, and I appreciate it! But I don’t want you worrying about my jobs or money. You shouldn’t have to.”

His voice cracked and all too late, he realized that the reason he sounded so congested was partly because of the golden tears filling the bucket. They glittered in the goop, separated like oil drops in water. His breath hitched and the goop swelled.

“But I can—” he tried to continue as the tears slipped out and the goop splashed up when he instinctively tried to wipe them away with a hand that wasn’t there.

“You’re spilling!” Hattie interrupted, jolting upward and hurrying over, placing her arms around the rim but the added tears were causing his anxious sloshing to spill over. “Stop crying!”

“What?” He jolted, shifting his eyes around and catching glimpses of purple and gold staining her sleeves. Her dismayed features above him only encouraged his tears and he made a muffled sniffling noise as panic surged and his tears swelled.

“Dad!” she yelped. But her own distraught features cleaved through his squishy, melted chest.

“I-I can’t! Give me a moment!” Twisting away, he tried to lock his eyes on something to ground himself, but in his panic, he kept attempting to turn and wipe his tears. The spilling goop sloshed uncontrollably.

“Try to laugh!” Hattie begged. “Tell me a stupid joke!”

“Ah, uh.” He pressed his lips into a tight line as he struggled to think of something. “Um. You know what? This situation really pails in comparison to—uh—that one time we teleported into that bear den!”

“What?” Hattie furrowed her brows. But it looked like her tears halted in confusion.

“P-pails, like a pun? It’s a joke. It’s supposed to be funny. Please laugh,” he said weakly. He blinked and let out a tight exhale as he felt himself calm and the rest of the goop start to settle.

“That’s a stupid joke.” Hattie sniffled as she leaned back and slowly lifted her arms, revealing sleeves soaked with purple sludge.

“I got buckets of them.” He added a sardonic, “ha,” as the gold ebbed. While a few dancing droplets of tears wiggled in his goop, now that he was calmer, trembling splashes no longer spilled over the rim.

Hattie wrung out the sleeves. He flinched at the droplets that pelted his face and sent ripples along the surface.

“That’s even worse,” she sighed, though a small smile found its way onto her features. She tugged up one of her sleeves and gingerly reached over and wiped at the edge of his eye.

He grunted, squeezing it shut but when she pulled away, he watched her flick a golden droplet towards the grass. He sighed, blowing a few bubbles.

“Please don’t do my job tomorrow,” he said quietly. “We’ll be okay.”

She nodded slowly before thinking better of it.

“Only if you promise not to push yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” he said tiredly before he yawned. Sludge dribbled into his mouth, and he sputtered.

“Sleep.” She poked the goop. He shifted his eyes next to her finger, which was the closest he could come to giving her an encouraging nuzzle.

“What about you?” he asked, staring up at the canopy of leaves. There was still sunlight trickling down, but it seemed fainter.

“I can eat soon,” she shrugged.

“Wake me if you need anything,” he muttered, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

Did he even have eyelids at this point? Maybe it was more that his eyes were sinking. Might be more apt.

Hattie promised to, but he had a feeling they both knew she would deal with any problem on her own before waking him. Frowning, he supposed the best thing he could do for her would be to recover as swiftly as possible.

He settled into the bucket, and soon enough, the sludge began to ripple as he automatically purred. He caught Hattie’s stifled snort at the vibrating bucket before he fell asleep.

Night blanketed the forest by the time he woke up again. Still purring, he blinked as he felt something shift. The rippling rumbles of goop seemed to be tightening and when he moved to lift his head, he peeked over the rim of the bucket. Relief swelled inside as he spotted Hattie’s back. She was drawing by the fire, safe and sound.

Edging backward, he tilted his head down, blinking at the vibrating goop as it slowly re-solidified into shape. After a moment, he lifted his noodle arms and wiggled his chameleon paws. Funny, he was actually relieved to see them for once. Once his tail formed, he heaved out a sigh. There wasn’t a drop of him left behind in the bucket, but now he took up less volume.

“Kiddo,” he called softly, floating up to the rim of the bucket and placing his hands on the edge, curling his tail beneath himself.

“Dad!” Hattie gasped when she saw his familiar form. Scrambling around, she darted over, and he flew up into her embrace.

“You’re tiny,” she muttered into the plush fluff around his neck. His tail waved back and forth as he returned her firm hug.

“I’m sure I’ll get back to normal size,” he guessed. Probably. After a long enough rest without using his shapeshifting.

Moments passed until he caught a low grumble coming from Hattie’s stomach. He craned his neck with a smirk.

“In the meantime, are there anymore marshmallows to share?”

“I ate them all. Remember our math quiz? Zero left.” Hattie said without missing a beat as she turned back around and brought him to the fireside. “Just kidding, I saved you some.”

“That’s my girl!” His tail waved harder as he chuckled.

He extended an arm towards the bag, noting that he couldn’t really stretch it like usual, and made a grasping motion. Hattie plopped the bag into her lap, still using an arm to hug him, and they both took turns popping the confections into their mouths.

Yes, after a week’s worth of rest, he would grow to his usual massive size and when he could shapeshift again, he would have to deal with the consequences of missing so much work. But until then, he and Hattie would take it day by day and one marshmallow at a time.

#ahit coffee shop au #doodledrawsthings #ahit prince #ahit hat kid #my writing #*kickflips into ur tumblr experience wearing rubber fishing suspenders and a cap that says 'words want me. ghost dads fear me'*#Me: Bucket's haunted #You probably: What?#Me not breaking eye contact as i grab a pail and head for the exit: Bucket's haunted #this got very long whoops #but i hope its a fun read!#thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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honey-hippie-harper · 3 years

Text

In-Laws Being In-Laws (Re-upload)

Hiii!

So, this is basically an old fic, which I deleted from my other account ( @dawniebb ) and was requested to be uploaded again.

This feels like a lifetime ago afgshjka, but I remember it was written for a Renegades content swap event, and it was for @healing-winston-pratt (hello, wifey!). The prompt was, basically, Nova and one of the Renegays being in-laws, and it was super fun to write! <3

If anyone’s reading this: Hi, you’re a beautiful human being, and I love you <3

In-Laws Being In-Laws

Dear Dread Warden,

I am not quite sure you will get this message because it is been a while since I last used my communicator but, in case you do: I hope you are having a nice morning.

The reason I am writing you this is that, as you must already be aware, right now Sketch and his teammates are taking part in the Annual Renegade Convention as special guests to be awarded for their heroic participation in the Second Battle for Gatlon. Hence, they are out of town. Due to my temporary resignation from the team, I declined the offer to attend the event and, for instance, to receive an award. This means that, unlike theirs, my routine remains the same as usual.

Unfortunately, I must see my therapist for my weekly appointment in two hours, and after that I will have to go to the supermarket to pick up some groceries and essential items. Under normal circumstances, given the nature of my relationship with Sketch, he would have driven me to the supermarket and then back to my apartment, as it happens to be located sort of far from the store and it could be pretty difficult for me to walk while carrying all those bags. However, as mentioned before, these are not normal circumstances and Sketch is not currently available.

I reach out to you with no intention to cause trouble; for instance, if I happen to be asking too much or disrupting your schedule (As I am conscious you are a busy person) and you consider you will not be able to help me, I assure you I completely understand. But: Could you pick me up from my therapist's office and take me to the supermarket afterwards?

I apologize for the inconvenience and I promise I will make sure this does not happen again. In addition, I also apologize for the alliteration in the greeting at the beginning of this message. I did not know whether you wanted to be acknowledged by your real name or your alias.

Sincerely,

Insomnia.

-.-

Hi, Insomnia!!!

So nice to see you!... Or should I say read you! Ha! It's been so long, it almost feels like an eternity! I hope therapy is going great! (We're all really proud of you!)

It doesn't bother me at all, sweetheart; of course I'll help you with that. Could you share the location of your therapist's office, please?

Oh, and also: What time do you want me to be there? (Not that I have anything to do today, I just want to be on time).

I'm excited to see you! Can I take you to eat something afterwards? How does that sound?

Take care!

(Agh. I forgot these things don't actually allow you to write your real name).

-S i m o n.

(Better).

-.-

He spotted Nova way before parking. She was sitting on a bench outside the building, staring anxiously at her phone. The body language of a nervous person.

Simon stopped the car right in front of where she was, and when she realized he was already here, Nova jumped out of her seat as if it had burned her skin, before jogging in an awkward manner towards the car.

Once she was inside, Simon couldn't help but feel a twinge in his stomach. He wasn't lying when he told her he was excited to see her. In fact, he was more than excited, and he had to hold himself back pretty hard to avoid hugging her, because it was evident she didn't want to be hugged right now, for she just directed a tiny smile at him and said:

"Hi."

She was the same Nova he had met some time ago, but at the same time she was different; she was wearing sneakers, skinny jeans and a basic white v-neck shirt; her hair was a little longer, too, to the point she could tie it in a cute little ponytail; Simon could tell she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but still her face looked healthier than before; less tired, with smaller under-eye dark circles and lips covered in chapstick. Finally.

She looked alive. More than before.

“Hi.” He finally responded.

Watching people get better was always satisfactory, but watching Nova get better was different. He had grown to appreciate her, since the very first moment he saw her with Adrian; since the very first moment he spoke to her and saw nothing but utter heartbreak in her eyes. Nova was hurting, and any sensitive person would’ve noticed that. So, watching her get better was a touching experience for him.

“You look so…”

Nova interrupted him almost immediately.

“I know. I...I barely had time to fix my hair. Gosh. It’s so uncomfortable and I want to cut it but I haven’t had time. I…”

“Oh, no, no, no! Your hair looks gorgeous! “ He chuckled, although he was confused by her reaction. “I was gonna say you look really good. Really, really good. The ponytail looks great on you.”

Nova gulped as she adjusted said ponytail.

“Oh.” She muttered in a hoarse voice. “...Well...Thank you. I thought…”

“No, no.” Simon waved his hand. “You look great. How.... how are you?”

She seemed to be processing the question, even though it was not that difficult.

“I’m…” Nova cleared her throat. “I’m doing great. How are you? How’s ...life going?”

“Absolutely great!” Simon smiled, clapping his hands together. “Things at home are great. You know, Hugh’s not currently here due to the Annual Renegade Convention. Adrian’s not here either (for sure, you already know about that) and Max…”

“Max went too, yeah.” Nova smiled. Her eyes seemed to brighten to the mention of Max’s name. Adrian had mentioned this fact about her a couple of times: Nova was fond of children. And even if she wasn’t, she had a tendency to protect and care about them. Since she had this type of strong personality, Hugh refused to recognize that as a truth, but Simon had no trouble believing it.

It was adorable.

“He called me when he got the invitation. He was eager to go.” She continued. “Which doesn’t surprise me. I...It’s his first time travelling, right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Responded Simon. “We’re planning to go on vacation this year. Because, you know, the convention’s being held not too far away from Gatlon and sadly he’s probably gonna get bored.”

“Bored?” Nova shifted herself in the seat, awkwardly. “Why?”

“Well...those conventions are...well, conventions.” Simon shrugged, smiling at her. “There are a lot of speeches, one after the other and, sure, the guests that represent Gatlon can skip some of them, but others are mandatory and they’re like 2 hours long and it’s so boring and…”

Nova hissed, grimacing, to which Simon nodded in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to go.” He admitted. “Though I do wanted to be there when Adrian and Max received their award. Too sad.”

Nova tried to speak a couple of times, until she finally had found the correct words to said her thoughts out loud.

“Why...why didn’t you go, then?”

“About that.” Simon chuckled. “Tamaya is going to be there too, as a speaker. And she’s also receiving an award. So...somebody had to take care of the Headquarters and Kasumi and I were left with that responsibility. However, it’s been pretty peaceful, as you may have noticed.”

“I have.” Nova nodded. “Not that I...go out very much, but yeah. Things have been calm.”

“People are behaving for once. And it’s awesome.” he sighed.

Then they stayed in silence. For a while.

Nova stared out the window, avoiding eye contact, while Simon whistled as he tapped his fingers on the wheel.

Not a word. No small talk.

Nothing.

“Sooooo…” Said Simon. “Shall we go?”

“Perhaps we should.” Nova said, immediately, as a flash of relief crossed her face.

So Simon smiled at her once again as he turned on the engine, while Nova put on her seatbelt next to him.

-.-

It took her so little time to come back Simon confirmed she was one of those people who would strategically write their shopping list so they wouldn’t be going back and forth through the aisles. It also surprised him that, being a person so young, she was so...focused on everything.

She really had only bought groceries and essential items. No junk food. No silly things she swore she would need and then she didn’t. Not even candy from the checkout area.

Simon hurried himself out of the car to help her put the bags in the trunk, but once she saw him and guessed his intentions, she quickly said:

“It’s okay. I can do it.”

“I know you can.” He clarified. Because, well, she indeed was a strong person. “But maybe you could use some help. That’s...a couple of bags.”

“Yeah. I know.” Nova nodded, already carrying the first two of the bags. “But I can do it. Please. I’m already causing you too much trouble.”

Simon was yet again confused by her reaction, and he tried to talk to her about it. But just like Nova looked like she didn’t want to be hugged right now, she also looked like she didn’t want to talk about it right now.

So he just opened the trunk for her and held it in case it would go down by its own. It had never happened, but just to be sure. Sometimes Simon’s anxiety made him overanalyze some situations.

Less than 10 minutes had passed by the time Nova finished putting all her stuff in the car, Simon figured she was still training, since she was as agile and fast as she was the day she notified them she would be taking some time off from the team and the Renegades in general.

They got in the car again, and before the silence could get as uncomfortable as the previous one, Simon took the initiative to speak.

“I think...you forgot to answer a part of my message.” He said, carefully. “You know...the part where I told you that maybe we could...go to a restaurant or something?”

Nova’s face, ears and neck turned so red she became a human-shaped cherry, and although in other circumstances he would’ve considered it adorable, this time he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. He had been there and done that many times; the messages Nova had sent were peak odd. The type of messages one would overthink over and over again because they had to be perfect. And if something, anything sounded off after you sent it, your world would be in shambles.

So he just smiled to assure it was okay. That he didn’t mind. That those messages didn’t have to be so formal in the first place.

And that, obviously, didn’t work.

For his experience, it never did.

“I...I...Yeah.” Nova scratched her brow. “Pretty much I...I...can recall not knowing how to word that so I just left it blank and I...must’ve forgotten to…”

“Nova.” Simon said, softly. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Did I...offend you or something?”

“Absolutely no!” He said. “Why would you think that? It’s just a slip. I know it wasn’t your intention and to be honest I still want to take you to eat something so...yeah, there’s no reason to get weird about this. There’s no need to worry.”

Nova took a deep, hasty breath. She was flustered, son Simon tried to keep her calm; to make her feel like she was in a safe environment.

Why wouldn’t she be, in the first place?

She was his son’s girlfriend.

Why would he want to hurt her or make her feel bad?

“Nova, darling.” He said again. “Do you have something on your mind?”

“I do.” Nova cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t really...can eat out right now. I barely manage to afford my groceries, you know? It’s been…”

“But you’re not gonna pay your own bill. I mean, why would you do that?” Simon raised an eyebrow at her, genuinely confused, but still laughing nervously. Sweet rot, who had hurt this child so much? “ I’m the one who’s taking you to eat. You wouldn’t have to…”

“You don’t have to either!” She snapped. Not mad, but rather distressed, while breathing heavily.

Simon went still, afraid he would make it worse. Still, he couldn’t leave it like that, so he gulped and, once he reunited enough courage, he dared to speak again.

“What’s really on your mind, Nova?” He asked, this time in a more soothing voice. Nova’s whole being went red again, but the shadow of confusion in her expression was noticeable and hard to ignore. For this reason, Simon decided to provide some kind of scaffolding.

“For example: Why would you write a message that is directed to me in such a formal way?” He asked, patiently. “Why would you ask me to pick you up as if you were asking me to help you commit a crime? Why would you act so uncomfortable around me when it’s not the first time that we’ve met? Why would you…?”

“Because it’s you.” Nova answered, avoiding eye contact.

And he expected that answer, yes. But, at the same time, he expected to understand the statement once it slipped out of her mouth.

However, he didn’t.

“Can you elaborate?” He requested.

Nova clicked her tongue as she rubbed her neck, staring at the dash right in front of her.

“...I can disappear if you want me to. Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

“No. No, no.” Nova nodded, waving her hands, finally looking at him. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Then...would you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nova thought about it. She squirmed in her seat. Gulped. Coughed. Squirmed again.

Then, playing with her own hands, she spoke.

“...I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed of what…?” Simon tilted his head to the side. “Ashamed of who…? What exactly are you ashamed of? ...Dating Adrian?”

Nova flinched.

“I would never.”

A spark of pride illuminated his thoughts and his insides in general, but Simon tried to pay little attention to it.

“I’m just...ashamed. Of everything.” Nova said, sighing. “I…”

And she cut herself in the middle of the phrase, realizing that once again she wouldn’t be able to finish it.

Simon didn’t realize he was frowning until he felt the muscles of his face slowly giving in. He understood.

And he knew that anything that had happened during the Second Battle for Gatlon had been her fault. She might have contributed in some way but, at the end of the day, she was just a child.

A very confused and manipulated child who just needed someone to listen without twisting her words as they pleased.

“...I just think that...if I were you I wouldn’t like me either.” She wasn’t crying, nor did she sound like she was about to any time soon. There was so much resignation in her voice that her words weighted as much as a giant rock. “Hugh gave me his blessing to...you know, date Adrian…”

“I can recall giving you my blessing too.”

Nova tripped on her own words.

“I mean, you did. You both did.” She said. “But still… It’s because… because you want him to be happy. And I get it. I really do. And I understand because, like I said, I wouldn’t like me either...I know I am loved. I know I matter for some people...but I also know I did...bad things, and I carry this sort of cursed last name…”

She stopped and breathed for a second before continuing.

“And I…” She finally looked at him. “I get it. You don’t have to pretend you like me, after all that happened. After I stole stuff from your house; infiltrated into your system; caused a terrorist attack...You really don’t have to pretend.”

Simon blinked, and if it wasn’t for her specific and controlled body language, he would’ve thought she was making excuses or even joking.

But Nova was telling the truth.

And it was heartbreaking.

“Perhaps you should think outside the box and picture a scenario in which you realize we’re not pretending.” That’s the only thing he said.

“Perhaps you should realize that we love you and you matter to us.” He reached for her hand and softly touched her knuckles. Her hands were shaking. “And that, yes, we want Adrian to be happy, but we also want you to be happy.”

Nova’s eyes seemed to be covered in crystals, but she remained in silence.

“You’re part of this family now, Nova.” He smiled. “And I’m sorry, but you’ll have to deal with that.”

Nova sniffed, swallowing, while lacing her hand into Simon’s.

“Artino and everything?” She muttered.

“Artino it’s not what defines you.” Simon chuckled. “You’re Nova. Just Nova... And we’re really proud of you. Not ashamed.”

She smiled back at him, wordless, and Simon gave her a quick handshake before putting his hands around the wheel.

Because even now, that her walls were crumbling right before her eyes, she didn’t look like someone who wanted to be hugged at the moment, and he accepted and respected that.

“I was planning to take you to my favorite restaurant, but maybe we can prepare a homemade meal instead?” He suggested. “You know? In-laws being in-laws? … Not to brag, but I make the best lemon pie in the world.”

Nova chuckled. Relaxed.

Happy.

“Sounds great.” She said, nodding.

“Excellent.” Simon turned on the engine.

“Let’s go home.”

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #dawnie writes #Simon Westwood #The Dread Warden #Nova Artino #Insomnia #Dawnie re-uploads saga #i love being a clown #no nomás tengo la cara de pendeja también soy JAJAJAJAJAJAJAAJAJAJA #this was before hcttr ruined my life #good times

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johnsamericano · 3 years

Text

𝓓𝓪𝔂 19:

ℓιυ уαиgуαиg

23 days of NCT masterlist.

taglist: @notbeforelong @whathamelon @curieouscapt @unknown5tar @mrcarbonatedmilk @silent-potato @ajhdr @gjheaaa

warnings: an extreme plot twist 😭, things escalate way too quickly, a bit of angst, this is so weird I’m sorry.

“Welcome.”

You heard your coworker greet someone as you finished giving the final touches to the tattoo you’d been working on for a few weeks.

“Dang, Sungchan. You’re gonna look hella fine with this.” You wiped off the remains of ink over his skin, getting up from your little stool to admire your job from afar. “Wanna take a look?”

“Hell yeah.” The tall boy straightened his back, walking towards the full-body mirror to look at the daisies decorating his bicep. “My girlfriend’s gonna love it, thanks y/n.”

“No prob.” You covered the tattoo before biding him goodbye.

As you ordered your materials, you heard the doorbell ring. Assuming it was Sungchan leaving the shop, you didn’t pay much attention to it.

“Y/n, come here!” Your coworker and friend, Xiaojun, shouted from the front desk.

“Coming!”

As you exited the room, an innocent looking boy invaded your vision. A big, black hoodie shielded his body from the winter cold, making his body look tiny inside of it.

“He wants a tattoo.” He lifted his pierced eyebrows, as if the boy’s request was some sort of joke.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You extended your hand, allowing him to shake it vigorously. “Do you have any idea of what you’d like to get done...?”

“Yangyang.” He completed your sentence, an oddly wide smile imprinted on his face. “I actually have a picture of what I want.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket, unlocking it to show you the image of a beautiful woman smiling.

“Are you sure about it? It’s gonna take a while to finish it and I’m sure it won’t be painless.”

He blinked a couple of times before giving you another wide smile.

“I’ll be alright.”

“So I’m booked for the rest of the week, but we can start next Monday if you’re available.” You murmured while taking a look at your agenda. “If you’d like, maybe we can book the rest of your appointments in advance. And you can also send me that image so I can get started on the sketch.”

“That’d be great.”

It wouldn’t be until the next week that you finally saw the languid boy again. He was wearing a black tank top with a leather jacket on top.

“Ready?” You asked while pulling out your gun, Yangyang getting comfortable in his seat. “You can pay now or when we finish, whatever feels best for you.”

“Thank you.” He removed the leather jacket covering his naked arms.

His limbs were slightly built up, but most surprisingly, filled with intricate ink designs. You couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped your mouth, your fingers unconsciously touching the patterns over his fair skin.

“This is amazing.”

He giggled at your excitement, curious eyes gazing at you. Suddenly, you snapped out of your daydreaming.

“Sorry.” You shook your head, pulling out a piece of paper from your desk. “Here’s the sketch, we can change it if you don’t like it.”

“This is perfect, you’re really talented.” His eyes scanned the detailed sketch, smiling back at the drawn woman.

“Thank you.” You rolled up your sleeves, your ink-filled arms on full display. “Let’s get started.”

You spent about an hour in complete silence, only the buzz of your machine filling the room. Yangyang seemed to be handling the pain just fine, which made your job much easier.

“How long have you been doing this?” He asked out of nowhere, trying to start a conversation.

“When I was seventeen maybe.” Your eyebrows were knitted together as you drew shadows over the woman’s eyes. “The guy at the front desk and I opened this shop after deciding neither of us were attending to college. Guess studying wasn’t really our thing.”

“What did your parents say about it?”

“You know, the usual, but they got used to it after a while. They even got a couple tattoo a few months ago.”

“It must be nice having supportive parents.”

“Yeah, it is.”

The room went silent once again. Xiaojun turned on some music, the beat faintly reaching your workspace.

“So who is this woman?”

“My mom. She died from cancer a year ago.” You weren’t expecting him to say something like that so abruptly. Before you could open your mouth, he was resuming his answer. “Please don’t say something like “I’m sorry”, why would you be? It’s not like you knew her.” There was irony in his tone, which made you quite confused.

“Well yeah, but it must be sad for you.”

“She lived her life well, and that’s all that matters.” You hummed. That was a nice way of seeing it. “She actually helped me out a lot when I hit rock bottom a few months after we found out about her disease, even when she was at her deathbed all she did worrying about others.”

‘Why is he telling me this?’

“She must’ve been one heck of a woman.” A breathy laugh erupted from him.

“She was.”

“Well, I think we’re done for today.”

Week after week, Yangyang came back to the shop. The tattoo was turning out amazing and you couldn’t be happier with the results. Yangyang and you grew closer after that small, deep talk during your first session together, even going as far as exchanging phone numbers.

A few late-night conversations later, you were having your first date, which was followed by three more, every single one of them unique in its own way. The last one had taken place at the amusement park, the Ferris wheel serving as the perfect spot to share the sweetest kiss you'd ever received. Maybe it wasn’t very professional of you, but who could resist such a charming guy?

“Hey, y/n.” He greeted you with a small peck on your cheek, his silly smile pressing against your skin. After a small pause, he proceeded to take a seat at his usual spot.

You’d decided to wear a small shirt since the weather was getting warmer. Yangyang’s eyes were uncomfortably glued to your lower abdomen, making your hands clumsy as you prepared your materials.

“You’ve got a scar there.” A pinkish line crossed the right side of your tummy. For a moment, you were scared he’d think it was gross, after all, it wasn’t precisely a small scar, nonetheless, you carried it with pride. You were surprised to see there was no disgust in his look, instead, something you couldn’t really name.

“Didn’t I tell you? I used to have chronic kidney disease. I would’ve died if it weren’t for the transplant I received.” His mouth twitched the slightest, as if he was about to cry. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s continue with the tattoo.”

Halfway into your work, you felt a small drop of water staining your arm. It was Yangyang, he was desperately squeezing his eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears.

“Are you feeling any pain? I’ll try to be more careful, we’re almost done.” He shook his head. “What is it then, Yangyang?”

He pulled out his wallet, retrieving a pink card and placing it above your hand. As soon as you turned it around, you were met with a name you knew all too well, the name of the person who saved your life.

“How...?” Your words stopped as you realized that certain person and Yangyang shared their last name.

“I remembered your name from when my mom passed. One day, I googled you out of pure curiosity, what I didn’t expect was to actually find you, address and all.” A lonesome tear rolled down his cheek, staining his silver ring as it fell. “My mom would be glad to know her contribution is being used well.”

Your eyes watered at his words, giggling slightly at the odd turn things had taken.

“Thank you.” Your arms engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you so much.” Yanyang couldn't help but let more tears fall, he was finally getting the closure he needed. He could finally let his mom go.

Silently, he thanked his mom for having saved such a beautiful human as you, feeling as if her death hadn't been in vain.

“Crap.” You sniffled, nose adorably scrunching. “Alright, get up.”

You pushed him away from your body, grabbing your coat and swinging it above your shoulders.

“Huh?” Your hand was extended right in front of him, your pretty, pearly teeth on full display as you showed him the sweetest smile ever.

“I’m taking you out for ice cream.”

#nct smut #nct angst #nct au #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv smut

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luvknow · 4 years

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in another lifetime | lee minho

genre: ceo/iron man!lee minho x secretary!reader | ceo au ; superhero au ; alcohol mention ; blood mention summary: you and your boss were inseparable. no one could understand how you could work ungodly hours for such an inexperienced ceo. but your job was to stick by Mr. Lee for as long as you were getting paid, and that meant being his date to charity balls and helping him turn into the country’s best superhero. wc: 18.9k a/n: rewrite of that one w**jin fic cuz fuck that guy ~! the public has spoken.... lee minho has been chosen as the winner

Secretary was your title, but you liked to think you were more than just that. Perhaps secretary was just an umbrella term for amateur sommelier slash novice multitasker slash the only employee who knew how to drive stick. Whatever your job entailed, you were sure to list all of those tasks in your updated resume when it was time to pass the torch onto some other poor sucker because you would much rather die than be a secretary for life.

It wasn’t like your boss was a total ass, or anything. That was actually the scary part - the fact that your boss was one of the kindest and most attentive people you’ve ever worked for, yet you still hated this job! What made this so horrid was the amount of walking and running your poor feet had to do. And guess what? No sneakers were allowed in the office, so you were left with walking over forty-thousand steps in a day in toe-pinching sole-aching glossy shoes that were half a size too big for your feet because shoes like these always ran out in your size in the store.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee,” you greeted, walking into his private office at 8:00 am on the dot as normal. With tired eyes, he looked up from his stack of blueprints and gave you a warm smile. You don’t know how he does it, but he always managed to welcome your morning visits with a smile that almost made you consider your resignation. “Iced americano, extra shot.”

“You are a blessing,” he praised graciously. One sip of the liquid gold was enough to wake him up right away.

“Long night?”

“Yeah. You know how it took us hours to decide the wall colors for each floor in our building? Imagine doing that all over again, but for a superhero suit prototype.”

“But it’s just a suit this time, not fifty floors.”

“This isn’t just a suit, _____. It’s the suit of a man who’s going to save the world one day! A suit that everyone will lay their eyes on and judge me for my color choices.”

“You sound like a child.”

“An ambitious child, mind you.”

“Did you ultimately decide on a color?”

“Yes, two colors actually. Red and gold.”

“Wow, such a loud and loyal color choice.”

“Is it?” Your handsome boss pouted slightly while scanning his designs. “Seungmin said the same thing. Maybe I should change it -”

“No!” you interrupted for the sake of not wanting to look up Pantone’s thousands of shades of ruby and champagne. “Red and gold are perfect for you.”

Minho’s pouty lips melted into a proud smile. “If you believe so, then I trust you. Come take a look - what do you think of it overall?”

You walked around his ginormous custom-made walnut desk to peer over his shoulder. Minho could smell the familiar gardenia scent you wore for years and it immediately brought comfort to his panicking soul. Somehow your presence always calmed him down, no matter what stressful situation he was in. Maybe that’s why he wanted to have you around 24/7. How selfish of him.

Your couple minutes of silence were so agonizing that his nervous foot-tapping habit he told you about that he thought he got rid of in college broke through, which was your cue to answer.

“I like it. I like it a lot, actually,” you admitted honestly. “I would definitely feel safe if I saw you come to my rescue, although the helmet is a little concerning.”

“Concerning how?”

“Well, it has such a… A, uh… How do I put this politely? A dead expression?”

“‘Dead’ is a polite adjective to you?”

“I mean come on, Mr. Lee, there are two eyes and a flat line for the mouth where the corners curve downwards just slightly and it looks like you gave him little fangs. There’s not much life in the eyes, either.”

“They light up when the suit is on!”

“Maybe I’ll like it more when I see it in person?”

“The helmet is the only thing I’m confident about, so nothing and no one can change my mind,” he said stubbornly.

“I’m sure everyone will love it,” you reassured while smoothing out the stress wrinkles on his indigo shoulder pads. “When do you plan on starting the build?”

“In half an hour.”

“What!?” Minho nearly spit out his espresso at your yelping and the frantic way you sifted through your massive planner and scrolling through your emails on your phone at the same time. Oh, so that’s what he forgot to tell you! He knew something felt off. “B-B-But I didn’t get an email that the shipment arrived!”

“I called the company at five in the morning just as they opened and demanded an expedited shipping of all the materials and they’ll be arriving in half an hour.”

“But did the quality department approve of the materials? Or your design at least?”

“You do know I’m the CEO, right?” Minho smirked teasingly. “That’s business talk for ‘fuck Quality’.”

Minho stood up from his black velvet Chesterfield chair to escape your nagging and briskly walked away towards God-knows-where. Like an obedient, push-over puppy, you trailed closely behind with a light jog and all you could think about was how it was too early for your feet to be aching this badly.

“I don’t like the idea of this,” you said firmly.

“You never do. Loosen up a little, will ya?”

“I will not! I looked the other way when you decided on signing a contract to collaborate with that ugly luxury car brand, I agreed with the proposal of a new smartphone that totally flopped in the end, and I barely allowed the approval for the development of the new branch in Taiwan! All of those ideas are whatever, arbitrary even, but this? This puts you at the front line of danger, Mr. Lee! What if something goes wrong, or the material is compromised? What if these companies take you for a fool for not checking in with the quality department first? What if you’re setting yourself up to be sabotaged, huh?”

Minho pressed the down button on the elevator, ignoring your pleas. Even though all you do is nag and play by the rules, he knew you were only doing so because he didn’t bother to. In the end, you were just looking out for him, and he couldn’t appreciate you more.

His gives you what he thought was a reassuring smile. To you, it looked rather mischievous “Lucky for me that you’ll be there the whole time, right?”’

“What do you mean…?”

“I mean you’ll watch the entire suit being built while you work. Then you’ll see how safe it is. I need someone to double check me, anyways.”

“Mr. Lee, I don’t think I’m qualified for that.”

“Don’t be silly, of course you are!”

Your engineering experience went as far as Physics I and II classes with a teaspoon’s worth in basic circuitry, so if Minho thought that qualified you to double check his work, then you might have to question his PhD degree.

The elevator welcomed you both into its vacant container. The lowest level this elevator could reach with a single button was the basement, but if the right person (or the wrong person) were to dial the buttons in the order of 4-4-1-9, they would be taken nine floors below the basement to the rumored ‘Super Office’ (ten was too much because Minho didn’t like the feel of the heavy pressure and eight was such a silly number).

The steel doors opened right into his Super Office which he designed to be five times larger than his executive office so he had plenty of room for building up new car designs and bringing his super suits to life for both him and his partners. His successful designs that were once worn but are now retired were placed on mannequins and stored inside a tall glass box on display for him to admire.

