#the answer is neutral and something to simply observe and note . which again. i wrote for myself and the 5 people who would understand that | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mileyjassie · 3 years

Text

ασφαλής "safe".

Art made by @jasperiine

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi) x Female Reader

Genre: Fluff, Drama.

Word count: 3.4k

Synopsis: You're a artist who fell in love with a statue that came back to life, you're both deep in love, but, since his curiosity and lack of trust make you feel betrayed you leave him behind and now he's searching for you to give him another chance while having to learn how to live in the modern world.

Author's note: I wrote this thinking about the history of eros and psyche, I hope you enjoy reading it.

My lovely one, learn to love, my Psyche.

You saw him for the first time when the golden, warm light of the sunset rested on top of his white, smooth shape, made of marble, finished with genuine perfection.

Few saw how magnificent he was, very few looked into his empty eyes and his well-sculpted lips and saw the true beauty that arose from his presence.

"Bullshit" You were told, some without malice, just disinterested, clearly you did not understand such ignorance, but said nothing because you knew that only you had the gift of seeing life in his curves. In this way, thus, you also avoided the jealousy that you felt trembling and going out of your ears when false words of admiration left the mouths of those who only longed for their own artistic contemplation.

You came back for him, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied by a friend or more, those seeing him for the first time as well as other masterpieces...or those who knew him well, these keeping company since they knew that your path to him was inevitable.

You particularly admired it when you were alone, not many around cared about the time you spent, seeing you sitting on the floor below his figure, doodling or painting in your sketchbook.

It was a habit, a hobby, a kind of meditation, which brought you calm.

"You love him." One of your friends smiled, dictating a fact, not a joke. They knew it, saw it in your eyes and thought it was amusing, the artistic love and appreciation you had. "You keeps drawing this statue, you always comes to see him. This is a little strange." Smiled once more, receiving shakes and confirmations from the rest.

"Maybe I'm in love" You lifted a shoulder, hiding your furtive gaze to show your back and look again at the marble sculpture that lay just ahead.

His fingers touched his stomach differently, his nails were medium and square, you had drawn them several times, from all angles.

"Why don't you ask him out?" The question slid past you, you laughed quietly with it, as if it tickled you. "Why don't you ask him to marry you?"

"I already asked." You turned around again, to see them and shrug. "But he never answered me. I think I will wait forever." Laughter was spreading across the area as you sat next to them with crossed legs. "I think I was rejected..."

"He's making a fool of you."

"You think?" You turned your face, looking the marble marks.

"Do it again."

You narrowed your eyes, hiding your good mood.

"Should I?"

"Ask him again, persist, give him a kiss..."

You were surprised by the excitement that grew out of silence. They all wanted to indulge in entertainment, they wanted a scene to excite them.

You looked at the greek statue that persisted in its elaborate pose, you always wondered if he was seeing something, if he was warning something or if he was sacrificing himself for others. He looked like a petrified hero.

You put your hand on your face, pretending to blush at the indications and flirting suggestions that were being thrown at you.

You left them behind, walking like a lost maiden in the vast hall that you were at, even though there were no obstacles as far the statue in the column on the other side was, you pretended to be naive, meeting him by mistake.

"Oh" You exclaimed, hearing the giggles behind you. "Are you, my love? The one who calls for me?"

When you noticed that only your friends were the viewers, you were bold to go up on the marked block of marble, climbing your fingers through the fabric sculpted by a miraculous genius that covered part of his trunk and legs, listening to some cheeky "hm's".

"I'm here" you touched his cheek, looking at his lips. "I heard you cry out for help. I came to rescue you, my sweet angel."

Your friends hugged each other restlessly, hissing at each other for the romance scene they saw you star in. You tried not to lose focus, not to leave the character you created to satisfy your childish follies.

You closed your eyes just a little, seeing the simple details of his face while allowing your lips to touch the cold, rough surface of the marble, but you closed your eyes for a quick instant, really feeling like an real actress, like an true artist and lover of beauty.

When you heard gasps you didn't care so much, yet you were confused enough, the moment your eyes opened, you saw him inhale deeply and loudly, his eyelids trembling in half-blinkings, his arms resting around you, without strength, totally fragile.

His dark eyes remained stuck in yours, tired in your arms.

His parted lips made the sound you had fantasized about for so long.

"T...Thanks for saving me..."

For an instant the hall was lost, it was empty, silent, private. That was when you realized that you were indifferent about the situation, already astonished when it came to the boy.

His appearance filled you with tenderness, and in the same way filled you with sadness. It was like this?...Was like this how Hades felt when he first saw Persephone?

You took off your coat, covering the boy with blond, tousled hair, already kneeling and hiding himself in the fabric that covered his lower body.

"Are you coming with me, all right?" You murmured gently, waiting for his approval, receiving a innocent look, a little scared, but still seemed to trust what you weree saying. He nodded, accepting your help to stand and get off the block.

The reaction of the friends sitting on the floor on the other side was already expected, and you didn't blame them for that, you could be like that, but for some reason you chose not to be.

You didn't say goodbye to the others, you didn't think to do that at any time. You only had eyes for him.

You prepared him a hot bath, after that you gave him something to eat and offered him your own bed to rest, and you didn't ask for anything in return for that, on the opposite, you gave him the space he needed, nothing you asked for or waited for.

The next day, very early in the morning, a cold but well-lit morning, you woke up when he approached slowly, looking at your face silently and carefully.

"Are not you curious?... Don't you want to ask me anything?" He said calmly, however, curious.

"If that is your will, then I believe I am going to. If it is not, then I will not do it." You sat down, watching him for a while, wondering if he could hear your heart beat so hard. "You look comfortable, that's enough for me."

You stood up, standing beside him, running your fingertips along his side, just touching the woolen fabric of the long sweater you gave him to use.

"If you want to tell me something, just look for me." You whispered, walking away.

"My name is Soonyoung. They called me Hoshi."

You smiled to yourself, very satisfactorily.

"Hoshi... This name I know." You turned around, he did the same.

"For all this time I waited for someone to set me free. I felt alone, often empty... however" He came over, holding his own fingers "You have made me less lonely many days lately, I hoped you could save me... and you did. "

You felt your face flush, but you remained neutral, not wanting to waste his words.

"I just have to thank you." He said at last, making your shoulders relax with his sweetness.

You approached slowly, doing the same with the hand you brought to the side of his face.

"You are my greatest inspiration. I can only thank you for simply having this indescribable beauty that I have been drowning with for so long."

His lips parted in surprise, eyebrows trembled and the top of his ears burned in a vicious pink for your pupils.

Soonyoung had no more expressive reactions after that, so you left him again, not wanting to scare him with the infinite admiration that you had kept inside your head for so long.

"You're gonna have all the care you need. You are safe, Hoshi, calm your spirit."

"I hope..."

You turned around to find his body standing a little far, still trapped in his own imaginary space.

"I hope the gods make you the happiest woman in the world."

You touched his hand, taking him with you to your favorite room, leaving your shyness to satisfy his wishes.

"I know I told you many times not to go out, but I know you need hobbies and here I am providing you with my tools."

Soonyoung observed the room, he seemed impressed with the amount of materials, also happy to have something to do.

You showed him your canvases and your paints, your brushes and pencils, you took him to your table and made him sit down, leaving your hands lightly on his broad shoulders.

"I give you all my sketchbooks, I give you all my secrets, so I hope you find the peace that I find in you."

"Are you going to let me see everything? Are you sure about that?" He asked indecisively, he seemed to imagine all kinds of things that you could have drawn of him. He was right.

You moved your hands up his neck, sinking your fingers into his light, soft hair.

"I don't want to hide what is rightfully yours..."

You lowered yourself to the side of his face, resting your hands on his arms, with a low sigh his face turned towards yours, allowing you two to touch your lips.

You held his jaw, his hands finding your forearms to make you sit on his lap.

You held his face in your hands, noticing him looking for more contact by embracing your waist with one arm and with the other hand holding the back of your thigh.

You parted from his mouth with a foolish smile, receiving a soft smile from the boy in return.

"Do you love me that much? Do you swear to really love me?" He asked hopefully, blushing when you pecked his lips again.

"I'm doing all of this for you."

You stroked his hair, getting up to fetch some new books and putting them in order on the table.

"I have some books keeped, but I noticed that you have read most of them quickly because you were so vague and bored" You looked down, but he didn't seem to notice, he had curious eyes and hands on the books. "Many of them are to study, they are boring if I have to say. So I bought new ones, I hope you like it, I don't think you will be bored with these."

"I am so gratefull." He stood up, hugging you tight, you returned the gesture, completely overwhelmed.

"I am very happy, and extremely grateful, but still curious..."

You looked for his eyes, not understanding what still disturbed him.

"Tell me, my angel."

His hands lightly squeezed your arms, stroking for a moment.

"There is a room, always locked. You always gave me the freedom to explore your house, I didn't want to seem invasive anyway, that's why I never asked..."

You looked away.

"Don't go in there or ask me about it again, okay?" You smiled at the boy, he didn't seem to understand why you were avoiding it.

"Why can't I know what you're hiding there? What are you afraid of me finding out?"

You walked away from Soonyoung, stopping by the doorframe.

"I am giving you everything I have, I am giving you all my love and I asked you for nothing in return, so I warn you, my angel, if you let yourself be led by your curiosity, in the end you will be betraying my trust..."

You saw him press his lips and hide his regretful look, but he said nothing to you, so you left him in the room alone.

It was late at night when you woke up slowly in the void of dawn, trying to understand what disturbed you, if those sounds were of your fear or really true.

You got up, even leaving your room barefoot, wishing you didn't find him awake as you feared every night.

He had stolen you key, opened the room door that you had warned him to stay away, and hidden in the dark. He acted behind your back.

You found him with a tightness in your chest, disappointment was the only word that could describe the pure melancholy that was born in your heart, since you had nothing to hide but your good intentions.

The newspapers were on the table in the small office filled with photos of his sculpture. His eyes lit up on the news, messages, controversies on the computer screen. My friends being part of his miracle in interviews and publications, none of them stabbed or handed me over.

All the chaos that his disappearance brought to your life, all the situations where you had to repress yourself to protect him, emails filling your patience every day, all this you hid from him so that he wouldn't suffer from this turbulent new life. You did it to love you freely, you did it to love him freely.

Soonyoung looked at you confused, maybe sorry to find that nothing bad you hid. It was the opposite, you were protecting him.

"You were thinking about me, my love... I'm sorry."

"You betrayed me, Soonyoung, you betrayed my feelings, the trust I had in you." You watched him from a distance, in a way that you never would have, he noticed, and got hurt.

You walked away when he came to you in search of reconciliation, of affection, but you could not treat him with the same adoration that washed over him at all times.

Even if he killed you inside, you could not deny the sadness that possessed you thoughts, you left him behind, abandoned him, because you could not bear the truth that the love he felt for you weighed much less than the love you felt for him.

"Forgive me" he murmured with red eyes, you don't know if he was afraid to see you go.

You covered yourself with a thick coat, trying to escape his cold hands.

"Don't go, my darling, don't leave me!"

"I cannot stay, because if I look into your eyes I will not hold on, I will not be able to not forgive you, and this is not what my heart is asking so loudly at this moment." You said, sad to let go of his fingers, but so eager to go away. "Don't wait for me, I'm running away." You said at last, leaving your home behind.

"How long do you intend to run away?" One of my friends asked me, in which she gave me shelter, a little upset "Didn't say you loved him?"

You curled up on the upholstery, looking out the window at the blue sky.

"I'm so sad that you could never imagine my pain. Did I make a mistake? Shouldn't I have adored him so much?" You turned to the girl who was adjusting her belongings over the dressing table, not much distracted by your regrets.

"You cry so much but you do not accept to hear about the boy, you do not have the courage to know what our friends are doing with him. You, my friend, so fearless and passionate in the past, now do not seem more than a coward."

You closed your eyes with force and embarrassment, her criticisms hit you like sharp arrows that burned in harsh truths.

"Well, tell me, what did you do to him?" You got up, sitting in front of her on the bed, plagued by dark idealizations. "What are you getting him through?"

"Your friends care about you, but they were touched by the boy, who exudes empathy and sincerity" She approached, indifferent about your feelings, straightening your clothes and hair as if it were a simple morning conversation. "They challenged him to face the world, called him a parasite, ordered him to get a career, a job."

You gasped, astonished by the news, the boy who they said feeling empathy with barely knew how to use a computer and was being led to take unknown paths.

"How scared must my love be?"

"Don't whine having ignored his existence until now." She said impatiently, not letting go of your locks. "You need to stop talking and learn to listen."

"So tell me quickly, hurry up!"

"As I said before, the boy exudes sympathy and soon there was a charismatic reaction in our friends. Noting that he spoke weird, the first decided to teach him to speak correctly, taught him new words and practiced for days, holding on and becoming his closest friend."

You smiled, being interrupted before you mentioned any dazzle.

"The second soon realized that different clothes he didn't have, and being our richest friend was more than happy to buy new clothes for the boy who was so humble and listener. Gave him a new haircut, a set for every type of occasion and perfumes, and I have to confess "She sighed, rolling her eyes, taking her hands out of your hair. "I found it capriciously exaggerated, however, despite being disappointed I feel not surprised."

Noticing how obedient you remained and seeing the anxiety spilling out of your eyes, it didn't take long to proceed.

"Our third friend found out that he knew nothing about the new ways, that walking on the street could not do it alone and that the loud noises made him afraid. That good-hearted friend you have, gave part of the days to take care of the feelings and fears of your beloved, until walking on the sidewalks between crowds and witt cars disturbing your ears were no longer a problem."

You felt your shoulders relax, in incredible inner peace, until you looked up again.

"And you? What did you do?"

She looked at you from the corner, wickedness overflowing through her feline eyes.

"He got the job, now he works as a guide at the city museum, the same museum that you kissed him and left us behind." She paced the room with a sly smile, going over her belongings on the dressing table, going to the high desk by the window. "How can a dependent man like him be by your side if he falls apart when he sees you go? So weak, so sensitive. If he thinks he will have you at all times, I want him to know that it won't be like that, sometime you will have to leave him behind to come to us, the same I say inversely. "

She let the perversity spill and disappear, returning to being the controlled and wise girl from before.

"Did you ever see us flounce when you left us for the boy?" She looked at me, satisfied with my small negative head wave "On the contrary, there was no interference, we are more than that, we are free from blind attachments."

She sat down again, combing your hair back.

"My responsibility was to make him find you, that's what I was asked to do and I agreed, but to be honest, I didn't do anything." She shrugged, self-sufficient. "I said that the only way he would have to find you would have to be on his own, I didn't teach how to handle electronics, I didn't give tips, I didn't give a single picture of you."

You squeezed your eyebrows ready to complain, ready to defend the boy, but regretting the moment you saw her narrow eyes waiting for the cries she was listening these days.

You bowed your head, not knowing what to say or ask.

"Are you proud of him?"

You lifted your head, agreeing with a slight smile.

"I am."

"He worked hard for you, I'm not surprised, I really like him too."

You looked at her quickly with the comment she made, finding her face turned.

"He has earned our trust. But it is not our approval that he needs at the moment." She stood up, going to the window, being surprised, giving birth to an amused smile. "What are you waiting for to find him? Isn't your pain already healed?"

You raised your eyebrows, asking with euphoria rising in your chest. "He is outside?"

She nodded, you jumped out of bed quickly, out into the hall and down the stairs. Was that the reason you were getting ready all this time? You smiled at the thought.

When you were on the sidewalk of the house, you stopped for a moment to find him, but you saw no familiar silhouette, there were some civilians and gentlemen nearby selling fruits but you didn't find the boy you were looking for.

A soft and insecure hand touched your shoulder, you turned with the gesture, in a trance to find his dark hair, but his same sharp eyes staring at you with hope.

You got dizzy with the new details, with the accessories, with the denim jacket, with the sneakers, with the earrings, it didn't look like him, but it was him.