You walked up to your favorite one, eyes sparkled adoringly at Seungmin’s first Spider-Man suit.

“You always loved the red and blue,” Minho noted behind you. “Still not a fan of the black one?”

“The black one is scary! No one wants a hero dressed in all black, like that color does not exude the feeling of safe.”

“Duly noted for his next suit.”

Beside Seungmin’s old spidey suit was an empty display case you assumed was meant for this final draft of Minho’s Iron Man suit. Surrounding the two glass cases were dozens and dozens of wood and plastic demos that didn’t work out in the end, but Minho didn’t have the heart to take them to the dumpster.

“Looks like the shipment arrived early!” Your mature but easy-going boss jogged up to the piles of wooden crates and packages that were laid out neatly in the center of his work space. Without much patience, he took off his indigo suit jacket, tossed it to the side like it wasn’t worth two thousand dollars (to which you caught before it hit the ground), and took the crowbar on top of the pile to open the cases with ease. Sheets of metals, different tools, and a cool welding and soldering set scattered along the concrete floor. Minho gave you an excited grin that mimicked a child upon opening gifts on Christmas. “Let the building commence!”

There wasn’t room for any argument, so you took a seat at his desk where he normally would sketch the designs and worked off of his desktop with a heavy feeling of defeat. At least watching the process would be cool, right?

Maybe cool wasn’t the right word. Or watching.

For the next three months, from sunrise to sunset, you spent your day nine floors below the surface for almost twelve hours a day being his little helper. From holding pieces of metal in place while he flame torched them together to feeding him take out because his hands were covered in oil, you did it all and God, if Minho didn’t give you a raise or at least some meal tickets to the executive cafeteria, you might just quit on the spot.

“Done.” With a heavy and exhausted sigh, Minho clapped his hands together and marveled at his nearly-finished product. “We’re done!!”

“What about the red and gold paint?”

“I can’t work on this anymore or I’ll implode. I’ll just take this to my car guy and he’ll paint it exactly how I want it.”

“Not really a self-made suit then, is it?” you dared to challenge your boss.

He pointed an accusing finger at you. “Shut your mouth and give me my food.”

You handed a slouching Minho his box of take-out and wooden chopsticks. While you had a perfectly comfortable ottoman he could have sat on right next to you, he remained on the cold concrete, probably too sore and worn out to even stand up, let alone walk to a cushioned seat. Minho was a man with personality and many faces, but his face of satisfactory upon completing projects was when he was the most handsome. For a while, you two just sat in silence, taking in every detail of the flawless iron suit while slurping noodles.

“So,” Minho began nervously. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful, Mr. Lee,” you say immediately.

“You mean it?”

For someone so intelligent and talented, it was a wonder how a man like him could be insecure about any of his creations.

“Absolutely,” you reassured. “Flawless. Is it fully programmed and everything?”

“Yup. I installed the software and artificial intelligence last week.”

“Sounds like the only thing you need to do is take it out for a spin.”

Minho hummed with approval. “... Can you do it for me?”

“What!? No!”

“I really don’t want to do it…”

“With all due respect, suck it up.”

“Isn’t it reasons like this why I hired you?”

“I was hired to be your secretary, not your lab rat.”

“To be fair, the job description was pretty vague.”

“Yeah, I definitely did not expect to be helping you construct a modern Knight in Shining Armor cosplay.” After wiping your mouth clean of all MSG and soy sauce, you tossed your dirty napkin in the trash bin that was a considerable distance away.

Minho followed suit, who was also able to get his napkin in the can. Then you tossed another napkin, and then him, and this went on until you were left to toss your boxes and chopsticks. The real challenge was tossing the plastic wraps of the fortune cookies.

“Whoever loses has to do whatever the other says,” Minho proposed.

Without hesitation, you nodded in agreement. “Fine, but I will not test that thing out if I lose.”

“Deal. Secretaries first.”

You did your best to crumple up and squish out any air that was left in the wrapped before whipping it like you were throwing the first pitch. The wrapper hit the rim of the can and fell to the side. But that’s ok, because there was no way your boss could even come close to -

“WOO!” Minho cheered, getting up from the floor while you were left slumped in the chair filled with defeat. Of course, whatever he wanted, he would get his way. “Man, I am super lucky today.”

“What the hell! Did you wrap it around a stone or something!?”

“Darling, I would never cheat ~”

“There’s no use in arguing. Just lay the consequences on me, boss.”

Minho scooted the ottoman closer - almost a little too close. Then, like a handsome little goldendoodle with his swooshy chocolate hair and sparkling eyes, he gazed up at you pleadingly before offering you your punishment.

Fear and flattery tickled your spine. “Spit it out.”

A grin followed. “You will accompany me to the ball next week.”

“The Children’s Charity Ball? The biggest charity ball of the century? The one where all the white-haired big shots attend with their dates who just barely turned eighteen?”

“The very same.”

“And you want me to be your date.”

“Yes.”

“Seems a bit lazy, doesn’t it?”

“Lazy how!?”

Not wanting him to see you blush, you began cleaning up the mess from the takeout. “Lazy as in why not find a real date? You know, someone you’ll have a good time with.”

“Hey, I always have a good time with you! And I’m doing you a favor if you think about it. If I wanted to bring anyone else, that would mean you’d have to flip through all of my contacts and have you choose the perfect date for me. So unless you want the extra overtime, I’ll expect to see you dressed to the nines?”

“Don’t you want to bring someone more suited for this role? Someone with much more finesse and elegance?” you said as you twirled dirty napkins in the air.

“If I’m being honest, I do not have the time nor do I want to put in the effort into bringing someone so bland.”

“Who says they’re bland? What if I pick out one of your supermodel friends or like a professor, or something?”

“All my supermodel friends like to toke up in bathrooms and what’s a professor going to do? Lecture me to death? _____, please, I am begging you - be my date? You know you and I are going to have a blast, I promise you. We always do when we’re together.”

A moment of silence passed while you shuddered in disgust. You couldn’t believe you were going to say this, but… “So what should I wear?”

“Yes! That’s the spirit! Wear anything besides velvet because that’s my fabric of choice.”

“Can you at least do the picking for me? We should at least match in the slightest.”

Minho let out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, fine, I’ll do all the work.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Mr. Lee.”

“It’s what I do best.”

After cleaning up the mess and a last quick polish on the Iron suit, the two of you took the elevator to the level below the basement where Minho parked his favorite fancy shmancy foreign sports car you couldn’t pronounce. In its shiny and spotless all-white glory sat his coup in his executive parking spot where no other car or person was in sight.

“Quite showy for you, isn’t it?” you accused your normally toned-down boss.

“I had a hunch that today was going to be the day we finished, and low and behold, we did. Soojung the Spyder always brings me good luck,” he patted and praised his prized roadster.

The distance from the office to your apartment was a solid forty-five minutes away by public transportation, right on the edge of being not too far, but not close enough, but by car it was only twenty-five minutes. During your first couple of years with the company, you enjoyed the lonely rides and getting lost with your thoughts, but there were moments you got so lost that you missed your stop a couple too many times and sometimes the winter made waiting outside so unbearable. It wasn’t until you started to clock in tons of overtime that Minho was nice enough to drive you home from then on.

“C’mon, _____, just get in the car,” Minho begged for the twelfth time, holding the passenger door open with one hand and an umbrella with the other. He parked his car illegally right in front of the bus stop that so many other employees used. Why did it matter that you were using it while it was thunderstorming and past 10:00 PM? “The heat is escaping the longer we argue.”

“It’s fine! I don’t live too far away,” you lied. “Please go home, Mr. Lee, your puppy must be worried sick.”

“Hazelnut can wait, but I can’t. As your boss, I order you to get in my car!” Though the statement was serious with his booming voice, his pouty lips made it much less intimidating.

“With all due respect, I have clocked out for the day and I don’t have to listen to you until 7:00 am tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me break the law.”

“What do you mean?”

The blinding lights of the bus flashed irregularly, a polite way of telling Minho to get the fuck out of the way. But he didn’t move in the slightest. He patiently waited for you by the passenger door, not moving a muscle and looking like a car model dressed in his long, warm and tan pea coat. The patient and smug look on his face let you know he wasn’t playing around and that he’d dare tell the bus to wait until you got in.

“Mr. Lee, get out of the way!”

“Not until you’re in my car,” he shook his head stubbornly. “The bus is getting closer ~”

Your anxiousness hiked up exponentially when the driver held the horn long and loudly, not looking like they had much patience in them and indicating that they were very, very annoyed. For the sake of not inconveniencing the butt-load of passengers and the driver and securing your job, you hurried into his car, cursing up a storm that rivaled the one outside. A triumphant and smirking Minho followed suit and sped away at a dangerous speed, perhaps breaking a second law that night. For those twenty-five minutes (or maybe it was fifteen with Minho’s driving), the car was silent because your reckless boss focused on cutting every civilian off on the highway and you were too busy covering your eyes in fear.

“You were so dramatic back then,” Minho snickered at the seemingly-harmless memory.

“Me!? You were the one who parked in front of a bus stop and begged me to get in!”

“You were the one who wouldn’t get in the damn car!”

“How does it look to on-lookers that a secretary is getting into her boss’s car!?”

“It’s not like anyone knows our relationship.”

“Oh please, someone like you driving a beautiful shiny car picking up sad ol’ me at the bus stop - of course on-lookers may not know me and my relationship to you, but they definitely know who you are at the very least.”

“I could not give more than zero fucks of what people think.”

“Yes, that much is clear.”

“_____, you can’t always worry about what everyone thinks ~”

You sighed loudly, as if you’d explained this to him a thousand times already. “Worrying is the basis of my entire title, Mr. Lee.”

“And will you drop the ‘Mr. Lee’ once and for all? We’re the same age!”

“Same age, but different titles and a massive pay gap. You and I are not equals.”

Minho reached over to mess up your hair. “You’re so formal, it’s so cute!”

“Ah, stop it! You’re swerving!!”

Minho had dropped you off and walked you up to your apartment more times than you can count, but you don’t think you’ll ever get over the embarrassment of your humble abode. Of course you’ve visited his mansion just as many times, since you participated in the designing of it, and him having to see such a sad home in comparison is, well, terrifying each and every time.

“Ok, bye,” you dismissed quickly.

A handsome laugh escaped your handsome boss’s lips. “Still hate having me so close to your home? You know, it’s quite rude you’ve never invited me in and yet you’ve been in mine hundreds of times!”

“My home doesn’t have marble statues or glass refrigerators and I can’t hire you to redesign the interior.”

“You know I don’t care about that stuff.”

“But I do!”

His tongue tisked disappointedly. “What a shame. I thought we were friends.”

“We are, but friends don’t break sensitive boundaries.”

He passively waved you off. “Fine, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“Excellent. I have one request.”

It was your turn to pout. What could he possibly want this time? “Already? At least let me sleep peacefully.”

“It’s nothing complicated, I promise! In fact, it’ll save you thirty minutes. Don’t bring me my coffee tomorrow.”

“Don’t? Are you on a caffeine cleanse again? You know how badly that went last time - you barely lasted two days and you fired someone, to which I had to convince you for forty minutes to hire them back.”

“No, not a cleanse. Just come in a bit earlier. Let’s get coffee together.”

“Do you have time for that?” Knowing how packed Minho’s schedule was in the mornings, you wondered his sanity for making time just so the two of you could grab a cup.

“I’ll make time. Actually, you’ll make time. Can you pencil us in for some coffee?”

“U-Uh, yeah!” With nervous and shaky hands, you pulled out your work phone and squeezed in half an hour of coffee time. “Done.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Don’t be reckless driving home.”

“No promises.”

Before going into your apartment complex, you watched Minho wave goodbye before blasting music with a deep bass and speeding off, leaving a smokey trail from burning rubber.

“I hate him,” you smiled to yourself.

“I hate him,” you said to yourself upon walking into Minho’s office.

Like an artificially intelligent robot that didn’t know of its purpose, Minho dressed in his Iron suit walked around his office doing regular office things, like dusting the blinds and tidying up loose papers on his desk. It was a little difficult to do smaller tasks with his stiff and massive iron hands, so you’re not entirely sure what your boss was doing.

“G’morning!” he greeted cheerfully. “Just taking this baby out on a test drive.”

You had just noticed the paint job was completed on the suit which meant that it was good to go. However, you didn’t think this was the ideal way to ‘test drive’ a superhero suit.

“Good morning, Mr. Lee. Is this really the right way to test drive?”

“I got too excited when my car guy told me it was done. He did it so quickly and precisely, too. Look, he even engraved it with my signature! She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, very shiny. The gold and red are much prettier than I imagined.”

“Right!? Not too Gryffindor-y, is it?”

“Not at all,” you said sincerely. “Do you want to get coffee now? We should hurry, you have a conference call at 8:00.”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Minho followed you to the door with a trail of heavy iron steps. You turned around quickly and gave him an incredulous look, one he’s seen much too often. “I don’t want coffee anymore.”

“Why not!?”

“I’m not going out in public with you wearing that thing! You look ridiculous!”

“That’s so rude of you to say about my pride and joy! This also took me thirty minutes to put on!”

“Mr. Lee, we’re just getting coffee!”

“You are not fun at all.”

It took only five minutes to get your boss stumbling out of the suit because the button for the release was hidden under a metal panel on his wrist, but at least it was painless.

“I thought you didn’t want to reveal Iron Man until you tested it and got your seal of approval?” you asked the child-like man.

“That’s still the plan, but I’m just so excited! I think we should test it tonight.”

“Tonight? Already?”

“Yup, and I need you here with me in case I die, or something.”

“And to think I was gonna relax and take a bubble bath tonight.”

“It won’t take long, I promise.”

“I’ll believe it when I drop my bath bomb in my tub.”

In your whole time working here, you’ve spent more time together with Minho at both the office and at his home than working alone. The ratio was about seventy-five percent at the office, fifteen percent at his home, and ten percent miscellaneous, like going to business lunches or simple walks to the coffee shop like today. The long work hours were brutal on your feet and your social life, but the money was way too good to pass. You swore you broke the world record for ‘quickest payment of student debt’ with your hard work.

To anyone else, your job sounded so unappealing that no amount of money could ever convince them to do what you’re doing. ‘So brave’, they tell you, but it’s not that you’re brave, it’s that you’re loyal and as much as you hate to say it, you had the best boss. Yes, he’s a little goofy and yes, maybe a bit naive because he’s so young, but he treated you like you’re his equal and not someone so beneath him who takes all of his notes and takes his laundry to be dry cleaned. Plus when he compensated for your time so handsomely, how could you hate your job? Every day was new and exciting when you were with Minho.

The day went along as normal, from conference calls to lunch and finishing the day with an interview with the press. The very second everyone clocked out at 5:00 pm, you followed a speedy boss to wherever he led you.

“Are we going to test it out now?”

“No, silly, it’s still too bright out! We have to test it once the sun sets.”

You knew that sounded too good to be true. You held a light jog in order to keep up with him. “Where are we going then?”

He turned and gave you a suspicious grin. “Shopping!”

“For what!?”

“You and I need matching outfits for the charity ball, remember?”

“You know, I was just kidding when I said that… We don’t have to match…” The last thing you want is for someone to mistake you as your boss’s date instead of his secretary, but to be fair you don’t know many guests going that bring anyone that isn’t a date, so you kind of shot yourself in the foot when you didn’t make that shot into the trash bin.

“We are matching and I am not arguing with you.”

A defeated sigh escaped your lips before entering the backseat of Minho’s car where his driver would take us anywhere he pleased. He told him a cross section that sounded familiar, but not enough for you to guess where you’re going, so from here on out until you were home taking a hot bath, the rest of today would be a surprise.

The car stopped in front of a glossy black DIOR building. You expected nothing less from Minho.

“You would pick Dior,” you scoffed, completely amazed at how someone so rich could have so much brand loyalty to one company.

“Hey, they are consistent and beautifully crafted, don’t judge me.”

“Mr. Lee and Lovely _____!” An older, graceful lady came running to greet both of you with a warm smile dressed in a hot red shade of lipstick. You recognized her voice to be the owner from all the times you called to ask about any pieces Minho could reserve before they hit the runway and were snatched up by the ‘I Have Daddy’s Credit Card and Inheritance’ private-school boys. This was your first time seeing her in person and her calming voice matched her mature appearance perfectly. “This piece has been waiting for you ~”

“I can’t wait, Auntie,” he smiled back graciously like an obedient nephew rewarded with cookies.

She led the two of you to the very back where the private dressing and tailoring area was, where the mirrors went from the floor to the ceiling. The store owner walked in with Minho’s fabric of choice, a velvet jacket with crisp black pants and a white button-up that had the slightest sheen of silver from metallic strands woven into the shirt fabric. In the shadows, one would think the velvet was black, but in the light or at certain angles, there was the slightest sheen to it that showed the darkest shades of indigo and green, like an oil slick. You couldn’t believe the amount of detail in the velvet that your eyes looked like they were popping out of your sockets.

Your boss was so eager to try it on that he was taking off his pants before you were warned. Quickly you turned around and shut your eyes, pretending that you didn’t see his KakaoTalk-patterned boxer briefs.

“M-M-Mr. Lee! At least warn me if you’re going to strip!!”

“Sorry ~” he apologized unapologetically.

A couple of zips and rustling of fabrics later, Minho tapped your shoulder to turn around. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets again while looking at your boss dressed in a suit that was clearly made for him and him only. It didn’t look like any tailoring was needed at all! He looked like he walked right off the runway. There had to be some enchantment spell in the fabric because you swear you’ve never seen any man more handsome before this moment.

“I take it you like it?” Minho teased.

Your cheeks tickled with red when he caught you staring. “You look amazing as usual, Mr. Lee.”

“You think so?” You knew so. “It’s not too flashy, is it?”

“Not at all. I think you have the perfect amount of flash. How does it feel?”

“Like a glove. It’s already perfectly tailored!”

“I know your measurements by heart, my dear,” Auntie bragged. “Of course I had it ready to go already.”

“You’re the best.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. “What would I be without you?”

“Not GQ’s best dressed man under thirty, that’s for sure.”

“Could you do me another favor? Do you perhaps have something for _____ to match? We have a charity ball next weekend.”

“Mr. Lee, this is really unnecessary -”

“I know exactly what to pull.”

Before you could object, Auntie ran to the back of the store where all the hidden inventory was held. You glared at your cheeky boss, still dressed in his sexy outfit and it was hard to keep your glare when he looked so damn good, that handsome bastard.

“I’m not wearing whatever she brings out.”

“You will and you’ll look great and we will buy it, so don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you!? I am not your doll!”

“I’ve got it!”

Both you and Minho whipped your heads to see Auntie running in with a blacker than black satin and silky outfit that was simple but elegant. Nervous goosebumps spread through your arms and straight to your wallet. You already knew this was going to be the most expensive outfit you’ve ever worn.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasped so slightly.

“Try it on!”

Minho followed Auntie out of the dressing room but not before shooting you a triumphant wink. I mean, who were you to deny your boss and the store owner, right? So with ease, you put on the cooling fabric that clung to your body in all the right spots. The mirror did all justice and perhaps it was a magical mirror that Dior spent millions on to convince their customers to buy everything because damn, you look hot! With your face as red as Minho’s Corvette, you presented the outfit to the two judges.

“Oh, it fits perfectly!” Auntie gushed with wide eyes.

Minho stayed silent with his mouth ajar and eyes scanning you up and down like you were a precious gem discovered in a deep cave beyond a waterfall. It was hard to differentiate between feeling flattered and feeling like object, but at least you were a desired object, right?

“You look amazing,” Minho admitted sincerely, no longer looking at you with awe and rather content.

“Really? I look ok?”

His handsome smile shined brightly at you. Whether you were dressed in your formal work clothes that screamed ‘absolute virgin’ or you were head-to-toe in Dior, you were never just ‘ok’. You always had the attention of everyone in the room once you walked in, especially his. You were always stunning, no matter what. Validation from your boss always came easy and calmed you quickly because he only had eyes for you.

“You look just fine,” he lied, because ‘fine’ didn’t come close to how you looked to him.

“We’ll be the best dressed at the ball, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

The car ride home was quiet other than the trot music playing on the radio from the driver’s playlist. Minho seemed as cool as a cucumber, but you were at the edge of your seat feeling a bit awkward and ugh, unintentionally sweaty. Compliments from any man was one thing, but coming from your boss? A whole different level of weird, especially if they weren’t work related! What did ‘you look just fine’ even mean!? Was that a good thing? Were you too average-looking? Whatever it was, from now until you fall asleep at ungodly hours, those words were going to circulate your thoughts, perhaps haunt you for days.

At exactly 7:03 pm, just as the sun set below the horizon revealing the indigo night sky, the driver pulled up to the back entrance of the building that led to a secret elevator that would take you straight to the underground office after punching in the code. A giggling and grinning Minho was the first to hop out of the car and ran towards the door.

“Mr. Lee, hold on!” you whined as you struggled to get out of the tall car.

“Hurry up, _____! Now’s the perfect time to earn that OT!”

“This time-and-a-half pay better be worth it…”

Upon entering the elevator, you were ready to punch in the 4419 code, but Minho had already pressed the button to the top level, which led to the roof slash helipad.

“Why are we going up?”

“We can’t test the suit inside, silly. Seungmin came by earlier to pick up his suit after I recalibrated it last night and I asked him to take the suit to the roof.”

“How, that thing weighs like a ton!”

“Not when you’re wearing it.”

“You let him wear it before you test drove it!? Mr. Lee, that’s extremely reckless!”

“Relax, I trusted he wouldn’t mess anything up, and look! It’s right there!”

The glass elevator made a slow stop to reveal the red and gold suit standing proudly in the center of the helipad. As soon as the doors panned open, Minho handed you his suitcase before running out and tossing his blazer onto the floor before hastily stepping into the suit.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he said, running back to your frazzled state. He took the leather suitcase from your hands and popped it open so he could give you a glass tablet. “This is for you.”

You looked at the shiny slab of glass with wonder. “What is it?”

“It’s like a control center. You’ll see what I see in terms of my stats and where I am in the city. If anything goes wrong, like say the jets give out, I need you to send a command to manually turn on the back-ups.”

“And what code is that?”

“Not important, we’ll study those later.”

“Later!? What if something happens tonight!?”

“Nothing will happen I promise, I’ll see you in a bit ~!” his cheering faded away the further he ran from you and to his beloved suit.

There was no use in fighting your boss, so you did as you were told and touched the tablet to reveal the control panel. It was black for a few moments before the screen showed your tiny self off in the distance looking down at the tablet which meant that Minho was able to put on and turn on the suit super quickly without any problems.

“What do you see?” he asked you through the speakers of the tablet from his built-in microphone in the helmet.

“I see me in the distance, the battery level of the suit, and all other weird liquids and commodities at one hundred percent.”

“Perfect!”

You turned to look at your boss who was stretching and feeling out the suit as if this wasn’t his 50th time wearing it. Still, he looked so excited and proud of his hard work, it was hard to tease him about how childish he was, even if he was trying out his yoga poses he just learned.

“How does it feel?”

“It feels incredible! Totally indescribable now that I’m out in the open. And it’s surprisingly lightweight.”

“How were you able to make it feel light with all that metal?”

“I don’t know, if I’m being honest…”

You rolled your eyes. “The work of a genius, huh?”

“You’ve got that right. Are we ready to take off?”

“I believe so. Are you ready to take off?”

“More than I’ll ever be, baby!!”

Before you knew it, you saw the camera’s view on the screen wobble and turn towards the edge of the building. Terrified, you saw your child-like boss get a running start before he dove off the edge and into the sea of the city.

In a panic, you ran and took a peak over the edge, hoping the jets or whatever kept the suit flying would operate properly and leave you without any worries. At first, Minho was but a dark red speck falling beneath the shadows, but a second later, he came flying up at lighting speed doing tricks and flips with ease and whooping loudly, as any normal CEO of a software company slash wannabe superhero would do. You could hear him giggling through your tablet, and like a spectator watching the most spectacular aerial performance, you watched him with a smile on your lips.

After his solo, he glided back down to you and hovered beyond the edge just at your eye level. You couldn’t see any features behind the glass of his eyes so you were left awkwardly staring at his expressionless helmet with those signature weird fangs. After all you and Minho have been through together, even with an idea like this being so ridiculously obscure, he could always rely on you to support him no matter what. He saw how your eyes sparkled with wonderment and how your cheeks dusted a soft pink and it was then that he knew you would stay by his side for even more ridiculous shenanigans to come.

He would never let you leave, anyways. Even in another lifetime, he’d have you by his side forever.

“How cool do I look right now?” he asked. His voice sounded deeper and electronic through the helmet, like he was a robot or had his voice programmed through a phone like Siri. You imagined an idea like that was how Minho planned on becoming immortal one day.

You raised a brow. “You look kind of… scary?”

“Scary!? Why?”

“I don’t know, if I saw a flying robot come at me at rocket speed, I think I’d be terrified!”

“Well, if I come to your rescue, at least you’ll know it’s me.”

“I suppose. So what are you going to do now? Throw a reveal event? Press conference, perhaps?”

“That, or wait for a Demon-Level threat to pass through our city. I don’t know, whichever comes first.” Minho shrugged nonchalantly. “Wanna see something cool?”

Before you could agree, Minho held his palm to the sky before a neon blue blast shot out of it, disappearing into God-knows-where. You could feel the heat from the beam of light radiated around you and fear sparked inside your chest.

“What the hell was that!?” you exclaimed.

“Isn’t that so cool!? Gonna hit some suckers and fry them up like bacon!” Your boss blindly shot another beam of light into the sky and you prayed to someone out there that no planes would disintegrate in the process.

“Hey, careful! What if you hit a satellite or something!” In the process of grabbing Minho’s iron hand so he’d stop being so reckless, you burned yourself upon touching the hot metal opening like a total dumb ass and yanked your hand back. “Ah!!”

“Oh, shit.”

Quickly and haphazardly, Minho landed back on the helipad and climbed out of the iron suit. In the process of running back to your aid, he untied his black silk necktie to use as a temporary band aid on your scalding palm. Gingerly, his cold hands took yours and ran a thumb over the scarring semicircle.

“Ah ah ah stop!!” you cried with tears of pain and embarrassment streaming down your cheeks.

“Sorry! Here,” Minho wrapped his tie around your palm and tied it tightly. The pure silk felt cooling against the burn and soon your tears stopped and you couldn’t do anything else besides sniffle. “Let’s go back inside. My office has a first aid kit.”

Your mumbling and cursing boss led you back to his office with urgency, blaming himself for being so stupid and recklessly playing with what could be considered a weapon of mass destruction. And now his favorite person, the one person who believed in his iron suit, was hurt in the process, pouting cutely and holding your burned hand like you were an injured puppy. This was one of his greatest fears upon completing this project.

You sat on his sapphire blue velvet couch with the bronze-gilded frame that looked like it belonged in the Ravenclaw common room trying to alleviate the pain of the burn in Minho’s ice bucket (for his white wine, of course) while he shifted through his drawers to find the first aid kit you gave him a couple years ago.

“Do you remember when you got this for me?” he asked as soon as he pulled it out from the bottom drawer. You shook your head, too lightheaded and in too much pain to remember. He sat next to you and began to tell the old story while patching you up. “It was your third year working here, but my first day as CEO when I took over for my Dad. I got so many paper cuts from all the paperwork I had to read and sign and I got a massive headache afterwards and I just wanted to eat something because all I had that day was an iced americano. It was so late and by the time I was finished, it was maybe 7:00pm -”

“8:00 pm,” you corrected in between sniffles.

“Ah, so you do remember! At 8:00pm, you waltzed into my office wearing your comfiest clothes with a bag of take-out in one hand and the first aid kit with a million bandaids and Tylenol in the other. That night, you sat in my office and helped patch up my fingers, fed me lo mein, and helped me with the rest of the paperwork for two hours. I thought of you as my guardian angel since that day and vowed to myself that no matter what, you and I would stick by each other’s side and be the dynamic duo that we are forever. Oh, how the tables have turned tonight. Now I’m the one patching you up.”

Minho had finished wrapping your palm at the end of his story. Something about his proclamation didn’t sit right with you. Something about staying here forever, clocking in massive amounts of overtime and being subservient to the same men sounded like your own personal hell.

“I can’t be your secretary forever, Mr. Lee.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I don’t have to think about that for quite some time, right?”

“Maybe.”

“I hate change, you know.”

“I, more than anyone else, know that.”

Your handsome boss chuckled lightly at the heavy subject. His curly coffe hair covered his eyes as he looked down at your hand and traced small shapes on the bandaid. You knew that he knew you didn’t want to stay here forever, and he couldn’t blame you, but it didn’t make the thought of you leaving any less heartbreaking.

“Does it feel any better?”

“Much better,” you said truthfully as the cooling gel felt like a magical potion.

“This first aid kit is the only practical gift I’ve ever received. All others are for the aesthetic.”

“Do you prefer practical gifts, Mr. Lee?”

“Of course! The fuck am I going to do with a VVS diamond-encrusted chain?”

“Flex on all the other young CEOs?”

“And partake in their pissing contest? No, thank you.”

“You’re telling me you won’t be doing that this weekend at the Charity Ball?”

“When I have you next to me, I don’t need VVS diamonds,” Minho grinned flirtatiously.

You hit his arm with your good hand and he flinched upon his correct prediction. “I am not an accessory!”

“Of course not! You are my beloved intelligent sidekick that all other big wigs tell me they wished they had! But when you look like that, it’s bonus points ~”

“Ugh, your kind are all the same!” you scoffed, trying to collect your things and storm out the door.

“It’s a compliment!” he teased. Minho managed to chase after you and grab your things to carry to his car so he could drive you home for the 1106th time.

After a long and tiring rest of the week helping your boss do target practicing with the iron suit on, Saturday had arrived and now you had the honor of accompanying said-boss to a Big Dick contest disguised as a Charity Ball. The main event was for the sake of the children of course, but the real show was to see who was wearing what designer with what accessories and who pulled up in the fanciest sports car with the youngest and sexiest date in their arms. You were so, so lucky to be working for someone who liked to stay low key, despite always being the center of attention.

“Why are you so nervous?” Minho teased, nudging your arm as you both walked up to the front doors of the venue. “This isn’t the first time you’ve played as my date.”

“I know, but it doesn’t get any easier,” you admitted, shyly covering yourself from the much-more revealing outfit now that it was tailored to fit.

“You and I look fine! Muted colors, minimal diamonds, low key attitudes - we’re perfect! No one will even notice we’re here.”

That was a complete lie, because the second you walked in, a swarm of gossip columnists and magazine writers circled around the two of you, bombarding you both with the same questions you were so used to.

“Mr. Lee, who are you wearing?”

“Mr. Lee, who’s your lovely date?”

“Mr. Lee, what’s the best way to lock in that your date will go home with you?”

Minho raised his hand slightly and all that could be heard were the cameras clicking. God, the power he has…

“Dior, a close friend, and be so irresistible that they can’t say no.”

Without another word, he gently took your bandaged hand and led you out of the circle of gossipers who were silent in awe. With your free hand, you covered up your ugly laughing.

“You’re such a cornball!” you said in between a fit of giggles.

“An irresistible cornball, at least. Now, walk me through all these people again?”

Minho was young and when it came to networking, he still had the mentality of being the CEO’s son rather than the CEO. That meant that Minho didn’t care much in remembering other CEO’s names and relied on you to remind him of all the people he should have remembered three years ago. It was a consistent hour of introductions and small talk about future goals, collaborations, and golfing, all of which you were able to expertly tune out while sipping prosecco and snacking on caviar tarts. Years of experience thankfully made these events easier.

“Did you practice your speech for your donation?” you reminded Minho after taking a seat at the prestigious Table 2. Since the company was one of the Charity Ball’s biggest sponsors, the CEOs were always invited to say some manufactured speech.

“Yeah. I even practiced it in the shower. Hopefully I get the charity organization correct this time.”

“It’s amazing how you even got this far.”

The Charity Ball should have been named See Who Can Donate the Most Money Ball because every speech given by a CEO of some company tried to out-do each other. Luckily, your company’s speeches were always last and your touch of humanity written on paper always had the audience in awe with the Minho’s compassion. To pass the time, you and Minho played rock-paper-scissors and whomever lost had to drink champagne. Let’s just say Minho ended up having the infamous Asian Glow.

His face was still blushy by the time it was his turn and you almost felt bad because the pictures with the flash turned on probably wouldn’t be so flattering in the magazines, but that wouldn’t matter because he still looks like the most stunning man in the room. All eyes were on him as he made his speech, but he had his eyes on you. Probably because he would piss his pants if he saw how many people were looking at him. You gave him two thumbs up for encouragement.

“It is the greatest honor to be here and giving a speech for the third year in a row. Children are the source and future for a better world, and it is our duty to -”

You blanked out for most of it since you wrote it. It was hard to focus anyways when his eyes were so piercing, so you averted his gaze and counted the number of peppercorns on his unfinished steak. At an alarming fifty-three, you glanced around the gallery to see if anyone was actually paying attention. Many, if not all, of the guests around your age were paying attention with dreamy eyes and pouty lips, all wishing they were in your position tonight. Some even dared to make eye contact with you as if to say, ‘how DARE you NOT pay attention to the sexiest man alive!?’ The older, more powerful guests seemed genuinely interested in the amount Minho was donating and the older dates seemed to care more about their reflection on the back of a spoon.

The fattest check with a bunch of zeros was walked onto the stage. A standing ovation was in order of course, and you conformed with the crowd, even though applause always made Minho visibly uncomfortable.

“He throws a big, fat check to charity and yet he still doesn’t like the attention, huh?”

As the clapping died down and the noise faded into the smooth hum of the live piano and jazz music, you turned to face the owner of a familiar sly voice. The man that stood before you was the famous doctor slash art collector slash playboy who you’ve come to know after attending all of these flashy events.

You smiled slyly at the man. “If it isn’t GQ’s Bachelor of the Month, Dr. Park Seonghwa.”

The raven-haired man gave you his signature smirk. Then he took your hand and kissed it tenderly like the prince he is. “Lovely _____, pleasure to see you as always.”

“Have you been doing that to all the other guests you frequent at these events?”

“Of course not! Just the beautiful ones.”

You let out a loud scoff. “You and your way with words.”

“Are they enough to convince you to finally go out to dinner with me?”

“Not quite.”

Seonghwa sighed tiredly and dropped his head as if this was the first time you’ve rejected him. Guess every time felt like the first time. The handsome raven held his hand out to you. “If not dinner, how about a dance?”

Hesitantly, you searched for your boss like you were trying to sneak away from a parent. He was busy shaking hands and catching up with The Important People’s Club, so you didn’t think one dance would hurt, though once you feed a dog a treat, he’ll be begging for more forever.

You took his hand. “One dance.”

“Five.”

“One.”

“Three?”

“Dr. Park!”

“What!? Ok, fine, one dance, unless you’re really feeling it and then we’ll dance some more.”

“Maybe in another lifetime, Dr. Park.”

The young doctor led you to the dance floor before you could object further. For someone not-so-smooth with pick-up lines, he was definitely smooth with his moves. With one gentle hand on your waist and the other holding your hand, you two glide around the white tiles like the Royalty of the ball, and truly, for a few moments, it really felt like you were the star of this fairy tale.

Seonghwa let out a tired sigh. “Intelligent, beautiful, loyal, and good at dancing? How are you so good at everything?”

“Stop that.”

“I mean it! Yet no man swept you off your feet.”

“Just because I won’t say yes to you, doesn’t mean I’m not waiting for that special someone.”

Seonghwa held your hand up high and made you do a little twirl. “You might be waiting for a while, beautiful.”

“Why do you say that?”

“With Mr. Minho by your side twenty-five hours eight days a week, there is no man that has the courage to come in between such a strong relationship.”

“Even you?” you challenged.

“Even I. Unless you want me to -”

“Nope.”

“Ice cold heart as always…”

Song number one melted into song number two and it passed you both as you continued to discuss the hot topic of why you’re still single. It’s a conversation topic that you thought was reserved for nosy family members for you to brush off, but coming from another man who has begged for your number since you both met really put your love life into perspective. Perhaps you were too loyal to your boss…

While engulfed in the heated debate, Minho was desperately searching for his right hand where he thought you’d be - either at your seat or by the bar, but you were at neither. After receiving his order from the bar, he let the expensive gold liquid over ice flooded through his bloodstream, which led him to a group of gawking gossipers whining and gazing at the dance floor. What was all the hype about?

The sight of you in the arms of the world’s most arrogant doctor didn’t sit too well with him. The scene made him see green.

“You’re such a liar!” Minho heard you laugh aloud. “I did NOT give you so-called bedroom eyes at Yuta’s house warming!”

“You’re telling me you weren’t eyeing me up and down like a barbecued piece of pork belly dipped in sesame oil?”

“That’s because you had sesame oil on your white shirt!”

“Excuses, excuses.”

Minho took another sip of his golden drink before putting it down haphazardly and waltzing towards the dancing couple. To onlookers, this scene looked like it was straight out of those cheesy love triangle dramas. The gossipy gals wondered - would Minho punch Seonghwa? Would he grab your hand harshly and drag you away to scold you and tell you how much he cared about you? Would he kiss you!?

You saw your uncharacteristically stern-looking boss approaching, and even though you’re unsure of his intentions, you still smiled brightly, as you always did whenever you saw him. Minho lightened his heavy, angry steps. Even with another man by your side, you still looked at him. How could he be mad at you?

“Hello, Mr. Minho,” Seonghwa greeted, holding out a hand for him to shake. You knew your boss wasn’t the biggest fan of Seonghwa, but he politely returned the gesture anyways. Somehow you felt your heart beating in your throat - the tension on the dance floor was too high, too powerful, and you were but an awkward and nervous secretary standing on the side while two powerful men duked it out.

“Dr. Seonghwa, nice to see you again.” Minho was good at lying, but his lies never passed you. The amount of discomfort knitted in his eyebrows almost made you snicker. “Long nights at the hospital still?”

“As always, but at least it’s rewarding and enjoyable. How are your long nights at the office?”

“Can’t get enough of them, right, _____?”

“What? You’re still doing that much overtime?” Seonghwa asked worriedly. Now, was he worried because you were overworking yourself or was he worried because you were spending so much time with a man that wasn’t him?

You shrugged unapologetically. “I love that overtime pay.”

“_____, that’s not good for your health -”

“I tell them that all the time,” Minho interrupted defensively. He was always like this whenever anyone questioned the amount of work you had. To you, it was not much of a burden at all, but to anyone else, they couldn’t fathom your work hours but if they saw your paycheck, maybe they’d understand. Even your boss felt bad whenever your friends blamed him, but no matter how much he tried to convince you of a normal 40-hour work week, the duties of being his secretary never added up to just that. Therefore, your boss always felt the need to defend you and him for the sake of making sure you weren’t portrayed as his slave. “But you’re just so stubborn, aren’t you?”

“Only because it’s you, Mr. Lee,” you said like you’re reading a script. Somehow that doesn’t translate through the ears of the two powerful men in front of you, as your boss smiled triumphantly and Seonghwa couldn’t help but shake his head.

“If you ever want to take me up on that date, Lovely _____, you know who to call.” The most handsome man who’s ever flirted with you took your hand gently and planted a sweet, soft kiss that sent little tingles all up your arm. You don’t think you’ll ever reciprocate his feelings, but the feeling of being desired and wanted by a man really kicked up your ego and really made you think - when was the last time you ever liked someone, or someone ever liked you?

Park Seonghwa disappeared into the crowd and perhaps left the Charity Ball all together. Until next time.

Your boss turned to face you, whose stern face quickly melted into innocence as he knew what was coming by the look on your annoyed expression. “What?”

“What was that all about?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You shook your head and mumbled under your breath, “Ugh, you are unbelievable, Mr. Lee.”

As you tried to escape, the desperate man caught your hand. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Away from you for just five minutes, can you let me do that?” you snapped in a hushed volume. “Or do you need to watch over me and speak on my behalf, since you’re my Father apparently!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to act like that.”

“You say that every time, especially when I’m talking to another man and even more-so when I’m talking to Dr. Park. When will your sorries mean something?”

“You know I get protective over you.”

“Again, you are not my Father!”

“I know, but -”

All of the attention that was once focused on the handsome CEO and his secretary shifted to the glass ceiling that was now shattered to pieces upon the force of some dozens of masked strangers dressed in all black. Minho instinctively, though harshly, forced you down so he could hover over you so none of the glass hit you. What followed seemed to be too numbing, as all of the stimuli in the banquet hall was too much to handle.

“Get down,” Minho instructed while pushing you under one of the tables. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“Wait, but where are you -”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes!”

“Mr. Lee!”

Of course, he didn’t listen, as Mr. Lee always did what he wanted, right? Which would normally annoy the fuck out of you, but who has the time to panic about what your boss was up to when you’re stranded under the table and shrouded by cheap table cloth linen?

Since those people had invaded and fallen from the sky, you noticed that no gunshots or any sort of violence outside of melee were heard. No purpose of the attack is even known yet, but the signs were promising, until the famous alarm was heard throughout the whole town.

“Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until all threats have been cleared. Threat level: Dragon. Please stay inside until -”

“Ah, yes, the richest of the rich gather here today to donate the smallest percentage of their some billions of dollars to charity,” a booming voice tisked through a microphone. “Do you feel good about your good deed of the year? Are you proud of yourselves?”

For some unknown reason, the voice paused, as if waiting for an answer or a reaction from the people. Nothing was heard besides shrill screaming and crying, which was probably what the wannabe-vigilante wanted. For the first time, you peaked through the slits of the table cloth. At the stage where Minho gave his speech was a now-broken stage with the foot of a giant robot through it. It was a very top-heavy robot that looked like it had a large cavity in its belly, whose odd shape probably served some weird purpose unknown to everyone.

“Perhaps you’ll be proud of your donations for once when we capture you all and milk you of your every last penny!” The man laughed evilly at the head of the robot. “Down with the rich!”

“Down with the rich!” his people cheered in unison.

The oddly political turn of events made the scene less jarring - it seemed like an over-exaggeration of townspeople coming together to fight for higher taxing of the rich. Then you were reminded of the Dragon-level threat by how the minions loaded up the richies with a gun pointed to their heads and the complex mechanism that loaded them up to the belly of the robot. Somewhere among the mass of people you saw Seonghwa in between another surgeon and a senior engineer at Tesla before he disappeared behind the walls of metal.

“Hey, I found another one!” someone yelled close by. “Under Table 2!”

Shit. “Fuck.”

Perhaps all those years of advance self defense classes that Minho’s father enrolled you in would come to good use this time.

By your glamorously-strapped heel, one of the masked men dragged you out from under the table. There was no use in struggling, and the man seemed quite satisfied with how you complied.

“Let’s go, darling.”

With your free foot, you dug the pointy end of the studded heel into his groin. Luckily, you can only ever imagine how painful something like that could feel. He was in so much pain that he doubled over and let go of your foot, leaving you to flee to God-knows-where after you stole his police baton.

“Don’t fucking call me darling,” you spat as a farewell.

There were too many men in between you and the emergency exit, so you had to fight your way through like in those cheesy American action movies. A bunch of kicks in the groin here and a couple baton to the knee caps there were enough to get you by half way, but then they started double-teaming on you. Of course, this was much harder, but Senior Mr. Lee didn’t give you the best sensei in the damn nation for no reason. You felt invincible even after defeating multiple double teams, but it was the triple teaming that got you stuck. You can only kick and baton so many groins at one time until two men held each of your arms and the other stole the baton.

While struggling to break free, you managed to knee the one in front of you in the chin, causing him to cut his lip with blood dripping on his cheap leather shoes. After realizing what had happened, he punched you in the cheek as punishment. Was that a bone you heard cracking?

“Try me again, bitch,” he seethed.

Out of nowhere, your knight in Iron armor landed before the one who punched you and returned the favor, sending his body through so many walls of this building that you worried about the foundation and how long you had before it collapsed.

Minho’s red and gold helmet swung sharply and the empty eyes were staring into the souls of your captors while at the same time not.

“Who’s next?” Minho threatened with his super cool and inaccurately deep robotic voice.

Both men fled the scene as quickly as possible, losing their grip and throwing you to the floor. The penny taste finally registered in your brain that yes, you were definitely coughing and spitting out blood.

The cold metal of Iron Man’s hand helped you to your feet while the other cupped your quickly-bruising cheek gently. The underlying tenderness of your boss’s touch somehow healed all pain, or perhaps it was the cooling iron. Gestures like these were so foreign that you almost forgot it was your boss behind the mask and not some handsome stranger who was ready to sweep you off your feet. It was instances like these where you wished the latter was real.

“Are you ok?” he asked gingerly.

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go save your investors.”

A light chuckle came from Iron Man. “My driver’s already waiting outside. Are you able to run?”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

“C’mon, _____, now’s not the time -”

“Do not argue with me until you save everyone, Mr. Lee.”

Minho shook his head tiredly. He knew there was no use arguing with his headstrong secretary. “You’re so stubborn. Just promise you won’t get into any trouble this time.”

“No.”

“I’m cuttin’ down on your work hours!” he yelled, blasting off to fight the giant robot thing so he wouldn’t have to hear you argue back again.

You were left with a couple of masked minions who still had the balls to attack and capture you as if you were worth more than your surprisingly above-average five-figure salary. Your copper saliva mixed with your boss trusting you enough to not die in the middle of a Dragon-level threat really pumped the adrenaline through your veins, so as one man sprinted to attack, you managed to dodge it and kick him in the throat before he could try something else. The other guy tried to sneak up behind you, but you were quicker, swinging the baton hard enough to the head to knock him out cold. The power you felt coursing through your body left you on a major high. Where were all the other minions? No way was that all…

In the middle of the banquet hall was the face-off of the century, rivaling any and all story lines from DC and Marvel combined. A tiny seven-foot-something intricately crafted and painted sheet of metal was about to fight a giant several-stories tall and several-dozen-tons heavy hunk of junk with dozens of guests they managed to scoop inside. Now how was Mr. Lee going to save the day this time?

“Lee Minho, the man of the night,” the man controlling the ship scoffed. “You will look like my childhood favorite action figure once I stuff you in a glass box in my office! A prized treasure is what you’ll be. How does that sound?”

“Sounds kinky.” You could just sense the smirk behind his mask. “Then what will you do to me?”

“Milk you of all your assets, of course! Liquidation of its truest definition! The redistribution of wealth will come easy to the people, especially with your earnings in the mix!”

“Fine, take my money. But let these people go.”

“Absolutely not! I need all the money I can get! How do you expect me to change the distribution of wealth of the entire world with just one CEO’s salary!? Mr. Lee, I thought you knew that, silly.”

“Ok, fine. You take all of our money and then what?”

“Well, kill you, of course.”

A chorus of gasps and crying were heard from the belly of the machine.

The philosophical man continued. “People like you are the very reason there is a large pay gap. You sit on your ass drinking cocktails and eating caviar and you donate to some profiting charity only a tiny percentage of what you make while all the good hard-working people are the ones bringing the big bucks into your bank account! And what do they get? Small paychecks and four hours of sleep!”

Yeah, this guy was bad, but he had his points, so you’ll cheers to that, am I right?

“Well, then where will you get your money after that? Hm?” The captain stayed silent. “Where will you get more money to sustain this utopia? Certainly not from the hard-working people who have no experience leading or handling such a huge sum of money. And certainly not from you, right? Ha! With your five-figure salary paychecks that barely get the bills paid on time.”

A heavy arm swung to try and snatch up your boss. Though the arm was so large and heavy, Minho barely managed to escape his grasp. By the silence of the once-chatty leader of the pack, you could tell that he was bothered by the words spat by the youngest CEO in the room. How dare Minho mock his hard-earned pay when his earnings were given to him on a VVS diamond-encrusted platter!? There were a couple of times where he landed a couple of hits on your boss and you should feel worried, but you couldn’t help but think he deserved it. You hated to be on the enemy’s side, but you, too, were one of those five-figure salary paycheck owners that are barely scraping by with their bills. And of course you were all for the redistribution of wealth, but this guy definitely went a little too far…

You would think that the sheer size of this oddly-shaped hunk of metal wouldn’t be able to move so fast, but it managed to capture Minho by digging its claw to the wall and sandwiching Minho in between. He couldn’t even wiggle his way out between gaps because the thing was pressing too hard against the wall. Minho could feel the metal bending from inside.

“People like you will never understand the worth of the dollar,” the captain seethed. “Not when stacks come to you in baskets sewn with gold and jewels commissioned by your Daddy. People like you, and everyone captured, need to be humbled a little. Maybe you all can learn a little something from the working class.”

“Then we die, is that right?”

“Of course! But at least you’ll die a hard-working man, Mr. Lee.”

“I will. But I’ll die a hard-working man with billions in my grave before I let you take a penny!”

The blue beam of light that you once cursed for burning a half circle on your palm you were now thankful for, as that beam of light shot your boss up in the air and freed him, taking a few fingers off of the hunk of metal with him. A couple more shots of incinerator beams later, and both arms of the robot had been severed and half disintegrated. Minho kicked the glass where the leader sat and pulled out the defenseless lump of flesh that spoke the harsh truth about the wealthy. The leader was a young man who was not much older than either you or your boss, who didn’t look afraid in the slightest. Perhaps he expected, or even wanted, to go out this way - fighting for what he believed in.

The police, who had been waiting outside for all the ruckus to die down, came in and cuffed the leader and a few of his minions who cowardly hid under the tables. Minho helped all of his investors safely come out and among the crowd you saw Seonghwa, safe and sound.

You thought after a traumatic attack that now was not the time and place to reveal who Iron Man was or even associate yourself with him, so you tried to mix in with the crowd and book it to the driver like he asked you to do before. But of course your flaunty boss wanted to do the exact opposite.

“_____, wait!”

No, no, no, no, no, what the hell! Really!? Right now!? was how Minho read your expression as he walked to you with the suit on. When the seven-foot something Iron Man stopped before you, the face of his helmet slid open to reveal an out-of-breath Minho. The entire banquet hall echoed with gasps.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt, are you? Your bruise is getting worse!”

You could not feel anything on the left half of your face besides intense pain and somehow numbness at the same time and your limbs felt like jello and over-kneaded dough. But you couldn’t let your boss worry about you - he needs to take care of more important people right now. You’ll be fine come tomorrow once you sleep on a frozen bag of peas.

“I’m fine, I promise,” you said convincingly. “Looks like you have an impromptu press conference to deal with.”

To Minho’s dismay, all of the cameras and press and the phones of his business friends captured his face inside the Iron suit next to his famous secretary that all his business friends wished they had. He knew you hated press conferences because even though you never said anything, you were always by his side and that meant the cameras were pointed at you also.

“I can deal with them. Go to the car and go home.”

“I can stay with you.”

“I won’t allow it. You need to go home and ice your face.”

“I said I -”

“I said go.”

Minho never raised his voice at you ever because he never had a reason to. You were always hard-working and loyal and you always did everything correctly and did it with his best interest in mind. He’ll allow small things that might be detrimental to your health, like all the over time you loved to have and the unhealthy amounts of coffee you drown yourself in. But when the arm that’s supporting your body weight was shaking, your left cheek was the color of aubergine, and you had blood splatters on different parts of your body, that’s when he had to draw the line. Worry was knitted into his brows and his lips were a flat line and you only ever saw his face like this whenever he talked with his father. It was terrifying to see him almost mad at you and it made your heart sink a little that you did something wrong.

He softened his expression upon seeing your glossy eyes. “Take Monday off to rest. I’ll see you on Tuesday, ok?”

“But -”

“I’ll pay you for your time off, so don’t worry about the money. I just want you to rest. Can you do that for me?” You could only nod. “Thank you. Go home - I’ll text you when I’m done cleaning up tonight.”

Minho plastered on his happy television face and returned to the fawning crowd and overly-thankful investors. You were blinded by the flashing camera lights and that was your cue that you didn’t belong there anymore.

The trot music-loving driver hummed the whole way home while driving on auto-pilot, as he had memorized the path to your apartment long ago. Sitting in the back seat covered head-to-toe in the finest satin wasn’t as luxurious when you were alone as opposed to having your equally-luxurious boss next to you. You imagined what it’d be like if a giant robot didn’t crash the party this evening: you’d probably yell at him more about how you needed space and that he was overreacting with the whole Seonghwa deal; then he might try to bribe you with food or dessert so that you’d stop pouting like a child (and you’d totally cave in); and finally, he’d walk you up to your doorstep begging to come inside once more and you’d deny his entry, only for him to leave you with a comment about how you were the most stunning person at the ball tonight.

In short, as much as you hated to admit it, the ride home was lonely. Can you believe that? Your short time alone away from your boss was fucking lonely. Not peaceful, not relaxing, not mind-clearing, but totally and completely lonely. So much so that your heart ached a little, and to put these feelings in the simplest terms, it was because you were so used to being by his side that the emptiness to the seat next to you mimicked an unfamiliar cavity in your heart. It’s a painful feeling, really, because that meant leaving this job would be much harder than you hoped.

As if he planted a tracking device in your phone, Minho texted you upon locking the front door to your place.

The Money Man [01:03 am]: did you make it home ok?

An involuntary smile spread across your lips.

You [01:04 am]: just got home. are you stalking me?

The Money Man [01:04 am]: you didn’t think the phone i gave you was completely harmless and bugless, did you? ;)

You [01:05 am]: i should have known better. how’s the impromptu press conference? are people surprised that it’s you?

The Money Man [01:07am]: they are, but at the same time it’s not. ppl keep asking me questions and won’t let me take the suit off, can you believe that!? it’s hot as balls in this thing!!

The Money Man [01:07am]: shit, gotta go - gotta somehow convince these idiots this is definitely NOT something to invest in.

You [01:08am]: text when you’re home.

The Money Man [01:08am]: yes, darling.

‘Darling’ has a nice ring to it.

Having Sunday all to yourself was normal and you did what you always did every weekend: cleaned your place, took your time making a nice meal, organizing all of your work papers, and ended the night with a hot shower and an ice pack to your cheek. Monday, on the other hand was a disaster. You were so bored! Your fingers were itching to scribble down your boss’s agenda and you were so tempted to log into your work laptop, but you knew Minho would chew your ear off for not listening to him and resting as you should. It wasn’t your fault that you were a work-a-holic!

After looking in the mirror and hating the way your face looked for the fiftieth time, it was time to accept that the bruise wouldn’t disappear for at least a couple more weeks. Sunday was at its ugliest, where the center of your cheek was a deep purple and there was this off-colored halo around the perimeter. Now, the swelling went down and it wasn’t as purple or painful, but still equally ugly no matter how you looked at it or tried to cover it up.

After a lonely and boring Monday afternoon, your doorbell rang around 5:00pm. You weren’t expecting any visitors or deliverymen, so upon peaking through your viewfinder, you were surprised to see your boss on the other side.

“What are you doing here?” you asked surprised.

Minho was glad you didn’t seem disgusted by his presence since he was the one who told you to take the day off and you must be tired of seeing his face by now. He whipped out an oily bag from behind his back with a child-like grin on his face. It was an unusual sight to see a man dressed in a several thousand dollar business suit carrying a twenty dollar bag of dinner.

“You and I have some business to discuss.”

“Hold on, let me get this straight - you tell me to take the day off, rest up, ice my bloodshot cheek only for you to come into my home and say I need to work?”

“Yup,” he claimed unapologetically, squeezing past you to get through.

“Yes, please come in, Your Highness,” you rolled your eyes, though he was already setting up at your dinner table.

“Your home is nice. Why are you always so embarrassed whenever I try to come in?”

“I mean, look at it. It’s nowhere near as nice as your home.”

“It’s as more of a home than my place will ever be, no matter how many velvet cushions and arcade games I ask you to buy for the place.” Minho whipped out two bottles of beer, his favorite chaser to wash down the oiliness of the fried chicken, and poured them into glasses. “How’s your cheek?”

“By the look on your face, I guess not so good?”

He adjusted his twisted expression upon your teasing. Blood and bruises were never his thing, so any variation of the sort just looked bad in general. “It just looks so painful… Have you been icing it like I asked?”

“I have, and it’s not as painful as it looks!”

“Oh, yeah?”

Minho challenged your claim by standing in front of you and lowering his head to see you at eye-level. His face was way too close to be considered appropriate for CEO and Secretary relationship behavior, though you knew he never cared for those formalities. His eyes were always so sparkly per usual and that gave him that dreamy stare all the ladies in the office loved. You never saw the appeal to it until now, with only a few centimetres in between.

He poked your bruised-like-an-apple cheek.

“Ow, what the hell!” you screamed, swatting his hand away.

“Not as painful as it looks, my ass.”

“Well, people don’t go around poking my cheek all day!”

“Do you need pain killers? My doctor can write you a prescription for the best one on and off market.”

“That’s ok, I only trust Dr. Seonghwa.”

Minho gave you the same look he gave a former intern who got his breakfast and coffee order incorrect. Let’s just say the intern started crying on the spot. You, on the other hand, could barely hold in your snicker from his death glare. You were never on the receiving end of the infamous death glare and now that you were, it was hard to take it seriously.

“Ha ha,” Minho fake laughed. “Not funny.”

“What exactly do you have against him, anyways? It’s surprising that you’re threatened by the likes of a doctor and not some other hot shot software company CEO.”

“I don’t have anything against him.”

“You’re such a liar!” you scoffed, taking a swig of the ice-cold beer. “If you didn’t have a problem with him, you wouldn’t have acted so defensive at the charity ball.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he said shamelessly. A vigorous bite of a chicken leg came afterwards. “He looks at you like how I look at chicken legs.”

“Well, maybe I like the way he looks at me.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Stop doing that.”

“You deserve it for acting like my Dad that night.”

“I said I was sorry! I even bought you dinner and cold beer to make up for it!”

“Oh, so this is not because you said that me and you have some business to discuss?”

“Well, that, too.” Minho wiped his greasy fingers on his silk handkerchief that he kept on the inside of his breast pocket before whipping out his phone to show you multiple news articles on the night of the charity ball. “Watch these videos.”

Almost all of them were exposing your boss who was behind the genius that is Iron Man, but what preceded the reveals were clips of you kicking major ass. The sources came from both paparazzi and the security tapes at multiple angles and it was hard to hide the fact that it was you as all angles captured your facial features quite clearly. Headlines and whole articles talked about how the mighty CEO and his secretary were the perfect unstoppable duo and they weren’t wrong - you kicking ass in a sexy outfit with a man of iron handling the big guy? Definitely a story worth selling.

Your brows furrowed worriedly because you had no idea how Minho felt. “Are you mad…?

“Mad?” Minho paused the current video and placed his phone face-down on the table so he could focus on his good chicken and better company. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know! What’s the point in showing me these videos?”

“To show you how bad ass you look! Where did you even learn these moves!?”

“For some reason, your father thought being a secretary was dangerous enough that he decided to enroll me in some classes. I actually really liked it a lot, so I kept at it and I guess I got to a pretty advanced level.”

“Pretty advanced is definitely a misnomer, love. Well, it’s good to hear that Father has made one good decision in his reign.”

“Is this the business you wanted to speak about?” you asked shyly, hoping that the beer was a good enough excuse for your blushing cheeks. You’ll never get used to Minho praising you.

“Sort of. I have a proposition for you.”

“What, that you want me to be your sidekick?” you scoffed. When Minho remained silent with only the same sly smirk on his lips, you could see your worst fears coming true. “Oh, God, you’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious.”

“Are you out of your damn mind!? I am not sidekick material!”

“You totally are! You and I are already the perfect duo! Why not take it up a notch!?”

“No, Mr. Lee, I cannot be your secretary again, but in a different form and outfit!”

“Why not!? It’s not like I’m not going to pay you for it.”

“The pay is not the problem. The pay is never the problem. It’s…”

How do you put that the pressure of keeping the entire country safe and being by his side twenty-four/seven sounded like your own personal purgatory that you could never escape for as long as you lived, or until you died by the hands of some Demon-level threat monster?

“It’s a huge commitment, I know,” Minho admitted. “Too huge to even put a price on it. But can you at least consider it? I can’t imagine anyone else by my side except you.”

Now only if a man who wasn’t your boss said that to you without any underlying superhero context, you might have considered the proposal.

“Mr. Lee, I can’t…”

You hesitated getting the right words out, but Minho knew why. You’ve been bringing up how you couldn’t stay his secretary forever, and although he knew this was true, he couldn’t help but try to keep you anyways. You’ve been loyal to him for so long that he often forgot how to treat you like a friend and not his subordinate. But the thought of you leaving? Soon, at that? It was something he didn’t want to think about just yet. He wanted to keep you by his side for as long as he could.

Minho downed the last of his beer before whipping out his phone again. This time a slow song played over the speakers. He stood up and offered you a hand.

You raised a brow. “What are you…?”

“You and I never got to dance on Saturday. So dance with me.”

“Here? Right now? In my small ass apartment?”

“The next charity ball isn’t for another month and I don’t think I can wait that long.”

His impatience was just shy of flattering - if only you weren’t so afraid of being within close proximity to him. It was one thing when he helped ease the burn on your hand, it was another when he touched your cheek while inside his iron suit, but the two of you alone dancing in the middle of your living room was a whole other level of intimacy that needed to be hidden from human resources,

You took his hand and he led you to the living room. One hand on your waist and another holding the one with the scabbing half-circle. The two of you swayed in silent contentment for several songs. It was a comfortable silence, but there’s some hidden sadness to it that you couldn’t explain - something along the lines of him missing you dearly, despite you being right in front of him, and you missed him dearly, too. So much that your nerves made you squeeze his hand harder, asking him to not let go of you for a long time.

Then your boss pulled you in close enough that it felt like he was hugging you.

“S-Sir?” you stuttered nervously.

“Thank you,” he began. “For always being there.”

“Well, that’s my job,” you snickered.

“Not just as my secretary, but as my friend.”

“You think of me as your friend?”

“I do. Don’t tell Vice President Chan this, but I consider you one of my closest friends.”

“You’re quite soft, aren’t you?” It took a moment to register that he was definitely not joking. The tension in your shoulders diminished and you were able to relax in front of the equally-vulnerable man. “I consider you one of my closest friends, too.”

“Really?”

“By association though. After all these years being by your side, it’s only natural that I came to like you.”

“I like you, too,” he chuckled, tucking some hairs behind your ear. “A little too much, at that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“In another lifetime, I feel like you and I would be soulmates.”

“You don’t think we would be in this lifetime?”

Were you hoping to be? “Perhaps. By association though, right?”

You didn’t want to press more about any underlying meaning to his statements, so instead you looked down embarrassed. In another lifetime, in this lifetime, in multiple lifetimes, Minho thought you and him would be each other’s soulmate no matter what, because a lifetime with you sounded perfect.

A thumb gently ran over the perimeter of your cheek bruise and it tickled rather than burned, so that was a good sign that it was healing. A loud tisk came from your boss.

“God, do I really put you through this much pain!?” he cried aloud.

“Huh? You didn’t cause this - those dumbass followers did!”

“I guess, but I was the one who brought you to that event! And what about the scar on your hand, huh? I definitely caused that one.”

“Well, yeah, but -”

“That’s it, I can’t be hurting you like this anymore. I can’t be putting you through all of this danger like you’re my bodyguard. I have to let you go.”

You knew he was joking when he couldn’t hold in his cheeky smile. “That is not probable cause to fire me, Mr. Lee.”

“Really? Dammit.”

“No matter how many times I get hurt, you can’t get rid of me that easily, ok? I go out on my own terms!”

“So strong willed… I almost hate it.” Minho sighed exaggeratedly before pulling you in for a real hug this time. His arms squeezed your waist tightly, letting you know that he didn’t want to let you go even if he tried. “Just make sure to give me a two weeks notice, all right?”

“Anything for you, boss.”

“I’m going to miss hearing that from you the most when you leave.”

You hit his chest lightly, but he caught your hand and held it for a few moments before leading you back to your kitchen to finish up dinner. The rest of the night wasn’t you and your boss - it was you and your closest friend enjoying dinner and some ice cream you had in your freezer.

In another lifetime, huh? Too bad you were stuck in this one.

Work has mellowed out in terms of paperwork and actually work and has instead transitioned into more press conferences and meetings with government officials regarding Iron Man. In theory, the meetings sounded cool, but you wouldn’t know for sure, as your boss decided to take one of the newer girls as his assistant for these meetings.

The first time he denied your company, you were only a little confused, but it soon passed when he said there was a lot of paperwork he only trusted you to complete on his behalf. But when he would bring her to every event - whether it was out of habit or on purpose - for an entire month, and her only, it really made your blood boil.

No, you weren’t jealous…! You weren’t jealous he was hanging out with someone younger and prettier and more his type! Definitely not! You were upset that your boss, whom you called one of your closest friends in a time of vulnerability, was already replacing you before you could put your two weeks in! And you knew this to be true when he denied your invitation to get lunch and instead you found him in the cafeteria laughing and flirting with the new girl at the table you and him would always sit at.

For a whole month, without even knowing it, you were slowly getting left behind and replaced for someone better - someone who would actually heed his every word and never argue. Someone who would keep their mouth shut for once. Someone who wouldn’t mind taking order from him forever.

It had been a month since you were living in this limbo, and tonight, the night of the Animal Cruelty Charity Ball to which Iron Man would be making a guest appearance, was when you knew he no longer needed you.

“You’re taking Ryujin…?” you repeated, as you couldn’t believe your ears.

“Yes, so you can go home early if you want,” Minho said as he fixed his bow tie in the giant mirror in his office. He then turned to present to you with an ignorant grin. “How do I look?”

“Why are you taking her?”

“She’s been working hard this past month, so I thought I’d reward her with tonight and have her practice some networking skills.”

“How generous of you,” you mumbled bitterly to yourself.

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you help me put on this chain necklace thing? The clasp is so damn tiny…”

Reluctantly, you helped clasp the silver jewelry. While you thought your boss was heavily admiring himself in the mirror, he instead was focused on you and how your face was uncharacteristically stern.

“Are you ok?” he asked sincerely. He pressed a firm hand to your forehead. “Are you sick?”

You harshly swatted his hand away. “I’m fine.”

He shrugged it off, thinking that you probably had a bad week with all of the boring work he’s been having you deal with. A lot of weird and unsettling energy was pent up inside of you for the past month, so before you exited Minho’s office for the weekend, for some reason you thought this was the appropriate time to speak on it.