You looked down, seeing his hands holding one of your sketchbooks, a drawing of your face on it, an old self-portrait of an impatient sketch you did once.

He smiled widely, even letting out a laugh.

"You came back to me, my angel!" He said cheerfully, his voice filling the longing you felt, giving you chills for using the nickname you gave him and, of course, with the new pronunciation.

You gladly received his tight embrace, not wanting to loosen your grip on his body, after all you never wanted to stop loving him, not even for a single moment.

"You are the one who found me, love. You finally found me."

"Forgive me for what I did, I will never betray you again, soon you will see that it is more than possible for us to live happily, so come back with me..." he said muffled against your hair, hiding his face in your neck.

You stroked his hair, bringing his face close to yours, brushing lips and watching his small eyes narrow in anticipation for the first kiss so far.

"I know that, dear, and I forgive you. Because I love you."

𝒇𝒊𝒏.

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rosy-wooyoung · 4 years

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He needs someone | Park Seonghwa

Words count: 3.3k whoops Pairing: kindergarten teacher! reader x police officer!, single dad! Seonghwa Genre: F L U F F and a squint of angst once A/N: I tried my best, it’s a concept I had in mind for a while and I’m glad I managed to write something :’) I’m sorry in advance if you notice mistakes, English isn’t my first language but at least I tried, right? The gif isn’t mine as usual, all the credits go to the talented creator :)

The first day of the week was coming to an end and you were happy. You loved your job, really, it was a real pleasure to get up in the morning and take care of adorable children your students. They were nice, polite, you had to raise your voice from time to time for the order to come back, but it was rare. However, the past few days were more of a chore than a pleasure, because you were worried about one student in particular. His name was Haneul. He was a 5-year old boy full of energy, kindness and the politest of all your students. Already at his age, he was altruistic, always ready to play with others or help you tidy up things that weren't necessarily his. Despite his good attitude and politeness, you noticed that he was missing something, but you couldn't put your finger on it. Until one afternoon, when you left school, it struck you.

He was one of the few students who didn't have two parents. Yes, some had two mothers or two dads, or their divorced parents came to pick them up each in turn, but for Haneul, everything seemed different. It was always his father who came to pick him up or his grandmother, but it was very rare. You were beginning to question yourself, wondering if Haneul had a mother or other relative that took care of him except for his father. Perhaps his mother was seriously ill, or even dead. You had noticed several times where Haneul was in a bad mood, especially when you asked your students what they had done during the weekend. It was a ritual that you did every Monday morning and many children were talking about their parents. Haneul was always silent during these kinds of moments. Unable to give special treatment, you also asked him questions, especially about the toy cars he loved to take to school, and you tried to get him to talk about his father most of the time. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable or cry in front of the other students, so you carefully avoided the mom's subject.

You were in the school playground, chatting with another teacher to look after the children who were waiting for their parents. It was rush hour, everyone was out of work and the traffic was very heavy, which caused most of the delays for parents. When you noticed Haneul’s father, you excused yourself to your colleague, took the boy’s little hand and walked towards the man. You couldn't lie, his father is a charismatic man. Whenever he entered the yard, single mothers - and sometimes even some married women, in the presence of their husbands - stared at him. He exuded a certain class and a form of serenity which reassured everyone. Maybe it was his uniform that provided that kind of emotion. Yes, his father was a policeman. You have seen him repeatedly patrolling the city or your neighbourhood, even sometimes waiting for his son in his car. At first glance, his life seemed to be devoted to bringing order within the city, but really, it revolved solely around his son. His serious and distant mask fell every time his son ran into his arms or showed him a craft he did in class. He was also one of the few parents who wrote you a kind note for Christmas to thank you for your hard work and it touched you.

When you reached Haneul's father with him, a veil of concern crossed the eyes of the man standing in front of you. He seemed worried and had walked much less assuredly than the other times that you had seen him. "Good evening ma'am. Thanks for calling me. Has Haneul not behaved well?" He questioned as his son, oblivious to the situation, jumped into his arms, kissing his dad’s cheek. "No, your son is a remarkable little boy, full of goodwill and very polite, but there is a delicate subject that concerns him which I would like to talk with you if you would like." The policeman looked at his son and put him on the ground before nodding. "Haneul," he said, crouching down next to his son, "will you play with your friends for a while? I need to speak with your teacher for a few minutes, it won't be long, okay?" Haneul nodded without hesitation and left to replay with his friends, running towards them. "I'm listening," his voice was hesitant, but he tried to keep a neutral expression. "First, I want to tell you that you don't have to answer or take into account what I'm going to tell you, and this is by no means a psychological diagnosis, just an observation me, his teacher." He nodded, a sign for you to continue. "Well, I have a tradition every Monday morning of asking certain students to tell us about their weekend, it's mainly to encourage them to speak in front of others, but the more this discussion advances in the morning, the more I see your child withdrawing into himself, sometimes he's even on the verge of tears when one of his classmates mentions their mother."

The policeman didn't seem shocked by your statement, but your words didn't leave him indifferent. He said nothing but looked behind you, carefully avoiding your gaze. "I don't want to interfere in your private life, but I have always wondered if Haneul had another parental figure beside you because he looks like he wants one…" He sighed as your voice trailed. "But aside from this little detail, Haneul is a golden child, he's always ready to stop arguments or help me tidy up, his education is remarkable, it's also something I wanted to tell you." You were trying to save yourself from embarrassment, given his lack of reaction, and his smile returned when you complimented his son, but it was not as warm as usual. You knew that you had touched a sensitive point and you had decided to cut short the discussion to not make it more uncomfortable. He already seemed pained enough like that, so you motioned for Haneul to come back to his father. "I'm sorry officer, but I have a few more things to do in class, I wish you a very good evening." You smiled at him and he greeted you with a brief whim and an almost inaudible "thank you".

By putting away the last chairs, you deeply regretted your words. It was none of your business, but Haneul's situation gave your heart a twinge. You were thinking of a softer way to approach the subject again, but you could not find any other solution. You didn't sleep much that night, bitterly regretting the discussion.

What did you have to pry in things that were none of your business?

The two days following this discussion were painful because the policeman did not come to pick up Haneul, it was his grandmother. You were almost ready to ask Haneul for his address to go and apologize to his father. Thursday afternoon was finally the day he decided to reappear. When you saw him again, you rushed inside, leaving your colleague alone in the school playground. You pretended to put the tables and chairs back in their place if he looked through the windows. Wanting to give him enough time to leave, you filled the kettle with water and heated it on its base. "Can I speak to you?" A throat clears which startled you, almost making you drop the kettle. You turned around and found the policeman in the doorway. He was not wearing his uniform, but his aura of authority and confidence was still there. "Yes, but I-" "No, don't apologize." "Please, let me. I wanted to apologize, I got involved in things that were none of my business. I was so mad at myself that I haven't slept well for the last few days." "Yes, Haneul told me you weren't as energetic as usual, but don't worry about me. Your words had the effect of a cold shower and I believe it was necessary." He said with a soft smile, scratching the back of his neck. You nodded, gesturing him to take your chair as you sat on one of the tables, keeping a reasonable distance. "I thought my mother and I would be enough for Haneul's education. His... well, his mother left us when he was two years old. When we learnt that we were expecting a baby, we made an agreement together. I promised to reduce my time at work to take care of her and Haneul. However, nothing went according to plan and I ended up working almost twice more. I was terrified that I would not have enough money to support them and because I didn't keep my promise to my girlfriend, she left. I thought she was going to get away with the situation because she was very independent, but it was only after she left me that I realized that she needed me." He paused, allowing you to let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. "After your statement, I said to myself that I should try to get her back, even if the two of us wasn't going to work, we could at least try for Haneul, but it's too late. I saw her in the store where I regularly grocery shop. She was with another man and she seemed much happier and more radiant than when she was with me. I simply greeted her, but I couldn't see myself begging her to come back in front of her new boyfriend. I know I fucked up and I regret it now, but I don't know what else I can do." You got up and turned off the kettle, pouring the hot liquid into two cups. You handed him one and leaned against your desk. "I understand that you are in a difficult situation, but now it's too late to get your ex back, that is clear. She moved on but it’s human, you also did it by busying yourself at work, according to what you're telling me. She is certainly mad at you and that is normal, I also understand her reaction, but you must start looking elsewhere, or even around you." "I talked to Haneul about it, and he admitted he missed having a mom. But you know, there aren't many people out there who want to go out with a policeman, so if he also has a child, it's complicated. And I assure you, I tried, I really tried, but they all left as soon as I mentioned my son. Selfishly, I prefer that Haneul does not have a mother rather than having one who does not love him. I need someone who loves me and him." "I understand, he is a part of you. You know, it was just a statement, I never ordered you to look for someone, you must not misunderstand my words. If you feel that you and your mother are enough for the education of your son, then you must follow your gut. But I remain in my position that your little one needs a maternal figure. Otherwise, growing up, he will no longer distinguish his mother from his grandmother, since it will be the same figure, you see?" The discussion was coming to an end, but the officer didn't seem to ready to leave. His gaze was lost into the void and he sipped on his tea. Suddenly, he regained his senses, gulped the remaining of his cup and put it in the sink. He smiled at you and held out his hand for you to squeeze. "My name is Park Seonghwa. Officer Park Seonghwa. And thank you for being so kind to my son, he loves you and it's nice not having to fight to get him out of bed." You blushed at his compliments and squeezed his hand, his grip not as hard as you thought it was going to be. It was firm but had nothing dominant or aggressive. "Y/L/N Y/N, I'm glad your son is having fun coming here, I'm trying to do everything for it. " "And... thank you for listening to me, because you really didn't have to. I think I needed to tell someone neutral. You know, parents are never very objective,” he said, not letting go of your hand. "I'm glad to have helped you, officer... And again, sorry for my mistake, I was just worried about Haneul." "This is a closed matter now, Y/N, don't worry about it anymore. Have a safe trip back home. Good night." You smiled at him and saw him leave with Haneul. Through the window, he greeted you with a wave which you answered with a slight smile.

The weekend had finally arrived, and you wanted to go for a walk in the park. The heat of May allowed you to go out only wearing a big sweater above your casual dress, a light scarf protecting your throat from the light wind. You sat on a bench and took out a book, adjusting your sunglasses and crossing your legs. Later, a group of eight adults with a child settled under the weeping willow, located a few meters from you, in the grass. Your vision wasn't the best, you squinted because you seemed to recognize Haneul. He also seemed to have recognized you because he pulled the sleeve of a man you immediately acknowledged: Seonghwa. He looked up and smiled at you, his son pulling him in your direction. You put your book down and watched, amused by the situation. The rest of the group was looking either at the father or you, which made you bright red. Seonghwa crouched and whispered something in his son's ear. A smile lit up his face and sprinted towards your bench.

"Hi Haneul, how are you?" "Hello, Teacher! I’m okay!! You are alone?" He asked, tilting his small head. "Yes, I'm enjoying the nice weather." "Daddy would like to know if you want to come and join us..." You smiled at the kid and looked up at Seonghwa. He had a tender smile on his face and Haneul pulled you from your seat by grabbing your hand. You laughed and gathered your things, Haneul running to his father.

Seonghwa greeted you and introduced you to the rest of the group, his colleagues. You weren't sure how to behave since they represented the law, but they were all lovely with you. Some asked you questions about your job and Haneul, including a man named Hongjoong, who you learnt was Haneul's godfather, who seemed fascinated by your work. Another colleague, Mingi, was very interested since his sister also worked as a teacher, but in their hometown. The rest of the day went by without problems, the group of police officers quickly put you at ease, abandoning the formalities. Clouds had formed and began to hide the sun, abruptly ending this wonderful day. When Wooyoung felt the first drops of water fall on his skin, you all hurried to pack up and take refuge in their cars. Haneul hadn't followed his father, he had run with Yunho in his car. You were soaking from head to toe, your sweater nowhere to be seen, your dress sticking to your body. You just hoped that your underwear was not showing through the wet material.

"You're beautiful." Seonghwa's deep voice rang out in the car and made you faced him. His hair fell in front of his face, droplets soaking his white t-shirt. Unlike his uniform, it gave you a good overview of his shoulders and his muscular torso. His eyes never left you, something had changed in them. You smiled, a bit embarrassed, watching the rain trickle down the windows, suddenly being very hot. A hand grabbed your chin and your face was now very close to Seonghwa's, his eyes lost in yours. Your heart was pounding, you were sure he could hear it, but you couldn't look beyond his beautiful eyes. Not when you had such a handsome officer in front of you. "May I?" He whispered, almost out of breath, his gaze moving back and forth between your eyes and your mouth. His expression was very intense, you could only accept. When his lips met yours, the tension in your shoulders disappeared and fireworks exploded in your stomach. You responded to the kiss immediately, surprising yourself, but it was too hard to resist. His lips were as soft as if you were kissing a chocolate coulis. The kiss was warm, intense, but filled with tenderness.

To your great disappointment, this tender exchange was shortened by someone knocking on Seonghwa's window. Yunho was there, an amused smile on his lips. You stopped the kiss, quickly pulling you away from Seonghwa's arms. You hadn't even realized in the kiss that he had embraced you, pressing you even more against him. You tried to catch your breath and Seonghwa lowered the window, embarrassed to have been surprised by his colleague. "Am I disturbing something?" Yunho said, refraining from laughing. "What do you want?" Seonghwa dryly replied, not amused by the situation at all. "I'm coming to bring your son back to you, I think he was in the wrong car. But to see what you were doing; I think I'll bring it back to me." "Shut up and bring him up to the back,” Seonghwa ordered. You had found back the police officer, strict and distant, as when he came to pick up his son.

When Yunho had fastened Haneul’s seatbelt and closed the car door, Seonghwa started the car and brought you home without saying a word, just a few glances exchanged on the way as well as apologetic smiles. When your resident building came into your range of vision, disappointment stung your heart. "Thanks for driving me back." You muttered, unsure how to behave with the little one in the back. "No problem." Seonghwa smiled, glancing into the rear-view mirror. Haneul was soundly sleeping and the policeman seized this chance to quickly connect your lips. "Ha! I knew it! Daddy loves Teacher Y/N!" Haneul's frail voice rang out in the car, scaring you both. You hurried out of the car and Seonghwa mouthed you to call him later. You entered the hall without turning around and you heard the car leave. "Daddy, do you like Teacher Y/N?" "Yes, kind of. " "Does that mean she's going to be my mom?" "Only if you want it." Seonghwa watched his son's reaction as the car came to a red light. The child had a neutral face, but he suddenly smiled with all his teeth and looked at his father in the rear-view mirror. "Yes!"

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Hypothetically,

Ao3, MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Intrulogical, Platonic Logince

It is about! Damn! Time! That I wrote some Intrulogical! Also, y’all already know my stance on platonic logince,,,, guys they ARE best friends i’m sorry I don’t make the rules.

Warnings: Angst (with a happy ending). mentions of stuff like autopsies and nuclear explosions in the context of like experiments- they do stuff in The Imagination, basically. Panic attack (?). Hurt/comfort. Pretty heated kissing; It’s more intense makin’ out than I usually write but it isn’t anything explicit at all, don’t worry! ADHD Remus and Autistic Logan. Cursing- like So Much Cursing. Mentions of space, deep sea, etc. Food mention.

Word count: 6,769

There was a conundrum.

A., Logan needed to use the Imagination. B., He could not use it on his own, considering that he was Logic. C., Roman was nowhere to be found. The answer to what was frustrating Logan at that moment would be all of the above.

To be clear, he didn’t like going into the Imagination. It was simply the only suitable place to perform his ‘experiments’. His very necessary, very distracting experiments. But, as stated, Roman was God-knows-where doing God-knows-what.

Logan sighed at the door, as though it was the inanimate structure’s fault. The cracks gleamed obnoxiously bright, golden light pouring out from behind the door in a somewhat eerie manner. It was a nonsensical, unrealistic, completely insignificant place, and he wanted in.

Logan was contemplating asking Janus for help (lies took imagination, right?) when, out of nowhere, an arm was thrown around his shoulders. Literally an arm, disembodied and oozing sick-smelling blood onto the carpet. Ah. Wonderful.

“Hello, Remus,” he pulled the appendage from around him, holding it at arm’s length (no pun intended, dammit).

“Hi!” Remus took his arm back and reattached it with a disturbing crunch, a grin stretching his face. He sidled up to Logan, imitating the side’s stance in front of the door.

“Can I help you with something?” the logical trait tilted his shoulder away from where Remus had pressed against him.

“Not unless you’re willing to get really messy- but I can help you!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re implying.”

The Duke rolled his eyes, promptly flinging the door to The Imagination open. An encompassing energy radiated into the common room, corrupting the usual neutrality of the space. It didn't last long before Remus grabbed Logan’s wrist and dragged him along through the entryway, movements as sporadic and fast-paced as everything else about the creative.

“It’s not very logical to just stand there staring at the door all day, in my opinion. I dunno what you need Imagination for, but whatever it is, I can help! My half is much more interesting, anyway.”

“Oh,” Logan blinked, narrowly ducking his head under a branch as he was pulled forward, “Thank you, I suppose.”

He politely didn’t mention that he doubted Remus’ capacity for helpfulness. Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

The door from the commons was quite a walk from the darker half of The Imagination, but at the pace its owner had them going they were there in minutes. The border was marked with tangles of densely thorned shrubbery, which parted for them, as if they sensed the approach. Logan just barely avoided snagging his shoe on one as they passed.

There was forest, twisted and shadowy, for only a minute. After that, they were in a city, with tall buildings and winding streets and dark alleys. Another switch, they came into what seemed like an amusement park. Nothing was consistent in theme, and none of the scenes held up for more than a minute or two. Remus shook his head and tisked. With a snap, a good portion of the ever-changing scenery was erased, leaving blank white space. The Duke turned to look at Logan with a satisfied smile.

“Ta-da! What do you need?”

Logan blanched for a moment, surprised at Remus’ willingness to completely delete Imaginings without a second thought. It usually took Roman ages to find a spot that he was okay with giving up on for Logan’s “projects”- which he always had thought was a little silly, seeing as he could bring it back when they were done. The change of pace was a pleasant one, though, so there was no need to dawdle for long.

“I need a miniature fully-functioning model of our solar system. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Oh, totally,” Remus waved his hand and the request appeared suspended in the air, spread out to be the size of a dining table. All was accounted for- sun, moons, eight planets plus pluto- orbiting and spinning around each other. Imagination, by nature, had no real limits, but the detail was still a sight to behold every time. Logic smiled, surveying the set-up, before gesturing to the edge of their blank section.

“Thank you for the help, you may go.”

“May I now?” Remus conjured a seat for himself, staring at Logan with his chin resting on his hands, “You’re not even going to tell me what this is for? That’s just rude.”

Logan glanced up from the tiny earth he was inspecting, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish, but your brother usually leaves at this point. He says my experiments are-” he summons his notebook, “‘Bore-ifying’, which I assume is a portmanteau for ‘boring’ and ‘horrifying’.”

“Roman’s a big baby!”

Logan shrugged, not disagreeing, and resumed his careful observation of the tiny model earth. Remus made no move to go, wheeling his chair even closer. The scientific side carried on before his new audience of one, hovering a hand over the little planet. Abruptly, it stopped spinning. Logan made a gesture with his hand that magnified the model significantly.

The results were immediately catastrophic. Logan jotted a few observations down in his notebook, watching closely at the ways torrents of wind ripped up trees and buildings. In the back of his mind, he was faintly impressed by just how well-rendered ‘Dark’ Creativity’s earth was, down to the individual humans, brutalized by the storms.

“Whoah, what the fuck?!”

Logan looked up briefly to see Remus craning his head over the destruction of the stilled planet. His eyes were wide and bright with curiosity.

“Oh- I should probably explain. I come here, usually, to run some improbable scenarios as a sort of stress-reliever. Specifically, this one is what would happen if earth stopped spinning on its axis. As you can see, due to the earth no longer rotating at its usual speed, the wind would continue on at-” he cut himself off abruptly, sensing the beginnings of a ramble, “I’m sorry, I’ve been told that I have a tendency to ‘go off’ when a subject particularly interests me.”

Remus rolled his chair even closer, looking much like an excited animal (more so than usual, anyway).

“Well then, go off! Don’t leave me hanging! Is that really what would happen, just if it stopped?” He gestured enthusiastically to the way that the oceans had begun to crash against and consume shorelines. He looked interested- genuinely interested.

Logan bit back a smile. He didn’t have to be told twice.

It was one of those particularly restless nights. For no foreseeable goddamn reason, Logic’s mind had become alight with enough half-formed thoughts and barely sensible ideas to fill a very, very weird book. The Imagination did wonders when he got like this, but it usually wasn’t two in the morning when he needed to use it. That wasn’t to say the circumstance was unheard of, but all times prior he could push the urge to investigate away with the reasoning that he could just ask Roman in the morning, and that the Creative side needed his ‘beauty sleep’, as he called it. There wasn’t anything he could do about that, was there?

Tonight was different. Logan could hear the occasional snap or tear or cackle from the room across from his. Remus’ room.

It had been less than a week since The Duke let him use the darker half of the Mindpalace, and that was pretty much the only meaningful interaction they’d had in as many days. They weren’t close, Logan wasn’t even sure if they were friends (not that he was a good judge of that, given the first time Roman referred to them as ‘besties’ he had all but cried), but Remus was at the very least an option. He was also unlikely to mind, given that he was already awake and had exhibited excitement previously.

Logan made up his mind after yet again failing to fall asleep. Quietly, he opened his door and took the few short steps across the hall, raising his fist. Remus’ door was open before his second knock.

“Oh, hey! What are you doing, coming knocking at this hour?” he didn’t even try to whisper, accompanying his statement with an over-exaggerated wink. Logan didn’t waste his time trying to shush the side.

“Good evening, I hope I’m not interrupting anything-”

“You know I don’t mind your ‘interruptions’, Twunk-y Megamind!”

“-But I was wondering if you would… Help me, again. I seem to be having a hard time getting to sleep, and I think that getting out some of my ideas could help.”

Remus’ face lit up dramatically.

“Oh hell yes! Are we gonna blow up more planets?”

“Something like that,” he kept his voice monotone, disguising the relief and hint of pride at such a positive reaction.

“Well, come on!”

Logan let himself be dragged into Remus’ room, barely having time to make note of the surprisingly organized layout before he was pulled through a sleek black door.

“But you have to tell me about it,” he ordered, twisting them through narrow paths in his half of The Imagination. Logan suppressed a smile.

“If you want to hear it, then I’m happy to.”

Without warning, they stopped the breakneck pace that Remus moved at. The trait seemed appeased with their surroundings, though as far as Logan could tell it was just another piece of ever-shifting ominous landscape.

Remus snapped his fingers. The scene remained intact.

“Sorry,” he glanced around nervously, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Can’t get ‘em out. I’ll get it, I just-”

“It’s no trouble.”

Logan rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t like using his ‘abilities’ much, as every side had some set of special skills, and all of them were much too ostentatious. But they were helpful, at times. He waved a hand, gesturing carefully so that he didn’t dismantle any more of The Imagination than was absolutely necessary. With a small stutter, the landscape shifted to a blank slate.

When he looked back up, Remus’ expression was not unlike that of a Cheshire cat.

“What was that?”

“I am Logic, therefore it follows that I am the antithesis to any Imagination creations. It’s very easy to erase them with just a bit of rationality.”

“No clue what a lot of those words meant, but it’s still cool that you can destroy shit.”

Laughing was unbecoming, to say the least, and so the logical trait tended to avoid it at all costs. The snort that escaped him was entirely involuntary.

If Remus noticed the noise, he said nothing about it. He was too busy bouncing from foot to foot, expectantly waiting for instructions. Logan cleared his throat of the outburst and clapped his hands together.

“Alright, let’s start with something simple…”

At his request, Remus would construct immaculately detailed creatures, settings, and models, watching gleefully at the ordeals Logan put each one through. They tested various and progressively elaborate ways to sink populated cruise liners, they simulated the effects of falling from the Empire State Building, dissected approximations of obscure marine animals (a shared special interest of theirs, apparently), and any of the other unrealistic questions that occurred to the typically rational Logic.

The only way to get such questions from his mind, he’d found out a long time ago, was deconstructing them one step at a time, to see them in their full ridiculousness.

It was also, he was coming to realize, incredibly fun.

Before the two knew it, the already late hour had turned unreasonable. Logan blinked owlishly at his watch, distracted from the tiny supernova that he’d created.

“Oh, I must have lost track of time,” four in the morning. Four in the morning!

“Aw, does that mean we’re done?” Remus whined, yet he still began unmaking his small star system.

Logan was suddenly very aware of the heaviness of his eyelids and a rubbery feeling in his limbs. God, was he tired.

“I’m afraid so. I really should’ve gone to sleep hours ago.”

“Fine,” Remus dragged the word out with a groan, “But let me know next time you wanna fuck with space, or deep sea stuff, or anything like that.”

Next time.

As much as Logan adored Roman, there was something very nice about having the more grim brother help him out with these experiments. For one, his creations were often much more accurate to the real world- likely because gore and destruction were that much more impactful when they were realistic. For two, he actually seemed to enjoy the work.

Logan’s deliberation was brief.

“I will.”

As it happened, the night spent delving into dozens of ideas had purged Logan’s need to use The Imagination, for the time being. Clearly, Remus was not patient enough to wait for him.

He popped up, unannounced, in Logic’s room.

“Lo!!!”

The trait in question fell out of his office chair in a very undignified way. Not that there’s a particularly dignified way to fall out of a chair, but if there was, this definitely wouldn’t have been it. He ‘ate shit’, as the saying goes.

Out of pure embarrassment, Logan made no move to get off the floor.

“Hello, Remus,” he greeted, “How may I help you?”

The Duke laughed raucously, sprawling into the now-unoccupied chair and leaning over him.

“You’re a riot, Dork,” then, added with glittering eyes, “Did you break anything?”

“No. Given that I am metaphysical, I’m not sure that I have bones.”

“I have bones!”

“Are they your bones?”

“They are bones and they are in my possession, yes.”

Logan let the subject drop and repeated his first question.

“Right, I forgot! I have an idea for an experiment!”

Logan thought that, despite his mild humiliation, it would probably benefit the conversation if he wasn’t lying on the ground, so he stopped doing that. Brushing mostly imaginary dust from his clothes, he shot Remus a bemused look.

“That’s nice. But I was asking you why you were here.”

The Duke’s face fell, almost imperceptibly.

“I thought you’d wanna know, because of what you said last time. Isn’t this, like, a thing we do now? You know how shit works, and I know how to make that shit, and then you can tell me about it!”

Oh.

“Remember when you were talking about radiation the other day? You can’t just say stuff like that and then not expect me to want to try it out, so really this is on you. It’d be dumb not to let you in on it.”

Oh.

He’d been listening to that rant? Moreover, he’d remembered it, and now had his own ideas and follow-up questions about it?

Logan felt light-headed.

“You’re probably too busy with work, huh? I guess my explosions don't have to be accurate, if you’re set on being boring,” Remus’ tone was nonchalant, but he was obviously lingering for attention. Logan then remembered that words are a thing, and people use them to communicate.

“No! I mean, yes- I mean, I’m not busy. I can join you, I- I’d like to, even,” the intelligent side heard a small voice in his head, his own miniature Virgil, screaming- what the fuck was that, get it together, Jesus, because he, despite what his fellow sides insisted, was absolutely nonfunctional when trying to form a friendship.

Remus didn’t seem to notice or care much past his own cheer.

“Cool!” he, yet again, wasted no time in seizing Logan’s arm and yanking him away, “I wanted to see what would happen to animals and plants and stuff bunches of years after lots of radiation! Do you think they’d mutate? Get all twisted and fucked up so that they aren’t even recognizable as, say, a dog?”

Logan considered the question as he was led through the Mindpalace.

“Well, nothing would be able to live there at all. Additionally, anything within a little under a mile of the nuclear fallout- depending on a few variables- would be completely incinerated upon impact.”

“Like, flesh-melting incinerated?”

“More like vaporized. The fireball would burn 10,000 times the heat of the sun.”

Remus went starry eyed, bringing them to a halt a mere five feet from the door.

“I wanna see that,” he waved his hands around at their surroundings, “Can you do the white-out thing?”

Logan, much less hesitant than last time, obliged. A small smile escaped him at the wondrous look on The Duke’s face. It was another form of expression he didn’t particularly care for, but containing his emoting was more trouble than it was worth by now. He couldn’t find it in him to care much either, for once.

“Where do we start?” Remus prompted.

“You tell me. I will help you make it as accurate as possible, and provide any insight that you want, but it is your idea,” and he wanted to hear more about those ideas. Odd and violent, mesmerizing and clever. There was so much that he wanted to hear about, to talk about, to puzzle out together.

Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone to share such interests with. Maybe, despite how deeply he cared for his ‘family’, as Patton called them- maybe it was never.

Remus chattered as he worked, disrupting the train of thought. Logan almost tuned it out- after all, everyone had grown perfectly used to The Duke’s rambling- but he caught himself. That was hardly how he should treat the side that was so strangely considerate to him, wasn’t it?

Logan listened from then on. He began to add on to the conversation, corrections and elaborations and actual questions, because he actually didn’t know some of it. He didn’t regret the choice.

By the end, Remus and Logan were sitting together in the smoldering ruins of their make-believe test town, exchanging notes for different variables they could use in the next trial. They only stopped when Logan was abruptly summoned away by Thomas. He excused himself, a bit apologetic, promising to visit again soon.

As he helped Thomas (with what really should have been a simple task, honestly), Logic wondered briefly about the origins of the hollow feeling that grew in his chest. Something distracted, longing, and unfamiliar.

And then the oven caught fire, and the only thing he felt was annoyance with the man that he was somehow a component of.

So, that was that- Logan and Remus were friends, now spent regular time together, and shared interests. By all accounts, it was a simple and obviously positive development.

But then there was Roman.

“What’s wrong with my work? You’d really prefer whatever edgy 12-year-old DeviantArt account nonsense that he thinks up?”

Logan set his book down with a sigh and looked over to his doorway, where Roman stood with his hands on his hips.

“Come in, Roman, and thank you for knocking,” he snarked. The Creative side made a vaguely sassy noise, trotting right in and flopping backwards onto the bed. Without closing the door, the monster.

“I thought that building your Weird Science contraptions was our thing.”

Logan made a show of standing up and manually shutting his door before responding.

“You don’t like my ‘contraptions’, as you call them.”

“Yeah, but I still made them for you! Because we’re friends, but I suppose you’ve forgotten all about that!”

He really should have expected the melodrama. And yet, Logan had lived in a delusional world where he didn’t care about the most Extra being on earth.

With an eye roll, Logic dropped down beside Roman on the bed- though he wasn’t half as flamboyant about it.

“I can have more than one friend.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be your favorite! We’re supposed to hang out together! Do the friendship bracelets I made mean nothing to you?”

He flung his arm across Logan’s chest, a ‘friendship bracelet’ clearly visible on his wrist (a loose usage of the term, given that it was a solid gold band with inlaid sapphires, because of course it was).

Logan held up his arm as well, showing that his (silver with inlaid rubies) was still very much in use, despite his distaste for jewelry.

“We hang out plenty. It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings by spending time with your brother. My reason for doing so is that he seems to take active enjoyment in building and learning about these things with me. He also makes very good conversation, in regards to the more, ah, eccentric experiments.”

Roman tossed his head to the side to watch Logan with narrowed eyes. After a pause, he linked their arms at the elbow.

“Yeah, you would think that. You’re secretly just as much of a weirdo as him.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh please, I can barely keep up with a word that either of you say,” Roman headbutted Logan’s shoulder in what was likely another of his odd displays of affection. He let his head rest there for a minute, a rare instance of peace before he inevitably resumed talking.