“Actually, I’m not fine,” you blurted out. Minho gave you his full attention for the first time that month. “I… I’m putting in my two weeks.”

His eyes went wide. “What?”

“I’m giving you my two weeks notice.”

“Do you have a job lined up?”

“No, but I will figure that out later.”

“You don’t have another job lined up but you want to quit? Where is this coming from?”

He didn’t sound angry. He wasn’t - he was more hurt than anything else that you wanted to leave without a proper explanation. He thought you and him were doing well… What changed so suddenly?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Minho noted how your voice was shaking. “I was fine when you had me staying ungodly hours, I was fine when you had me get you coffee every morning and your dry cleaning every Monday, and I was fine when you involved with the Iron Man project, but now all you’ve given me lately is paperwork and shit that the new hires should be doing and not myself!”

“_____, language -”

“And why is that? Why do I feel like I’m starting to get left behind already, or-or why do I feel like you don’t appreciate anything I do!? It’s clear to me that you’ve already begun to replace me, so what’s the use of me staying here when you don’t want me anymore?”

Minho was silent. You couldn’t tell if he was angry or sad or surprised at your sudden outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating and his silence even more so, like this was his ideal form of psychological torture. Minho didn’t seem to care for your feelings anymore as he turned back to face the mirror.

“Your two weeks has been noted,” was all he said.

You left the room in tears, with your blood still boiling and your heart crushed. But this was a good thing. In the end, this would be a good thing, is what you were trying to tell yourself, because this lifetime wouldn’t let you be with Minho.

Another month passed by and you were left in a worse limbo than you began with a month and a half ago. No one was contacting you about any job offers so you were left to ‘self-reflect’ or some bullshit this self-help book told you to do for the past two weeks. Luckily, all the overtime you put into your savings account had vastly accumulated into an unthinkable sum that would support you far beyond whatever the government noted as a proper unemployment time. Like, you didn’t even know what to do with the money sometimes - thank Minho for time-and-a-half, huh?

On days where you couldn’t help yourself - when you felt like torturing yourself - you would look up Minho on all the tabloid sites. Surprisingly enough, this happened way more than you’d like. Of course, as you speculated, Ryujin had quickly taken your spot as his secretary and God, did you like to shit on how terrible she was! You didn’t have to be at the office to know that Minho must be frustrated with her by the crookedness of his ties and jackets and how she must have forgotten to schedule a salon appointment by the look of his roots and unruly brows.

Ha! That’s what he fucking gets for not being grateful! That dick!

What a shame your relationship with him had come to. To spend what felt like an entire lifetime with him to being complete strangers, it was like you were reborn into this new and fresh carefree person. So carefree that you hummed on the way home with a bag full of fresh produce from the local market.

Perhaps you should have been less carefree, as a stranger snuck up behind you and knocked you out cold.

“Ryujin, where’s my document-signing pen?”

“Um, in your drawer?”

“Which drawer?”

“The one with all the other pens…?”

Minho sighed loudly, running a hand through his curly locks and staring intently at the mess of papers that scattered on his desk. His desk hadn’t been this messy since the first day he started when he had to sign all of those official documents that transitioned him to CEO. The same day when he fell for you.

Ryujin, who was nothing close to a secretary compared to you, was only getting on his nerves these days. Perhaps yes, he’s been a little too harsh on someone who’s still fairly new, but in truth he just didn’t have a way to express his frustration about you leaving all of a sudden. Where had he gone wrong?

“Take the rest of the night off,” he told his subordinate.

The poor girl bowed obediently and scurried out the room.

Another sign left the young man’s lips. This time it was because he was tired. He couldn’t deal with anymore bullshit tonight.

An anonymous FaceTime call rang his phone. Who could be wanting to FaceTime him at such an odd hour of the weeknight?

When he swiped to answer, all he saw was you tied up roughly to a splintered chair with tape covering your mouth. Minho nearly dropped his phone.

“Good evening, Mr. Lee,” a familiar voice sang. From the shadows behind you emerged the fake vigilante that led the invasion of the Charity Ball. “I see that you’re doing well.”

“What do you want?” he demanded quietly.

“I think you know what I want.” A shiny knife drew a line across the other cheek, small drops of blood seeping through and mixing with the dried tears and dirt. Minho’s heart felt like it was collapsing. “A blank check addressed to little ol’ me.”

“If I see another scar on them, I’ll kill you,” he threatened.

The man held his hands up high in defensive mode and took a step away from you. “Fine, I won’t touch them! Just give me what we want near the docks.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Oh, and one more thing - come dressed in Iron Man and I’ll slice their throat. Bye!”

The line cut dead and Minho had no choice but to leave empty-handed with only a blank check in his pocket.

The air inside the enclosed cargo bed was hot and suffocating and your rising panic did not ease your pain or heavy breathing one bit. It didn’t help that the guy and his minions were playing with your hair and playing with their knives, dragging the dull edges on your arms and neck. Normally, you wouldn’t be so weak and crying to the point that the tape around your mouth was loosening up, but life these days was tough and perhaps an event like this, causing Minho major inconvenience once again, was what you deserved.

Scurrying and uneven footsteps were heard from outside and you really, really hoped it was Minho not dressed in Iron Man.

“Here already? He must like you,” the leader teased.

The back of the cargo bed opened up to reveal that the sun had fallen a long time ago and the light of the moon outlined your plain and simple hero. He didn’t give the leader a second passing glance before blindly shoving the blank check to his chest and rushing by your side to untie you. First, he ripped off the tape and you let out loud gasps of air and cries.

Minho’s shaking hands take hold of your face to try to calm you down. “Hey hey, shh, I’m here. Are you ok? Are you hurt?” You shook your head vigorously, whining and trying to break free from the ropes tying you down. “Hold on, I got you.”

Before Minho could untie your hands, one of the minions hit him on the back of his head the same way they knocked you out. But your boss was stronger than that - his head was harder than his iron helmet. At the failed attempt, Minho hurled the guy over his shoulder and out the cargo bed. Your bad ass boss got up like it was nothing, but he was breathing heavily.

Not because he was tired or weak, but because he was furious.

Three more guys tried to kick his ass and it was then you realized that your boss wasn’t just some fake hiding behind an iron suit who could program it to fight. He truly was kicking their ass! Like, raw strength and all! If you weren’t scared to death, you might have thought this was kind of hot. But then Minho punched one of the guys too hard and it sent him flying over to you, to which you fell over and broke the chair. The rope was no longer tied to anything and you were free.

Yet another one of the lame-o sidekicks tried to capture you again, but now you were equally as furious, if not more, than your partner in crime. How dare they sneak up on you and not even give you a chance to fight back!? That was the definition of a weak-ass group of villains! So of course you had to show them a lesson and kick a few balls and some asses. But the number of asses was infinite and you were getting really tired. They had enough people to fight you and Minho until you couldn’t keep up and then they’d kill you easily.

“Mr. Lee, now would be a good time for one of your brilliant plans!” you begged between kicks and breaths.

“Ten seconds tops. But when I say so, I need you to hold my hand, ok?”

“What!? What are you planning!?”

“Just trust me!” You and Minho saw the leader direct the last ten of his minions to finish the job. “Ready? Three… two… one!”

A heavy force on the outside pushed the cargo bed off the edge of the pier and into the ocean with the purpose of drowning everyone in it. The only sensation you felt was ice cold water freezing your blood flow and Minho grasping your hand for dear life while trying to swim up to the surface. Before blacking out from lack of oxygen, you felt the ripples of something entering the ocean and saw a faded red and golden glow of light. Not a second later, a hollowed Iron Man on autopilot rushed you and Minho to the surface and placed you gently on the sand just under the pier. The silent night was filled with a chorus of ugly coughing fits from you and your boss. What a wonderful CEO slash ex-secretary couples activity this turned out to be.

As soon as your breathing returned to a rhythmic beat, a wet, crying, sand-covered Minho held your face in his still-trembling hands. He didn’t say a word - he simply held you and pressed his forehead to yours, making sure that yes, this was real, and not some unconscious dream where he was still in the middle of the ocean drowning. Yes, you were there with him and you were alive.

“Why are you crying? I was the one kidnapped,” you joked, hoping it’d lighten up the mood if but a little bit.

Minho laughed between sniffles and shivers, but couldn’t stop crying. He was smiling, but still crying, and if that didn’t perfectly depict this situation, you’re not sure there’s anything out there that did. Haphazardly, he planted a cold kiss on your forehead before pulling you into a hug.

“I’m so happy you’re ok,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Why? You had nothing to do with this.”

“I’m just sorry in general. I’m sorry I took you for granted. I’m sorry for making you feel like I was replacing you. I’m sorry for not buying you that cappuccino three years ago. I’m sorry for -”

What’s the only way to silence your sexy boss in a heartfelt moment like this that would complete this superhero plot line? Kissing him mid-sentence, of course. You kissed your loving boss fully, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your whole body into it. It took him a while to register that yes, his secretary was definitely kissing him, but once it did, he kissed you even harder, enough to make you fall back onto the grass with him on top of you.

You’re left breathless the moment your lips parted. “I-I, uh, I forgive you…”

“How could you ever think that I could replace you?” he muttered. “I could never. Not in this lifetime.”

“You also said that me and you wouldn’t happen in this lifetime,” you challenged.

“Lifetimes can merge into one, I guess.”

Iron Man returned to Minho’s basement as soon as his job was done, so your favorite driver picked you two up in ten minutes with plush hot towels and dry clothes to change into. The pajamas you wore already had your initials monogrammed over your heart.

“Yeah, uh, about that,” Minho began awkwardly on the car ride home. “I was going to gift them to you a couple Christmases ago, but you said that monogrammed clothing was cheesy and stupid, so I abstained…”

“... They’re not so bad,” you admitted truthfully. “Very soft.”

Coming home to Minho’s felt so wrong, yet so right. You’ve only ever been inside for business reasons, such as redesigning his closets and kitchen pantry, but now that you were here on leisure - well, after almost fucking dying - it was kind of weird. But Minho holding your hand reassured you that you were wanted here - that he needed you here, damp with salt water and all.

“Take a shower upstairs. I’ll go make some tea.”

You gladly obeyed, using your favorite shower that you helped design. The door and the walls of the shower were made of glass and the shower head hung from the ceiling, making your long, hot shower feel like it was raining. Your body was covered in cuts and bruises and it was really ugly, but you’ve never felt more badass and in control in your entire life.

You left the shower smelling like orchids and eucalyptus and entered the kitchen that smelled like ginger and honey. Minho, who had also showered, followed shortly after, stealing a kiss on your cheek that was cut up earlier that evening.

You followed Minho to his giant marble island while he poured tea into white mugs on the other side. This felt so… domestic. This felt so right. This felt like home.

“I have a business proposition for you,” he smirked slyly.

Well, that ruined the moment. “What, no ‘how have you been the past month since I replaced you with some other chick’?”

“I promise I’ll ask that after, but I need to ask you this.” Your hard-headed boss was all giddy just at the idea of it and it was the first time in a whole month since you’ve seen him smile like this. He was so, so cute.

“Fine, what is it?”

“I want to hire you back.”

“Mr. Lee, I already told you, I can’t -”

“As the Head Director of the Iron Man project.”

Your eyes widened at the prestigious title. “Head Director?”

“You stayed by my side through all the criticism and the praise and I can’t imagine a better person for the position.”

“So it’s not just a fancy title for like, super mega ultra secretary, right…?”

Your handsome man chuckled. “No, I promise.”

“Head Director, huh?” your lips slowly spread into a grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Is that a yes?”

“On a few conditions.”

“Hit me.”

“Higher pay with time-and-a-half.”

“Obviously.”

“I get my own secretary.”

“Only if you don’t fall in love with them like I did.”

You rolled your eyes and continued. “An extra week of vacation.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Last one. I’m your date to every event from now on.”

Minho raised his eyebrow teasingly. “Oh? And if I say no?”

“Then I say no.”

“Jeez, I’m kidding! So strict. Of course you can, on two conditions.”

“Fine.”

“You call me Minho from now on. Or boyfriend, or soulmate, or sexiest man alive, or whatever suits your fancy.”

“Deal.”

“Second,” Minho leaned in and puckered his pink lips. “Seal this with a kiss.”

You start your new job next week - after Minho cashed in one week of vacation to spend with his soulmate.

#minho #lee minho #lee know #skz #stray kids #lee minho imagines #minho imagines #lee know imagines #lee minho scenarios #minho scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids minho #i still hate the ending idc tho #if i had time i would rewrite it... too sleepy lolol

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Diary found in K---D--- : Part 2

So, here's the next little part of this :D

Imagine by @lathalea is indented!

Enjoy <3

Taglist: @shrimpsthings, @mulasawala (so you see where I'm going with this lol)

(Yes, there will be MORE artwork coming, stay posted...)

Fandom: Hobbit

Characters: Ori x OC

Rating & Warning: Fluff and silliness

His name was Ori and he was a scribe in Erebor. It turned out he visited the forest often to sketch the animals and plants. You spent the rest of the day together. In the evening, you exchanged campfire stories, sharing a meal. At one point, he shyly asked about where you came from. Blushing, he admitted, almost whispering, he never saw a person with such beautiful hair before.

You told him that you came from another world, from a region called East Asia, where many people looked similarly to you. He was very curious about your homeland, your culture and your world. You spent hours telling him everything about it and he listened to you in awe.

“Ori.” He replied, his lips quirking a tiny bit as if he was not used to speaking his own name. “I’m a scribe. In Erebor. The Mountain.” He pointed to a tree beyond the clearing.

Thankfully, I was familiar with the Lonely Mountain and did not think that he didn’t know the difference between a living organism and a pile of minerals.

“I have never seen you, neither here nor in that Mountain.” I replied, for I went into the halls sometimes to translate for travellers, but for the most part, I let the king be his grumpy, glorious self.

“I come here often, to sketch, but I seem to have lost my way.” He admitted with a tiny frown. Ah, a real dwarf. They only knew up and down seemingly and if there was no way into a hill, they’d stubbornly trek up until they tumbled off the other side again.

As if to prove to me that he was not lying – dear reader, he had a face that was utterly devoid of malice or dissimulation – he showed me rather good sketches of the fauna and flora of the dense forest surrounding us. “That is really good, Ori, the scribe, from under the Mountain.” I commented which made him blush with a fierce and, apparently, unexpected pleasure.

In an expression of indescribable cuteness, he literally wiped his face with his sleeve as if he could clean away the rosy hue like a stubborn ink stain from under his skin.

“What are you here for?” He then asked, pushing out his chest heroically. As a reminder, he was the one who had lost his way, but apparently, he wanted to defend either the forest from me or the other way around.

“I am here to think…in silence.” I replied; he retreated a few steps. “Oh? I’ll leave you to it then, I guess. It was great to make your acquaintance…”

I gave him my name, after all, he had given me his, and he chewed on it for a few moments before his face split into a smile that was like the sunlight breaking through the cloudy afternoon sky: tentative, warm, and strikingly beautiful.

“Stay. I like your face.” I heard myself saying. Maybe, it was my teasing, mischievous streak acting up, but I had liked his embarrassment so much that I couldn’t help wanting to coax more of these blushes out of him.

“My…face?” In that weird dance he had been engaged in for the last few minutes, Ori stepped closer again, shuffling his feet in the heavy boots dwarrows insisted on wearing.

No, your ass, I thought, but bit my tongue; Ori the dwarf looked like someone who would die on the spot if I said anything even remotely inappropriate…as I was wont to do when nervous.

My sarcastic thought spurred my own interest though and I examined him a little closer: he was indeed swaddled like a babe, beads of sweat pearling down his temples on account of the steep climb and the stubborn blush powdering his nose and cheeks with pink blotches.

“Sit down, you’ll get a heat stroke.” I invited him and pointed to a patch of moss beside me while rummaging in my pack for the flask of ale I had brought.

“Thank you ever so much.” He plopped down in a cascade of earthen-coloured wool and awkward limbs. He did smell warm, I noticed, a blend of cinnamon and comfort.

Also, he had one of those faces that only became better when seen up-close, I admit freely; there were golden stars dancing in the depth of his dark eyes and he had the most adorable freckles as if some outlandish fairy had sprinkled gold dust over that heart-wrenchingly handsome face.

“Are you thirsty, Mistress?” He asked, nodding at the flask in my hand.

Handing it to him rather abruptly, I realised that I had spent the last moments intently staring at his face as if I had never seen a male dwarf before in my life.

“I have work to do.” I snapped, feeling immediately guilty for taking my own embarrassment out on him, but he merely nodded and pulled his sketching supplies into his lap.

Strangely enough, Ori did not disturb me. If anything, the silence felt fuller, richer, deeper with him by my side. As I translated a letter, as a spinster I had to support my family and my insufferable sisters as best as I could, I felt like the chirping of the birds and the vibrancy of the colours around me were even more enjoyable now that I shared them with someone else.

…

The sun crept along its never-changing arc slowly and yet, much too fast.

As I looked up, I wished I was a better painter myself, for this dwarrow was made for sunsets.

The way the last golden hurrah of a perfect day exploded in a halo of warmth around his figure, the way all the greys and the blues seemed to bleed out of the world to leave nothing but warm tones behind, and the way his smile was the perfect expression of this mellow, unhurried mood…it struck me deeper and more violently than a thunderstorm in all its booming rage would have.

“Will you join me for dinner, Ori?” I asked gently, “I shall escort you back down.”

“It would be my honour.” He nodded, tearing out a page of his notebook and handing it over.

“It was an invitation; I do not demand payment.” I said seriously, for the sketch of the doe was so good, it might have been worth actual money. “Oh…” His nose crinkled at little at that.

“I wanted you to…have something beautiful. I have seen you work very hard.”

Of course, he was a scribe as well, he would consider the scribbling work, I thought and gave him a thankful smile. “You’re beauty enough for one day.” I shrugged.

He gasped, bringing his notebook up to his face as if to shield himself from my words.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you? Dori has warned me that girls do that sometimes.” He sounded utterly dejected. “I am not having you on. Has nobody ever told you that you’re handsome?” It was my turn to be wide-eyed with shock.

“And who is Dori?” I followed-up when he didn’t really reply to my question even though I thought I had seen his braids move like strings of pearls in a draft. The minutest of shakes of the head, a quiet admission of inadequacy that sunk ugly, ragged claws into my soft heart.

“He’s my brother. I have two of them. Dori…and Nori. They’re…” – “Older than you.” I completed. “Protective.” He supplied.

He was still holding his drawing out to me, and, after a moment, I took it gingerly and put it between the pages of my own writing supplies. I would hang it in my room and look at it daily.

Nowadays, there were but very few gifts for me; all the money went to my two younger sisters who were still nubile and would, if Mahal willed it so, be able to make a good match.

Busying my hands with making a fire, I asked him to tell me about his brothers.

“Oh, Nori is…agile. He’s…funny and brave and resourceful.” Ori started, his voice warm with affection and admiration. He sounded like a proper rogue to me, and as it turned out, he was, but he also deserved every single ounce of the deep-felt care Ori held for him.

“Dori is…fussy. He’s polite, he’s very caring, and he’s exceedingly proper.” Ori went on as I waved a hand for him not to stop. I enjoyed hearing about the life of other families than my own.

“So, is he the one who raised you to be this…warmly clad and gentle?” I asked, turning to place the foodstuffs I had brought up and stored in the cool lake water on spits to roast over the fire.

“Warm? Oh yes…I was a sickly pebble and he’s been worried ever since. I hope I have behaved in a way that would not make him disappointed in me.” Again, he worried his lip.

“Let’s see, you’ve startled a bird and an unsuspecting dwarrowdam.” I listed with a wicked gleam in my eyes; his face fell, and he looked properly guilty.

“Then, you’ve kept me company, and the best company I’ve ever had, it has been, on my grandmother’s grave, I swear.” I went on and that treacherous blush was back with a vengeance.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He then said in a low voice. “Great beauty is always startling.”

“I am hardly Thorin Oakenshield.” He laughed. Readers, you cannot imagine that sound just by reading my words. If flowers blossoming had melody, if the sun setting on the eternal sea had a song, if autumn leaves dancing on a gale had a tune, they would have sounded like nails on scree, like cats having their tails trampled, and like kettles going unheeded compared to Ori’s laughter.

“There’s beauty in the doe as much as in the wolf.” I replied gently.

“May I…can I ask where you’re from? I don’t seek to be rude, but I’ve never seen anyone quite like you; your hair looks like those fabrics the Elves weave. It…seems so soft, so liquid, so smooth.” He blushed a darker shade yet.

This might well have been the first time that someone had asked me about my origins without making it sound like an accusation; there was honest fascination in his demeanour.

“My family and I have come from the Far East. I have travelled a lot, Ori, I have seen landscapes entirely made up of rock and sand, I have walked forests so stiflingly hot and moist it felt like being underwater, and now, I am here in the land of tall trees and taller mountains.”

I said, surprised by my own frankness.

“That sounds amazing.” He took the food I offered readily enough, and I told him about the people I’ve left behind to be stranded at the other end of the world.

“This is good, is that a recipe of your homeland?” He asked, looking down on the piece of meat I had seasoned with herbs I had grown myself in our small backyard.

“It actually is. I’m glad you like it. I had not planned to have company, otherwise I’d have brought something more palatable to the local tongue.” I apologised quickly.

“No, I like it. You should definitely trade some recipes with Dori…and Bombur…oh, and if any of your delicious herbs are medicinal, Óin.” He laughed again when he saw my dumbfounded expression.

“I make a good honeycake, if I can interest you in that? Maybe…” He fell back into silence.

…

A look at the sky told me that it was too late to go down in the inky darkness.

“We’ll have to stay here for the night.” I mumbled, slightly uncomfortable at the idea of spending the night with a dwarrow who had not lost a single word about a wife.

“Are you married, Mistress? Will that endanger your wedlock?” He asked shyly.

“No, I am not and I have no name to lose…It’s a long story.” I didn’t feel like blurting out my disgrace, lest it give him strange ideas after all, especially as he would easily have been able to overpower me if he so chose.

“Neither am I. I don’t know about my name…Doesn’t look like I’m going to be married either. There’s not enough dwarrowdams as it is, and I think the royal line has a prerogative there.” There was no resentment in his tone; he seemed to accept this as a fact.

How could someone that sweet not be married, I wondered. He was courteous, he was cute, and he would have made the fortune and happiness of someone.

“Well, in that case, I think we can risk our reputation rather than our necks.” I grinned, rolling out a blanket I kept tied to my pack for emergencies and stretched out next to the fire on the moss.

“Erm, yes…Good night…” He mumbled, fidgeting around with his different layers of clothing. Apparently, he was deciding which one he needed least on his body to use it as a bedroll or blanket.

I eyed the proceedings with interest and a good deal of amusement.

“I can offer you my cloak to lie upon…the ground will grow very cold and wet soon.” He said in a low voice, not sure if I had already fallen asleep or not.

“Alright, I can offer you a spot under the blanket then?” I extended my own graciousness.

“With you?” No, with the red bird, I thought, rolling my eyes internally.

“Yes, Ori the scribe, with me. I will not eat you, as you have witnessed, I have had dinner.” Not that he did not look good enough to devour, standing there with his cloak in his hands and his face all crunched up in embarrassment.

“Hmmm…I guess.” He muttered doubtfully, spreading out the cloak and sitting down on it carefully. Impatiently, I scooted over and spread my lousy blanket over the both of us with a flourish.

“Sleep!” I commanded as I turned around only to find him staring wide-eyed at the spot where the back of my head had been only a second ago. Now that he was presented with my face, only inches away from his, his eyes grew even rounder and bigger in wordless distress.

“Friend…Have you never lain with a woman? And I literally mean, lying next to one?” I laughed for there had been friends and cousins aplenty in my own life and the feeling of having another body so close to mine was not a new experience for me.

“Well, I fell down on the battlefield once, next to a foe…I’m pretty sure that was a Lady-Orc. She was dead. There was a…” He gestured, indicating a spear or a lance sticking out of his chest and brushing against my own with the back of his hand. Dear reader, he flinched back as if I was a tiny Durin’s bane wreathed in flames.

“A Lady-Orc, indeed…” I mused; no doubt, he could hear the smile I hid in my voice for his face crunched up in embarrassment.

“I am sorry.” He sighed, rolling his eyes, and thinking – there was not a shadow of a doubt about that much – of his brothers who would have mocked him mercilessly for his stammering.

“There’s no need to be sorry” I tried to reassure him, but I admit now that there were things that I did not tell him right away then. We had only just met, and he was blessedly unaware of my shameful past.

How could I have made him understand – without hurting his feelings – how much I enjoyed that air of purity about him that I had squandered myself on an undeserving fiend? As a daughter amongst others, I had been used to dwarrows coming to court or to seduce, their eyes ablaze with greed and their hands wandering.

He would not have comprehended how much the absence of that voracious hunger that had plagued my youth and had ended up destroying my promising future meant to me.

“Sleep.” I repeated, unable to put into words how miraculous and precious the things he seemed to be most ashamed of were to me.

“Good night, Mistress.” He breathed with a soft smile that was nowhere near the wolfish baring of fangs I was used to and so, it was easy to return it.

You who may or may not have stumbled upon this ludicrous account of the most important story in an otherwise unimportant life, you shall hear another confession I did not make at the time.

I was fiercely aware that – had I but leant forward a little – I might have pressed my lips upon his; I was young still at that time and, despite what had happened, parts of me, that should have withered and died in the aftermath of my botched engagement, were much alive.

He smelled like our dinner and warmth, and the gentle reticence of the curve of his smile was more inviting than any flashing grin I had ever seen before.

Yes, in that very moment, on this very first evening, I had already been conscious of the shrewd attraction this self-effacing dwarrow held for me…and it scared me half to death.

…

Part 3

#Fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ori the dwarf #Ori #OC #Fluff #Diary #1st person

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onomonopetabread · 4 years

Text

Declawing the Cat- Chapter 1

He just couldn’t figure her out. No matter how many times he’s tried to wrap his head around it, Felix Graham de Vanily couldn’t solve the mystery of Marinette Dupain-Chang; not why she did the things she did, or how, or why she seemed to infuriate him to no end…

It had all started when his brick head of a cousin had the bright idea to convince his mother to transfer him to his school. The two of them had recently moved closer to the Agreste household for more “family solidarity”, but it seemed as though Adrien needed even more quality time with cousin dear.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Adrien? You know Felix isn’t the most social child. Do you really think that your classmates will welcome him as you say they will, even after the incident?”

“I’m positive, Aunt Amilie. The kids in my class are very kind and believe in redeeming others if they apologize. I have no doubt in my mind that they’ll forgive him. I mean, look at how they accepted me when I first started going there. They could have shunned me and thrown me aside like trash, but now I have a lot of friends. The same will happen with Felix, for sure.”

“Well, if you really think so, then it's a beautiful idea,” said Amilie avidly. “What about you, gabriel? Do you think that our sons should go to school together?”

“It will be beneficial for Adrien to have a good influence around the school with him to make sure that he doesn’t try to rebel and become like his… recalcitrant peers,” said gabriel without glancing up from his designs.

“And you, Felix? Do you want to go to College Francoise-Dupont?”

Felix gulped. He didn’t really want to go to school with his ridiculous cousin, but his mother really seemed to like the idea, and he’d hate to disappoint her ...

So that’s how Felix ended up going to school with the same kids he duped. Even though Adrien can be way too gullible (someone really needs to tell him that life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and not everyone can be trusted), Felix soon found that he was indeed right about his friends. When he arrived there a few weeks ago, it only took a small smile and a half-baked apology to get them to trust him. One might think that Felix would be sulking at the mere thought of going to school with these losers, but he had decided beforehand that if he was going to have any fun at this school, he was going to have to toy with this naive group of teenagers to cause some trouble, and what better way to do that than to make them think he was on their side?

“Guys, this is my cousin Felix. He’s going to be attending school with us for now on. I know you guys will take him in with open arms.”

Kim cut in. “Is this the same cousin that pretended to be you and replied to the videos you sent us?”

Nino had something to say as well. “Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!” Alya declared.

The rest of the class chimed in with arguments of their own, and who can blame them? It definitely didn’t feel good to be deceived. Soon, the whole courtyard was filled with angry yells and upset students. Adrien, bless him, was trying his best to calm them down and explain.

“Well-”

Felix cleared his throat. Talking ceased and all eyes were on him: Adrien’s glancing nervously, and the others’ full-on glares.

“Hello, everyone. As Adrien just told you, my name is Felix Graham de Vanily. To answer your question, Mr. Le Chein, yes, I’m the cousin of Adrien’s that impersonated him and sent you a cruel response to your heartfelt videos. For that, I am deeply sorry. I have no excuse for what I did. I can only hope that you all will find it in your hearts to forgive me for my terrible sin.”

You could hear a pin drop. All of the students were giving each other and Felix calculating looks. Should they believe him? Was he really telling the truth? After a few beats of deafening silence, Mylene spoke up.

“If you’re really sorry...”

“Oh, I am, you can be sure of that, Ms. Haprele,” Felix nodded, puppy eyes fully on show.

“Then… I suppose everyone deserves a second chance, right guys?” she continued, looking around at the others.

Slowly, the rest of the group started nodding their heads. Where there was anger and hurt towards Felix was now acceptance and forgiveness. Why not forgive him? Of course he was telling the truth! Why on Earth would someone lie to gain our trust only to be able to play us for fools right underneath our noses? It’s not like it’s ever happened before. Oh, if only Lila was here to greet our new friend! It’s too bad she’s away in America doing her internship at NASA!

The group, who were once resentful and angry at the fancily-dressed boy that was in front of them, began to crowd around him, smiles and name introductions all around. By the way they were acting, you would have thought that they all have been friendly with Felix since birth. Amazing what the power of deception held when used right.

He recognized most of them from the terrible videos they had sent Adrien: the manic pixie girl, the ultra-nerd, the stupid jock, the wannabe dj and his amautur reporter girlfriend.

And what a reporter she was! Neither she nor her dim-witted friends could see through his act. They followed him like lost puppies looking for an owner. The only person who didn’t seem to believe him was her. Felix didn’t see her in the schoolyard for his “apology”, and he noticed she never seemed to be around if he’s in the room.

Honestly, he’d thought that Marinette would have been the easiest person to convince. Only a silly, pigtail-twirling, school girl would send such a pathetic confession. “AdRiEn, I LoVe YoU. I’Ll AlWaYs Be ThErE If YoU NeEd Me”. Puh-lease.

But she never seemed to be around, Felix didn’t see her in the schoolyard for his “apology”, and he noticed she never seemed to be around unless they were in class. He sat in the back, and spent most of his time conjuring up plans to recruit her, for after a few days of observations, he’d been able to work out that he had underestimated her. By a lot. Felix found out that she was class president and a good one at that. She was seen as a leader by the others, but it didn’t seem like she used deception to earn that respect. She was actually kind-hearted, selfless, and true. If she wasn’t so annoying and stubborn, those characteristics might have even been...admirable. She really could be a great ally to have by his side. But by jove, was she ever making it difficult. Eventually, he’s been able to talk to her alone. To sum it up, it definitely could have gone better.

During lunch hour, Marinette was on a bench in the park. She was sketching on a notepad, most likely designs for a new sewing project. Felix learned from Adrien that Marinette was a very talented aspiring designer, which took Felix by surprise. You’d never guess that this girl was into fashion by the way she dressed (Felix could not stress enough how atrocious those pigtails were), but he digresses. He isn’t here to insult Marinette’s clothes, though he could do so some other time. He took a deep breath and strode over to Marinette’s seat.

“Ah, Ms. Dupain-Cheng! How lovely it is to see you. We never seem to talk, do we? It is quite a shame really.”

Marinette didn’t move a muscle. It was as though he hadn’t said a word! Ok, well, give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s really focused on her drawing?

“I must say, that is a lovely suit that is a lovely suit you’re designing there. I love the use of gold thread on the pants. If I may make a few suggestions-”

“No, you may not. As a matter of fact, I’m going to stop you right there. Don’t say another word.”

“I-I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” Marinette set her notepad aside on the bench and rose up from the bench to look him in the eye . Never in his life had Felix seen a stronger glare, and even though he was a good head taller than Marinette, he felt as though she could crush him like a grape. Of course, he didn’t let it show. What would it say about him that he shakes like a kitten in the presence of a 4’ 11” teenage girl?

“Now Felix, I’m only going to say this once, so listen up. I know you have everyone else fooled with your nice act, but I’m not as stupid as you seem to assume. You think you’re the first fake I came across? Don’t make me laugh; you’re not even close. Heck, next to Lila, you’re just a petty gossip. The rest of our classmates seem to have put the video incident in the past, but let me make it crystal clear that it is still fresh in my mind. I meant to share something extremely personal with Adrien, we all did, and you screwed that up. You hurt all of us carelessly as if our feelings were nothing more than spinning tops. You know what that makes you?”

Dumbfounded, Felix couldn’t do much more than shake his head.

“It makes you a little bitch. And I don’t associate with little bitches. So unless you can prove to me that you really are turning over a new leaf for good, I don’t want to say one word to you unless absolutely necessary and vise versa. I’ll stay out of your hair, and you WILL stay out of mine. Capisce?

Without waiting for a reply, Marinette turned her heel, grabbed her notebook, and began the walk back to school.