“Anyways-”

“Anyway,” Logan corrected.

“Anyways, if you nerds wanna talk about your weird, creepy experiments, then I guess that’s fine. But he isn’t allowed to co-opt anything else that we do together that we both actually like- no making fun of movies together, no Crofters jams, and no poetry-slash-rap battles.”

“Of course not, Roman. You will always be my favorite person to disagree with.”

“Love you, too,” Creativity bumped him again, then sat up to stretch. Logan snorted a laugh and considered shoving Roman off the bed, watching as he raised his arms up and straightened his back. Before the trait had the chance, unfortunately, his friend was already standing.

“Leaving already? Weren’t you just going on about spending time together?”

“Nah, that was all I wanted to yell at you about for now. I’ve gotta go help Pat with dinner.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you.”

“Thanks, I won’t.”

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Halfway out the door, Roman threw a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and whatever you two end up doing, do not give me the details. Please.”

Okay, finally, that really was that. Friendship established, blessings given, the end. A simple symbiosis.

Logan was thinking about the practical uses of medieval torture devices? Remus. He wanted to see exactly how long it would take your average healthy adult to succumb to drowning? Remus. Logan wanted to just rant, about anything and everything, his brain moving a mile a minute? Remus. They spent an inordinate amount of time together.

Occasionally, when he didn’t even have the energy to converse, he would sit down with a book in the commons when he knew Remus was there and let the trait’s never ending word-vomit wash over him. It was an odd sort of intimacy, but that fit within the theme of their dynamic. Like he said, simple symbiosis.

And that was when the not-very-platonic fondness grew. And Logan, to his own surprise, allowed it to.

After deep consideration he had seen no reason not to; Remus wouldn’t judge him, not ever. It put a name to the hollow longing that occurred whenever he, eventually, had to get back to work and part from their talks.

He hadn’t sorted out what to do about the feeling yet, but he felt no urgency.

Logan’s book lay forgotten in his lap, that morning being one of the quiet ones as he reflected on his unfamiliar emotions. It was almost nice, letting such affection curl up in his chest and settle there.

His contemplation was broken by a sharp jab to his shoulder.

“Are you listening to me?”

He tilted his head at Remus.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“What were you thinking about?” his eyes lit up, very obviously hoping for it to be something disgusting. Logan glanced away, given that he didn’t even like eye-contact in the best of circumstances.

“Nothing important. You have my attention now.”

Remus rolled his eyes with a huff, apparently genuinely irritated.

“Well now I forgot what I was saying.”

“Let’s backtrack: what were you talking about before?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fine, we can talk about something else.”

The irritation had grown to something unrecognizable to Logan- frustrating, given how closely he tried to study body language. He felt a stab of guilt as Remus stood up from his spot.

“It probably didn’t matter. I’m gonna go annoy Janus.”

“Oh,” Logan’s voice was small, “Alright, then.”

He was already gone.

That was… concerning. Not to mention bewildering; Remus didn’t just pass up opportunities to talk! He didn’t just leave, not even when he wasn’t wanted! Logan really hadn’t thought his zoning out would earn such a reaction.

But he was far from perceptive about emotional problems. There was no way to know if it was anything to throw a fit over. For all he knew, it was just an off-day. He couldn’t always expect his friend to be rambunctious and energetic, even if that was a big part of his personality.

The issue would likely resolve itself.

The issue did not do that. It did the polar opposite, speeding from mildly concerning to downright frightening at a whiplash-inducing pace.

Remus barely asked questions and almost never offered insight, as he usually did when they spent time together. In fact, his contributions had become rare and unenthusiastic enough that he could have passed as neurotypical, however disturbing the thought was. And that was when they did end up spending time together, which was becoming less and less often, much to the dismay of one significantly smitten smart side.

Something was very clearly wrong with Remus. Not the demented, destructive, mildly endearing and unhinged sort of wrong. It was the wrong sort of wrong.

Logan was hesitant to confront him outright. After a couple weeks of careful consideration, a more subtle solution occurred to him, as he idly flipped through a very graphic murder-mystery late into the night. Something bloody, and awful, and very much Remus’ taste. He set the novel down, knowing full well that his friend would be wide awake as he made his way across the hall.

“Remus?” he knocked at the side’s door, wearing a smile much wider than he usually liked. He was more than willing to express exuberance, if there was even the slightest chance that it would be infectious.

The door decidedly did not fly open. Rather, after a good deal of wrapping at it, Remus slowly pulled it back and poked his head out.

“Oh. Hey.”

Logan didn't dwell on the concern that reaction brought. He had something that would cheer Creativity up, of that he was sure.

“I have a test tonight- it’s going to be very messy,” he began, searching the impulsive trait’s eyes for any signs of interest. There was the slightest glint, but not much more.

“So, you want me to make stuff for you?” His speech was monotonous.

“Yes, that was the idea. It’s going to be gory.”

Hardly a reaction. All Remus did was open the door the rest of the way to allow Logan inside. Clearly, he had underestimated just how poorly his friend felt.

“Alright, I’ll set it up for you. Just don’t take too long, I was actually hoping to use my part of the Mindscape today.”

Logan nodded, very taken aback. He couldn’t ignore the slight hurt at the cold, dismissive tone (the irony of that wasn’t lost on him).

They stepped foot into The Imagination and immediately Remus stopped, destroying whatever had been in front of them- which was usually fine, it was just how he operated, but normally out of enthusiasm, not apathy. Maybe this was more than could be fixed with some blood and guts.

“What do you need?”

Logan conjured a tiny notebook, giving a tentative smile. Still, he was giving this plan a shot.

“Operating table,” one appeared before him, sleek metal with rolly legs, “A standard set of surgical tools,” he looked up to gauge Remus’ interest, but his expression still hadn’t changed as he continued to create, “A human corpse, and then we can get started.”

With a wave, a perfectly generic body fell onto the table, but Logan’s attention remained on The Duke.

“Great, have fun, let me know when you’re finished.”

Logan faltered, watching him turn to leave.

“You- you aren’t going to stay and do this with me?”

“You want me to?” Remus crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Logan with a gaze that could (figuratively) wilt flowers.

“I- Yes? If you aren’t at all interested right now, then I can save this experiment for another day?” Yeah, this wasn’t working, but Logan had no backup.

“No, no, don’t wait for me, you’ve already got everything you need, right?”

“I mean- technically, yes, but it- it wouldn’t be the same.”

Remus cackled, sounding quite like the cartoonish villain that he often acted as. It hurt to listen to.

“So that’s what this is about! Let me just fix you up, then!”

He snapped, and a blank humanoid form appeared at his side. It tilted its faceless head curiously at Logan, who recoiled.

“Not good enough? Is a hunk of nothing too unrealistic for you?” he snapped again, and the being suddenly transformed to match its creator exactly.

Nearly exactly: it wore an enthusiastic grin, eyes wide and sparkling, rather than the steadily building fire that raged in real-Remus’ eyes. It spoke in a disgustingly cheery tone.

“Wow, tell me more! Show me that again? What happens when you do that? You’re just so interesting, Lo!”

Remus watched the creation, a look of one part pride and a million parts resentment.

“Is that what you want? It’s just like me, but without any of the hassle of being another person that you have to deal with! And this one, you really can get rid of whenever you want, isn’t that great?”

Logan looked between the two, a fearful understanding creeping up his spine. There was something he was missing here, wasn’t there?

“No,” he muttered, half to the fake-Duke and half to the real one.

“No?” Remus spat, circling his mirror, “No, of course, you’re so right. This isn’t nearly enough.”

He made an elaborate gesture, and about a dozen more Creativities appeared, surrounding them. Logan stumbled back from them, nearly tripping on the operating table that they’d previously made. When he looked up, the real Remus was approaching him with an expression that fought its way between guilt and indignation. It was all at once heart-wrenching and frightening.

Logan tried to right himself, tried to look unaffected and certain of himself, as he raised his voice. He would not let this go a step farther, despite his confusion.

“Stop,” and with that, a wave rocked across The Imagination, and all was erased. In the aftermath he stood before a teary-eyed Remus (just the one, though), uncharacteristically looking like a stiff wind would knock him right over.

“What’s wrong? I gave you what you wanted!”

Logan reeled.

“Why would you think I wanted any of that?”

“You wanted an experiment, I gave you one! You wanted a willing audience, I gave you twelve! But I guess I just get everything wrong, right?”

“You know that isn’t true,” Logan felt choked, his words clumsy. It was foreign and horrible and disgusting, but he’d trudge through it all if it meant fixing whatever he’d done wrong. It couldn’t have just been him losing focus once? Could it?

“Oh, of course, I do just enough to be useful. So I’ve got that right; I’m a good utensil. Is it so much to ask that people would care about me, not just what I can do?” he posed a rhetorical oozing with vitriol, but it quickly evaporated into something much more desperate, “What if it’s my fault? It was my idea, I wanted to help. I don’t know why I thought you’d care past all that, did I give you a reason to? I can’t remember. It might make more sense that way, if I were the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Logan was running out of time to fix this, watching Remus curl in on himself, barely keeping from falling to the floor. He had no clue how The Duke had reached the conclusion that he didn’t care about him! They spent nearly all their free time together: sitting next to each other just to have the company, throwing each other tricky and often troubling questions to answer, constantly toiling away at things in The Imagination. Sometimes, they didn’t even need to talk, they just worked together in rapt silence; Remus did the creating and Logan arranged his work just so, and- Wait. Wait. Wait.

Logan didn’t need to talk, or touch, for that matter. Perhaps it was a mistake to presume the same for such a needy, affectionate, boisterous side?

No, not perhaps, it was a huge mistake. A major fuck-up, if you will.

He’d thought, if the blunt side had needed such comforts, surely he would initiate it? He hardly shied away from anything, except, well.

Except. Feelings.

God, he was the dumbest smart person in the world.

“Oh, Remus…”

The Duke’s head jerked up, continuing his back-and-forth of desperation and rage.

“I don't need your pity!”

Logan sighed, twisting the end of his tie in frustration.

“That isn't what I'm offering,” he took a breath before continuing, linking the words together so it would come out right. “I'm so sorry, I didn't take into account how you would interpret our interactions. I thought it was obvious that I cared for you, that I didn't need to say it outright. Clearly… I was wrong. So, if you need more than what I previously expressed- which I'm now realizing was very little in the eyes of someone who is not me- then I am happy to provide that for you.”

Remus was shaken, a good deal of his ire slipping away. Whether that was good or bad remained unclear.

Before it could be overthought, Logan crossed the remaining few feet between them and brought his arms around The Duke in his loose approximation of a hug. The trait froze, but he didn't pull away.

Physical affection, check.

“I value your companionship more than I'm entirely sure how to verbalize. You understand me in a way that most others don’t seem to. While your ability to make detailed creations is very helpful, it is hardly the only thing I appreciate about you.

“For one, you make me laugh. A lot. More than I'm used to. Additionally, you can easily match the pace with which I speak, or change topics! And, you are so much smarter than you make yourself out to be,” Logan finished the spiel with a smile, genuinely proud at his ability to articulate such… sentimental things, with relative ease. Words of affirmation, check.

He snapped back to attention when Remus brought shaking hands up to Logan's chest. For a moment, he worried that Remus would shove him away. The fears dissipated when all he did was bunch the front of Logan's shirt in his hands and hold on tight.

“Do you mean that,” his volume was low, “Or do you just want me to calm down?”

Logan tightened his grip around him and, following a motion that he'd seen Patton employ many times to great success, he rubbed up and down his back.

“I understand that it might be hard for you to trust me, but I promise I'm not lying to you. I would have to be pretty awful to do something like that, wouldn't I?”

Hesitantly, Remus nodded against his collar. A good sign, but there was one thing left he had to say.

“And- If you need further convincing- then you should know. I love you.”

Remus stilled. He then unfisted his hands from Logan's shirt. It was an anticipatory second before he threw his arms around the logical trait and finally returned the hug. His hold was crushing, and it was the most comforting thing that Logan had ever felt.

They were okay.

“I'm sorry I-”

Logan didn’t let him finish the apology.

“Don't be. You didn't know how I felt, because I hadn't communicated it in a way you understood. That is hardly your fault.”

Remus nodded again, remaining much quieter than he’d probably ever been in his entire existence.

They held each other for longer than either would like to admit, speaking softly.

“Thanks,” was muttered against Logan’s shoulder.

“Of course. Just so you know, I'm more than willing to do this again whenever you need reassurance.”

“It might be a lot,” his tone was turning more mischievous, more him, “Are you sure you can handle that?”

“Absolutely.”

Logan hardly minded having an opportunity to gush about Remus to Remus. Not to mention, the physical affection was even nicer than he'd imagined it being. And oh, had he imagined it.

Remus' face returned to his usual ever-present zeal, and he ended their hug to bounce in place.

“Great! I'm good now! We can get on with that autopsy you wanted to show me- there better be buckets of blood!”

Logan shifted his weight.

“Maybe we should save that for another day.”

“Oh,” Remus' face fell the smallest bit, “Okay.”

Logan was quick to amend:

“By that I mean, I have something better in mind.”

Remus curled himself up in Logan’s lap, his eyes barely focused on the TV as the side carded his hands through his tangled mop of hair. Final Destination 3 played on the television (he had assured Logan that they didn't need to see the first two, and he was mostly right), serving as an excuse for the two to drink in each other's company.

It was right in the middle of a particularly graphic rollercoaster scene that Remus took Logan's hands from his hair to hold them, twisting around to face him.

“Is something wrong, Remus?”

“You told me you loved me,” he stated blankly.

“Yes, I did.”

“I didn't say it back!”

“No, you didn't,” it hadn't been the most important matter at the time, really. “You don't have to say it. It's perfectly okay if you don't feel the s- Mmph!”

Remus smashed their lips together, holding the sides of Logan's face (disrupting his glasses in the process) and pulling him forward harshly.

Logan, for less than a second, was floored. And then Remus tilted his head to deepen the already heated kiss, and the situation properly clicked. Logan reciprocated, slightly uncertain in his movements, wrapping his arms around the other’s waist.

Remus smiled against him. He nipped at Logan's lower lip with sharpened teeth, eliciting a very embarrassing yelp. Logic let his lips part in response as his thoughts grew fuzzier by the second.

The (somewhat clumsy) open-mouthed kiss lasted right until they absolutely had to break, separating for air. Neither moved very far, letting their foreheads rest against each other and all but panting for breath.

“I love you so fuckin' much, nerd,” when Remus spoke, their lips brushed ever so slightly, “Just so you know.”

“I picked up on that, yes.”

“A little clarity never hurts, right?”

Logan chuckled at the reference to his own sentiments, but the sound was abruptly cut off when Remus kissed him properly again.

When they broke apart, he explained how 'stupid-cute' that laugh was. And Logan, only half-joking (since when did he joke at all?), said that he’d have to do it more often.

Banter came easily to them, despite the raw undercurrent that still laced their conversation. Although, neither of them had ever found it difficult to talk; talk about the first thing that came to mind and the last thing that would come to anyone’s mind, talk about exceedingly simple nonsense and topics so intricate that they wound up sounding like nonsense, just talk.

So things would stay mostly the same. They would ramble to each other when no one else could stand to hear such disturbing things. They would sit, working side by side, running through plans and ideas and results at rapid-paced speech. They’d speak, and they would listen, when even their closest friends couldn’t manage such patience.

Only now, sometimes the rushed words might turn soft. Now, all that ranting might be more substantial than anyone would at first see. Now, they’d still listen, but leaned close together, gazes impossibly fond.

But then, on occasion, they would find that there were things far more fun than talking to do together.

@shrimp-crockpot

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entity9silvergen · 3 years

Text

Oblique- Chapter 1 (Sanders Sides Fanfiction)

Chapter 1 of 3. Full story and summary here. Also find it here on Ao3.

Story Info:

Summary: Unable to experience romantic attraction, Remus feels incomplete. Unable to feel sexual attraction, Roman feels less than. Maybe as the King, they decide, they will feel whole again. Their partners and friends, however, know this isn’t the solution and seek to help them realize there’s nothing broken about them before it’s too late.

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil, Nate, Remy, Emile, Seth, Toby, Janus, Remus, Unnamed Orange Side, Romulus, Dragon Witch

Relationships: Logan/ Patton, Virgil/ Roman, Janus/ Remus, Remy/ Emile, Toby/ Seth, Nate/ Orange Side

Other Tags: AroWriMo, Aromantic Remus, Asexual Roman, Spider Virgil, Snake Janus, Orange Side, 7th Side, Additional Sides, No OCs, Short Vid Characters

Author’s Note: This was written for AroWriMo 2021. I’ve actually had it planned since April of last year but never wrote it until now. I originally intended for it to go with the Week 3 Prompt (Hope and Mirror) but it kind of drifted.

This fic takes place in Thomas’s mind and there are four of each kind of Side (light, dark, neutral).

The Light Sides live upstairs. They are Logan (Logic), Patton (Morality), Roman (Creativity/ Fantasy), and Emile (Self-Esteem) as well as Virgil (Anxiety) who left the Dark Sides to be with the Light Sides.

The Neutrals live on the main floor we see in videos. They are Nate (Patience/ Procrastination), Remy (Self-Care/ Sleep), Seth (Adaptability), and Toby (Courage).

The Dark Sides live downstairs. They are Janus (Deceit), Remus (Dark Creativity/ Intrusive Thoughts), and OJ (Spite). As mentioned, Virgil was previously a Dark Side.

None of these characters are OCs. Emile is Emile Picani from Cartoon Therapy, Nate is Nathan Christopher/ Slo-Mo Guy/ Procrastination from the short vids, Remy is Sleep from the short vids, Seth is Seth Ember/ September from the short vids, Toby is October from the shirt vids, and OJ is the currently unnamed 7th side (We call him orange juice on the Sanders Sides subreddit so OJ is an allusion to that).

Dark Sides also have animal attributes in this story. Janus is a snake, Remus is an octopus, Virgil is a spider, and OJ is a badger.

Warnings for this chapter: Fighting

=============

It was dark. Darker than it normally was.

There was a hum in the air. Eerie, mysterious. Almost like static. Something neither of them were used to but it was familiar deep down.

It was telling them they shouldn’t be here. Not right now.

They ignored it.

The lighter figure stumbled down the stairs, seeming almost surprised to see a darker shape slinking up from the basement, almost mirroring him. They stared at each other for a few moments but neither drew their weapons. They hadn’t seen each other in a long time and hadn’t been at peace for even longer but a mutual understanding ran between them.

Eyes watched them and the room seemed to listen. It made them uneasy, filling them with the need to leave or cower away. But they were more afraid of what would happen if they turned away and too curious to listen to the signs warning them away. The same thing was on each of their minds and it was almost too late to turn away.

Both were visibly upset but the shadows obscured any tear tracks and the static hid any sobs. Still, they could sense the distress within each other. And they knew how to make it stop.

There was hesitance on both sides. They knew what they were doing, what they had to do, and yet they held back. There were a million questions in the air and the answers to none.

It wasn’t until the lighter figure offered a hand that they reached a decision.

That he reached a decision.

===========================

Logan’s attention was drawn from his book by a loud crash.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, living with so many others in the mind palace and all. Roman was always slashing things with his sword, OJ often swatted cups off tables out of passive aggression or just plain boredom, Toby and Remus were always wrestling, Nate was terrible at catching things and Seth never failed to forget, and Patton was just clumsy in general. Emile usually kept them calm and Virgil’s dislike for loud noises was often enough to keep the mind palace in one piece but the other Sides were always an endless distraction for Logan and his work.

Today, however, was not one of those times the noise seized quickly.

In fact, it only seemed to get worse.

It got to the point that Logan had to get up and go downstairs to see what was making the racket, something he rarely did. Where was Patton? Or Emile? Keeping the others from destroying their home was their job, not his.

He expected to see Remus riding a roomba. Or Nate trying to steal Remy’s coffee. Or Toby and Roman jousting with mops instead of cleaning. He did not expect to see Janus and Virgil, fangs and arachnid legs out, full on brawling in the living room.

Shockingly, Patton and Emile weren’t trying to stop them. From Logan’s observation, Patton seemed quite distressed at the sight of Virgil in his spider form and Emile was trying to distract him. Logan’s colder side wanted to shake them and tell them to ignore their feelings to focus on what was important but his more human side could understand. Virgil was truly terrifying when he was like this: thick, hairy legs sprouted from his back, his eyes seemed to glow with something primal, and his mouth morphed into something truly grotesque to look at. Janus too. His transformation was less extreme but his sharpened scales were still strange to look at. Eyes gleaming with yellow and hunger and movements faster and more serpentine, his presence was a bit disturbing. As much as Logan wanted to, he couldn’t blame them from keeping out of the fight.

He at least expected one of the others to step in. Not all of them weren’t fighters but they were at least more prepared than Patton and Emile. None of the neturals seemed concerned though. Actually, it looked like Nate, Seth, Remy, and Toby were taking bets. Logan would have scolded them if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand.

Logan looked around for Roman and Remus but the twins were nowhere to be seen so his gaze fell on OJ. The Side seemed disinterested from where he was seated casually on the staircase leading to the basement but his eyes betrayed him. The disinterest was a facade, his eyes were sharp with interest.

Logan met the Dark Side’s gaze, trying to convey his alarm and confusion. OJ simply shrugged and gestured loosely at the fight. Janus had his back pressed to the floor and his feet against Virgil’s chest, keeping him from punching or snapping at his face but the anxious side’s long spider legs were still free to batter his foe.

Janus was just starting to wrestle Virgil off him when Logan decided to step in. “Enough!”

Logan knew his voice could be enough to offset anyone if he wanted it to. He’d shouted enough falsehoods to know it was a tactic that would likely be successful. And it was this time as well. Virgil and Janus looked up, startled, and stopped long enough for Toby and Nate to step in and grab them by the shoulders, pulling them away from each other.

Both were still glaring and hissing. Logan put up a hand to silence them. “Can you breathe in for four seconds?”

“We don’t need to do breathing exercises, Logan,” Virgil snapped, voice distorted, as he wretched free from Toby’s grip. Thankfully, he didn’t move to attack Janus. “We know what we’re doing.”

“Then why were you fighting?” Logan asked. “Dark and Light Sides don’t usually come to the Neutral Zone at the same time.”

Janus’s face flashed with guilt while OJ feigned innocence. It wasn’t a set rule but Light and Dark Sides generally avoided mutual space if there were others there. If everyone was in a good mood, there were times they would share the space but it was rare.

“Roman’s missing,” Virgil said, glaring at Janus and OJ. His arachnid qualities were receding but he still looked angry. “I’ve been looking for days. There’s no reason he’d disappear unless the Dark Sides did something.”

“And I’m telling you Remus is missing,” Janus responded. Nate let go of him and the snake crossed his arms. He still looked tense. “Why would we take Roman? We have better things to worry about. Quit blaming us for stuff and back off.”

Logan silently cursed himself for not being more observant. He hadn’t even noticed Roman and Remus were missing. Well, he wouldn’t have noticed Remus’s absence, being a Dark Side and all, but he would’ve noticed if Roman was gone. Should have noticed. How long had it been? What had he been doing?

“Oh this is what this is about?” Remy piped up, taking a long sip of his ever-present coffee before continuing. “They met up here a few days ago and went off to the dreamspace together.”

“...What?” Janus and Virgil said in unison, giving the recalcitrant Side hard stares.

“Um, yeah, gurls. It was, like, the middle of the night and they talked for a bit before going off,” Remy said, shrugging. “No need to get all hissy about it. They’re fine.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Virgil exploded but at least now he wasn’t trying to attack anyone. “We’ve been looking for days!”

“Chill, gurl. You never mentioned it. I thought you knew. Normally they tell you before they come to my domain.”

“Well, they didn’t tell us,” Janus said, sounding annoyed yet distracted. His face was wrinkled in thought and it took Logan a moment to catch on.

“Should we be concerned then?” Logan asked. The other Sides turned to look at him. As per usual, Logan felt pride well up in him knowing the others were listening but he tried to ignore it. “They left without warning, which normally wouldn’t be alarming but there has been no sign of them for days. Wouldn’t that imply something happened to them? Perhaps they went to Remy’s dreamspace to fight and rendered each other unable to continue.”

“Oh no! My poor kiddos!” Patton wailed, startling Logan. He’d almost forgotten the other Sides were there.

“Chances are they’re fine. Roman and Remus know how to avoid getting hurt and Remy didn’t say they sounded angry,” Emile pointed out. He was still frowning though. “But maybe we should send someone to check on them?”

“We should just leave them to duke it out. They’ll be fine,” OJ said, inspecting his fingernails boredly. He pointed in Patton’s direction, not even looking up to see the father figure’s excited expression. “No pun intended, daddio.”

Logan ignored them and looked to Remy expectantly. The Side rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. I’ll take some of you to the dreamspace. Hissyfits, Lo-bitch, come on.”

Janus and Virgil looked a bit peeved by the nicknames but followed Remy without question. Logan sighed and spared the remaining Sides a glance. “Will one of you retrieve us if the twins return while we’re gone?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Toby responded, ignoring OJ. “Don’t stress it, man.”

Satisfied, Logan nodded and turned away, following Remy into the place of Thomas’s dreams.

==================

“Do you guys think Roman and Remus are getting along again?”

Patton’s voice sliced through the silence, drawing everyone’s attention. After Remy and the others left, the rest remained in the living room rather than returning to their rooms. They largely ignored each other but unspoken worry hovered among them. They would wait this out here.

“I didn’t see anything,” Seth spoke up, the other Neutral Sides humming their agreement. “Remy’s got a weird sleep schedule. He sees all kinds of stuff we don’t but I think he’d mention it if anything changed with the twins.”

“It’s probably a coincidence,” OJ added. “Janus and Remus were screwing that night. I doubt Remus would go to his brother after that. Weird.”

“How do you know that?”

“What is sc-”

“I think Roman and Virgil were just having a quiet night,” Emile interrupted before Patton could finish his question or OJ could respond to Seth. He really didn’t want to know. “I don’t really know what those two do but it’s unusual Roman would come downstairs in the middle of the night, isn’t it? Wouldn’t he stay with Virgil? Or return to his room?”

“I don’t think there’s much use thinking about it,” Toby said, pulling a device from his pocket. “Now, I’m going to play some Pokemon. We can ask Roman and Remus what’s up when they get back.”

The other Sides didn’t look satisfied but no one argued. The others would be back soon. They could figure it out then. Right?

=======================

Remy usually didn’t take people to the dreamspace.

It was his domain. Sure, Roman and Remus contributed a lot but they had their own spaces. They were in charge of Thomas’s imagination. Everything about sleep was Remy’s and no one else's. Logan and Patton had memories, Virgil and Toby patrolled the place of Thomas’s fears, each Side had their own thing. And Remy loved his. It was weird to have someone intrude on his space.

He understood the necessity though. Still, couldn’t the others be a bit nicer?

Janus and Virgil were bickering since the moment they entered and Logan wasn’t even trying to stop them. How rude.

“Hush up, gurls,” Remy said after a while. “You don’t want to be too loud here.”

“And why is that?”

A loud roar cut through the terrain.

“Because of that.”

Virgil, Janus, and Logan peered at the horizon, not seeing anything. The dreamspace looked very much like the Imagination or the real world but it had this fake, fuzzy quality that only the things of dreams could have. It was similar to reality and recognizable enough but it was different enough that it could be jarring to those who weren’t used to it. That was the only reason Remy was forgiving when the other Sides failed to see the approaching Dragon Witch until it was practically on top of them.

The beast screamed and plunged out of the sky, making the ground shake like an earthquake when she landed. A clean thirty feet tall, she towered over the Sides. Remy opened up his mouth to try to reason with her but a malicious glint in her eye told him that she wasn’t in a talking mood today.

Wings beat the air as claws scored the earth. Virgil’s spider form took over and he used his long spider legs to vault himself and the others to safety. “What the fuck is that?!”

“The Dragon Witch,” Remy responded as he slipped out of Virgil’s grip and began scrambling away. “She’s normally not like this!”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Janus snarked. His scales grew more prominent and his eyes became sharper as he prepared to fight. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Virgil, try to climb up her neck and onto her face. Blind her, at least partially,” Logan instructed, taking charge easily. “Janus, draw her attention and see if you can get some of your venom in her.”

Janus eyed the Dragon Witch’s scales dubiously. “I am not breaking my teeth on that thing.”

“Just fight, Deceit,” Virgil snapped as he launched himself into the air and grappled his way onto the Dragon Witch’s shoulder. She didn’t even notice his presence, allowing him to climb up her neck with no obstacles thrown his way.

Remy ducked behind a rock, dragging Logan with him, as Janus coiled around the dragon’s blows and tried to snake his way to her soft underbelly. Out of the four present Sides, Virgil and Janus were most suited for battle but even they didn’t have much of a chance against such a creature. The Dragon Witch was powerful, both as a dragon and a witch. Together, her two halves made her a formidable foe.

“Is this a common occurrence?” Logan asked as he grabbed a small, sharp rock in his fist. Remy didn’t know what he planned to do with that but whatever made him feel better. “Do you frequently run into this, eh, Dragon Witch?”

Remy shook his head. “She’s one of Roman’s creations. Most of the time she keeps to herself or at least stays peaceful. I can’t remember the last time she got like this. I have no idea what’s got her so worked up.”

Logan looked like he wanted to comment but chose not to and refocused on the fight. The other Sides seemed to be doing well. As much as they hissed and spat at each other, they worked like a well oiled machine. Virgil was using his spiderlegs to jab the Dragon Witch in the eye, distracting her long enough to let Janus coil up her leg. He wasn’t doing much damage at the moment but soon he would have access to the vulnerable parts of her massive form.

It looked to be going well until it wasn’t.

Remy knew he should have expected that. The Sides were more than human but they were still far from equals to a mystical beast like a Dragon Witch. For all their efforts, they only seemed to be agitating her further and soon she grew too tired of them to bother any longer.

The Dragon Witch roared and bellowed before slapping her thick, scaly tail against the ground. A wave of magic radiated from her form and knocked the two Sides clean off her.

It hit Logan and Remy as well, shattering the rock they were hiding behind. Remy yelped as he was thrown back, shielding his face from stone shrapnel, and hit the ground roughly. Both his and Logan’s glasses were knocked from their faces. Logan flailed for them the moment, unable to see without them, while Remy just laid there, stunned, and blinked rapidly until his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. His eyes unused to being uncovered but he could survive without his sunglasses. He quickly scrambled up to try to see what happened to Janus and Virgil.

Janus and Virgil were on the ground, floored and disoriented. The Dragon Witch was looming over them, snarling and angry. Remy tried to get up and shout a warning but his voice broke and came out dry and hoarse. It surprised him, somewhat, but the shock from the blast was still ringing in his head too much for him to dwell on it.

A spike of fear pumped through Remy’s veins as the Dragon Witch lifted a paw, primed to strike. He got to his feet, mind and body screaming for him to get his friends to safety, but he knew he was too slow. The Dragon Witch was going to crush them.

Then, a battle cry sounded.

A human battle cry.

Remy looked up to see a figure standing on a cliff overlooking the battlefield. Momentarily blinded by the sun behind him, Remy couldn't quite make out any distinguishable features. Without his sunglasses, he could really only see the flowing cape draped over his shoulders.

The man- it was definitely a man, Remy knew that much- drew a weapon in each hand and flung himself off the cliff. Remy wanted to scream but the man seemed to know what he was doing and landed flat on the Dragon Witch’s face.

The Dragon Witch roared and the man matched it. Remy watched them for a moment before his mind caught up with his body and he remembered his friends. He tore his gaze away and sprinted across the landscape. He reached Janus first, grabbing him by the back of the coat, and dragged him until he managed to get a grip on Virgil’s hoodie as well.