Well, he must admit that Marinette won that round. She certainly was a challenge, but luckily, for Felix liked puzzles. He was going to get Mari to like him, even if it took every ounce of strength and scheming he had in his body.

@mickeyaaliyah @lyssaisprobablynotaloser @firstclassdumbass I wanted to put it in the server but Google wouldn’t let me

@threebirdsinatrenchcoat @ladylupuscrow @kittynoirblog

If you guys want the next chapter here it is

#felix graham de vanily #felix #felinette #fanfiction by me #fanfiction #marinette dupain cheng #marinette x felix #felix x marinette #chapter 1 #if you guys like it please tell me what you think #im deciding if i should keep going or not

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tsunflowers · 3 years

Text

this is the sewer freak romance novel we have all been waiting for but that I will never actually write

Ok so the setting is in what used to be America in the aftermath of what was probably a nuclear war but no one ever goes into it and they just call it The Blight. Humanity rode it out by living in underground bunkers but within living memory they’ve finally been able to build habitat bubbles on the surface and fill them with breathable air so they can at least see sun again. There are several bunkers which maintained digital contact the entire time and while they were underground they built tunnels to each other so they could trade but they’ve had to seal off the tunnels and now you have to travel the blighted landscape to reach other habitats. Bc years back a bunch of people were like “we’re not waiting for your pussy habitat bubbles we can hack it on the surface right now” so they went out and got irradiated and the bunker people wouldn’t let them back in. So they started living in the tunnels and became sewer freaks. The sewer freaks are known to eat people and everyone is convinced they’re just biding their time until they can storm the bunkers and take over the habitats so they have to take the overland path even though it’s objectively more dangerous. The habitats are largely self-sufficient but there are some specialty parts that can only be produced in one habitat… and they just ran out. Enter our heroine

She’s named Ticonderoga bc lots of people are named after silly things from the old world but she goes by Ty. She has pcos or another condition that makes it very unlikely that she’ll ever be able to give birth which makes her uniquely expendable among the young women of the habitat. There’s this huge push in the community to expand the population now that they have the habitat bubbles but she knows she can’t be a part of that and people actually warn the boys her age away from her bc she won’t be able to have kids. Bc in a closed society like this everyone’s medical status is everyone’s business. This combined with the fact that she doesn’t have a job lined up for when she turns 18 bc her mentor died and The Council silently got rid of the job completely means that she’s selected to join the expedition to the other habitat. Btw the job is the storage and maintenance of physical artifacts and documents from the habitats history and from before The Blight. Everyone else has relied on technology for so long that they’ve forgotten the value of Real items and they’re like “didn’t we digitize that ages ago? who give a shit” but ty is Retro and she knows that holding something in your hands gives it a totally different feeling. She also likes to draw by hand. I kind of want her mentor to be a cool lesbian but she does die. Wait I had a great idea I’ll get back to this later

The rest of the expedition team is like older guys who’ve done this before and they’re kind of hazing her and telling her scary stories about sewer freaks. The general vibe is like “if you can’t keep up why are you even here :/" and she’s like it’s not like I asked to be here fuckers. But she’s actually kind of enjoying it in a weird way bc there are all these mutant plants that she’s never seen records of before bc the habitat bubble people ignore the outside world as much as possible. One morning while the guys are breaking camp (she tried to help at first but they were like “don’t chip a fingernail girlie”) she sits down to sketch a mutant flower. Which is hard bc she’s in a hazmat suit but she wants to record it somehow. And when she looks up she realizes the guys left without her. It’s not like they left her for dead bc she has a gps and radio communication. She could call them up and be like “hey fuck you guys.” But it was seriously a dick move and she’s really upset about it. She turns off her comms to kind of process and figure out what to do to catch up/how she’s going to confront them when she does and then suddenly….:.. a sewer monster appears on the surface!!!

We get like two full pages describing the sewer freak’s physicality at this point so as a reader you’re like ok she seriously wants to get hot and heavy with this sewer monster. He has, you know, smooth translucent skin and huge dark eyes and delicate long-fingered hands and he might be bioluminescent although she probably can’t tell that during the day. And he is definitely like cut also. He is one ripped sewer freak

Ty has this emergency signal she’s supposed to set off if she’s separated from the group and something happens to her but she’s not exactly in the mood to get rescued by a bunch of guys who just ditched her for fun. And besides her analytical brain is whirring at the chance to see and interact with a real sewer freak. So she tries to greet him. They have some trouble interacting bc sewerspeak (the language of the sewer freaks) diverged from English some time ago but they manage to communicate that he thought she was hurt but it’s only her feelings that are hurt. Btw sewer people can sense radio waves or some shit so he got concerned about her when he noticed hers cut off bc he knows habitat people always have radios on. So he thought maybe her suit stopped working. He acts like he’s gonna leave and she’s like “no wait!!” bc she wants to make a tangible connection with him bc that’s her thing. So she gets him to stay long enough for her to sketch him. He’s clearly super impressed by the sketch so she hands it to him and he indicates that he wants to borrow her pencil. He adds his own sketch on the corner of the page, a stylized drawing of the flower she was just drawing. She’s like “oh you draw too?” but he points to the flower drawing and then to himself and she understands that it’s a glyph representing him and he’s named after the flower. (This means the habitat people are named after relics from the old world while sewer people are named after things from the current world. Do you get it) They trade names and then he leaves. She’s like wow! Maybe everything everyone said about sewer freaks was wrong, bc clearly some of them are kind of sexy and intriguing. So she heads off to meet up with her party with a spring in her step. The party actually felt guilty and turned around for her bc they saw her gps signal didn’t move at all and she disappeared from comms but when they see her they’re like wtf why is she is such a good mood?? but something tells her she should not brag to them about her freak encounter so she pretends she encountered mutant wildlife and scared it off and they’re a little bit impressed

I just realized if they’re so paranoid and their technology’s so good they could probably invent some vehicles to go between habitats so they wouldn’t have to walk it. Pretend I have an explanation for that one

She gets to the habitat with the group. It has the exact same layout as her home but she can’t stop noticing all the things that are subtly different. They have different slang, and the food they grow and cook is different bc of the backgrounds of the people in this one, and stuff. Also the pregnancy thing is probably more intense compared to her home. Like in her habitat there’s social pressure but here it’s a civic duty. She sees a lot of really young moms and people who clearly don’t want children. She realizes that her infertility actually gives her more choice and autonomy than most women in her society and it’s an uncomfortable realization. Can I have uhhh, unsubtle grappling with conflicting feelings about motherhood as a prerequisite for adulthood using a sci-fi setting for 600, Alex?

Ty wants to get Out Of There and maybe see that spicy little sewer freak on the return trip but there are all these protocols and rituals they have to observe. They have to formally trade. They have to spend the night. They have to accept a meal and travel provisions. Since I guess this is the shitty evangelical Christian habitat the meal is probably like, unseasoned chicken and green bean casserole or something

Idk if Ty has any friends back in her home habitat. I kind of want her to have a gay guy friend who shares her reproduction related struggles bc he’s like “can I live openly as a gay man knowing that people will judge me for not Doing My Duty? even if I go to the medical center and donate sperm am I comfortable fathering children I will never actually be a father to?” so in that way her mentor could be a mentor to him as well since she’s an example of an adult lesbian in their society, and maybe that’s how they met. So she’s also like "man I wanna get back home and hang out with my bff again"

when shes home her parents are like omg we were so worried about you out in the Blighted landscape. while you were gone The Council gave us some of your mentor's stuff that she wanted you to have. and it's like a very tender handwritten note about how much she meant to her mentor that makes her cry and also some blueprints of the now-sealed tunnel opening?? basically her mentor left a coded message telling her to go down to the tunnel opening. she and her bff figure it out together and he's like Uhhh I dont want to go down to the tunnel with the sewer freaks??? but she tells him she met a sewer freak and not only did he not eat her he was smokin hot. if the sewer freaks are like cave dwellers they probably shouldn't have hair but I can't. I need them to have hair. sorry it's not Scientifically Accurate. so anyway she's like "listen it's not like we're going into the tunnels. we're just going Next to them. it's fine"

so they sneak down into the tunnels. it's kind of sad down there. ty's been down there before to cross-reference documents and just to see where her ancestors lived but it's totally different to be down there with just one other person and confront the reality of living in cramped quarters underground. kind of makes her empathize with the sewer freaks as well. when they get to the location the mentor marked they realize that there's a sealed hatch with a broken lock and inside it are mysterious items that were deposited by the sewer freaks! their mentor must have been in contact with the sewer freaks all along and she knew they weren't evil monsters! some weird shit she said starts to make a lot more sense. if ty kept the drawing she puts it in the hatch to try to make contact and if she gave it to him she sees it in the hatch as an attempt at contact

so ty and the sexy sewer guy strike up a gift cache based friendship. they don't meet in person but every time she manages to sneak away to the tunnel he's taken her gift and left something new. she's having to train in a new job that she's not that interested in but knowing that she'll have sewer presents makes her everyday life exciting. this goes on for a while and then one day she receives a drawing of a person crawling through the hatch and she's like omg. I could crawl through the hatch. there's also a drawing of a sunrise so she's like does that mean I should do it at sunrise...? will he be there....? and she decides to fucking go for it. her friend stays behind bc he's scared and also she needs him to cover for her but she has a radio. she wiggles through the hatch as early as possible in the morning and who is waiting for her but the handsome sewer freak!!

he brought a light bc he knows habitat people need them but he personally can see in the dark. she sees his bioluminescence for the first time and is like Wow.... and on his side he’s like amazed and totally hot for her once he sees her out of the hazmat suit bc he wasn’t 100% sure she was human until then. All the adults say habitat people are like humans under the suits but he had never seen one in real life so in the back of his mind he kind of doubted it. Both sides have the thing where they’re like “we’re the only People.” But actually he knew she was a People the moment she drew for him bc spontaneously creating art and then freely giving it away is such a uniquely human gesture

he takes her down through the tunnels and she sees that they've been decorated and added to and the sewer people have a whole civilization down there. they can also go onto the surface freely but they get sunburned real fast so they try to limit it. but the tunnels are now dotted with surface exits and that's how he seemed to appear and disappear when she was on the surface. they just kind of explore for a while bc she's so curious but he clearly wants to lead her somewhere. they get to a large but cozy room full of bioluminescent moss and mushrooms and a ton of sewer freaks just hanging out and who is there but... her dead mentor?!

It turns out The Council actually tried to kill her mentor for being pro-freak!!! They were like “see how much you like those sewer freaks when they’re eating you!” and left her for dead in the tunnels. but since she was friends with the freaks they did not eat her, they took her in and healed her using sewer freak blood and now she has some powers and she’s married to a lady sewer freak

The eating people thing IS true but listen. It’s hard to get protein as a sewer freak ok?? So they’ve been practicing endocannibalism all along (eating the dead members of their community). And they’ve eaten some habitat people who they killed in self defense, and maybe way back in the first few generations of sewer people they did kill and eat habitat people for no reason. But they don’t do that anymore and they feel really bad about. Actually they don’t even do endocannibalism anymore bc they raise cave fish and hunt surface animals but it’s ceremonial

so ty is like whoa i can't believe it, but I do believe it, and her mentor is like "you can't tell the habitat people. they're not ready to accept it. but you can change that. your generation needs to be open minded and accept the new earth and the new people and I think that you are a special girl and if anyone can change minds you can" and she returns to the habitat bubble with the gears in her mind turning over and over wondering how she can possibly accomplish this mission...

I said she would my fair lady the sewer freak but maybe thats book two. and I decided while writing this that the sewer freaks do have their own culture so it's not like he needs to be taught to be human. but I still want her to dress him up in normal clothes and take him home to her parents

#sewer freak romance

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lupsss1412 · 3 years

Text

The Liar’s Sin Chap. 7

I am sorry for posting this so late!! Please forgibe me but college and personal life got in the way. I am still recuperating from the coronavirus sos my updates might be slow but I will give you a special for new year or christmas or if I manage it, both!!!

Without further notices this is the next capter!!

Remember it was inspired by @sayuricorner‘s promt HERE

Chap.1 Chap.2 Chap.3 Chap.4 Chap.5 Chap.6 Chap.8

Specials

HALLOWEEN

MASTERLIST

Link to Ao3

I hope you all enjoy this chapter!! It’s almost 5 AM here so...I gotta sleep guys...

Breath in, breath out

It was a beautiful morning in the city of love.

Birds were chirping and soaring through the blue sky, white fluffy looking clouds traveling slowly and providing spots of shadows for the people on the streets. Leaves falling from the trees filling the streets with their red, orange, and yellow colors. The soft breeze leaving a rosy tint on the Parisians cheeks as the temperatures kept lowering due to the change of seasons.

However, it was a strange occurrence for the people in Paris.

The last few days had been normal for them. Not a single thing seemed out of place.

It was…

Peaceful.

That was how the people around Paris felt. Everyone had been enjoying the time off that Hawkmoth decided to take. No alerts were made, no one had seen a glimpse of an Akuma for days and it certainly was a much-needed breather.

People were walking down the street, children were playing in the park, teens were walking down, a skip on their step that was way too obvious.

Gabriel Agreste observed their goings from his window, it was something refreshing as he was making preparations for his new Akuma the worst nightmare for Ladybug. With help from Nathalie, he didn’t have any doubts about how destructive and horrible his creation could be.

His piece of resistance, all he had to do was be patient for everyone to let down their guards and believe in the false sense of security their absence could cause. He smiled thinking about what he could do, the last time he almost akumatized the girl it had proven to be something quite difficult.

But this time he was sure, he wasn’t just going to attack her using Lila Rossi, he would do anything to make her righteous fury come out along with the rest of her friends at her school.

“You called for me sir?” Nathalie asked, streaming through her tablet into Monsieur Agreste’s own

“I believe it is indeed time for us to try and Akumatize again mademoiselle Marinette Dupain-Cheng” Gabriel Agreste spoke, his voice deep and eager “make sure the plan is going accordingly Nathalie”

“As you wish sir” Nathalie answered, for the first time since the girl won the competition of Mr. Agreste she dabbed into her profile and found out as much as she could about Marinette. Noticing that the record of Lila Rossi accusing her of theft and serious bodily harm was gone from the archive.

Nathalie frowned reading the rest of the archive.

It seemed that Lila Rossi had not heeded the warning of monsieur Agreste and went to attack the poor girl again.

That in itself could be a problem, or maybe they could just wait and let the little Liar do all of the dirty work for them if they just sat and observed. She had to report this to Gabriel and hope that he would see the opportunity that Lila had left them.

With that in mind, she smiled and starting organizing the files.

Ignoring the new alert that concerned Paris’ police force.

The disappearance of Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the alert that the police had placed for Gabriel Agreste’s son, as he was declared as one of the last people she had been seen with.

_______________________________________________________________

Marinette sighed for the hundredth time, before letting her head fall with a painful thud on her notebook.

“Are you alright?” Tikki asked, concerned for her holder, and received a huff in response “you should take a break”

Marinette groaned in protest; she had been trying to draw but her nerves were getting ahead of her. She usually tended to overcome her artist’s block doing other things, like walking around Pari’s streets to find inspiration for her designs. But now, she was blank.

Zilch.

Zero.

Nien.

Nothing.

Nada.

She had drawn some basic sketches as guides. Each one acting as a reference to each habitant of the Hotel. So far, she had managed to list out things she thought they probably would like and how their personalities could blend in with the styles she had listed. It all depended on how people were the most comfortable, she had found out that special tip when designing her clothes.

If you like what you’re wearing, and feel confident in it, the style can work and you can make it your own. But you also have to selective of the clothes you decide to wear, they must favor your figure so you can stand out in every single way.

So far, her thoughts had been filled with memories, of when she had been with all of her classmates and how it all had improved for her at the start of the year. She had felt so confident, so amazing and so strong. It was hard to believe she was again feeling so down and like a nobody.

Like as if she was nothing.

“I think it’s time for a break” Tikki interrupted her thoughts, making her glance at the small goddess “You need it, and a change of scenery could probably help you”

Marinette glanced at the notes and pieces of fabric she had on the board.

The studio was big, and there were so many high-quality fabrics she felt in heaven when coming inside. Charlie had argued that it was all for her, as her mother Lilith had claimed to no longer need those fabrics and that they were for Marinette’s private use.

At first, she had thrown herself and drew out as many ideas as she could. But after the first hour, she had stopped altogether.

All inspiration had left her and her enthusiasm had died. Her traitorous mind making her remember how she was in another plane of existence.

Away from the people she loved.

Away from the city, she had vowed to protect.

All of them being left behind because of Lila’s schemes.

She growled, her fists clenching and her lips formed a thin line.

Oh, how much she wanted to just be able to do something to take off that anger and frustration out. She had tried for hours to take those feelings into a design, any drawing but she just, couldn’t. It wasn’t enough and the stress was starting to get to her. Especially since she didn’t know how to change her situation and was told just to stay put in the hotel.

She couldn’t do anything and she was getting tired of it.

So, instead, she had decided to get to work immediately, trying to find a way to show her appreciation in the form of clothing for all of them. It would help her focus on the brighter side of things.

The people that were now caring for her, even if they were not friends, she had seen how they worried about her. Which she wanted to thank in any way she could.

Still, when looking again at her designs she was disappointed, it was something blocking her creativity as she often wore her heart on her sleeve.

“I guess you’re right” Marinette conceded, before getting up and closing her notebook, “I think it could help”

She smiled sweetly at the small goddess who returned the smile.

With that exchange, the small goddess smiled and hugged her holder’s cheek offering her support. Marinette walked out of the studio, a key in her hand. She took one last glance at it and felt the need to go and thank the crew of the hotel for all they had done for her, especially the princess. It was almost too good to be true for them to let her have a personal studio for her own.

With that in mind, she sighed. As much as she would love to stay there all day, it wasn’t healthy, Tikki was right. Maybe she needed fresh air. She closed the door behind her and locked it.

A growl coming from her stomach made her think about grabbing a snack if possible, as she knew it was almost time for lunch.

________________________________________________________________

“Hold up, just…hold up” Adrien muttered while pinching the bridge of his nose, Plagg still trying to get to his camembert “What did you just say? Because I must have heard wrong…”

Plagg groaned and turned to see the haunted look on Adrien’s face.

He looked lost, his pupils were dilatated and he was starting to take shorter breaths. His shoulders were shaking as he processed what Plagg had just said. His smile was tight and almost looked like one of the few he used near the little liar.

“What you heard kid” Plagg explained, trying to look as normal as he could “Ladybug isn’t going to be able to help, not after…she heard what happened to pigtails”

Adrien blinked in the direction of Plagg, his face devoid of any emotion. His body shaking as he started to laugh, covering with one of his hands his eyes, the other covering his stomach as if he had just heard the funniest joke on the planet.

He rationalized, with a part of his mind, that the small god was joking. That he was just trying to make him react. Just one of his silly jokes. Even if in the back of his mind a little voice reminded him that it wasn’t true. That Plagg would never joke about something so serious.

But it had to be, because if Plagg was telling the truth…

It would mean he was alone.

Alone, protecting Paris.

Alone, to fight against Hawkmoth.

With thousands, no, MILLIONS of people depending on him.

No Ladybug to clean up the mess.

No Ladybug to call in for help.

“It’s a joke, right?” Adrien laughed, falling into his sofa, his haunted gaze on Plagg “Please…please Plagg tell me you’re joking”

Plagg shook his head, unable to vocalize his answer. The desperation in the voice of his holder making his heart ache and his stomach twisting painfully. He knew Adrien wasn’t going to like the answer, but it seemed that he was just a ticking bomb.

“I’m sorry kid,” Plagg said, his head low and floating just in front of his holder “but ladybug had no other choice…”

Adrien growled, his hands becoming fists and running to grab the first thing he could reach before throwing it as hard as he could.

“So, she just left!?” Adrien screamed, his voice full of rage and fear “Left me alone because she just could, and left me behind to deal with this mess? What? Got a case of cold feet and left because she was scared?!”

Plagg was now getting mad, Adrien was doing what usually humans and most teenagers do. Blame others for their circumstances. He wasn’t stopping once to listen, it all seemed too much for him and he was searching for something or someone to blame just to make him feel better.

“She didn’t have an option!” Plagg screamed, finally growing frustrated by the little pity fest “When your friend was thrown to hell, she had to do something! The balance has to be maintained!”

Plagg groaned, knowing he had said too much in his haste for Adrien to stop talking.

“What are you talking about?” Adrien whispered “the…balance?”

Plagg sighed and motioned for Adrien to sit down on the couch, floating he turned to his holder.

“the miraculous not only are magical jewels” Plagg explained, Adrien nodded as he barely had this information because he was not the new guardian “we are the balance, but I am also a physical form of the aspects I represent as well as Tikki. We, in essence, are magic and as such we are tied to the balance of the world”

Adrien blinked once, taking all the information in.

“I am destruction and bad luck,” Plagg said, “and Tikki is my counterpart in every sense of the word as you have witnessed when the whole Refleckta rematch happened. What you must understand is that there has to be a balance to maintain. No matter what, when one of the miraculous is wielded, the other must be too…and never used for evil”

Adrien opened his mouth to speak and Plagg shook his head.

“You all are creatures of limited time, you follow a path,” Plagg explained “you grow, you live, you dream. Everything that makes humans unique is also what makes them vulnerable. But you have the option to choose who and what you want to be”

Adrien nodded, for once remembering the words of his father in his mind. For his actions had consequences, in more ways than one.

“As you are, every single one of you manages to keep the balance, even if it is never perfect” Plagg explained “Now you humans are moved using a form of energy, and a soul that gives you life. As you know energy nor matter can’t be destroyed…”

“Only transformed…” Adrien spoke, his voice a bit more than a whisper.

Plagg nodded, trying to think of a way to explain the absence of Marinette without giving away that she was also Ladybug.

“Now, when you die, your soul …” Plagg explained “Imagine it as a trip, one where you end somewhere to pay for your sins or to receive your rewards. That also marks the end of a phase and the beginning of another, further than that it could be reincarnation or obliteration. A cycle that shouldn’t be broken…but it was broken by someone alive being sent to hell”

Adrien widened his eyes, looking at Plagg as realization slowly caved in.

“Everyone has a time, some earlier than others” Plagg explained, shrugging a bit like in a form to say that you can’t really stop it “But Marinette was ripped from her plane of existence and dragged into another. It’s like the butterfly effect. One small thing tips another, then another, until you have a freaking tsunami at your doorstep…”

Adrien’s eyes were wide as the reality of the problem hit him in the face.

“Tikki and Ladybug are in charge of the good luck” Plagg explains, “they are the most powerful ones besides us, but this time Marinette was abducted using “dark” magic so we need to use “white” magic to bring her back. They have to be the ones that will bring Marinette back, but that also entails the balance is already tipped, and with Hawkmoth creating havoc …it will make it worse”

“What…will happen?” Adrien asked “Like, Marinette leaving tipped off the balance, right? Then that means Ladybug has to correct it since it was created by malice and with something evil…”

Plagg looked at his holder, trying to deliver the news as softly as he could.

“It will get worse” Plagg explained, “the more time Marinette spends there, the worse the consequences will be…as it is, bad luck is already knocking at your door…”

Adrien nodded; his head filled with this new information as he tried to start his early routine for the morning. Plagg didn’t make any other comments until Adrien once again talked to him. It was a lot to take in after all.

“What could happen if…Marinette doesn’t return? “Adrien asked, his head filled with worry and voice breaking “Will Ladybug be able to help her?

Plagg smiled and floated in front of Adrien.

“Kid, we’re talking about your lady” Plagg reassured him “I am sure they all will find a way to fix this. Meanwhile, we gotta make sure nothing happens to Paris, Ladybug trusts you. I know you can do this…”

Adrien smiled and raised his fist towards Plagg who bumped it softly.

“Thanks, Plagg” Adrien smiled, before grabbing his things and letting the small god hide in his clothes.

_______________________________________________________________

“Hey!” Blitzo groaned as Moxxie took away his piece of the sandwich “I was eating that!”

Moxxie shook his head and shoved the sandwich back into the basket Charlie gave them. He turned to his boss once again seeing how he just was looking all around without much care in the world.

“Sir!” Moxxie exclaimed as he watched Blitzo examine his nails “We are supposed to be in the watch. You know, doing our job!”

Blitzo reacted by sending a raspberry in Moxxie’s direction as he raised his middle fingers. Which Moxxie shrieked in offense before he started going after their boss, who just went around the corner laughing at him.

“Come on Moxxie!” Millie pulled her husband to her side “It’s not that bad, besides the enchantments are way too powerful to be so easily broken. We just gotta make sure no one else can even try to get close to the Hotel!”

Moxxie groaned and looked at his boss who was, once again munching on a sandwich.

“Yeah, Moxxie” Blitzo complained, his mouth full of food barely chewed before he swallowed it “relax, this is a job we can do with our eyes closed!”

Moxxie groaned and Millie giggled as she listened to her husband started arguing with their boss. Loona was sleeping as she didn’t really like to sleep at night, much less busy with her phone. This meant that while Loona was making watch they all would be eating and resting a bit. The princess and her girlfriend had arranged a schedule and managed to find a middle ground.

As safe as it was with the shields around the hotel, it was never too much to have an extra pair of eyes to watch over the human.

She started scouting the corners, they were almost in the outskirts of the city so there weren’t many places someone could hide. Still, they wanted for Marinette to be her most comfortable, and since this was hell, we’re talking about…

Paparazzi, Reporters, investigators, and demons who didn’t really care about the safety of others if it sells, they would do anything to get the story.

After all, this is hell.

This meant that they had to make sure to scare off anyone inside the hotel, near the hotel, or even in the grounds surrounding the hotel.

She shrugged hearing her husband and boss argue about when the refreshments should be eaten and hearing the pop of a can opening, and her boss’ slurping. It all seemed pretty normal.

She turned around, hoping to get closer so she could when a light caught her eye. She stayed still, her tail swishing back and forth, focused on any movement or shift.

Her concentration was broken by a crash and Blitzo’s screams of rage.

She quickly ran to where the noise was coming from, forgetting to check for that small glint she had caught a glimpse of.

Not aware of a paparazzo hiding on the roof of the building near the hotel.

“This is going straight to the news!” the small demon cheered “I’ll be rich!”

The small demon laughed as he looked at the photos he had taken, one of them being of the whole IMP gang, on the stairs of the hotel, talking to the princess.

________________________________________________________________

“GIVE ME BACK THAT YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

That was not what Marinette had been expecting to hear when coming down to the lobby, nor hear as she walked downstairs.

A crash soon followed and she ran the last steps to see what was causing such a commotion.

What she found, almost made her believe she was trapped in a TV show, or maybe a cartoon. One with a lot of swearing, maybe another version of Deadpool’s movie would be more accurate. Only that without all of that blood splashing around and the insinuations and adult jokes…well she wasn’t so sure about that.

Charlie was trying to calm everyone down, Husk, especially since Blitzo had just stolen his bottle of cheap booze and was currently drinking it without a care in the world. Niffty was cleaning as she complained about the mess they had created while on the other side of the room Vaggie was being held by Millie and Moxxie the spear in her hand.

Alastor however seemed too far entertained and delighted by the chaos around the hotel. She could notice it by how his smile seemed to be a little bit sharper but not with any malicious glint. From the corner of her eyes, she could see a pinkish blur moving.

Just to turn and see Angel Dust walking up to her.

“Quite the spectacle, aren’t they?” Angel asked coming beside the staircase where Marinette had barely stopped, extending one of his secondary hands towards her “Not what you were expecting?”

Marinette nodded and took Angel’s hand, slowly descending the stairs until she reached the floor. Her gaze was on the spider noticing how he seemed to be comfortable using a different outfit from his usual one, the high waist shorts and white shirt with puffed sleeves making his fur glow and his figure stand out. She could appreciate now his long legs on those boots he never took off, his appearance sexy but still stylish.

“Not really” she spoke, Tikki floating on her left “but it’s quite the sight”

Angel chuckled and smiled, turning again to where the demons were. Both of them chucking seeing the group of demons bickering and shouting at each other. The situation getting out of control quickly but nothing dangerous just like watching a bunch of children wine and scream.

“At least you won’t get bored” Angel spoke, amusement evident in his voice “not for a long while I believe”

Marinette nodded and then a growl interrupted their conversation, Angel smiled looking at her all smug. She knew she was blushing as she had recognized the sound coming from her stomach. Sheepishly she tried to cover it by glancing another way.

“Hungry already toots?” he teased her “it’s barely noon sweetie, you should really take into account what you eat, wouldn’t want our dear ladybug getting chubby”

Marinette gasped and shoved him laughing, she stuck her tongue out and pouted. Making Angel laugh louder, as they both walked side by side to the kitchen.

“I’m at least doing something; designing is hard work I’ll have you know” she countered back “what have you been doing all day?”

Angel smiled and made a pose as if he was modeling before pirouetting, and fluttering his eyelashes. He turned to see Marinette who was biting her lip in an attempt not to burst out laughing and making all the attention turn to them. In the back of her mind alerts were already ringing as she felt someone’s gaze on her back.

“Darling looking like me is a full-time job” he exclaimed in an obnoxious voice sugar coating the words “my beauty sleep is crucial for maintaining me looking flawless!”

“That’s a job?” Marinette taunted “I thought it was just something you were good at naturally, like that attitude of yours”

That small compliment and jive made Angel do a double-take. Marinette was smiling at the tall spider who was making a perfect personification of a fish out of water. A giggle escaped Marinette, and she had to cover her mouth.

Both of them burst into laughter as they entered the kitchen. Angel holding his stomach with his lower hands as his right hand held out open the door for the kitchen and his left one was over his eyes.

“Holy shit” Angel smiled at Marinette “you’re too much Mari, way too much piccola coccinella”

Marinette did some finger guns at Angel as she winked, getting into the kitchen.

“Right back at ya” Marinette smiled, a taunting tone on her voice “araignée rose”

With a gasp, Angel faked an offended motion and looked straight at the small teenager. Tikki appearing from behind Marinette her small paws covering her mouth and her small shoulders shaking with laughter.

“How dare you…” Angel said, his voice offended but betrayed by the slight curve of his lips “I must inform you I am mostly white, not pink! Buguinette….”

Marinette when hearing the last nickname groaned and Tikki laughed while Angel closed the door behind himself.

The three of them hadn’t noticed their commotion had attracted the attention of the rest of the demons there.

They had stopped doing everything when the sound of laughter the trio had shared reached their ears.

Everyone watched their interaction, barely believing what they were witnessing.

Charlie was beaming, she knew Angel was something more and had more in him, but for him to instantly take a liking to Marinette was something new. She just hoped it would mean he would open himself and they would be able to help with his rehabilitation. That made a soft smile appear on her face.

Vaggie was speechless and with her mouth wide open. Her only eye still on her door of the kitchen, her eyebrows almost where her hair started. She had seen Angel had his often and strange soft moment but they were usually covered when he made an insult or a sexual jive.

Moxxie and Millie were just, surprised. Both of them had known about the spider and his reputation but they, certainly haven’t expected to see such an interaction to take place. For the spider demon known by half of hell because of his works to be just, so friendly and nice.

Niffty was now excited, she loved Angel Dust and they had become rather close. The spider demon is one of the few that knew what it meant to keep their rooms clean, and he knew how to cook amazing dishes, even if he had asked for her to keep it secret.

Husk was surprised but tried to conceal it. Even if his eyes were so wide, they almost looked like pool balls. He had seen the spider drunk, high out of his mind, but never acting so open. His gaze moved towards the radio demon who seemed to be too quiet, not even the soft hum of static was present.

Alastor’s smile was tight, but his eyes were not on the pair, they lingered where Angel had stood. He had been taken back by the genuine look of happiness and the boisterous laughter Angel had. He just, couldn’t help but remember his life, when he had his partner. The spider had revived those memories. Something he hadn’t expected, as well, was the teasing taunts that they had exchanged. A small memory nudging the back of his mind, his heart constricting in his chest. It was something he had never felt before, he grasped his microphone so tight he could almost feel his nails piercing his palm.

“What the fuck” Blitzo managed to choke out before taking another big gulp of the bottle of cheap booze.

That brought everyone back from their state, making them turn towards Blitzo.

“Shut the fuck up!” Loona screamed, half of her body inside the hotel before slamming the door with enough force to make everyone wince.

________________________________________________________________

Another day, another class and more boring subjects that he didn’t have any interest in.

The class was starting and Adrien could only sigh. He was nervous, he wanted nothing more than to scape. The words of Plagg’s warning still fresh on his mind.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. After the news of Ladybug being away and him the only one protecting Paris. Let’s just say he for once understood why Ladybug was always on edge. He promised himself he would do everything in his power to be the best partner she could have.

His thoughts traveling to his schedule. He had a lot to do and Hawkmoth had been dormant so he wished and prayed that he wouldn’t be planning something. At least that is until the annoying voice of Lila interrupted his thoughts.

All of the class was already around her, Nino barely glancing in his direction as they paid close attention to the Italian girl.

Lila, once again, was lying as if it was the air she breathed.

All of the class were taken with her grand tale of how she had managed to convince the rising star MDC to meet Jagged Stone. Which Adrien knew was false, after all, it had been thanks to Chloe that Marinette met Jagged and started designing for him as per the rock star’s request.

Everyone awed at the “revelation”. Alya excitedly was posting the story on the Ladyblog, not even bothering to verify the story. Many of them asking question after question

“Well thank you for that informative tale Lila but I believe it is time to start the lesson” Bustier claimed and Adrien couldn't be happier, at least Lila would behave during class “Now, as for today we have a lot of material to go through, so I will start by taking attendance…”

At that everyone tensed slightly, most of them glancing at the place Marinette usually took. He could recognize some of them looking at it still weary but switched their attention to the teacher who had started calling their names.

“Okay, then we will start with some mathema…” Miss Bustier was interrupted as someone knocked on the door, the principal entering after that cheerful knocking “Monsieur Damocles…to what do I owe the surprise visit?”

Everyone looked at each other, questions in their gazes as two other men came inside the classroom following their Principal.

Adrien tried not to feel intimidated but it was useless.

The moment he looked at the two men at the front and their gazes met Adrien could say it was all over for him. It was intimidating and facing Hawkmoth would never compare. A small pat on his leg made him turn, Plagg was just there and for a second Adrien didn’t feel alone. He knew why those officers were there, he just prayed they would believe him instead of Lila’s lies.

“I’m sorry Caline, but these gentlemen want to talk to your students” Mr. Damocles explained his voice a bit shaky, letting two gentlemen wearing suits enter the classroom “It is a delicate matter”

The teacher nodded, fearful for her students as she looked at the two men in front of her. Both of them looked quite stoic and were regarding the class with cold eyes and calm that no one expected.

“As your boss said we are in because of an ongoing investigation regarding the disappearance of Marinette Dupain-Cheng” he then turned to regard the students and Adrien could swear his heart stopped beating when he felt their gazes on him “and we expect your full cooperation, as sources have claimed she was last seen with these group of students”

The class didn’t move, didn’t breathe and Lila could only seethe.

She thought that her problems cause by that goodie two shoes were over, but it seemed the universe had other ideas.

Still, no one that heard the real story would believe them. They would think they are loonies and maybe throw them into the bin.

Not even Adrien nor Chloe could ever make them change their opinion. At most, the one who could break under their pressure would be crossed out as crazy if they didn’t possess any proof, and if it came to that she only would have to play the victim and blame the class.

“As if someone would believe them if some kid says Marinette fell through a magic portal to hell” Lila smirked looking with the corner of her eye at Adrien who seemed a little too tense “I’m still winning Mari-brat!”

Still, she was already forming a plan on her head.

Smiling she glanced at her bestie, the person who she could place as the prime subject.

“Bring it on” Lila sneered while leaning back on her seat “I’ll make sure she never returns”

________________________________________________________________

Lucifer was done.

Done with everything and everyone.

He was two seconds away from going on a murdering spree and torturing as many souls as he pleased.

He laughed, the shadows becoming larger in his surroundings, his eyes glowing. He could feel his smile sharpening, his nails becoming claws, his tongue separating and becoming forked.

Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten, then to one hundred, then he tried to think of how nice it felt to hold Lilith last night and finally released his breath. He thought that the human landing on hell had been difficult, but this was so much worse.

They had nothing, absolutely nothing.

They had finished looking over the Library, now what was left was Stolas library. But the more time it passed the worse the feeling in his gut was getting.

So long his servants had not reported everything and he had gone out of his way to check over some ancient scrolls filled with hidden knowledge. Some

He was pacing through his office, sipping on his favorite wine to calm his nerves. Silently hoping and almost praying to his Father that it wouldn't end in an awkward call.

Although if that happened, he guessed he might as well die.

Groaning he let himself fall on his favorite chair. Hands on his face trying to not drag them down and scratch his face. It would be the third time that day and he knew Lilith would be crossed with him.

“My love you need to calm down,” Lilith said entering the office with a tray of Lucifer’s favorite desserts and coffee in her hands “it will all be alright, you will find a solution od that I am sure”

Lucifer sighed, letting himself spread out on the couch. His frown became deeper as he watched his beautiful wife arrange the desserts and put a cup of coffee on his hand.

“I do wish for that to be true my dear” Lucifer spoke, his voice strained but grateful at his wife “and what can I do except make sure every single record is cleared and reviewed before making a decision that could impact all of hell, nothing to worry about”

Lilith raised her eyebrow; Lucifer usually was calm and collected. This was something he needed to solve as he often saw it as his duty to preserve the life of hell-born.

But at the peace this was going, she assumed that they didn’t find anything worthy in their extensive search.

“you will find the answer” Lilith tried to reassure her husband “I know it”

Both rulers smiled at each other and Lucifer took Lilith's hand in his stroking the fore palm with his thumb.

“Thank you” Lucifer smiled at his wife “for believing in me”

Lilith smiled and leaned in, her eyes half-closed and glowing, Lucifer’s smile widened before he too raised himself to meet Lilith. His free hand now on her face lovingly stroking her cheek.

Both of them, about to get lost in a sea of passion and love.

When a knock interrupted them.

“Excuse me, your majesty” a demon knocked on his door, his voice traveling until it reached the ears of the rulers of hell “You asked for any news of the human to be brought to you immediately”

Lucifer groaned and Lilith giggled, covering her mouth with a hand. She gracefully tried to slip away from her husband when a pair of hands held her in place.

“I believe we aren’t quite finished my dear,” Lucifer said, his voice deep and laced with a promise of lust “but I will let it slide…until tonight”

Lilith smiled, leaning in to give Lucifer one more kiss before turning to the door and taking her exit.

Closing the doors, she let the servant pass and the imp closed the door behind the queen.

She sighed, guessing she had to go and entertain herself once again. Thinking about it, she had to go and take care of more of her coming shows. For that, she had already arranged the best stylists of Hell to come and show her about their creations.

She wanted the best of the best; a small spring was on her step as she thought about the new collection of dresses she was going to get. Her only regret was that she wouldn’t have the time to design them herself.

She was barely two meters away from her husband’s office when the palace shook and his voice exploded.

“THEY WHAT!?!?!”

And with that, Lilith knew without a doubt that her afternoon was going to be full of surprises.

She motioned for an imp passing by to come closer raising one of her hands.

“please tell my guest I’ll see them as soon as I can,” Lilith asked sweetly “and if they do not want to wait, they can be sure that I will never request their work again”

Lilith turned on her heel without giving any other explanation, hoping that whatever that had caused her husband to scream.

_______________________________________________________________

“Charlie, hun” Vaggie walked behind her excited girlfriend “you can’t tell me you don’t find it even a little bit strange”

Charlie sighed, Vaggie was right. Angel had been acting around them as he would usually do, but when Marinette was in the room it was…as if he showed another side of him. Charlie had seen Angel laughing without the strain of his shoulders around Marinette. Which she believed no one had taken notice, that is because until you had seen him completely relaxed you would never see any difference.

“I mean…yes, it’s strange” Charlie conceded “but I mean it’s good isn’t it? It means he’s doing better. You saw it for yourself! Angel seems to really like her and even Alastor said he would never think of harming Marinette and made some breakfast for her!”

Vaggie shrugged, honestly Angel was more complicated than what at first, she thought. But whenever he was getting better or they thought he had made any progress, he relapsed. After those incidents, Vaggie still couldn’t help but doubt Angel’s intentions.

“It is…” Vaggie said, while putting a hand on Charlie’s shoulders “but, Charlie …Angel isn’t a role model, nor someone we can really trust with Marinette…”

Charlie tried to refute, but with how many times Angel had broken their simple rules she knew Vaggie had a point. Besides, knowing Angel’s profession, it was harder for him to reach redemption or even get better. But he was trying and Charlie believed in him, there was just something about Angel that made her believe in him. She couldn’t explain, but she knew

“I don’t even trust the radio demon near her” Vaggie claimed, her eye frowning as she looked to her hands “I just, Charlie he doesn’t even believe in the cause. He’s just here for entertainment and…there are many ways to hurt or manipulate someone without being physical. Husk has been trying to be the best but so far we should limit her interactions with them…She’s too young and is easy for people to get into your head…”

Charlie nodded, her shoulders sagging as she tried her best to refute Vaggie’s claims. She did love Vaggie, and her girlfriend was making some valid points across. However, Alastor and Angel were now part of the Hotel as well as Husk and Niffty. Even the IMPs were now residing there, even if their function was of some bodyguards.

“I know it isn’t the ideal …circumstances” Charlie answered, “but please Vaggie, we can’t just force Marinette to spend her days trapped inside her room. I don’t want her to feel trapped…”

Vaggie rubbed her right arm, a bit of guilt pooling in her stomach. She knew Charlie often talked about how trapped she felt in the palace and even when having almost one-fourth of the palace for herself and servants she had always felt alone.

“She has already passed through a lot Vaggie” Charlie took one of her girlfriend’s hands on her own “But still she worries about us, she tries to ask if she can help and she has only been trying her hardest to remain in the Hotel grounds. I don’t want to turn this into a kind of prison for her…”

Vaggie nodded, knowing that Marinette deserved to be treated with the best they could offer. After all, she was alone and relying on people she couldn’t trust completely.

“I know we can’t let our guard down…” Charlie spoke as if she could read Vaggie’s mind “but we can still make this the best for Marinette. You heard the story, the people who she believed were her friends betrayed her…we can at least show her she can trust us too…even if it is only for a while”

Vaggie let out some of her breath and smiled at Charlie. The princess was right, and well, if anything happened, she doubted Lucifer would be as understanding as Charlie.

“Okay” She leaned towards her girlfriend, Charlie meeting her halfway both of them with their eyes closed and their foreheads touching “Thank you, hon”

“Thank you for always supporting me Vaggie” Charlie answered “I love you”

“I love you more” Vaggie answered before kissing Charlie’s cheek “ok then, so we should continue with the shopping list?”

Charlie smiled and nodded, talking about how many things she could probably buy now that they had a little bit more freedom, and a bigger budget thanks to Marinette and the IMPs. Vaggie laughed, both of them returning to the papers on the table.

_______________________________________________________________

All that she could see was darkness. Everything was pitch black.

It was all around her, but it made her feel safe. Strangely enough.

Even when a voice in the back of her mind was screaming that nothing was alright. She decided to ignore it

Marinette opened her eyes lazily as her phone vibrated beside her, it startled her awake.

She quickly sat on her bed, her arms supporting her and pink all around the room. Everything seemed normal. She was in her bed, her designs were all over the place, along with her discarded homework on her desk. Her last message was of Alya encouraging her on their last exam, nothing out of the ordinary.

It all was perfect.

She laid back on her bed, snuggling into her pink and white covers, the smooth fabric against her skin, and the sweet smell engulfing her. Her eyes started to drop, slowly, as she succumbed to Morpheus's arms.

Every second she felt like drowning in comfortable darkness.

For once ever since the arrival of Hawkmoth, she felt safe and in peace.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with her phone, vibrating so much that Marinette thought it was her usual wake up alarm.

She decided to ignore it, as she usually did, to get more sleep. Rolling to her side so she could ignore it better. A few seconds later it stopped.

Marinette sighed, once again letting all go and enjoying the peaceful atmosphere once again.

That is until the sound of thousands of people screaming reached her ears.

Her eyes shot wide open.

Marinette didn’t remember exactly what she was doing, everything felt as if it was a movie. She watched as her arms threw away the covers on top of her, getting up as fast as she could, not bothering her when she heard her parent’s voices screaming her name reached her ears.

Desperately she ran to her balcony, climbing the stairs as fast as her now trembling hands let her.

Opening the trap door, she wasn’t hit with the usual cold night air and the usual sound of cars moving in the streets.

Heat and ash hitting her face like a slap.

Her eyes became blurry and the smell of smoke filling her lungs.

She coughed, her eyes stinging but she willed herself to go to the railing of her balcony, the heat on her face making her skin burn as well as her lungs. Raising one of her arms she takes one deep breath and pushes herself forward, her eyes closed and moving just by memory. The light of the flames on her eyelids and she hopes it’s just her imagination.

Screams of terror ringing in her ears, her name being called by her parents were ignored for her to reach the railing of her balcony. Marinette grasps it and once again she tries to take a breath, more smoke filling her lungs.

She opens her eyes and looks at the distance.

Her eyes widened and she could swear her heart stopped beating.

What she was seeing, had to be a dream.

A nightmare.

The city of Paris was bathed in flames, dark smoke filling the air as well as screams.

The people were screaming because they were being burned alive, the stench of burned flesh reaching her nose, making her want to throw up. In the distance, she could see the Eiffel tower, the fire around it, the oranges and reds dancing making it look as if hell was being raised on earth.

Sirens all over the city and people trying to run away from the fire that seemed to be endless and growing with every minute that passed.

Marinette was shocked, taking steps back as she took the sight in.

A voice she knew very well, suddenly boomed, it was all over the city and making her body tremble with fear.

“Where is your precious Ladybug!?” The voice said, taunting them, coming from nowhere and everywhere “Where are your precious heroes now!?”

Glancing to the distance Marinette could see many figures, red energy in the form of butterflies acting as a mask, jumping through the roofs, in her direction.

Instinctively she searched for Tikki, looking to her sides when she noticed that the small goddess was missing. Her hands flew to her ears, her earrings missing.

She turned, trying to get into her room, the trap door closed and not budging under her more than insistent tries and pulls. Her parent’s call becoming more desperate with each passing second.

Until they stopped, the fire alarms went silent, the people stopped screaming.

The only thing left was the sound of buildings collapsing, wood cracking because of the heat, and the flames growing. Bathing everything in orange light.

“There’s no scape, Maribrat” Lila’s voice making her freeze on the spot “but I guess you already knew that”

Marinette turned, coughing as more smoke filled her lungs.

There they were.

All of them.

Luka, Alya, Nino, Kagami, Max, Kim, and Chloe. Every single one of them posing on the rail, burning her flowerpots with a single touch. Smiled sharp, eyes cold and unforgiving. All of them were wearing different suits, with matching scheme colors.

Luka was wearing ripped blood-red to black gradient jeans, with golden embroidery that traveled up the side of his legs, black combat boots on his feet. His shirt was black, with a red and orange gradient up to his waist where he had a golden belt with a butterfly insignia. The tips of his hair were changed to vibrant red color, a black mask was covering half of his face the trims golden, his eyes closed as he seemed to enjoy the chaos around him.

Chloe was wearing tight red jeans with black embroidery, high heeled boots of golden color on her feet. Her shirt was golden with black gradient sleeves that reached her forearms, it showed off her figure, on her waist red chains uniting to her right side where a red butterfly was resting. Her hair was loose up to her waist, red and black strands striking against her natural blonde color. Her eyes had a smoky style, golden eyeliner making her now red eyes stand out, red blood lips twisted in an arrogant smirk. Her hands were covered in ashes, but her nails still glowing a bright red. She lazily leaned on the railing examining the flower that was burning just with her touch.

Alya was sitting on the railing, a black top under a semi-transparent reddish loose shirt, on her waist she had a golden stash with black embroidery of butterflies. Her jeans were black to a blood-red gradient, her golden ankle boots covered in ash. Her hair was in a high ponytail with some loose strands framing her face, the usual red tips were now pitch black a golden butterfly emblem adorning the hairdo. Her makeup was simple, smoky eyes making her stand out more, black lipstick making her recall the incident with black cupid and red eye-liner. Her eyes a darker red than Chloe’s. She was staring at Marinette with such hatred she could feel her knees shaking, her mouth frown with disgust in her direction.

Kagami was there too, standing just beside Alya a sword in her hand. Her hair hadn’t changed, except for the black and red accessories that made it look as if she had horns. The red kimono was stained with ashes all over it, a black obi holding it all together like a belt, under that she only wore golden tights, but her red-blood high boots cut the pattern. Her hands were covered by bandages, crimson red and covered with ashes too, her nails glowing just like Chloe’s. Chains of gold wrapped around her sword’s handle and into her wrist. She could faintly see the bow of the obi being in the form of a butterfly with golden touches. Her lips were painted in different colors. The top a deep red color, the bottom was completely black, her eyes didn’t have any makeup but an intricated golden eyeliner, her eyes a deep dark red and her gaze was cold and unforgiving.

Nino was there too, wearing long black pants with a red gradient at the bottom, his sneakers a dark red tainted with ashes and golden trims. His red loose shirt with black stains was decorated with the emblem of the butterfly from Hawkmoth. His cap was black except with some reddish stains. His earphones were gone and, in their place, a golden chain hanging over his chest his glasses in a matching color. His hands were on his pockets, making them melt as he smiled evilly at her, the cap covering her eyes but she could see them, glowing red and filled with hatred directed at her.

“They look amazing don’t you think?” Lila laughed, coming forward, her hair loose and floating around her the tips a golden color “Courtesy of Hawkmoth”

She walked towards Marinette, a tight black short dress was the main piece, it reached her knees and it seemed so tight she even had difficulties to walk or move, it was meant to be sexy but Marinette could only wince at how off it looked on Lila. On top of the skirt of the dress, she had a golden semi-translucent fabric that swished with the air, her arms were covered with golden jewelry and ruby stones, a necklace made of gold shaped into spikes, a big red ruby on the middle. Her make up stayed the same color scheme, except for the golden touches on her eyelids and the butterflies of gold on her skin as if they were tattoos. A small golden crown on her had, with the biggest ruby Marinette had ever seen in her life.

“Did you truly believe you could win?” Lila spoke, slowly advancing towards Marinette “you lost Marinette, in more ways than one”

With that being said, Lila stepped aside. Her skirt flowing behind her as another figure advanced to her side. Lila raised her hand, offering it to the figure as it stepped closer.

“No…” Marinette spoke, more smoke filling her lungs and making her eyes sting, tears rolling down her cheeks “please…”

Adrien stood there, in all of his glory. Akumatized.

His outfit was a simple black tux, golden embroidery on his cuffs and trims. His shirt a deep red that contrasted against his pale skin. His shoes complimented his outfit, high-end and of course perfectly polished black dressing shoes. Cufflinks glinted when he raised his hand to take the one her rival was offering, as well as a crown resting on top of his head that matched Lila’s. His eyes now a glowing red and a smirk on his face.

“Doesn’t he look dashing?” Lila smiled as Adrien kissed her hand “the perfect king, for the perfect queen”

Adrien pulled Lila to her side, hands around her waist, and the long-haired girl rested her head against his chest. Both of them smiling with so much evil towards Marinette that she couldn’t help but let more tears fall. Lila raised one of her hands to stroke Adrien’s face, leaning in as their lips almost touched.

“You lost” Lila whispered before an explosion sounded in the distance.

Marinette wanted nothing more than to run, to scape. She would do anything to get away from them, she just wanted to run.

That is until a hand landed on her shoulder, scaring her and making her turn.

But nothing could’ve prepared her for the sight that was in front of her.

She could feel her blood run cold, and her heart breaking in two.

Chat Noir was on the floor, his hand stretched towards her. His gaze was unfocused, probably had a concussion but he still fought to stay awake and reach her.

“M-My lady” Chat spoke before he crumbled to the ground, with no strength left “I’m…sorry”

Marinette rushed to Chat’s side, the sound of Lila’s laughter all around her. She cradled Chat’s head into her legs, trying to shield him from the rest of the world. Slowly stroking his hair as slowly as she could.

The laughter of Hawkmoth could be heard through all Paris, proclaiming his victory. All of the akumatized people on the balcony started laughing too, the sound of their voices combined almost leaving her deaf.

Closing her eyes, she could hear the buildings crumbling, the laugher, her parent’s screams as they were also burned alive. Her lungs were filled with smoke, she could barely take another breath but she refused to leave Chat alone. Her eyes completely shut so she couldn’t see what was going on. Her anger, impotence, and fear making her blood boil.

With one final breath, Marinette screamed.

And woke up.

She almost fell from her chair but regained her balance rather fast.

“I…wha….where…” Marinette tried to focus on her surroundings, letting out a breath “oh…”

She was in the studio; the layout of the pentagram could be seen through the window. The sky looked a bit darker than before.

Her designs were all over the place, small notes here and there. A few samples of fabrics also in a pile and Tikki was taking her nap on top of a small cushion Charlie had left for her.

“It…was a nightmare” Marinette tried to reassure herself “breathe, Marinette, just breathe”

With that, she hugged herself. The images not leaving her mind, making her whole body shake with fear.

She reached once again to check the Akuma alert, see if anything was happening. But nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Letting out a breath Marinette smiled, at least that was something she didn’t have to get worried about. She walked up to Tikki who barely registered her holder until Marinette poked her softly.

“Hey, um” Marinette spoke slowly letting Tikki yawn and stretch herself “Mind coming with me for a bite?”

Tikki shook her head, floating beside Marinette as they walked downstairs. Marinette was still a bit shook up but knowing that a stroll would help her nerves.

_______________________________________________________________

On the grounds surrounding the Hotel, we can see another figure. Lurking and hiding from view.

Moving too fast and precise for her to be some amateur. Her high ponytail letting her hair flow freely.

Somehow, she knew where and when the IMPs would be patrolling, so she knew how to hide from them, as well as the bombs.

“Angie owes me” Cherri mumbled to herself as she placed another hidden bomb “cover most of the hotel grounds with a system like these costs a fortune!”

She guessed she didn’t have any other option; Angel was her best friend and he had been desperate for her help. She had met the human and she didn’t seem like the people that usually ended down here, so Cherri was grateful to be able to help them both.

“Still” She mumbled as she placed another bomb strategically “Angel didn’t tell me why he’s so insistent on keeping that human so protected…”

With that in mind, she kept up with her work, barely noticing the two small eggs in the distance looking at her.

“I’m missing my fun!” Cherri groaned as she started messing with a small detonator on her hand, which didn’t want to cooperate with her “FUCK THIS SHIT!”

_______________________________________________________________

“Oh, gee” one of the egg boys nudges the other “We should tell the boss that the girl is here!”

The other egg boy nods. Smiling and clapping as the both of them run into the distance. Their only thoughts now on how happy the boss will be when they tell him their discovery.

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#hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel crossover #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel husk #niffty #hazbin vaggie #CHARLIE MAGNE #Helluva Boss #blitzo #helluva millie #loona #helluva loona #miraculous fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous crossover #lila salt #I am sorry please forgive me #I hate covid #FUCK WRITER'S BLOCK

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todaydreambelieversfic · 3 years

Text

Author Spotlight: Gleefuldarrencrissfan Day 2

Author: @gleefuldarrencrissfan

Share one of your strengths.

I've been told that I do a great job writing in each character's voice, especially Blaine, Kurt, Santana, Brittany, and Finn. It's very important to me that my characters remain true to who they are. I work very hard to make sure that each one sounds like they would in the show.

I've also been told that I'm great at cliffhangers. Honestly, I end on cliffhangers a lot as I try to figure out which route I plan to take for the story. I map out stories, but sometimes, the story takes me in a different direction. I also like to take suggestions from my readers. Many times, I have multiple scenarios on the direction in which the story can go. I love keeping my readers on their toes.

Share one of your weaknesses.

Well, because I have so many scenarios running through my head, I sometimes get stuck, and so, I don't update regularly. I used to try to publish weekly or more, but as a mom of two, a full time assistant in a high-needs classroom, an avid crafter, and a member of a band, my plate stays pretty full. I hope that my readers will subscribe and drop a comment from time to time to remind me to keep writing.

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

I'm going to bring up two, Dueling Duets and Love, Blaine. Dueling Duets is a complex fic with many characters and a very intricate plot. On top of that, Blaine has PTSD, as do I. It became too painful to finish this, so it is the only fic of mine that is abandoned. I would like to finish it, but I just don't see that happening any time soon.

Love, Blaine was so difficult for me because I wrote it all before publishing, and I thrive on feedback. I kept going back and rewriting scenes over and over because I just couldn't make up my mind about certain things. I also get anxious with a timeline hanging over my head, and so I went past the deadline. Unfortunately, my appendix decided to burst the week I was supposed to publish, so I was trying to write through the pain. I did finish it, and I'm proud of it, but I probably won't put myself through that again.

Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Private Messages, by far. Honestly, it was so easy because Kurt was me in a sense, a fanfic author, desperate for feedback on his writing. I also outlined this fic thoroughly, and so it just seemed to flow when I got to a certain point. It is by far, my most popular fic, and honestly, it is my favorite of all of the ones that I've written. Don't get me wrong. It was very complex, bouncing back and forth from Blaine's and Kurt's perspectives, with plotlines from the show, Kurt's story, and the actual story all coming together and interweaving at times making it difficult to write, but I always knew where it was going, and so it was the easiest to finish.

Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

It's one of my passions, along with music and crafting. I'm an artist at heart, and so I'd never be happy or fulfilled in life if I wasn't creating in one shape or form. I honestly love the way art makes you feel, both as the artist and as the person affected by other people's art. My favorite thing is one someone tells me how my writing or work made them feel.

I'm also writing educational children's books, and I hope to inspire kids in the future to love to learn, and so it is a major passion of mine to be a published author and get my books out there for kids to read.

Is there an episode or character or arc above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Blaine Anderson. He was by far the character that inspires me the most, probably because I see myself in him, the confident, happy performer who is really quite insecure and maybe even depressed. I wish that the show would have let us see more of his personal life. At felt like, at times, he was just Kurt's boyfriend, but he was so much more than that. It would have been nice to actually see his home, his parents, and his brother to get greater insight on why he is the way he is. Thank god for fanfiction.

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just write. The first draft does not have to be perfect. That's what editing is for. Get yourself a beta, dig in, and just get the words on the page. No one can read your work if the pages are all in your head.

What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Stick to what you know. That's what research is for. Branch out. Explore. Interview and talk to others. Although, if you are researching something embarrassing, for example, Brazilian waxing, use incognito mode. lol.

If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Private Messages. I just love this story, and I think it would best translate into a movie. Besides, Blaine is an actor in this one, so it works.

What’s your process? Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines? What are the perfect writing conditions for you?

Ha ha. I find it funny that I have a process because it depends on the fic I'm writing at the time. for my more complex stories, I do best when I map them out first. I don't do a complex map, just a basic synopsis of the first 10 chapters or so, and then a rough outline afterward. Of course, I keep it a soft outline, and I also plan a few other scenarios in case the story goes in a different direction. Even Chris Colfer says that his characters surprise him in his stories, and so I'm in good company, I suppose.

However, on my shorter stories like Rim Job, and idea just comes to me, and I just write what comes to me, and then I even take suggestions from my readers about further chapters. I guess it just depends on the tone of the fic. If it's serious, I'm much more structured, but on my less serious pieces, I just have fun and write.

The perfect conditions are when I'm alone (be it when others are sleeping or out of the house) and I can just allow my muse to work. I put on some background noise (Glee music or episodes) for inspiration and just sit down in front of my laptop with my notebooks. Many times, I have scenes written in my notebooks before I type them out (I write when I'm waiting at the dr.'s office or at work during a break, ect) so all I have to do is type and polish the scene. Unfortunately, I have several scenes in my notebooks that haven't made it into a word document yet just because of lack of time. Hopefully, I will catch up this summer.

***

Check out Gleefuldarrencrissfan’s Fics

Somewhere Only We Know - Blaine has three little words on his mind when he says good bye to Kurt in the court yard at McKinley. Can he make himself declare them out loud? An alternate ending to "Born This Way"

Silly Love Songs - It's Valentine's Day, and Blaine had plans to serenade Jeremiah. But what if Blaine discovered the doodle Kurt made in Silly Love Songs before he serenaded Jeremiah? The scene at the Lima Bean is canon and everything to the point of Kurt sketching the doodle, but the ending, of course will be how I had hoped it would've happened.

Courage - Do you believe that one moment can change the course of your life? That one event change the way you saw everything, or do you think it's a series of moments that build from one experience to the next. A year ago, I would've said that was crazy. But I'm not the same guy that I was a year ago.

#author spotlight: gleefuldarrencrissfan

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flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Text

A new us will begin (4/ 11)

word count: 9.8k

AO3

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 5 / part 6

content warnings: brief mention of blood, rat bites, illness, Major Character Death, feeling unloved, alcohol

Ahh Belletyn. The day when the town was decorated in bright colours, songs flew through the air like birds and almost-lovers that had been dancing around each other for months finally get so swept up in the festivities that they turned to their beloved and confessed their feelings. Truly, if there ever was a day to give inspiration to artists of all kinds, it was this.

Yarrow tightened his hold on his pencil as he let his eyes wander over the merriment before him, willing himself to find as much as a spark of inspiration.

When he put his pencil to the paper once more, he didn’t sketch the scene before him; the dancing couples, the decorations, not even the mouth-watering food.

As his pencil danced over the page of his sketchbook, it created what it always did: a pair of eyes. Even though he didn’t use his paint – he had them in his bag, of course, but using paint would have been a little impractical without a table and it took so long for them to dry – anyone who bothered to look at his sketch knew what colour they were supposed to be: the most piercing amber.

One time he had tried to change things up a little and colour them blue, the same shade as his own eyes, just to see if he would like the result. He hadn’t. Before that painting had even been finished, he had crumbled it up and tossed it to the side. It just hadn’t been right. It was yellow eyes or nothing.

Yarrow might not have been very creative when it came to coming up with new ideas, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew people scoffed at his inability to paint anything other than this. The thing was, he didn’t care. He didn’t need anyone’s approval to be confidence in his abilities as an artist. Or, well, perhaps he did care a little, but not for his lack of originality. He cared because somehow, this – painting – didn’t feel quite right. Just how the name he had given himself in the spur of a moment, seemed to be lacking something, though he couldn’t for the life of him put his finger on what it was. He loved creating, so why wasn’t painting enough? He loved the sound of his name – at least the first half – and what it stood for. But it wasn’t enough. It never was. He was lacking something. Something he was sure he would find if only he painted enough amber eyes.

So that’s what he did right now. Not paint, of course, but sketch. He kept sketching, sad eyes, eyes narrowed with focus or anger, eyes that crinkled at the sides with mirth. The changes were only miniscule. So small in fact, that he had been told multiple times that they all looked exactly the same, but Yarrow knew better. He knew there was a depth to these eyes, that other people could only dream of recognising.

It must have been hours until finally the tip of his pencil got dull enough that it would ruin his artwork if he continued sketching with it, and, clever as he was, Yarrow had forgotten to take a spare pencil or something to sharpen it with with him.

With a sigh, he put the pencil and the sketchbook into his bag and turned to watch lovers dance around the decorated pole that has been erected in the middle of the town square.

A strange sense of longing filled him, an inexplicable urge to approach someone to ask them for a dance. But he didn’t even know how to dance and there was no one in this town that liked him enough to accept such an offer out of anything other than pity and awkward politeness. Best to spare them that fate.

Still, Yarrow’s eyes wandered over those sitting to the side same as him. Most of them didn’t seem to mind sitting this dance out. They talked amongst themselves, drank wine or stole kisses from each other before leaving the festivities with giggles that were not nearly as subtle as they probably thought.

There was only one person other than Yarrow that stood out. A girl, barely twelve if Yarrow had to guess. She sat on the floor, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and her hands were tangling her hair into knots.

Yarrow’s brows knitted together. He stood up and before he knew what he was doing, he walked up to the girl and sat on the floor next to her.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, if a little awkwardly.

The girl sniffled and nodded unconvincingly.

“You know,” Yarrow said, leaning back a little, “when I was younger I always dreamed of going to this festival with the prettiest braids in my hair.”

The girl looked up and eyed him critically. “Is that why your hair’s so long?”

“It sure is.” It wasn’t. Yarrow just didn’t know how to cut it. Still, he shook his head to let his hair fly into his face. “But braiding my own hair is so hard and there’s no one around who could help me.”

He threw a side-glance at the girl, whose shoulders sagged at his words. “You tell me. My sister said she’d braid my hair but then she saw Jakub and left me behind.”

“That’s mean.” Yarrow waited a second before perking up, playing the part of someone who had just been struck by genius. “What do you say, I braid your hair? I might not know how to do my own hair, but I should be able to do yours.”

The girl’s eyes began to shine, but then her lips tilted down again. “I can’t do yours. I don’t know how.”

“I can teach you, if you want. You can practice on me and then you’ll never need your sister to help you with that again.”

Without a hint of hesitation, the girl nodded and shifted so that her back was turned to Yarrow.

Carefully, he began untangling the knots the girl had put there earlier and began explaining what he was doing as he split the hair into sections and began to plait.

It felt strangely familiar. Yarrow had no sisters and no daughters – the gods knew he was too young for that and besides, he would make a terrible father – but something about teaching a child how to do things felt right. As if he had done it before. For a second, he thought he could almost remember a voice. A girl excitedly asking him to braid her hair back so it wouldn’t fall into her eyes while she learned how to sword fight.

No, that couldn’t be a memory. It was nothing more than a silly thought. He had always been a dreamer and the alcohol he had drunk earlier hadn’t helped slow his imagination.

“There, all done,” he finally said and pulled a pink flower out of an arrangement in a pot and put it into the braid.

The girl turned to him with a brilliant smile that Yarrow returned. For the briefest moment, he could almost believe that he would make a good father one day. Or maybe he would have made a good one in another life, when he could have actually provided for a child.

His smile dimmed a little and he turned to hide it. Soon though, his grin was back in full force, when the girl did her best to apply what she had learned and plait his hair. Yarrow didn’t need to look to know that his hair was now a mess resembling a bird’s nest.