“Gurls, why are you so heavy?” Remy grunted as he tried his best to pull the two Sides to safety. They seemed dazed from the fall and Remy really hoped they weren’t concussed. He really didn’t want to deal with that right now. At least he had Logan here if they were but Logan could be concussed for all he knew.

“Roman,” Virgil groaned, head lolling a bit as Remy jostled him.

“Yeah, I know, gurl. We’ll find Roman soon.”

“No, I need to help him.”

Remy didn’t pause to figure out what he meant by that until he’d reached Logan. The logical Side was sitting up and had his glasses back on, looking overall okay. Remy swiftly dropped Virgil and Janus beside them, making them both yelp, and turned back to the battlefield to confirm his suspicions.

The man was tall and broad. Sturdier and better built than Remy or any of the other Sides on the ground around him. Maybe even more so than Roman and Remus. His clothes were a deep grey, an unusual color to see on someone in the mindscape, and he wielded both a sword and a morningstar. That made Remy uneasy. He didn’t quite know why but it felt wrong.

“Remus!” Janus called out, sitting up as the man ran across the beast’s snout to slam his morningstar into her eye. Remy opened his mouth to tell him that the man wasn’t Remus but the words died on his tongue. Who knew who he was? It could very well be the stinky Side for all he knew.

The man was fast and quite skilled. He scaled the dragon’s giant form and slammed down hard at various points on his way down. Remy didn’t know if Dragon Witches had pressure points but the man’s attacks seemed to be doing a fair amount of damage, judging by her roars. Remy really believed he might win this.

The Dragon Witch put up a fair fight, of course. She snarled and swiped but the man seemed to be holding on pretty well. It was only when she reared back and began swinging her wings that he lost his balance. Still, he managed to hold his own pretty well. Unlike Janus and Virgil, the fall didn’t seem to faze him. Maybe it was because he’d already managed to weaken the Dragon Witch so much.

Janus, Virgil, and Logan were on their feet by the time the newcomer managed to bring the Dragon Witch to his level. She was still fighting but she didn’t quite stand as tall anymore and Remy was pretty sure she knew she was losing.

Then the newcomer stopped.

He wasn’t giving up. No, that was clear. He was still in a fighting stance. But he didn’t seem to be fighting anymore? At least not with his weapons. He was just… looking at the Dragon Witch really intensely. And she was too. It was like they knew something the other Sides didn’t.

Reality seemed to ripple around them and the Dragon Witch suddenly vanished.

Remy sensed Janus and Virgil exchanging a confused glance behind him but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the figure. Now alone on the former battlefield, Remy could see him much more clearly but he still couldn’t make out who he was. Was it Roman, with his sword? Or Remus, with his morningstar? It had to be one of them. Right?

“You need to be more careful,” a steady voice boomed as the figure turned around. Remy heard Logan gasp behind him but it took a moment for Remy to realize why. “You never know what you’ll run into here.”

The man began walking towards them and a feeling of recognition and dread flashed between the four Sides. It was only when the broad, bearded figure was standing right in front of them that any of them were able to stutter out his name.

“R-Romulus.”

The King had returned.

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Author’s Note: This has multiple chapters. I planned to write and post them all this week but that didn’t happen so I will just be posting chapter 1 this week. Next chapter and the following one will focus more on the prompt and aspec themes.

Next Chapter

#fanfiction #sanders sides #chapter 1

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poptod · 4 years

Text

Say My Name (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You’re a harpist that gets noticed by the Prince, to your own terror. The prince is only trying to get your affection - but you simply won’t break the rules. You won’t even say his name. After all, it’s not allowed.

Prompt: Harp

Notes: Okay so recently (just now) I realized I can post my long fics! When I first came to Tumblr I couldn’t post them due to length, but now I can! I used to write big, long fics all the time, but it turns out people prefer smaller, more frequent fics, and since it takes me around three weeks to churn one of these babies out I’ll probably stick to my shorter fics. Gender neutral again, your name is Nour for historical reasons :) Also, I wrote this before I found out how Ahk was killed, so apologies. Enjoy!

AO3 Link: Say My Name

Word Count: 11.9k

It wasn’t your place to say a thing. In fact, if you did say a thing, you might get punished for it. Yet that was the partial beauty of him - if you mentioned your observations to him, and him alone, he would take it in stride. You hadn’t ever spoken to him before, never met him, but you’d heard rumours. Still, you continued playing your instrument, avoiding his gaze.

Celebrations such as this (a birthday) were one of your favorite things to do, despite how stressful they were. Constant pressure from superiors, a near command to memorize complicated music. Oftentimes, you felt you hadn’t picked the right career. Other times, you saw yourself doing nothing else.

The prince continued to stare at you, his gaze menacing. He hardly ever looked at you like that, or anyone for that matter. It led you to the conclusion that most likely, he was not directing his anger at you, which only raised more questions.

You were not allowed to leave in order to eat, or drink, or take a break. You and your ‘band’ were the best players that the palace had; thus the orders were to play till the last guest left. Because of this order, you could not ask the prince. You shouldn’t anyway, you knew that very well. You weren’t even supposed to look at him. Yet with such piercing eyes set upon you, it was a little hard to follow orders.

The birthday celebrations lasted long into the night, and you continued to play until the last guest left, leaving only the royal family. A mother and a father, friendly in stature and cruel in rulings, an elder son looking highly displeased, and a younger son, deep in thought.

“You may stop,” the Queen told you, and you did not meet her eye. You bowed low, packing your instruments up.

“Harpist,” the prince’s voice called you, and you turned, eyes fixated on the floor. It was beginning to look very interesting. “I’d like to discuss some things with you,” he said. His mother whispered something to him, and he whispered back, louder, though still indiscernible.

“Yes, my prince,” you said, bowing. You turned back around, eyes wide, face red with embarrassment. You finished packing up, and as your friends left, they pat you on the shoulders comfortingly. A weak way of apologizing for whatever fate you were about to face.

The prince turned down a hallway, golden robe trailing behind him. You looked around confused. Were you to follow him? His mother quickly gestured at him, frowning at you. You bowed quickly, following him down the hallway.

Torches lined the painted walls, giving light to the stories that had been etched there. Your eyes followed the stories, the marvelous art that you hardly ever got to see in your daily life. Eventually he turned into a room, and you followed, your instrument still in its’ case by your side.

He turned quickly around to you, watching as you set the case down. He caught your eye, and your eyes zipped down to the floor.

“No, don’t do that,” he said, practically floating over, lifting you by the chin so you could meet his eyes.

You’re pretty sure you might’ve blacked out for a good two seconds. You weren’t allowed to know what he looked like. You weren’t supposed to see his face, and by all that was holy you were not supposed to touch him.

“I need your advice,” he said, now heading towards the balcony. You did not follow him, thinking it would suffice that you could hear him from the large doorway. He did not seem to agree, as he beckoned you over. You bowed your head a little, following his command, soon standing at his side.

“Do you have any siblings?” He asked you, looking up at the sky. You stared at the ground as you spoke.

“No, my prince,” you answered simply, addressing him properly.

“Do not call me that,” he said firmly, and you watched as his hands gripped tighter around the edge of the balcony. You took a deep breath, feeling your body shake. “You may simply refer to me by my name.”

You nodded, though didn’t fully process his request.

“My brother,” he started quietly, tensing and intending his muscles. “I am worried he will do something rash. What do you suppose I should do?”

Why in the world was he asking you for advice?

“Pardon my questioning,” you said, knowing you shouldn’t at all be asking this, “but why do you request my advice? I am just a citizen.”

“That is exactly why,” he said, and he turned to face you. Knowing the demand before he pronounced it, you looked at him. You hoped the fear was not evident on your face.

“Why would the prince do something rash?” You inquired, tightening your grip on the railing.

“He has been angry recently. I’m not sure why, but when he gets angry for long periods of time, he tends to end up murdering people,” he said quickly, intaking a shaky breath.

“I think you’re stressed,” you said before you thought about it. He turned to you, looking a little surprised.

Ah, so this was how you were going to die.

“I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled, looking to the ground as if he were ashamed. Why would he be ashamed in front of you?

He looked back up at you.

“Do you have any suggestions for stress relief?”

“My prince, I really do not believe this is appropriate-“

“My name?” He asked of you, and hesitantly, you obeyed.

“Ahkmen, this isn’t appropriate,” you told him flat out, no more beating around the bush. He nodded in agreement.

“Fun things are seldom ever appropriate,” he said with a smirk, grabbing your wrist and leading you back into the room. You might’ve blacked out again. He led you to his bed, where he sat, making sure you stood exactly in front of him. He grabbed both your hands, holding them in his.

“Would you mind playing your harp again, for me? A private performance,” he asked quietly, a tenderness you didn’t expect very apparent in his eyes. Hesitantly you nodded, releasing yourself from his grip and wandering over to your case. You took it out, wondering where you could sit in order to play it. Deciding against asking for a seat, or heavens forbid sitting next to him, you kneeled on the ground. The rounded end of the harp let it fall onto your left shoulder, and you plucked out a melody. The sharp and staccato sound was pleasant to your ears, but you’d heard a great deal of it already that night. You took some liberty, changing up a few of the tunes and chords, stroking the strings a tad different than usual.

“You play beautifully,” he commented near the end of your piece. You smiled up at him, before directing your attention back to the music, not wanting to lose concentration.

“Do you sing as well?” He asked, moving to lie back against the pillows of his bed. You shrugged. Yes, you sang, but you weren’t a singer. You told him this, and he told you to sing for him.

“If you don’t mind,” he added at the end. You nodded once more, starting on a lullaby that you knew very well. It was comparatively short next to your last piece, and when you finished, he asked you where you had picked it up.

“My mother used to sing it to me,” you informed him quietly, putting the harp back into its’ case.

“My mother sang me songs sometimes. Oftentimes it was other women,” he said, sitting up properly. “Sit next to me,” he asked of you, and you obeyed. There was no hesitation in your movements, realizing at this point he was trying to make your life difficult by bending rules that you didn’t have a desire to bend. The faster you listened to him and obeyed, the faster the night would end, and the faster you’d be able to breathe again.

“Spend the night with me,” he requested. You felt yourself mentally draw the line right there.

“That is not appropriate, my prince, I must leave now,” you said, hands shaking and voice reverberating your fear into him. You immediately stood up, briskly walking over to the door where your harp lay safely in its’ case.

“At least let me say good bye,” he said hurriedly, getting up after you. He grabbed your wrist before you could reach your case, pulling you towards him. You turned to face him, bright red and highly embarrassed.

“I will see you again,” he said, and your eyes immediately directed to his lips. He raised your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, watching you intently the entire time. You stopped breathing momentarily.

“G - good bye,” you said quickly, pulling your hand away, grabbing your harp, and leaving. You avoided the stares of palace workers and officials as you left, keeping your head down as you were taught to, until you reached more common streets.

You blacked out once you reached home, collapsing onto your bed.

Two days later, you’d achieve the same state of terror, or more, as you had two nights before. Palace guards showed at your door, giving you a notice that you were to present yourself to the royal family. Your roommate congratulated you, but you felt the opposite reaction was called for. Stress such as this was not a thing you handled easily.

Nevertheless, you presented yourself, with your instrument, as they had told you. A man you did not know, dressed extravagantly, informed you that you were to become a private musician for one of the princes. You nodded, sort of expecting that.

You respected the royal family. It wasn’t that which made you sour, or the fact that your servants quarters were shared with four other people when you originally lived with only one other person. You didn’t mind leaving your possessions behind.

Your problem was that you could get caught. The prince was the one being rash, doing things he aught not to do, things that could get him punished and you killed. Unfortunately, you had a thing about death, where you sort of didn’t want to die. Sounded a painful, unpleasant experience all around.

Later that evening, after mulling about in your new room alone, you were ordered to the young princes room. They never spoke his name, you noticed, and you realized how much worse that made the fact that you had called him by his name at least once.

You knocked once on the door, it being loud enough that you didn’t feel the need to knock again. A voice from inside called, ‘come in,’ so you let yourself in, announcing your presence with what was left of your dignity and professionalism.

He didn’t wear his cape or crown, but he kept his skirt and sported a light shawl.

“My prince,” you said simply, bowing. He chuckled, nearing you. You stood straight once again, keeping your eyes on the ground.

“Good to see you came back instead of running away. I told you I’d see you again.”

“What do you need, my prince?”

He frowned slightly, leading you further into the room.

“I thought we got over the formalities last night,” he commented sadly, still holding your wrists.

“What am I here for?” You asked once more. He sighed, giving in to your question.

“I told my parents about your music. They suggested you live here so you can help me with my, uh, stress, when needed. I thought it to be a good enough idea, and besides,” he leaned in a bit closer, “I wanted to see you again.”

“Are you currently stressed?” You asked, observing him with a calculated look. You shoved your emotions as far down as you could, hoping that would help for this evening.

“Yes, I’m afraid my brother has been a continuous worry to me,” he said, stepping away from you, beginning to pace the room. “He accuses me of awful things, and because it would be shameful for him to physically harm me, he has begun harming our servants and slaves. It’s painful to watch, and I can’t do anything about it. If I do, I will seem unfit to be royal, and I may be cast out. I can’t risk that.”

“Have you tried asking him what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do that. I thought of it, but he’s closed off, and even if he would tell someone he would never tell me. I don’t think he trusts me.”

“The trust of cowards is not something worthy to gain,” you said distractedly, looking at the patterned ceiling.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, stopping his pacing. “You’re really quite intelligent, aren’t you?” He neared you, standing in front of you again. You hadn’t moved from your position near the door.

“I have my uses,” you said, and he laughed, his smile delicate and very unlike who he currently presented himself as. You felt yourself weaken for a moment.

“Would you mind singing to me again?”

“Of course, my prince,” you replied, kneeling to open your case. He held a finger beneath your chin, raising your head to look at him. He towered above you in this position, a general air of dominance that made you shiver emanated from him.

“My name?” He asked quietly, his kind voice betraying his commanding exterior.

“Of course, Ahkmen,” you repeated yourself, weaker. He smiled, and left to lie on the bed. You resumed pulling out the harp, taking once more your kneeling position on the floor, the harp falling on your shoulder as you plucked at the strings. You tapped your foot to the beat, making sure that you didn’t lose your count. Every now and then you’d look up to the prince, watching his expression for any sign of displeasure. Each time he showed none, so you continued.

“What’s your name, harpist?” He asked, interrupting your playing. You shook your head a bit, getting back on track. You continued to play as you answered.

“Nour,” you said simply, concentrating deeply.

“Beautiful name,” he said quietly, sighing as he relaxed back into his bed once more. You took a deep breath, calming yourself as you kept playing. A few minutes later, he stood, walking up to you. He paused your playing, asking that you put your harp down. As always you obeyed.

“Come with me,” he said, and you again followed him. He led you out the door, and down a back hallway. The paintings on the walls disappeared, and eventually all the torches faded away. He continued leading you down more and more complex hallways, the structures confusing you. It hit you then that it would be very easy to trap you here, and that if someone wanted to kill you here, it wouldn’t be that hard. But, if the prince wanted to kill you, he could’ve done it in broad daylight.

You continued walking behind him until a small doorway appeared, lit up by the moonlight. You jogged a bit to catch up, watching him disappear down steps.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” He called back to you, now practically running down the steps. You watched him, his eyes glued upon the river in the distance. He began running, you trailing after, weaving through the reeds that grew on the banks of the water. Eventually he stopped at the rivers edge, the sandy shore riding just above his sandals. You stopped beside him, panting, crouched down slightly. You weren’t used to exerting yourself physically. Apparently, he was.

“My prince, you must be careful, you don’t know what kind of animals could sneak up on you,” you panted, finally standing to your full height beside him. He looked at you, laughing.

“Don’t worry, much of this stretch is harmless. Too narrow to truly be a resting spot for anything dangerous,” he informed you, stepping out into the river. You froze, eyes wide as you watched him. As he continued, the water only came up to his mid calf, soaking his pants.