Still, he bowed gracefully when the girl announced that she was done and thanked her. She giggled a little before running off to join the dancing.

He watched her with a strange melancholy, an echo of a thought, an impossible memory of watching a daughter grow up and leave her home. Maybe he was getting old after all. Or maybe he was just lonely.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world, the dancing, the laughter, the clapping. Instead, he got lost in that fantasy of his, in which he had a family - a daughter, who would fly into his arms and tell him about all the things she had done that day, and a man, who would have been Yarrow’s lover, would ruffle her hair and look at Yarrow fondly, while the artist sang a song for the two of them.

No, not a song. The song. Yarrow wasn’t sure what that thought was supposed to mean, but in that daydream of his, he was close to understanding, so close! The beginning of the melody was already at the tip of his tongue, he could almost taste the notes, the words –

A different voice cut through the illusion of a memory and shattered it like a mirror. A different song.

Yarrow opened his eyes again and scowled at the minstrel that had dared to interrupt his dreaming. He wasn’t a bad singer. Yarrow might not know much about music, but he was pretty sure that he was actually pretty good. But the song…Something about it grated on Yarrow’s nerves.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!

Wrong, and yet achingly familiar. There was something about it that Yarrow recognised, but it was twisted, whether by time, bad translations of a different language, or the minstrel’s own changes to it, Yarrow couldn’t tell. He didn’t care either way. All he could think about was that this was wrong. This wasn’t how the song was meant to be sung. It wasn’t supposed to be danced to, it was supposed to be slow and soothing and speaking of love. It was supposed to be a lullaby. This…this wasn’t it. This was a cruel, mutated version of that song.

The minstrel didn’t care, didn’t even notice. He just let his voice soar higher in a way that was utterly unbefitting of that song.

Yarrow reeled back, eyes wide and his breath frozen in his lungs. That line…that section of the song…he knew it. Truly knew it.

It sounded far too much like the little melody he sometimes hummed while he was in deep concentration while painting.

He had never heard anyone else sing that line and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. All he knew was that an age-old ache settled into his chest, burning him from the inside.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here.

So he didn’t. He all but fled the festivities, but not before snatching one of the wine bottles and taking it with him.

He hadn’t even reached his home before he had gotten well and truly drunk. Not drunk enough to get rid of that inexplicable pain in his chest, but certainly drunk enough to make him stagger into the wrong alley, not caring that it was taking him farther from his home.

He didn’t want to go home. The small house he shared with an older woman and a couple that he barely had any contact with, wasn’t the home he was yearning for, even if he had no idea if such a place as a true home even existed for him or if it was yet another one of those cruel dreams of his.

It wasn’t until he reached the town’s inn that he stopped in his tracks, wrecking his brain what on earth he wanted here. He had never really been to an inn, never really needed to. After all, he had stayed in the same place all his life. Yet, it had felt as if something had pulled him here, as if the sight of an inn meant safe, not alone, home.

It didn’t, of course. Inns were the furthest one could have from a home. Yet Yarrow only shrugged and marched on, let his feet carry him where they would. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

The door to the inn was slightly ajar and coming from the inside, he would hear arguing. Something about someone being denied a room and something about too much coin and something about the alderman having made promises and something about bringing a head to him.

Maybe if Yarrow had been sober, he would have figured out what was going on, but as if was, he couldn’t be bothered to even try and make sense of what he heard. Instead, he left the angry voices behind and made his way to the stables instead. Even from afar, they smelled familiar, soothing in a way that dirty stables really weren’t supposed to. Maybe a pleasant side-effect from the wine. He’d have to try more of that later.

Before the stables, a horse was bound to a post. It eyed Yarrow distrustfully but with curiosity in its eyes.

A smile twitched around Yarrow’s lips.

“Sorry, don’t got any treats for you,” he said when he was close enough for the horse to nudge at his bag. “There’s only some art-stuff in there. Nothing you’d want to eat. And nothing that I’d allow you to eat. Even though you are beautiful.”

And she really was. Brown with a white stripe down her face. Yarrow cocked his head to the side. Actually, now that he thought about it, she looked utterly basic. In the midst of a group of horses, she wouldn’t have stood out at all. That didn’t change a thing about the certainty in Yarrow’s chest that she was the most special horse he had ever seen and that he would recognise her anywhere.

He came closer to pat her on the neck and –

“What in Melitele’s clapping arsecheeks is that?”

The horse only snorted at his undignified shriek, but he paid her no attention. He was too distracted by the blood-dripping something fastened to her saddle. It was disgusting. Yarrow should have jumped back. Any sane person would have run for the hills, but evidently, Yarrow wasn’t very sane, because he stepped closer to inspect the thing. It was a head. A monster’s head, but he had no idea what kind.

In the back of his head he could almost hear an annoyed but amused voice tell him the answer, but it was too faint to grasp and understand.

Yarrow swallowed and rounded the horse again until he came to the post that she was bound to. He scowled. The horse wasn’t supposed to be fastened to anything. She was smart enough to stay where she needed to wait for her owner and if there was danger, she wouldn’t be able to run away like this.

So Yarrow did the only logical thing. He freed the horse and lead it away.

Just as before, he had no idea where he was even going, but the horse didn’t seem to mind following him. She just kept nibbling at his hair and shirt.

Her trust filled Yarrow with irrational pride as if getting this horse, that he had known all but a handful of minutes, to like him was a great feat worthy of being one’s life’s work.

It wasn’t until the horse began throwing her head around nervously at sounds growing louder around them, that Jaskier realised that he had marched right back where he had come from: the town square where the celebrations were still in full swing.

Well, not for much longer.

It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds before the first people started noticing the drunk and the horse he had stolen. More importantly, they noticed the gruesome thing the horse was carrying.

The minstrel from before ended his song in a terrified screech and the reels and jigs turned into people staggering backwards, stumbling into tables and crashing into flower pots.

Someone called for the city guards, people pointed and Yarrow, cursing him and all of his ancestors.

Their shouts and frantic movements didn’t make the situation any better. The horse grew more agitated by the minute, rearing up and making the chaos even worse. Try as he might, Yarrow had no chance of calming her.

“Roach!”

He turned to see a man run towards them. Yarrow’s line of sight was obscured by the nervous horse, allowing him only glimpses of the one who had shouted, but even so he knew that his face was a snarling grimace of fury that made Jaskier hide behind the horse.

Before the angry stranger could get to him, Yarrow was grabbed tightly by the arms and yanked back. He turned to see the city guards, who scowled down at him furiously. For a second, Yarrow almost wished the angry stranger had gotten to him first, but it wasn’t as if he could change anything about his fate.

At least as he was dragged away by the guards, he didn’t have to find his own way through the maze that was the town.

Surprisingly, this was the first time Yarrow ended up in a cell. Well, actually, it wasn’t all that surprising, considering, all he ever did was paint and stay out of other people’s way as much as he could. But the thought that he should have gotten into trouble earlier still didn’t leave the back of his mind.

When the guards threw him - actually threw him! - in the cell and shut the door with an overly dramatic bang, they probably meant for it to intimidate him. If that had really been their goal, they had missed it by a mile. Being thrown in prison was probably the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Yarrow!

At least it was for all of five minutes. Then the boredom set in. Yarrow had heard of people that cried and raged in prison, of people who pleaded to see the light of day again. He had never heard of anyone who sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do. Granted, that would make for a pretty terrible story and once he got out of here, he would definitely spin some tale about how dramatic his stay in the prison had been. Not that anyone would even ask him, but still. It was nice to fantasise about having someone who cared about him enough to ask about his whereabouts.

What else was he supposed to do other than lay around on the hard floor? The guards had taken his bag with the art supplies and even if he still had them with him, it would have been too dark to use them.

So of course, Yarrow perked up in excitement at the first sign of something happening. He heard the door to the cell next to his creak open and the grunt and rattling of chains as someone was shoved in before the door fell shut again.

Then it was quiet. The newcomer didn’t beg or shout to the heavens or curse the injustice. Yarrow had no way of knowing, but he liked to imagine that his new neighbour was throwing unimpressed glares at the door.

The thought made his mouth quirk up.

“Welcome, stranger,” he said loud enough that it might carry through the cracks in the wall. No reply. Louder he repeated what he had said.

“Stop shouting,” came a gruff voice. “I can hear you.”

Ah, so his new neighbour was a man and judging from his tone, one who was pissed off.

“So sorry.” Yarrow winced at his own voice. He barely recognised it himself, rough from alcohol and the dry air of the prison. Too much drink might have made him lose all sense of direction and change his voice, but most importantly, when he was drunk, Yarrow had the unfortunate habit of babbling. Well, maybe babbling was the wrong word. His manner of speaking became more like the imitation of a second-rate poet than of a loner who mainly spoke to himself while painting. “We don’t have to be strangers, of course. Not even mere acquaintances! I’d love for you to be my new friend instead and –“

“We’re not friends,” came the instant reply. “Fuck off.”

A grin spread across Yarrow’s lips. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid that’s rather impossible.”

“Then shut up.”

Yarrow was quiet for all of ten seconds, then he narrowed his eyes. “No, I don’t think I will.”

His new friend made no sound in reply. Yarrow’s shoulders sagged in disappointment. He had hoped for at least a dismissive grunt. But no matter. Yarrow had more than enough practice talking to himself and what was the difference between doing that and talking to someone who didn’t reply?

So he took advantage of the fact that his friend wasn’t able to just leave and began talking about his paintings. One might think that there wasn’t that much to say about paintings that all showed the same thing, but once Yarrow began talking about different ways to use a brush, shading and line work, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t even know if his new friend was listening – unlikely – but it felt nice to be able to share his thoughts. It wasn’t often that anyone cared enough about him to let him talk that much. No one cared to get to know him. Speaking of which –

“My name is Yarrow, by the way.” He stumbled a bit over his own name, ending in an unfortunate slurring. “In case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t. And the fuck kind of name is that anyway?”

Yarrow’s grin widened. So his friend was listening after all. Granted, he had hoped he would get something other than insults out of him, but it wasn’t as if he would go anywhere. Yarrow had plenty of time to get his friend to properly speak to him.

“It’s my pen name. Well, artist’s name. I don’t really use pens all that often. Oh! And a yarrow is also a flower.”

His friend made a strange sound, something between choking and cursing. Yarrow furrowed his brow and glared at the wall as if his friend could see the expression.

“Hey, no need to react like that. I’ll have you know yarrows are beautiful. In fact, the whole reason why I stared painting is because I once saw a field of yarrows and they were just the most inspiring thing I had ever seen.”

His voice trailed off and his smile softened. It had been years ago and yet the image was still fresh in his mind. A field filled with the white flowers, and there, right in the middle, a just a couple of yellow ones. The combination of the colours had touched something inside him and his fingers had itched to put a pencil to his notebook and – he hadn’t been quite sure what exactly he had wanted to do, but an hour later, his notebook had been filled with pages upon pages of eyes and when he had gone home that day, he had purchased his first set of colour pigments to add that bit of yellow that his drawings had been missing.

Yarrow cocked his head to the side when his friend made no move to acknowledge anything he had just said.

“You know, normally, when someone gives you their name, you tell them yours in return.”

No reply. Big surprise there. Yarrow sighed and scooted over to the wall, leaning his head against it.

“When we get out of here, I’m going to show you my paintings and you’re going to give me a review. And I expect you to use actual words.”

“Don’t.”

“What are you in for anyway?” Yarrow tapped the floor with his knuckles, his smile turning a little dopey. “I’m here because I befriended a horse.”

A rustling of clothes was heard and steps coming closer to the wall Yarrow was leaning against.

“You’re the fucking idiot, who stole Roach?”

“Befriended her. And don’t you dare make fun of my name when your horse is called Roach.” He let out a quiet laugh. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

For a moment he thought he was going to get no answer, but then his friend let out a resigned grunt.

“She’s my horse so they said I was to blame for the chaos you unleashed too.”

“Oh.” Guilt welled up in Yarrow. “Well, fret not. I’m sure interrupting a celebration and scaring some people isn’t that bad of a crime. They’ll probably let us go tomorrow. How about I’ll make it up to you then? Buy you a drink?”

His friend scoffed. “I think you should stay away from alcohol for a while.”

Yarrow hummed in reply. “Yeah, probably. But I’d still love to get to know you. You know, without a wall between us.”

“Trust me, you don’t. And I don’t need a new friend.”

“Too late,” Yarrow said cheerily. He was sure his friend was able to hear his smile. “I have already decided I like you. So? Tomorrow?”

“I’m not going to get released tomorrow.”

“What, why?” Yarrow sat up straighter. “What crime did you commit other than owning a horse?”

A long pause, then –

“I’m a witcher.” He said it like a death-sentence.

Yarrow waited for an explanation, but none came. He had never had much contact with witchers before other than the one that had passed through town when he’d still been a child and even then he hadn’t spoken a word with him. Out of all the people who formed opinions about witchers, Yarrow was probably the least suitable judge when it came to witchers, but throwing a man in prison just because he was a witcher? It sounded unfair.

“If…” Yarrow began tentatively, but broke off, not really sure what he even wanted to say. “If you’re right and I get released first, I can take care of Roach until you get out.”

The witcher let out a snort. “She’d bite your fingers off if you tried.”

“Ah, but she didn’t before.” A triumphant smirk accompanied his words. “Really, it wasn’t that hard to get her to like me. I just complimented her a little.”

His friend let out a snort and mumbled something that Yarrow couldn’t understand, but it sounded amused, so he doubled down.

“And what a gorgeous lady she is! Even more beautiful with flowers braided into her mane –“

“What?” His friend’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Yarrow rolled his eyes. “No need to get jealous. I’m sure you’re gorgeous too. If you let me see you in the light of day some time, I will compliment you too. I can do it now, if you want. You have the most beautiful voice and truly you eloquence is unparalleled.”

“That’s not-“ The witcher made a frustrated noise. “Roach didn’t have braids. There were no flowers.”

“Oh. Huh. Guess not.” Yarrow scratched his head, running his hand through the mess of a braid that girl had left there hours ago. “I could have sworn I’ve seen her like that before though.”

“I’ve never come here before,” the witcher said tightly.

“Must have been another horse then. It’s not as if brown horses are rare.” Yarrow pulled a face for the darkness to see. He hesitated. “But did Roach ever have a braided mane?”

“Stop asking,” came the harsh reply. “You’re drunk.”

His friend’s voice sounded strange. Strangled and on the verge of breaking. Desperate.

“That’s true,” Yarrow said, aiming for a cheerier tone. “But no less delightful for it. Unless of course you really think I’m annoying. In that case I promise you, I’m far better company when I’m sober. I talk less than, you might like me more like that. You should really give me a chance.”

His tone was teasing, but he knew he couldn’t hide the clinginess in it. He really wanted the man in the other cell to like him. Even separated by a wall and with that staggering conversation, Yarrow felt more comfortable with him than with most people he had known for years. He wanted – needed – to get to know him better. He needed to find out what would make him smile softly or throw his head back laughing. He needed to see if he would ever look at Yarrow with fondness or casually touch him as if they really were friends and not just strangers who Yarrow called friends because he knew that he had no one else to give that title to.

And still, Yarrow didn’t even know his name. And why would he? Yarrow was the reason why the witcher was in this cell right now. He had every right to want to get as far away from Yarrow as possible as soon as he got out. It would be a blessing for the witcher to have the annoying artist, who wouldn’t shut up and had only gotten him into trouble, off his hands.

Yarrow’s throat became tight and he had to clench his hands to fists to stop them from trembling, even if no one was around to see him break down over a stranger not liking him. It was irrational. He had been alone for practically his entire life and he’d managed just fine, hadn’t he? His eyes shouldn’t be burning at the thought of continuing life on his own. But damn it, he just wanted a friend.

For a long time that felt like an eternity, there was nothing but silence, only interrupted by Yarrows shaky breathing as he tried to calm himself.

“Are you alright?” The voice of the stranger, who wasn’t his friend, was quiet, tentative.

Yarrow sniffled and nodded nonsensically. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he croaked out and grimaced at how utterly unconvincing he sounded even to his own ears. He ran a hand down his face and grasped the first excuse he could find. “Just don’t like the dark.”

He expected silence. Maybe a scoff. Witchers probably didn’t mind the dark, what with going hunting in the dead of night or whatever it was they did. Either way, there was a good chance he had just made the witcher think he was pathetic and unlikable as well as whiny.

But no scoff came. No reprimand or dismissal.

Instead there was a sound Yarrow couldn’t place and then the darkness was illuminated. Not by much, but faint light came flickering through the cracks in the wall.

Yarrow let out a gasp and lifted a hand to let the dim light dance across it.

“This is incredible!” he whispered. “How did you do that? Did the guards not search you for flint stones?”

His friend – he gave him light! He must be a friend…right? – made a grumbling noise but this time it sounded almost shy.

“Witchers can make fire with signs. Magic.”

“Incredible,” Yarrow repeated, the awe in his tone as clear as day. After a brief pause, he added softly, “Thank you, my friend. This really means a lot.”

He could practically hear the witcher grit his teeth and shift uncomfortably, but his voice wasn’t cutting, when he replied, “Maybe I just wanted you to stop whining.”

Yarrow’s expression softened. “You know you could just accept when someone’s thanking you. It’s alright if you don’t want to be my friend, but you don’t have to make yourself belief that I don’t like you.”

Maybe it was just Yarrow’s imagination, but for a split second he was sure the light became a little bit brighter.

“Just try to go to sleep,” the witcher tried to grumble, but Yarrow knew, he was smiling. At least he hoped so. “Maybe when you wake up, it’s already time for you to get out.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Yarrow’s lips. “What if I prefer spending my precious hours in this lovely place talking to you?”

The witcher let out a snort that sounded dangerously close to a laugh and made Yarrow’s heart speed up in his chest. He wanted to hear it again. He needed to –

“Just sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“Fine.” Awkwardly, Yarrow laid down again, trying and failing to find the most comfortable part of the floor. At least he still had the hints of soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that there was someone on the other side of this wall who cared for him, even if just a little. “Will you let me have this light until I’m asleep?”

“I will.” The faceless voice was silent for a heartbeat, then so quiet that Yarrow almost couldn’t hear it, the witcher said, “And you’re welcome.”

Yarrow’s chest grew warm. He closed his eyes, wishing he had something to give the witcher in return. But he had no magic and the only thing he was good at was painting. He doubted the witcher would appreciate a painting, even if Yarrow had the means to give him one.

No, he had nothing. Nothing but…

A soft melody filled the air. It wasn’t much, just one line, repeated over and over again, but it was all he had to give. Perhaps it would soothe the witcher enough to let him forget for a little while the injustice he had been shown.

A strangled noise came from the other side of that wall. If Yarrow hadn't known any better he'd have said it sounded like a stifled sob. His chest clenched painfully and he raised his voice, putting as much comfort and gratefulness into it as he could.

It was strange singing for someone else and his heart beat frantically from the nerves, but at the same time it felt like pieces slotting together, as if this was what he had always been meant to do. As if his whole life had lead up to this: to singing a soft lullaby for the person who seemed to need a friend just as desperately as Yarrow did.

He wished he knew more of the song. He wanted to give all of it, every piece of affection and safety that surely was weaved through every word to the witcher.

A dull thud made Yarrow flinch. His voice broke as he sucked in a startled breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked hesitantly. "Did you just punch the wall?"

"How do you know that song?" The desperation in the Witcher's voice did nothing to lessen the sharp worry that pierced Yarrow's chest.

"I-I don't know. It's just a song." His fingers twitched. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through hair until the agitation left the witcher. If only there wasn't this damned wall between them! "Are you alright?" He repeated, though he held out no hope for an answer. He didn't need one. "I didn't mean to upset you. I can stop singing of you want—"

"No! “ The sharp shout came so unexpected that Yarrow winced. Softer, the Witcher repeated, "No. Don't stop. Please."

There was something utterly wrong with that. The witcher shouldn't plead, shouldn't have to plead for something like this, for comfort and the reminder that he wasn't alone in this. And worse than that, something scratched at the back of Yarrow's mind, an inexplicable certainty that this witcher wouldn't beg for anything - other than his loved ones' lives.

That thought didn't make sense. There was no reason to think such a thing. Hell, just a few minutes ago, Yarrow had felt a bond between them because they were both lonely. As far as he knew, the witcher didn't even have any loved ones he could plead for. Or maybe he didn’t anymore.

Yarrow swallowed against a lump forming in his throat. He could become a loved one. Maybe not now, maybe not in a month's time, but if the witcher gave him the chance, they could become something to each other that might come close to that.

His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick from the tightness in his throat, but the witcher didn't complain about his singing. Perhaps he was somewhere far away, with someone else, in his mind. Perhaps he was just pretending to be asleep. The light remained, even as Yarrow's song slowly faded and he drifted off. His last thought before he closed his eyes was that he wished it wasn’t sleep that was embracing him but a set of strong arms that made him feel protected and loved.

Pictures fluttered through Yarrow’s dreams, soft ones, lovely ones, ones that he hadn’t known he’d longed for. Or rather…it wasn’t pictures as much as feelings. He couldn’t really see the people he knew were with him. He couldn’t make out faces, eyes, bodies. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what those dream-figments were: a family. His family, one he had never had. He felt the certainty of it burning in his heart, filling him out and making him want to lift his voice in a song. He felt someone lying next to him, curled against him instead of being separated by a wall. He felt loved. He felt –

Being needed. Someone was calling his name. It came from far away, too faint to really make out the name, but he knew it was his. He had to go to the one calling him. He had to see who it was. He had to –

His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the dark surrounding him. Being plunged into this cold nothingness after having felt light and bright and like he belonged, was like being thrown into icy water.

He wanted to close his eyes again, force his mind to bring him back to that place he had just been in, to melt into the embrace of his dream-family again. He needed to see them again! He didn’t want to – couldn’t! – stay alone.

But there it was again. Not a call as he had thought in his dream, but a whisper. A sob. A name. Coming from the other side of a wall and unreachable for him.

“Jaskier…”

It wasn’t his name. Gods, he wished it had been his name. His chest ached with the unruly need to hear his own name being spoken like this, just once. With longing. With love. With unnameable things that no one would ever feel for him.

It wasn’t his name and none of the things, that clung to the deep voice, was meant for him, but he couldn’t help but yearn and imagine.

He turned towards the sound and was greeted by light. For the flicker of a moment, he almost thought it must be a campfire someone had set up to keep him warm. But no, that was ridiculous. Those weren’t smouldering flames. It was faint and distant in a way that reminded him that he was separated from the source of the light. It didn’t matter. The name might not have been spoken for him, but this light? This was just for him. Even though he had been asleep, the witcher had kept his promise. Maybe it was his way of reaching out, of making himself feel like there was some sort of connection between the two of them. Yarrow prayed that that was how he felt.

He scooted closer to the wall, desperate to breach the distance between them as much as he could. He reached out to press his hand against the cold stone, imagining that maybe the witcher on the other side was doing the same thing.

Instead of the wall, his hand met something soft and squishy. A squeak pierced the air and suddenly a sharp pain erupted in Yarrow’s hand.

He let out a sharp cry, bringing his hand to his chest as fast as he could. Blood tickled down, not much, but enough to churn his stomach.

He barely registered the taps of small claws on the floor as the something that had bitten him scurried away.

“Yarrow?” The alarmed way the witcher said his name was nothing like he had said this other name, but it still sent Yarrow’s heart aflutter. It was so full of concern that Yarrow was sure the witcher would never admit to.

“I’m fine,” Yarrow pressed through gritted teeth. “No, wait, actually, this fucking hurts.”

“What does?” The witcher’s voice was impatient and closer to the wall than it had been before. “What happened?”

“Something bit me. Probably a rat or something.”

From the other side of the wall came a muffled “Fuck” that shouldn’t have sounded so endearing to Yarrow.

“Don’t worry.” Yarrow waved his uninjured hand through the air. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

The witcher didn’t reply. It didn’t come as a surprise and really, Yarrow had no right to feel bitter disappointment well up in him. But after having had the witcher’s attention on him, having him call out his name – remember his name! – in a way that made Yarrow believe that the witcher truly cared about him and then being hit with this silence, was unbearable.

“Are you still there?” His voice was small and he was well aware that it was a nonsensical question, yet when a gruff grunt came from the witcher, it made his heart soar. He pressed the forehead against the wall, hoping it was somewhat close to where he had heard the witcher’s voice come from.

“I’m glad you’re there. Not glad that you’re in prison, of course, just…. I would have hated to be alone in here.”

Another grunt. Not agreement, but not quite dismissal either. A smile danced across Yarrow’s lips.

“You were worried about me.”

A snort. “I’ve seen the chaos that you can bring. I’d be an idiot not to be worried. Figures you’d get in trouble here too.” The witcher’s voice held no hint of humour. Then again, people said Yarrow’s paintings showed no emotions and he knew better than anyone that that couldn’t be more false.

“My dear witcher.” His smile turned into a full smirk. “Are you teasing me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Yarrow lied. Well, maybe he really wouldn’t let it get to his head. But he would let this moment strike roots into his heart. He hesitated, praying this wasn’t crossing some line. “Does this make us friends?”

“I don’t have friends.”

“You could though.” Yarrow held his breath as he waited for an answer. It had been too forward. He should have taken the dismissal for what it was and not pushed. Yet he hoped beyond hope that he would hear a smile in the witcher’s voice when the reply came.

It took unbearably long until the witcher spoke up again and when he did, a smile was the furthest thing one could imagine in his voice.

“No.” A broken, regretful sound that cut into Yarrow’s heart like a knife. “I can’t.”

“That’s too bad,” Yarrow sighed. He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t want to keep pushing, didn’t want to annoy the witcher any more and clearly his words were distressing to him. Still, the words tumbled from his lips, “Because you don’t need to be my friend, but I would love to be yours, witcher.”

Another pause. Then, “Geralt.”

“Huh?”

“My name. It’s Geralt.”

“Geralt.” A warm and fuzzy feeling spread through Yarrow’s chest as he tasted the name on his tongue. “I like that.”

A grunt, half amused, half sounding like an eye-roll.

Another silence settled over them, but this time there was nothing uncomfortable about it. After what felt like endless hours in which Yarrow let his eyes drift over the lit-up cracks in the stone, he lifted a hand and traced one of the cracks.

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

Yarrow bit his lip. “Thank you.”

If Geralt were to ask him what exactly he was thanking him for, Yarrow wouldn’t have known what to say. Thank you for the light. For being here. For listening and talking. For trusting me with your name.

But Geralt didn’t ask. Instead, he just said “You’re welcome.”

This time, Yarrow had no doubt that there was a soft smile rivalling his own on his friend’s face.

Just as Geralt had predicted, Yarrow was released from his cell first. Not quite as soon as Yarrow had hoped, but what difference made one day more in prison? At least he got to spend it with his new friend. A friend who teased him mercilessly about his hangover, calling it his rightful punishment for trying to steal Roach.

Yarrow was quieter without and far less eloquent without the alcohol infusing him with bravery, but the witcher didn’t seem to mind. In fact, as unlikely as it seemed, he even encouraged Yarrow to talk more, as if he actually liked listening to his rants the day before.

When the guards eventually came to unlock his cell, Yarrow was stupidly close to insisting on staying right where he was until Geralt too was set free, but he didn’t have to see Geralt’s face to know he’d be scowling at him if he suggested such a thing.

As it were, Geralt didn’t make a single sound as Yarrow left, not even acknowledging that they were friends now that the guards could hear them.

Though that did shoot a pang of disappointment through Yarrow’s chest, he didn’t let that deter him. He wouldn’t leave his friend without at least saying goodbye. As he was lead through the corridor that lead to freedom, Yarrow threw one last glance over his shoulder, though he couldn’t see into the cell.

“See you around, Geralt.”

A choked noise was the last thing Yarrow heard from his friend.

Then he was free again. He didn’t feel like it. His bag was pressed into his hand. He’d rather hold Geralt’s hand in his.

He was told to go home. He’d rather turn back to his cell; at least in there he had known that he wasn’t alone.

Still, he left. His feet didn’t carry him to his home. It was almost ironic that he took the same route as he had two days ago, when he had been drunk and lonely.

Just as last time, the horse, Roach, was standing in front of the inn, though this time she wasn’t bound to anything. Maybe someone had brought her here, though judging from the way Geralt had talked about her, it was unlikely that she would follow just anyone – other than Yarrow of course, for whatever reason. She probably had trotted back here on her own, waiting for her owner to come back.

Yarrow’s heart clenched at the sight, but he let out a relieved breath. At least Geralt had one companion who was loyal to him like that. Perhaps…perhaps Yarrow could be such a companion too. Being forced to talk for lack of anyone else being there while sitting in a prison was one thing. Waiting for him on the outside world was something entirely different.

But someone had to take care of Roach and no one else was going to do it, most likely. A pang of displeasure passed through Yarrow when he realised that no one had bothered to take off Roach’s saddle. At least the disgusting trophy was gone, but other than that, no one had lifted a finger to make the horse comfortable in any way. Without hesitation, Yarrow reached for the bridle. It shouldn’t be too hard to get it off. For a second there, the motions almost felt familiar, as if he had done this a hundred times before. That moment of confidence didn’t last long. He started fumbling and cursing when he realised that he actually had no idea what he was doing. It took him forever, but somehow he managed to unsaddled the horse with clumsy fingers, shooting glares at everyone who snickered at him when the saddle almost fell onto him when he failed to lift it off her. Really, it wasn’t his fault that he’d never had to do something like this before and judging from the way she nosed at him, searching for something to eat, she hadn’t been taken care off at all these past days.

Staying here with her was totally selfless.

Yarrow couldn’t even convince himself of that.

He stayed with Roach to assure that Geralt wouldn’t leave without a trace, only leaving her side to buy something to munch on for both of them. As long as he was with her, Geralt wouldn’t be able to skip this town without meeting Yarrow at least once more.

So he stayed and waited. Waited a day that felt like forever. It was boring, almost as much as those first hours in the cell had been. Yarrow let out a huff. Talking to someone who didn’t want to talk to him had worked once. It might as well work a second time. At first talking to Roach wasn’t that different from talking to Geralt. Yarrow let out a snorting laugh that made passers-by give him dirty looks. Geralt would have probably taken it as a compliment being compared to his horse. Then again, Yarrow could dream all he wanted, even he couldn’t pretend that Roach listened to his words. Roach wasn’t the one he wanted to talk to. He didn’t need stimulating conversation; all he wanted was occasional rough grunts and snarky comments.

He gave up talking, taking up his sketchbook instead. The familiar weight of the pencil in his hand brought a calmness to his restless mind. He let the pencil dance over the pages, as it always had done, drew what he always had drawn. But for the first time since he had decided to become an artist, he hesitated when he reached for his colour palette. His fingers itched to colour the eyes that stared up at him from the page amber, but he couldn’t. Not yet. For once, he didn’t want to paint his fantasy’s eyes. He wanted to draw his eyes. Geralt’s, wanted more than anything to know what they looked like. So Yarrow snapped his sketchbook shut. He’d just have to wait until he met Geralt to finish this drawing. In a spur of the moment decision, Yarrow stuffed the sketchbook into Roach’s saddlebags. It was a silly idea, but perhaps if Geralt insisted on leaving without him, Yarrow could follow him with the excuse that he had forgotten his sketchbooks in the bags. It would be obvious how desperate he was, but he could live with that, if it meant getting to keep his friend a little while longer.

The extent to his pathetic need to see Geralt again became painfully obvious, as soon the sun began to set and made it impossible to keep drawing. He should have returned home. Instead, he rented a room at the inn for the first time in his life. It was an expanse he shouldn’t allow himself, not when he had a perfectly good home in this very town. But his home was too far away. If he left to sleep there, it might take him too long to get back in time to catch Geralt.

He waited another day, kept himself busy by putting braids in Roach’s mane. Smug satisfaction filled him when he was done. He couldn’t wait to gloat to Geralt how he had been right: Roach really did look gorgeous with braids. For lack of anything else to do, he began braiding her tail as well. Far too soon, the joints of his fingers started to ache and he had to shake his hands to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. It didn’t work. This was ridiculous. Yarrow wasn’t nearly old enough to have aching joints yet. Maybe it was because he had slept on the hard floor in the cell. That couldn’t have been good for his body. He’d have thought that one night sleeping in a bed should have rectified that, but apparently he had been wrong. Be had to make sure to get some better sleep this night.

The next day, the ache wasn’t gone. In fact, it had gotten so much worse, to a point where his fingers ached too much to hold a pencil and his elbows protested any time he lifted his hands to stroke Roach’s nose or even just turn a page in his sketchbook. It made little difference. He wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on drawing anyway, not when his head felt like it was bursting, the insistent hammering against his skull even worse than when he’d had his hangover. This would go away. Surely, if he just waited a couple of hours, or maybe even a day, this would go away.

The next morning came. Geralt didn’t. It was strange just how much Yarrow missed Geralt after only so short a time of knowing him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He knew it was inappropriate to dwell on such things, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from imagining how Geralt’s arms might feel around him. He was sure Geralt’s body would be warm. He would never allow him to snuggle into him, of course, but maybe if Yarrow asked, Geralt would make the flames for him again to warm him?

He shouldn’t need to be kept warm. It was spring. The sun was shining bright in the sky and people were fanning themselves to get rid of the heat. So why was Jaskier so cold? He pressed against Roach, who begrudgingly tolerated him. She was warm. Not warm enough to keep him from shivering. If he was so cold, why was his hair plastered against his forehead and neck, drenched with sweat? When he rubbed his face, why did his trembling and aching hands meet burning skin? He wished Geralt was here. Maybe when Geralt had been worried about him back in the cell, he had had a reason for that. Maybe once he got out, he’d know what to do.

Another day. Always another day. How many other days would he have to wait until he could finally see Geralt?

He refused to allow himself the thought that maybe he wouldn’t get to see him at all. Such thoughts were poison, especially on a day like this, when the thought of getting to meet his friend was the only thing that gave him the strength to get up in spite of how much his muscles ached and protested at every slight movement. His legs hurt with every step and he couldn’t even steady himself by holding onto things, though the reason for that must be the ugly swelling of his hand. A small amount of puss had dried on it overnight and the small puncture wounds from where the rat had bitten him almost a week ago was swollen and purplish red.

He should go see a healer. He needed to see a healer. It was the only right thing to do in a situation like this. For days he had ignored his pains. He wasn’t stupid enough to want to risk getting any worse. No, he wasn’t stupid. What he was instead was desperate.

If Geralt came to get Roach while Yarrow was gone, he would forever regret the moment he had decided to let a healer look at his hand. He could stay a little longer. It wasn’t just that he needed Geralt; he also knew in his heart that Geralt needed him too. The witcher couldn’t get out of the prison that he didn’t deserve to be in and go out into the world all alone again. Geralt needed him to be here. Just one more day. Yarrow would wait one more day. Surely, he would make it. The rat bite couldn’t have been that bad. What was a little headache and pain in his muscles? What did it matter that he couldn’t hold his pencils or brushes anymore because of the swelling and the shaking from the chill? One more day. Just one more.

He asked around. Everyone who passed him and tried to avoid eye contact so they wouldn’t feel bad for ignoring how Yarrow trembled and tried not to keep the bile from rising. He called out to each and every one of them. It wasn’t until the sun had nearly set that a guard who had just finished his shift could give him an answer. Geralt was going to be released the next day.

Relief flooded Yarrow. Tomorrow. He could make it till tomorrow. He would get to meet his friend again. He would get to see him. He just….he needed to rest for a little. Just a couple of hours. Just until the world stopped spinning around him and his legs refused to buckle beneath him. If Geralt was about to be released tomorrow, Yarrow could go to his room for a little. He would be back before Geralt could miss him.

He barely made it up the stairs of the inn. Everything hurt. His muscles were ablaze. More than once, Yarrow had to lean against a wall to catch his breath and allow his legs a break. But he had to keep going. The sooner he got to bed, the sooner he could get up again to make sure Geralt wouldn’t leave without him.

He fell against the door to his room, pushing it open with his body weight and stumbling into the room. He couldn’t catch himself. With a pained groan that was barely drowned out by the door falling shut again, he landed on the floor, too weak to catch the fall. Tears burned in his eyes as he looked up. The bed was too far away. With an inhuman effort he tried to crawl across the room. He hadn’t made it more than a few feet before he collapsed. Again on the cold hard floor. Again alone.

He had to make it. He had to get to the bed so he could get back to Geralt. He had to get back to Geralt.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to. He might have been an artist, a dreamer, but even dreamers had to wake up and face the ugliness of reality some day.

His breath came shallow and he curled in on himself as if that could stop the ache in his body. His swollen hand was cradled against his chest, but this time, there was no soft light reminding him that he wasn’t alone, no voice showing that there was at least one person who cared that he was in pain.

He thought of the picture he had drawn days ago and how he would never know which colour the eyes should have been. It wasn’t a very nice thought to be his last. He’d rather think of the voice of his friend. Of his care.

He wished he could be there for Geralt. He should have hoped he wouldn’t become another Jaskier for Geralt; another name to whisper in the dark and mourn.

But he was selfish. In his last moments, Yarrow was just happy that he had someone to think about as he lay on the floor with rattling breath and fear in his heart.

#reincarnation au #geraskier #my writing #fic #geralt #jaskier #fanfic #witcher #witcher fic #so much for keeping this fic short #angst #mcd #major character death #illness #sickness

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a-la-la-llama · 4 years

Text

The One Where Marinette Gets Fetched #10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11

Titus had been restless ever since his first escape. The poor thing had been itching to get out again. He even stopped wanting to take walks around the estate. It made Damian upset to see his beloved dog so unhappy. The problem was he didn’t trust anyone outside the grounds to treat Titus like he should be. To be honest, no one in his family could except Alfred. His father and adopted siblings were incompetent as they were in practically everything. Damian was reluctant but eventually caved in the end.

So he pulled on his most inconspicuous clothes that an average person would wear, or at least what he thought average people wore and led Titus out the door with a leash. Alfred had suggested he didn’t go to the private secluded parks near the area and one more in the city. It was like a walled area for muggers to catch high paying victims once they left. The city parks had more people and made it easier to blend in. It was also where Titus seemed to prefer to go. As soon as they passed the gates, the dog practically dragged him. Damian could have reeled him back in but the smile he swore was Titus’ face stopped him.

Titus had conveniently brought a blue tennis ball with him while Damian held his leash and carried a satchel across his chest. The pair made their way to a secluded open field that provided enough room for the Great Dane to run around. A game of fetch ensued between the two. A throw too far set Titus on a chase. Something must have caught his eye because as soon as he got the ball he took off through a small grove of trees.

‘Must have seen a squirrel.’, sufessed Damian.

He sat down and took out his sketchbook and a few pencils. He preferred a monochrome look than a full-fledged colored drawing. Damian began to sketch his surroundings as he waited for Titus to tire himself out.

///~///~///~///~///~///~///

“Guardian, may we visit that tree Tikki had mentioned before? It has been a long time since I’ve been able to climb a real tree. Who knows how bad my climbing skills have gotten!”, Xuppa pleaded.

“Well, as long as you are able to stay hidden from all passersby I guess I can let you all roam around.”, declared Marinette.

“That’s why we want to go to the tree on the hill, silly Guardian. It’s a clearing surrounded by trees! It’s perfect!”, Daizzi teased with a small oink at the end.

“I guess you have a point. Okay, through these trees we shall go! Are my loyal and trustworthy Miri’s ready?”, joked Marinette.

“Of course, our fair Lady.”, Pollen continued.

“I’m always loyal to you, Guardian.”, said Barkk.

The journey was long and treacherous for the group. Well, not really but it was fun to pretend they were on an adventure. Instead of a park, they were in an unexplored jungle. Having to avoid deadly obstacles such as couples and people reading peacefully under the trees. Then Marinette had been attacked by a poisonous tree root sticking out above ground. The root caused blindness temporarily which resulted in her tripping over it and falling. That led to the kwami’s having to lead her around with her eyes closed. It was like she was a little girl again playing with her- her-. Yeah, it was nice having fun with her Miri’s! They marched up the small hill with everyone following her like ducklings while they sang a Guardian-folk song.

“Alright! We have arrived at our destination. All Kwami exit the station as the Marinette train studies her sign language notes!”, she announced.

They all floated off into the tree as she sat under it and pulled out her journal. Reconnecting with the English language just to learn a new one based off of it. Then Damian had challenged her on who would do best on the ASL quiz next Friday. She couldn’t back down and was now forcing herself to study. Nooroo timidly floated out of the bag towards her. He had opted out of joining their song now that she thought about it.

“Master, I am sorry to bother you but are you certain it is all right for us to roam around?”, the butterfly mumbled.

The poor thing was greatly affected by their time in Paris. Duusuu could feed off the happy emotions of the others but Nooroo put the fault on himself. Gabriel had done a number on the poor kwami.

“You can call me Marinette or Guardian, Nooroo. Of course you can come out! Don’t worry so much, that's my job.”, she reassured. It got a small smile out of the kwami before he zipped off.

She was going over her greetings when she saw the kwami go in and out of her bag. Everytime they would come out with their personal snacks.

“Did everybody pack something to eat and forget to tell me?”, she pouted.

“Sssssorry Mari. We forgot to tell you. We could alwayssss sssshare our ssssnackss.”, Sass hissed out.

“You should try some of my honey-covered croissants! They’re amazing!”, buzzed Pollen.

“No, eat my seeds!”

“My dried bananas are the best!”

“Carrots!”

“Biscuits!”

“I’m so happy. I love food!”

They all hurriedly shouted above each other trying to offer her their snacks.

“Calm down, Miri’s! I appreciate your generosity. Though camembert sounds delicious right now.”, she commented with a side glance at the certain kwami. The cheese glutton couldn’t do anything but drop his jaw at her request. He had been the only one to not say anything and the Guardian knew it.

“Minibug, you can’t be serious! My cheese smells bad. You won’t even like it. Trust me! You’re better off eating one of Sass’ boiled eggs.”, Plagg tried to redirect her taste and the other kwami’s glares.

“I’m teasing Plagg. I just had breakfast not too long ago.”, she said.

“Geez, Mari! Everyone looked on the verge to kill me.”, he huffed before stuffing the entire wheel in his mouth.

Marinette and the kwami’s settled back down as she put in her earbuds and continued to study. Everything was nice and dandy for another forty-five minutes until she heard a faint shout from Tikki.

“Marinette look out!”

It was too late for the guardian however. By the time she knew it, Marinette was being dragged by the collar of her hoodie away from the tree. All of her stuff was left behind as her kidnapper ran at an alarming rate. She was pulled down hill, past the trees, dragged through a clearing for a while until she was dropped face first onto the grass. A dog started barking as soon as she was released.

“Titus! What is the meaning of this. You can’t just grab random- Marinette?”, the person said.

Marinette rubbed her head as she lifted herself up. This person knew her? She was met with the somewhat familiar face of Damian.

“H-Hey Damian, does this happen to be your dog or is there a better reason it just dragged me fifty yards to drop me here?”, she stuttered.

“No, it is not. I just happened to be able to read it’s name tag without moving. Of course it’s my dog, idiot!”, he sneered.

“Hey! How would you like it if you were suddenly getting yanked to gods know where by the collar and felt like you were choking?”, she retorted, rubbing her neck.

“What are you even doing here, Marinette?”, he questioned with narrowed eyes.

“First, this is a public park. I was studying some notes before your crazy- oh my kwami it’s taller than me!”, she gasped looking at the dog. She knew it wasn’t taller than her but her position of sitting on the floor made it tower over her. Marinette had met it before.

“Titus is a perfectly sized Great Dane. You’re the one with a pathetic stature. I suggest you change your diet to one suited to help with growth. Maybe incorporate beans, quinoa, or chicken if you're an inhumane meat-eater.”, he said.

“Yes, because I can totally fund a lifestyle change like that. Also, I’m average height. You’re the one that’s too tall!”, complained Marinette.

Titus wagged his tail back and forth as Marinette scratched his head in her lap.

“We had been playing with his tennis ball and I assumed he went to chase after an animal of some sort. Then he came back with you.”, Damian explained.

“So your dog basically fetched me.”, she summarized.

“You could put it that way.”, he commented.

“As adorable as Titus is, I have to go get my stuff before someone decides to take it. See you at school on Monday, I guess.”, Marinette said as she got up, much to the displeasure of Titus. Said dog barked in complaint as his attention giver left.

“Tt. I’m not sure what you have done to him but Titus should not be acting this way. He is supposed to be a feared guard dog, you have made him soft!”, he huffed.

“Feared like you with the rest of the student body at Gotham Academy? You still haven’t told me what got you to be dubbed an ‘Ice Prince’.”, Marinette said.

Damian only packed up his stuff and walked away.

Now, Marinette had to walk all the way back to the tree. The Miri’s were definitely going to lecture her.

I am sooooo soooo sorry for not posting this last week! I went out of town and it completely slipped my mind... sorry.

Tag list

@legallyspawned @chocolate1721 @spartanxhunterx @dreamykitty25 @toodaloo-kangaroo @vixen-uchiha @loveswifi @amayakans @jeptwin @thewonderlandartist @buticaaba @books-and-left-behind-journals @gigibnl @aegyobutpsycho2 @crazylittlemunchkin @maribat-is-lifeblood @myazael @abrx2002 @pawsitivelymiraculous @silvergold-swirl @chaos-inperson @marichatcameback @olynix @ash-amg @elmokingkong @kitsunebell @yin-390 @indecisive-mess-named-me @jeminiikrystal @startouchedqueen1318 @alexandriamw @zalladane @how-to-fuction-properly @k-poplunardreams @majorcurious007 @ironspiderstark @laurcad123 @colorfulmongerpsychicranch @goddessofthewestwind @goblinwhoships @irontimetravelflower @thequeenoftheundead

#maribat #the one where marinette #ml x dc #ml x dcu

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the-gay-prometheus · 3 years

Text

AU Segment - “Try” (rewrite)

Frankenfandom is asleep (not really I know but seems p inactive right now lmao), time to post my rewrite of “Try”

Rewrite complete! Finally! I’m actually somewhat (somewhat) happy with how this turned out. I realized that my first version of this scene was so ridiculously out of character, especially on Henry’s part, so I really took the time to focus on making sure I got the characterizations right.

Important Warnings for this one!!!! There is a brief mention of a needle, brief mention of violence, and discussion about death/dying in a general sense.

There is some important background info for this one: This takes place long after ‘What’s in a Name’ and a few months before ‘We’ve Got Work To Do.’ By now, things have really mellowed out between the three of them. Victor and Henry are officially ‘married’ and now husbands (that’s a scene for a different time when I’m writing more happy things instead of angst again), Agape (the creature, for those of you who are new here) is their well-loved son. Not all is entirely well, though. Victor has recently been plagued by nightmares, though he won’t explain what they’re about. On what he swears is a completely unrelated note, he’s been dabbling in science again, and at his request, Agape has built a new section onto the cabin as a laboratory for Victor to work in. Victor spends most of his days in there, Agape usually accompanying him either to learn or to assist, as well as staying there alone well into the night, but recently Victor has been starting to neglect himself for the sake of whatever it is he has going on behind that door...

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind (including constructive criticism!) are much appreciated!

Rain steadily tapped on the roof, the only sound to be heard other than the scratching of a pen as Henry wrote by the light of the last lit candle in the bedroom. The gentle scratching stopped as he read over what he wrote, followed by one final scratch and the gentle snap of his journal as he shut it and set it on the bed stand closest to him. He stretched with a yawn, absentmindedly reaching over to the other side of the bed before suddenly snapping his gaze over. In his deep concentration of writing, he had failed to notice that Victor had still not yet come to bed. Slipping silently out of bed, grabbing the burning candle on the bed stand and walking out of the room as quietly as possible. He passed through the common area, embers still glowing softly in the fireplace, and walked down the short hallway on the other side. The door to Agape’s room was slightly ajar, and, curious, Henry gently pushed it open further and peaked inside. Sure enough, Agape was there, sleeping soundly in bed. With a sigh of relief, he pulled the door mostly shut and continued down the hall to where the door to Victor’s makeshift laboratory was located.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped in carefully, gently closing the door behind him. “Victor?” he called out softly, walking past the rows of shelves and tables, each covered in a mess of tools, beakers, and jars, weaving through them along the familiar path. Toward the back wall was a softly glowing light emanating from a nearly spent candle upon a messy table covered with beakers that glinted in the light. Sitting slumped over in front of it all was the silhouette of the exact person he was looking for. As he approached, the light from his own candle further illuminated the workbench, revealing various tools he didn’t recognize, a mess of papers, and a large beaker filled with a grimy-looking dark fluid sitting atop what had likely once been a lit burner. “Oh, Victor,” he whispered softly with pity in his voice. He set his candle down and reached out, gently placing a hand on his sleeping husband’s shoulder. Victor awoke with a start, nearly falling off the stool he was sitting on as he jumped at the touch of Henry’s hand. Henry couldn’t help but smile as Victor looked back at him, his brown hair a shaggy mess, his goggles crooked on his face. “I thought you were coming to bed,” he mused quietly as he lifted the goggles up off of Victor’s eyes. Victor squinted as his goggles were lifted, raising his black-gloved hands to rub the sleep from his eyes - only pausing to realize that maybe touching his eyes with gloves he had just been handling dangerous substances with wasn’t the best idea. He yawned as he slipped one glove off and rubbed both eyes before tugging the glove back on.

“I am,” he muttered, speech somewhat slurred as he turned back toward the table. “Justg.. Just gotta, finish- this…” He rolled a hand in the air, then dropped it back down to his lap. “..thing.” Henry chuckled softly - it was amusing, albeit concerning, to see Victor so loopy.

“I think this thing can wait until you get some proper rest, love,” Henry replied, smoothing Victor’s messy hair with his fingers.

“Mm.. nooot really,” Victor answered, sorting through the various tools and beakers strewn about the table as though he were looking for something, then finally settled on one beaker that looked to have once held some kind of dark liquid in it. The scientist picked it up, inspected it closely, took a few long, slow blinks, then tilted his head back to look up at Henry. “...I needm… more coffee,” he mumbled with a sleepy smile. Henry gave him an odd look.

“More? I just brought some back for you two days ago.”

“Well that- that was… that was two days ago and this is now.”

“Please tell me you haven’t finished an entire tin in two days, Victor.” Victor groaned and set the beaker down.

“More like finished half in two days and half in… maybe one night,” he muttered, slowly starting to wake up more. “It’s all a bit of a blur, really.”

“This is why you need sleep,” Henry pointed out, running his hand from Victor’s hair back down to his shoulder.

“No, no. No I don’t need sleep,” Victor replied, starting to sound much more like himself. “I need… I need um…” He glanced around, his eyes falling on the beaker full of dark grimy fluid on the unlit burner. “Gah- nonono- noooo…” he grumbled, nearly knocking over the beaker that once held coffee as he fumbled for the one on the burner. He grabbed it, took one whiff, then unceremoniously dropped his head onto the table. Henry jumped slightly, gently nudging him as he was somewhat concerned that the smell of the concoction had somehow knocked him unconscious.

“...Victor?”

“I’m fine,” Victor grumbled. “Fine I just. I have to start this over.” He set the beaker down on the floor next to the table and slowly stood, somewhat wobbly at first, before wandering off to grab another one.

“No, I think you need sleep,” Henry called to him, turning and leaning back slightly on the table as he watched Victor grab a new beaker along with various jars filled with substances he couldn’t recognize.

“I am- I am a god, Henry; gods don’t need sleep,” Victor called back to him with a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he plucked the ingredients he needed from the shelves. Henry chuckled and shook his head.

“Oh, silly me. How could I ever forget,” he mused, rolling his eyes. “Of course you’re a god, darling.” He turned out of curiosity to look at what was on the table, his eyes catching sight of something that Victor had been obscuring while he was sitting there. It was an odd thing, or the makings of an odd thing anyways, just barely started. There were gears and a crank connected to them, a tangled mess of wires - some attached to the thing and others lying nearby, various empty vials with tubes dangling from their cork caps, and sitting directly beside it all was a frighteningly large hollow needle. He leaned in closer to inspect the device. “Since when did you start tinkering?” he asked as he looked at how each gear was connected.

“Since I needed to for this project,” Victor answered as he sifted through more jars to find exactly what he was looking for. “Agape has been a big help. You’d never guess it but he’s got a knack for that sort of thing. Tinkering and such, that is. Well… he’s got an interest in all of it but he can be a little careless with the chemicals,” he continued, suddenly realizing he didn’t have enough hands to hold everything he needed and placing the beaker in his mouth to hold it.

“Can’t imagine where he gets that carelessness from,” Henry muttered sarcastically as he glanced back to see Victor on his tip-toes sifting through jars with one hand while holding far too many other jars in his other and a beaker between his teeth.

“I’s a real ‘ys’ery,” Victor answered sincerely with the beaker still in his mouth. Henry smirked and shook his head.

“Sure is.” He turned back toward the table, his eyes catching sight of an open journal, dark-stained pages covered in writing and sketches. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he picked it up and moved further into the candlelight to read as Victor returned and carefully set everything down on the table. “So is this what the two of you have been working on?” Henry asked as he flipped back a few pages to start reading closer to the beginning.

“Oh good god no,” Victor answered as he refilled the burner with oil and lit it using a match he ignited from his own nearly spent candle. “I’ve just been doing simple things with him. Common chemical reactions, a few lessons in physics, electricity, etcetera.” He began filling the new beaker with some of the ingredients from the jars he had grabbed. “This is more of a… personal project.” As he continued, he paused once he opened one jar, thought for a moment, then began rummaging around the table, searching for something. “Henry, you haven’t happened to see a journal lying around anywhere have y-” He cut himself off as he turned to see Henry standing there, journal in hand, a look of somewhere between shock and horror on his face. He felt his heart skip a beat as he froze.

“You’re…” Henry began, his voice low and quiet. Victor lurched forward suddenly, snatching the journal from his hands, though Henry still held his hands as though the journal still lay between them.

“What did I tell you about touching my things,” Victor snarled, holding the journal behind him. Henry didn’t acknowledge him, instead staring straight ahead almost unnervingly.

“You’re making another one…”

“And you just broke my most important rule,” Victor remarked, eyes narrowed. Henry swallowed hard and took in a deep, shaky breath.

“...You’re right. I apologize - I shouldn’t have taken it without asking but-”

“But nothing, Henry. Go back to bed and let me work,” Victor snapped, flipping the journal back open and scouring the pages to find the correct amount of the ingredient he was working with.

“Victor-” Henry reached out to him, placing his hand on Victor’s arm gently.

“Just-” Victor started, voice raised in anger as he knocked Henry’s hand away. He paused, seeing Henry was clearly emotionally upset, and sighed, returning his eyes to his work, as he muttered, “leave me be.”

“No, Victor. We need to discuss this,” Henry managed to mention softly.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Victor growled, pulling his goggles back over his eyes as he placed the beaker over the burner and began stirring the contents with a glass rod.

“Then at least talk to me,” Henry suggested, sitting on the floor beside him. Victor ignored him, choosing instead to continue his work. There was silence between them except for the twisting of jar lids and the clinking of scooping tools against glass, only broken as Victor held out a small piece of cloth to Henry.

“Cover your mouth and nose with this until I say so,” he muttered, his voice muffled behind a cloth that he had tied around his own mouth and nose like a bandana. Henry didn’t question him and tied the cloth around his face, peeking up over the table as Victor carefully poured one substance into the heated beaker, which immediately began to furiously boil and bubble while emitting an eerie green light. Even through the cloth Henry could smell something atrocious, and he did his best to hold back a gag while Victor simply sat there observing as though this were something he was entirely accustomed to. After a few minutes the smell dissipated and the light dulled, at which point Victor held his hand back out - which Henry interpreted meant he could remove the cloth, so he did. “I have my reasons, you know,” Victor mumbled, taking the cloth and setting it on the table along with his own.

“I have no doubt about that.”

“Then why is there anything to discuss?” He turned toward Henry, looking down at him though his eyes were masked by his goggles.

“I feel I should have a say in this matter,” Henry replied. “None of this is just about you or me anymore. It’s about us together.”

“I don’t dictate what you do in your own daily life or what choices you make, why should you dictate mine?” Victor countered, turning back to continue to work on the solution he had started.

“There’s a difference between choosing whether to spend my time writing or climbing, and choosing to create an entire living being that we both will be responsible for,” Henry pointed out.

“I never said you would be responsible for it.” Henry sighed, realizing this conversation was getting them nowhere.

“Did he ask you for this?” he asked, changing his direction. “Has he decided that this is still what he wants even after all this time?” Victor didn’t answer, instead paying close attention as he measured out a powdered substance on a small scale. “Victor-”

“No, Henry. He has nothing to do with this,” Victor interrupted with an exasperated tone, scooping the measured substance up and pouring it into the solution, which instantly swirled into a dark red hue as he stirred it in. He tapped his stirring rod on the side of the beaker, then dropped it into a dirty yet empty flask nearby. Resting his elbows on the table, he leaned forward and raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth before exhaling harshly. “Not directly, that is.” Henry reached up, placing a hand on his back, which Victor responded to with a silent shudder.

“Then why now? Is it…” He paused, wondering if he should press further with his question. “Is this related to your nightmares?” There was no reply, other than that Victor raised one foot slightly off the ground, his leg bouncing - a typical nervous behavior of his.

“It doesn’t concern you.”

“It does concern me. I’m concerned about you, Victor. You’re withdrawing yourself again, and I’m… I’m frightened for you. I want to help you, but I can’t do that unless you let me.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Then why am I still here?” Silence. Victor put his foot down, suddenly all too still. “If you really didn’t want my help, you would have chased me out by now. I know you, Victor, and you know that.” Henry leaned over, resting his head against Victor’s leg and reaching upward. Victor slowly removed one glove, his hand slipping down from the table and falling into Henry’s outstretched palm.

“I don’t have a choice, Henry,” Victor said quietly, his voice cracking slightly as though he were on the verge of tears. “I have to do this. For his sake- I-” He sucked in a shaky breath, tilting his head upward. “This is all my fault.”

“What is?” Victor squirmed his hand out of Henry’s and began sifting through the clutter on the table until he found a piece of paper covered in messy handwriting, some words smudged and bled as though water had been dropped on the page as it was being written, and handed it down to Henry.

As Henry read the writing on the page, Victor removed his goggles and set them off to the side, taking his ungloved hand up to rub the tears away from his eyes. About halfway through reading, Henry slowly stood, moving behind his husband and wrapping one arm around him while he continued to read. Victor practically collapsed into him, leaning back and nestling his face into Henry’s arm in need of some comfort. “Victor…” Henry whispered his name, tears dripping down his cheeks as he set the paper down and wrapped both arms around him, clinging to him tightly. “I’m so sorry.” All at once, everything made sense. The way Victor would wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of each night in panic - sometimes running out of bed and and returning moments later with a sudden need to be as close to him as possible, his sudden reinterest in science, the way he’d lock himself away in his laboratory for hours on end, his sudden need to spend as much time with Agape as he could and to teach him everything he knew, how he had suddenly insisted on tucking Agape into bed each night even if he himself wouldn’t come to bed until hours later… all of it made sense. Victor removed his other glove, turning in his embrace and holding Henry with as tight a grip as his exhausted body could muster. Henry held him tighter with one arm, lifting his other hand to gently run his fingers through Victor’s hair. “I know it seems so real, and I know the pain it’s causing you is very real, but it’s still just a bad dream, Victor. It’s not going to happen and- and it concerns me that you would go so far as to make such a rash decision like this based on a recurring nightmare,” he explained softly. Victor looked up at him, eyes red from tears and a lack of sleep.

“But it is real, and it is going to happen and I-” He paused, voice breaking. “I can’t let it happen Henry I… I can’t just pretend everything will be ok. Everything isn’t ok. Everything won’t be ok. Not until I fix this.”

“Victor, you can’t fix something that hasn’t even happened yet- or that likely never will happen, for that matter.” Victor pulled back, looking up at him pitifully.

“But it will, Henry. If I don’t do this, it will.” Henry hushed him quietly, holding him tighter.

“How can you be so sure?” he asked sincerely. Victor trembled, clutching tightly at the back of Henry’s shirt.

“Because someday he’s going to be alone.”

“Most children lose their parents someday. He’s just… going to have to learn how to cope, like any other does.”

“No child is alone for eternity, though.” Henry glanced upward, pausing the movement of his fingers through Victor’s hair.

“Eternity?” Victor buried his face into his chest.

“He will never die of old age, Henry.” He heaved a deep, ragged sigh, pulling back and shakily rising to his feet. Henry watched with worry as he began to pace. “All because I was too… too careless to think before I actually made him.” Henry almost wanted to say something, but he kept quiet, realizing that it would probably only make things worse. “I was so caught up in proving to the world that alchemy is a viable science and-” he paused, spinning on his heels and looking at Henry directly, “it is a viable science, I think I have proved that well enough by now.” Henry nodded along with a half shrug, signaling for him to go on, and Victor continued his pacing. “I just- I didn’t stop to consider what actually using it to create an entire new life would fully entail. I mean I- I knew that using the elixir of life on something already dead would never work on its own. It was just a matter of starting the heart. One beat is all it takes, Henry - just one beat and so long as something has the elixir coursing through it veins, it is alive.” He slowed, coming to a stop and standing with slumped shoulders. “What I hadn’t thought about was that the elixir also provides everlasting life, even to something once dead.” Despite his hanging head, he raised his gaze to Henry. “So long as there is blood in his veins, so long as his heart is able to beat, so long as his brain can still function… he will never die.” A crack of thunder sounded from outside, rattling the glasses in the laboratory and causing Victor to jump and cringe with a yelp. He began to shiver, wobbling where he stood as anxiety and exhaustion began to consume him. Henry ran to him and caught him as he collapsed, holding him tightly as he slowly brought him down so they were both sitting on the floor.

“Take it easy, Victor,” he uttered softly, resting his head against Victor’s. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” Victor clenched his eyes shut as he steadied his ragged breathing, and pressed himself closer to Henry. “I’d like to think that… maybe after all we’ve done with him, all we’ve done for him, it won’t come to that. Maybe he could be content just to be alone,” Henry murmured, trying to be optimistic.

“Not after what I’ve done. Not after what he’s been through. I-” Victor curled up slightly, hiding his face away. “His fear of abandonment, his need for companionship, both far outweigh any of the progress we’ve made. He may survive for a few years and cope with the grief after we are dead and gone, but it won’t last, Henry. He’ll go searching for friendship and only find hatred and violence.”

“Perhaps we could start trying to find him a friend before it’s too late,” Henry suggested, running his fingers along Victor’s back. “Then we could be sure that he won’t be alone without worrying about what may happen if he tries to find one on his own.” Victor shifted and looked up at him, eyes red and puffy with tears.

“And then what? What happens after that friend dies? Who does he turn to then?” Henry went quiet. Although he was ever the optimistic one, Victor was right - this would be a never ending cycle, and who could possibly know how long it would take for poor Agape to finally cave under the pressure of it all. “If I… if I can manage to create a second one like him, perhaps even perfect my original experiment and create one even…” He hesitated. “...Not better, necessarily, but… more like my original concept, I suppose - if I can do that, he will never have to be alone again, and maybe - just maybe - I could prevent him from making such a decision.” Henry sighed softly, moving his hand up and gently wiping away Victor’s tears.

“We can’t even be sure another one would turn out anything like him, though. And there’s no guarantee that they would get along. I know you’ve thought this through and it all seems very reasonable in your own mind but… Victor there’s more to it than what you’re saying. For example… it could turn out to be inherently violent, unlike him, and wind up hurting him, or us, or others as well. Their personalities could clash - there’s no telling that they would even stick together for their entire lives. If anything it’s more likely they would have their own separate hopes and desires, and need to go their own separate ways. And even if they did manage to keep each other eternal company, why would you want to bring another being into such a lonely existence?” Victor sniffled, glancing away from him.

“I… I can’t guarantee that any of that won’t happen but…” He wrapped his arms tightly around Henry. “If there’s even some semblance of a chance that I could ease the pain for him, enough to stop him from causing his own destruction, then I have to take it. I have to try. I’ve sworn responsibility for him, and thus have sworn responsibility for his future regardless of whether I am present for it or not. This is my mistake, all of this is my mistake, and I intend for this to be my greatest solution.” A sudden hiss and pop caused him to snap his attention to the table, where the substance in the beaker over the burner sat smoking, now looking entirely like that which had been in the beaker that was there when Henry had arrived. “No- NO!” Victor shoved Henry away and scrambled to his feet, leaning onto the table and staring at the ruined solution with wide eyes. Henry stood and walked over to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder as he suddenly broke into sobs.

“Victor-”

“Henry this has to work! It has to!” Victor managed to cry between sobs. “It has to…”

“I know, love. I know,” Henry reassured him quietly. “Come on… you can try again tomorrow but… for now, you need rest.” Victor trembled as he tried to calm himself, standing frozen as Henry blew out the flame from the burner as well as the nearly dead flame from the candle Victor had been burning for light. “I’m not going to stop you from making preparations,” he mentioned as he turned Victor away from the table and began helping him unbutton his lab coat. “But you need to promise that you’re going to take care of yourself, and that we-” He paused, lifting Victor’s chin and looking him in the eyes. “-and by we I mean all of us, including Agape-” Victor shakily and slowly nodded as he slipped his coat off and set it to the side. “-will have a very thorough conversation about the actual details of it before you go through with anything. Am I clear?” Victor nodded again, embracing him suddenly and tightly. Henry held him close, gingerly kissing his cheek. “Thank you. I’m here for you, Victor, and I know he’s willing to be there for you too. Just, please - don’t shut us out.”

“I love you,” Victor managed to whisper, shaking as Henry released him and took his hand.

“I love you too, Victor,” Henry breathed in reply, bringing his hand up and kissing his wrist gently. Taking the candle he had brought from their bedroom with his other hand, he began slowly leading the way toward the door, Victor stumbling along with him. Just as they reached the exit, Victor hesitated, glancing back over the laboratory one more time. Another rumble of thunder sent shivers down his spine and he gripped Henry’s hand tighter. “Everything will be ok,” Henry reassured him as he pushed open the heavy door and helped him to step into the hall, being careful to close the door behind them gently. “He’s going to be ok. We’re going to be ok.”

#frankenstein au #ask to tag #tw death mention #tw needle mention #tw violence mention

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