“Join me,” he said to you, facing you with a hand outstretched. You clenched your hands into fists, thinking about how awfully wrong all this was. You weren’t supposed to be here, not with him, certainly not by yourself, and you weren’t supposed to look at him. You weren’t supposed to touch him. He wasn’t supposed to deal with sorts like you. Lowly sorts.

You took his hand. Barely laying your fingers in his before he curled them tightly around yours, pulling you in. You stumbled slightly, regaining your balance in the water as it splashed up your legs. The moon reflected brightly in the water, but despite this you couldn’t see much of the details of his face. You could tell that he smiled though, his laughter echoing in the silent lands. However much you knew this to be wrong, you smiled with him, warm water coming up to your legs.

“See? Nothing wrong,” he said quietly, pulling you in closer and grabbing your other hand in his. All ease slipped away, and you choked up, staring petrified at him.

“We shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this,” you said, voice high and shaky.

“Shouldn’t be doing what? Enjoying myself?” He raised a single eyebrow at you, judging you with a funny look in his eye. He was smiling.

Your fears came pouring out. They filled your entirety, boiling beneath your skin and itching to come out, like a rash upon your tongue.

“You shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be talking with you, I shouldn’t look at you, I shouldn’t touch you, I-“

“It’s not your fault. If anyone is to put blame on us, it will fall solely on me, I will make sure of it,” he told you quietly, an attempt to calm your fears.

“And what will happen to you then? You’ll be punished,” you choked out, feeling your throat swell up.

“All worth it to spend time with you,” he whispered, drawing ever closer. You took a step back, the water splashing up the back of your legs.

“Why are you so invested in me?” You asked, trying weakly to pull your hands out of his grip. He did not let go.

“Your playing enchants me, and the way you refuse to, well… bond with me, I suppose, is intriguing. Most people I’ve met jump at the chance to form a sort of relationship with me. Simply because of my standing,” he explained quietly.

You hardly believed people only associated with him because of rank. He happened to also be an incredibly nice person, as well as truthful and sincere unlike any royalty you’d met before. Not only that, despite what you continuously told yourself, he was very handsome.

“I hardly believe it’s only because of your royalty,” you said, voicing only half your thoughts.

“Why’s that?” He asked quickly, leaning in further, pulling you closer. He looked desperate, curious for your answer. You breathed deeply. He smelled of perfume. Of course.

“You’re one of the more benevolent royalty that I’ve met,” you said simply, not meeting his eyes. His eyes however, did not waver from yours, attention directly on you. Your skin felt hot beneath his touch.

“Is that why you won’t say my name?” He came chest to chest with you, the words from his mouth heating your cheek beyond what was comfortable.

“My prince, I am only here to play music for you,” you breathed out, weak and indecisive. Your gaze stay fixed on his shoulder and past, to the river shining behind him.

“You are here to help with my stress. That’s your job specification, and you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he laughed, his body swaying slightly.

“I think I would be better at it if you didn’t put me in stressful situations,” you retorted before you could think. Eyes widening upon reflection of what you just said, your breath caught in your lungs. An unpleasant tingle shivered through your legs, making you weaker than you already were.

“Don’t worry so much and you’ll be fine. I have to say you’re doing a wonderful job distracting me from my brother,” he told you, continuing to sway, moving your arms back and forth in some mock form of a dance. “Enjoy yourself,” he said, leaning in and whispering the words against your ear. You blacked out for two seconds again, before blinking, looking to his face, his eyes attracting you immediately.

He was scanning your face, a concentrated look in his eyes. He blinked a few times, sighing, before letting go of your hands.

“Let’s go back to the palace,” he said quietly, turning and leaving you calf deep in the water.

The sick pit in your stomach began feeling worse the longer you spoke with the prince. After three full moons had come and gone, you came to a comparison. It was a terrible comparison to make, and you’d never, ever voice it, but you felt as though you were being tempted by a demon. Play for him. Look into his eyes. Touch him just a little more. Call him by his name. Lean into the temptations and be damned for eternity, but stay away and you’ll suffer heartache worse than death.

You decidedly never crossed the border of touching him in any sort of way - no, anything that happened in accordance with that was entirely his fault. You never called him by his name. You tried your best not to look into his eyes, in fear of losing yourself within them. They swirled gold and foreign delicacies, new and familiar all at once.

You didn’t dare look at him.

“Perhaps if you become my advisor, I will be able to see you more often,” he pondered, staring up at the ceiling. He was lying next to you, in a pile of blankets of pillows, arms crossed behind his head. You played your harp quietly, not wanting to disturb his thoughts too much.

“You want to spend more time with me?” You asked quietly, astounded. You weren’t exactly an incredibly interesting person.

“Of course. You’re intelligent too, so it’s not like you’d give me terrible advice. The position wouldn’t just be for show,” he added at the end, looking up at you, before resuming his study of the ceiling.

“I do not believe commoners can become royal advisors. Or should, in the very least,” you said, trying to continue your concentration on your playing. You plucked a few wrong notes as the conversation continued. He didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s possible, and it’s not like you have to be a vizier or anything. That’d only happen if I became pharaoh, which would only happen if my older brothers died, which they hopefully do not,” he said, continuing on to describe what your life would be like if you became his advisor. You had a thought, but waited till he finished his spiel.

“My prince, is it not a bit redundant for you to have an advisor? You’re not making any political decisions, and-“

“Think of it more as a personal assistant,” he interrupted, looking up at you hopefully. You sighed tiredly, but nodded. He was quiet for a while after that, so you could continue playing in peace.

You were informed the next day that your job had been changed from ‘stress reliever’ to ‘personal servant/advisor,’ and that your quarters would be moved nearer to the princes’. It was quite the step up in the world, which was the last thing you needed, but the prince seemed to think otherwise. You were treated with an ounce more of respect, and at first you weren’t sure what to do with it, and your confusion only got worse throughout the day.

Apparently, when you’re someone’s personal servant/advisor (a job that has never existed before) you have to accompany said person everywhere they go. This included meetings, meals (where you weren’t allowed to eat), as well as important openings, surveying building and planting, and a good amount of educational programs.

Overall, a very tiring day, and you were very much ready to collapse when the moon finally shone.

You accompanied the prince back to his room, wondering how he kept his energy up. You quickly answered the question for yourself, remembering that he’d been doing it his entire life.

He must’ve noticed your state, dragging behind him but keeping your posture up despite.

“Are you alright Nour?” He asked, stopping and turning around to face you. You quickly nodded, trying to keep your eyes open. He looked doubtful however, eyeing you suspiciously.

“You don’t have to play for me tonight if you are this exhausted,” he comforted, resting a hand on your shoulder and trying to give you a sincere look. You didn’t look at him, still too afraid. Especially now, in public, with his hand on your shoulder, where anyone could see.

“I am able to play,” you said, shaking your head a bit, trying to clear out the drowsiness. He continued looking at you skeptically, but allowed you to enter his room, you once again taking your harp from its’ case. He sat in his new pile of pillows and blankets, closing his eyes, and losing himself in your playing. You blinked slowly, feeling a warm, fuzzy blanket come over your thoughts. Despite this you continued playing, trying your best to concentrate. Unfortunately you must’ve made some mistake, because you felt a hand on your wrist, and a voice penetrating the warm blanket that had come over your eyes.

“Nour, go to sleep,” he said, and you opened your eyes, your consciousness falling immediately into his warm and worried eyes. The whole world still felt fuzzy, as though you were half in a dream, the only thing fully grounding you being his hand around your wrist.

“I can play,” you said thickly, the words sounding as though they came from far away, but reverberated in your empty chest.

“No you can’t-“

You closed your eyes, just to blink, but ended up doing a lot more than that. You fell straight asleep, flopping forward onto the prince’s shoulder… unfortunately.

When you awoke, it wasn’t your assigned room. You then quickly remembered that you had moved rooms the day before, settling your worries. You were then further worried when you realized you did not own a golden vase, and the blankets you were given certainly weren’t this soft. You sat up quickly, feeling dizzy.

“Good morning,” the prince said with a soft chuckle, smiling at you from his bed. You felt about ready to throw up.

“D- did I fall asleep?” You asked hurriedly, ready to apologize as soon as he confirmed.

“Yes, but it’s not a problem,” he said, stopping you before you started. You gaped at him, horrified.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” You asked, instead of screaming. His eyes widened, glancing sideways as his cheeks darkened. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. You blinked again. Were you seeing this right?

“… I didn’t want to wake you,” he admitted quietly, head dangling embarrassed between his shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to fully understand the situation.

“Okay. So… you let me sleep in your room all night… because you didn’t want to wake me up?”

He paused before answering.

“… Yeeeesss?”

You got up, dusting yourself off. You waved good bye to him silently, smiling awkwardly, ready to leave.

“Wait, don’t go,” he entreated, his hand moving towards you, still against his bedsheets. You turned to him slowly, practically shaking. You looked him up and down, deciding this was a terrible idea, before turning to leave once more.

“Please,” he murmured, his entire body pleading. You took a deep breath, looking at your feet. A feeble attempt to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t directly disobey him. It was bad enough that you turned away the first time - you didn’t think it possible for royalty to say please, or beg the way he practically was. So you turned back around, looking at him exhausted once more, before walking towards him, standing beside his bed. He smiled brightly up at you, the tenseness in his body completely evaporated.

“You glow perfectly in the morning sun,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist, before venturing up further to your arm. You nearly instinctively pulled away, fear coursing pain through your blood, but you stayed put.

“Inappropriate,” you chided quietly, highly embarrassed.

“I know,” he winked at you, smiling cheekily. You took a deep breath, nearly rolling your eyes.

“Do you know how to ride a chariot?” He asked you out of nowhere, still smiling up at you like you were a dream.

“No, I have no desire to,” you said, knowing that if it were time to fight for your pharaoh, you would physically be unable to fight. Thus, most likely you’d be put on different duty, like planning, or meal prep. The prince, however, looked a bit saddened.

“That’s a shame. I’m going riding today, if you wish I could teach you,” he suggested, tugging your arm lightly.

“Thank you for the offer, but I will stay here instead.”

He offered once more, and you once more declined. Leaving it at that, he redressed into looser clothing.

You stayed in your room for the time he was gone. There wasn’t much for you to do, and you had to stay on call in case someone needed you, so you mostly tried to write new songs. Still slightly new at it, the songs were a tad plain, but you were getting better.

When the sun was near set in the sky, you received a knock at the door. You quickly got up, and a soldier informed you that the prince had returned, and was requesting you in his chambers. You acknowledged, packing your harp up and heading down long hallways to his room.

You knocked, which was met with a small ‘come in.’ When you opened the door, the prince was sitting on his bed as usual, with a large, deep scuff mark on his cheek. You nearly dropped your instrument, staring at the red and black mark.

“No need to be surprised,” he smiled, before wincing and returning to a straight face.

“My prince, doesn’t that need attending to?” You had to physically stop yourself from walking over, digging your nails into the flesh of your leg.

“It’s alright. I fell off the chariot,” he explained, laughing as he thought back. He twitched slightly from pain, letting his face fall again.

“You should clean it in the very least,” you suggested, setting your instrument on the floor. You turned to the door, ready to fetch some water and a cloth.

“You worry too much,” he said as you left, fetching a tight basket of water and an old but clean cloth. You returned a few moments later, setting the supplies on his bed where he sat. He looked at you expectantly, tilting his head slightly. You fidgeted, muscles twitching as you tried to stay calm.

“If you’re so worried, you should do it,” he closed his eyes, ready for you to clean him, “I doubt you’ll accept anyone else doing it.”

You sniffed indignantly, a little ashamed and a little embarrassed. More embarrassed than anything. Nonetheless, you dipped the cloth into the clean water, wringing it out once you pulled it out. You dabbed at his skinned cheek and jaw, trying to make sure it didn’t hurt. The mark reached to his ear, behind the lower part of his crown. You thought of asking him to move it, or moving it yourself.

“Um, my prince, could you remove your crown?” You finally asked hesitantly, still trying to removed the dirt from the visible mark on his cheek. When you removed the rag he nodded, taking off the golden ornament and setting it on the bed. Biting your lip you took a deep breath, once more setting to clean the rest of the scuff.

Finally you dropped the cloth into the water, setting the basket on the floor.

“Done?” He asked, smiling pleasantly at you. In a minute motion you nodded, turning quickly away. You bent down by your instrument, getting ready to play for him once more.

He stared at you for a while as you played, his face straight and his emotions unidentifiable. It put you on edge, as most of the time he was rather see-through. You kept playing despite your worries.

As night came, he did not tell you to stop. You were starting to get a little tired, but you continued playing diligently. The sounds outside the room subsided, silence enclosing the space around and between you and the prince. He shuffled on the bed, lying down, his eyes closed in deep thought.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, piercing soft silence that had lasted so long before. In your shock you struck a wrong string, the dissonant sound making you curl in on yourself. However, you didn’t find yourself too surprised - his actions indicated he had to have felt something different with you.

“I am aware,” you said quietly, picking up another piece. You steadied your hands, trying to play the right chords once more.

“In that case,” he said, clearly annoyed at your passiveness, “you should also know I am free to marry who I wish, and I want to marry you.”

He stood, legs swinging off the bed and waltzing over to you. He grabbed your wrist, stopping your playing and pulling you upwards. Your harp shifted, falling to the ground, softened by the pillows surrounding you.

“I want to marry you,” he repeated softly, breath hot against your face. He leaned in close to you, his eyes hooded, desperate for you to just touch him.

“I can’t,” you said hurriedly, the words coming from pure instinct. You felt your hands shaking in his grasp, terrified by the whole situation.

“Why?” He whispered, face contorted near tears. You hummed uncomfortably, a meager sound in automatic reaction to his sadness.

“I have to go,” you rushed out, ripping yourself from his grasp and running out the door.

Why did this keep happening?

Your tiresome night was not to come to an end, as you ran into someone in the hallway. You fell to the ground from the impact, profusely apologizing to whoever it was you hit.

“Aren’t you that servant my brother’s traipsing around with?”

Fuck, this must be the prince’s eldest brother.

You did not meet his eyes, instead keeping your body in a bowed position.

“Yes, my prince, he has requested it,” you answered obediently.

“You’re rather acquiescent, aren’t you? Such a small thing,” he commented, and you felt his stare on the back of your neck, harsh and cruel. He pressed two fingers to the back of your bowed head, pushing you so you looked upwards at him. Out of fear, you allowed him to move you as he wished.

This was your first meeting with the brother you’d heard so much about, and he was nothing like the prince. His eyes pierced you, emotionless and senseless. It made you long for the warmer, welcoming man you had run from.

“Hm. When I become pharaoh,” he spoke as royalty should; proud, and succinct, “I should make you serve me instead. Most of the servants I get are defiant and rude. You’d be quite the change.”

“Yes, my prince,” you said, too afraid to say anything else. Too scared to mention the fact that the prince that currently owned you would not give you up very easily.

Distantly you heard feet running down the hallway, halting before you and the older prince.

“Kahmuh,” you heard him say, voice practically unidentifiable with the vindictiveness in it.

“Ah! Brother, here’s your, uh, thing,” he said, flicking your head towards his brother. After, the older prince turned and left, his stride confident and domineering. The younger rushed to you, kneeling in front of you.

“Did he hurt you?” He grabbed your face, turning it and inspecting for wounds and marks.

“No,” you mumbled, looking down. He was so human compared to his older brother.

“Did he say anything to you?” He inched closer, looking worriedly at you. His hands moved to your shoulders, gripping them tightly.

“He said that… he wanted me to be his servant when he becomes pharaoh, because I’m obedient,” you said hesitantly, hoping that the prince wouldn’t do anything rash in retaliation. Instead he grimaced, and you watched as his muscles tensed.

“If only he knew you’re the exact opposite of that. You just follow rules. You won’t bend them, not for me, and definitely not for him,” he said, his tone bordering on venomous. He helped you up, patting the sides of your arms awkwardly once you stood.

“Spend the night with me?” He asked haltingly, giving you a look of it’s alright if you say no.

“You know I can’t do that,” you answered quietly, hoping to convey that maybe, you wished that you had the confidence to bend the rules just slightly.

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said, ceasing all contact with you.

“Do you know where my room is?” You asked, walking beside him, instead of behind.

“Uh… no,” he answered shyly, laughing quietly. You smiled cordially at him. The walk to your room was silent, a few people flitting by but besides that, lonely.

“Thank you, my prince,” you bowed your head respectively, before turning to open your door. He held your hand, keeping you there as he spoke.

“You’re welcome… my love,” he answered gently, letting your hand slide out of his.

You stood outside your door, dumbfounded as he left, watching as he disappeared around a turn.

My love?

Four more full moons passed. Overall, you must’ve been working for him for seven moons, which was quite a while, looking back. A few days ago the Pharaoh and his Queen had announced that the throne would have to be passed soon. You gave them around a year to actually hold to their statement.

It was to your surprise that, a few days later, the Queen called you to her quarters. You had been playing for the young prince, when a messenger directed you away. You bid a quick good bye to the prince, heading where the messenger took you.

Her room was larger, shared with her husband, who was not present. It was only her, pacing back and forth in her room, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

“Harpist, good,” she said, upon noticing you, directing you inside. She sat you on a chair, and you thanked her.

“What do you think of Ahkmen?” She asked you, finally stopping her pacing, looking directly at her. You kept your eyes on her feet, always remembering your place.

“He is a kind man, overtaken with emotion and confused, but that is expected of someone so young. He’s benevolent and wise beyond his age,” you answered, attempting to summarize your observations of him over the past half year.

“You’ve met my other son, correct?” She asked you, and she began pacing again. You confirmed. At this point you’d met him a few times, none of the meetings being entirely pleasant. He seemed to favour you though, which you hoped would continue. You still had a thing about dying.

“What do you think of him?”

You swallowed. Would you really dare speak ill about a woman’s son, especially a queens’?

“He is brave, and well, succinct. He knows what he wants and he achieves it. He’s ambitious and also overtaken with emotion, though the emotion is… not kindness,” you ended hesitantly, starting to fidget just like the Queen was.

“I know you are a commoner. My youngest son has told me about you, and he says you follow rules and tradition no matter what someone of higher power says. But now, I need you to be honest with me,” she kneeled before you, looking you directly in the eyes.

This had to be incredibly important, for her to kneel, let alone in front of you.

“Who is fit to be king?”

Your mouth fell open. You weren’t qualified to answer this. Was the fate of the entire kingdom resting on you now?

“My Queen, is it not appropriate for the eldest to take the throne?” You asked quietly, knowing the answer already.

“Yes, but… Kahmuh has been doubtful in all essence of the word. He is violent and rash, he does not think over his decisions. If it were a choice the obvious choice is Ahkmen, however it isn’t right. It’s never happened before, so I thought the advice of a commoner might be of some use.”

“Your youngest son would be the best choice,” you said. Given the choice, you’d choose him every time.

“You don’t think the citizens will be outraged?”

“I suppose you could… lie, if you’re worried about it,” you suggested, choosing your words carefully.

“What kind of lie could you or I come up with that would soothe their worries?”

“Could say that the Gods chose him. Which is technically true,” you added that at the end, seeing her eyes widen with horror. She took a deep breath.

“You’re right. You’re very wise for a commoner. Dismissed,” she said, standing up. You bowed, thanking her for the time spent with her, and left.

When you returned to the prince’s room, he asked what she needed you for. You thought about telling him the truth, but instead you lied, saying that she was simply checking up on how her son was feeling through the person spending the most time with him. He believed you, and you resumed playing your music.

“Why can’t you marry me?” He asked you, lying next to you in his large splay of blankets and pillows. You sat on the edge of his cushioned area, a blanket to soften the floor for your knees.

“It is prudent to marry within your social class,” you muttered, voice quiet as you still tried concentrating on the task at hand.

“In that case, do you wish for me to marry my brother?” He laughed, before sticking his tongue out and gagging.

“Please don’t,” you chuckled.

“I’d still like you to know that since I’m not becoming Pharaoh, I can marry whomever I want,” he teased, poking you in the shoulder. You rolled your arm back, shaking him off. You thought back to what the Queen had said - if she was to give you credit and follow through your advice, he would be Pharaoh, and that’d be a big problem.

“You can’t assure that you won’t have to become Pharaoh some day,” you said quietly.

“Are you planning on killing my brother?”

“Not yet,” you gritted under your breath. He laughed, rolling onto his side. He stared up at you, a subconscious smile on his face.

“My love, you mustn’t worry. He will become king, not I, and I will be able to marry whomever I please, and whomever I please will be you,” he still smiled at you, sure that he was correct. “As long as you’ll have me,” he added quietly after a beat of silence. You cautiously nodded, aware that while he valued your opinion and input, he could simply force you to marry him. Though knowing him as well as you did, you didn’t think him capable of something like that.

“I don’t think I’m fit to rule,” he sighed a few moments later, letting his hands intertwine behind his head to cushion him. You gave him a quizzical look, silently requesting for him to continue his thought.

“I’ve never been good with fast decisions, and as you might’ve realized I’m terrible under pressure,” he said very matter-of-fact like, sighing dejectedly as he finished. “I’m just not fit to rule.”

“Given the opportunity and right people, anyone with a kind heart and brave soul is fit to rule,” you hummed, letting your fingers pop more gracefully as they plucked the strings.

“That would mean you’re fit to rule,” he said offhandedly, rolling his shoulders back.

“Afraid not, my prince. I’m a coward in my soul,” you laughed, but it was partially true. You’d never break a single rule.

“Perhaps so. You’re not willing to break a rule that isn’t even real, but your kindness more than makes up for it. Besides, with how pretty you are, I’d let it pass,” he casually flirted with you. He was beginning to do so often, and with increasing smoothness. It seemed as though he was really coming out of the shell you really wish he’d go back into.

“Uh - thank you, my, uh, prince,” you stammered. “Do you have any plans for your birthday?” You quickly changed the subject.

“My parents are throwing another party, not much else. I would very much love it if you attended.” He looked up at you expectantly.

“Of course, my prince. I was the harpist at your last birthday, I would be happy to reprise my role.”

“No, I meant as my… partner. My plus one.”

You paused, thinking over the implications if you were to arrive with him, as his equal.

“Who will play harp then?”

“We’ll find someone else, though they won’t be as good as you, I would prefer you to stay at my side,” he said, sitting up and turning to face you. Your skin burned, nerves tingling as you imagined events of the night playing out. You’d probably be expected to do a lot of things you weren’t raised to do.

“Please, my love?” He wrapped his hand around your wrist gently, and his calm demeanor seeped through the contact he made with you.

“… Of course, my prince.”

Two months had passed since that eventful day, where you’d learned that the Queen was doubting her older son, and that you were to attend a royal party as a guest, not an employee. The prince had done to the best of his abilities, as much as he could to soothe your nerves. You hadn’t told him about your anxiousness surrounding the event, but it was easy for him to pick up on it. To help you, he educated you on the different replies to various things. You’d mainly learned that staying silent and by his side would make people avoid talking to you. After all, if you stayed with him, most people would be too enamored with him to notice you, and if they did, they’d probably ask the prince who you were and not you. After a few days of his etiquette training, you’d felt a little better.

Around evening when you and the prince retired to his room, he had been called up for a surprise meeting. You were instructed to stay in his room, so you did, tuning your harp and waiting for him to come back.

He did, a long while later, his shoulders drooping and eyebrows furrowed.

“Nour,” he sighed, rubbing his face as he walked forward. He came in front of you, bending to his knees before planting his face in your shoulder. His arms came around you, tired and slow, but tightly encircling your waist.

“My prince?” You questioned awkwardly, unsure of where to put your hands.

“They’re thinking of breaking the rules. Of giving me the throne,” he whimpered, voice muffled by your body.

“That can’t be so awful,” you murmured, ultimately deciding to rest your hand on his back and head.

“I can’t marry you,” he partially whispered, pressing himself into you further.

“Oh,” was all the tiny sound you could muster. Was that really what he was worried about?

The two of you stayed intertwined on his makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. You, with your heart beating straight out of its’ hole, and him, with his face pressed tight against your body, crying ever so slightly. It gave you time to think of a plan.

“I might regret telling you this, but I have an idea,” you started off slowly. He didn’t move, or make any noise, so you continued.

“You could marry me now,” you said, feeling much more stressed and yet less anxious with the thought now in the open. Open for judgement, yes, but also for accepting, and which one terrified you more you did not know.

He removed himself from you, mouth slightly parted and wide eyed. He then knitted his eyebrows together, cocking his head to the right.

“You’d do that?” His tone was quiet and uncertain, unbelieving and a half whisper.

“If you married me now and you or I decided that it wasn’t a thing we wanted, we could later divorce. However if you let your father announce you as Pharaoh before we are married, it would not be allowed. It’s simply…” you trailed off, unsure of where you were headed.

“The logical decision, to help with my stress?” He smiled shyly. You laughed awkwardly, and nodded.

He leaned forward, looking like he was about to kiss you. Instinctively you pushed him away, heart beat increasing once more.

“It’s just a place holder. Nothings changed. I still don’t think I should even be looking at you,” you quickly relayed to him, hoping to make him realize that you didn’t want to act married.

“Alright. I will kiss you one day though,” he reminded you with a teasing lilt, raising your hand to his mouth, kissing you with a touch that was barely there.

“It appears you already have,” you replied, thinking back to the many times he’d kissed your hand. You knew it to be a sign of utmost respect, and it had confused you when he first did it. Now, you were far more accustomed to it, though you still didn’t approve of it. You supposed he had a right to whomever he respected.

Three days later, he’d convinced you that it was okay to tell his parents. You were hesitant for obvious reasons, but he assured you there wouldn’t be harsh consequences. Unfortunately, he wanted you to be there when he broke the news.

So you stood behind him, shaking, going into a mild cardiac arrest.

“We’re married. It was my idea,” he started with, which was very outright, and you wanted to berate him for that.

“… Married?” His father confirmed. You hadn’t ever spoken to him before, but he had a commanding voice. He, like his eldest son, had a posture, an air about him that simply made him fit to rule.

The prince nodded. His parents exchanged looks, before their eyes fell on you.

“You are?” His father asked, eyes burning your skin.

“My name is Nour. I was the harpist for many of your parties. I have been the youngest princes’… stress reliever,” you answered, attempting to be succinct. You kept your head down, a sign of submission and respect.

“Oh, you were his whore?”

You spluttered, face turning red as you made flabby attempts at defending yourself.

“No, father, Nour has helped me to calm down through music… not, uh, sex. Nour won’t let me touch them,” the prince stepped in to defend you, and at the same time, completely discredited your claimed marriage.

“You two wish to be married, yet you’ve never touched each other? Just, holding hands?”

The Pharaoh seemed confused. He turned to his queen once more, before looking at the two of you again.

“I’m very adamant that I not be touched until marriage. It is a simple personal preference,” you said quickly, coming up with the explanation on the fly. You begged to whomever would listen that it would suffice. Still your eyes were trained on his feet, simply to avoid accidentally meeting his eyes. Despite this you saw him shrug helplessly, waving his hand at his son.

“Alright then, whatever. Why are you telling me this then? Do you want a celebration?”

“Y-“ The prince started, being promptly interrupted by you.

“We’d prefer to keep this quiet for a little bit,” you quickly requested, still keeping your head down. The Pharaoh grunted something, dismissing you quickly. The prince grabbed your shoulders, rushing you out of the throne room and down a quiet hallway. It was open, with large pillars replacing a wall, allowing you to see the city.

“Before you ask, I thought it would be best to have a celebration when we actually get married, if we do,” you told him, which made him finally stop pushing you ahead. He pushed you into a wall, trapping you between his arms. For a moment you were scared, but he was smiling for some reason.

“I care what you believe more than anything, but for right now, I don’t care. We’re married,” he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. He looked elated, and it made you scared, but it also made love rush beneath your fingertips, spritzing out in the form of a desperate need to touch him.

He reacted before you did, leaning in as slow as he could, still smiling. As he neared your lips, you caught onto a rather scandalous idea.

“Oh my prince, what are you playing at?” You asked coyly, giving him a coquettish grin. For a split second you saw confusion paint his face. You grabbed his wrist, pulling him back into the wall. You switched places with him, pinning him to the wall. There was the unfortunate bit where you were quite a bit shorter than him, but his knees buckled beneath him, bringing him lower than you. Mimicking some of his first actions against you, you pressed two of your fingers beneath his chin, moving him so he looked you in the eyes.

His eyes were wide, staring into yours with happy anticipation. You could almost see him mentally devouring up the attention you were giving him.

“We both know it goes like this,” you whispered, words dripping with amorously inviting intentions. He seemed to melt further into you, smiling with a blissed out look. You were sure if you simply left him like that, he’d only find you more inviting.

So you did.

You ceased all contact all at once, leaving him breathing heavy with wide eyes. You smiled innocently at him, and continued down the hallway. A few minutes later, he finally caught up with you, looking embarrassed but more professional.

“Nice play my love, but I’ll get you someday,” he whispered into your ear, still walking behind you. You just let out a giggle, wondering if he really had it in him.

“Of course, my prince,” you smiled at him.

The two of you returned to his room, feeling much less stressed about the whole situation. However, he asked that you not play the harp. Instead he wanted to simply sit with you, and you agreed as if you had any other option. He led you to the nest of pillows and blankets you were both too familiar with, sitting you down across from him.

“I could write endless poetry about you,” he said dreamily, leaning in and taking your hands. You flushed red, attempting to stammer out a reply.

“Uh- um, t-thank you? I’m hardly deserving,” was what you got out, not meeting his eyes out of embarrassment.

“Nour, you must realize that at this point you are my equal. You can look at me,” he lifted his hand to your cheek, pulling you back to face him, “and you can touch me.”

This was true. Now the only thing stopping you was your own inhibitions, and to you, it felt like enough. When for a few moments you did nothing, he sighed, dropping his head onto your shoulder.

“Whatever you wish, my love,” he murmured, falling back and away from you.

Before you fully knew what you were doing, you pulled him back, sitting yourself in his lap. He looked surprised, staring at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you ran your hand through his short hair, your heart rate increasing as he continued staring at you.

“My love?” He asked in a hushed voice, full of tension, and yet excitement as well.

“My prince,” you responded, your voice holding the utmost reverence and adoration. Once more his hand came to rest on your cheek. He eased you closer, letting you follow his hand of your own accord. It seemed incredibly like him to allow you to take control in such a situation as this.

At long last you relaxed in his touch, melting into his hand with a sigh and closed eyes. You heard him chuckle just slightly, felt him leaning in and felt his nose press into your cheek.

He was letting you make the final move.

You did just so, moving forward not even a centimeter before you felt his lips upon yours.

The tension in your muscles, the tension that had been there since the moment you stepped foot in the palace, faded away. The longer he stayed there, moving his lips against yours, the more anxiety faded away, being replaced by unending need and laudation. The fondness you felt for him consumed your entire being, burning in your blood and electrifying your movements against him. Your hands found a resting place on his shoulders, pulling him ever closer to you. Everything else besides him felt numb, your senses existing only to feel him.

He sunk deeper into you, hands coming beneath your shawl. You leaned away, landing you on your back with him above you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to land soft, open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“You’ve mentioned that,” you breathed out, eyelids fluttering shut as he worked away. You felt out of place, confused, and unsure of where to put your hands. Ultimately he took charge, holding your hands in his and holding them above your head. His fingers threaded into yours, and he came up to kiss you upon your lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are,” you said as he removed himself from you, sitting on his knees. You followed his actions, coming close to him, settling your hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure how,” you gave him a curious look, “but you seem to glow, whenever I see you.”

“That’d be the moonlight,” he teased.

“I think it’s actually just you,” you murmured, leaning in for another kiss. He hummed pleasantly, chasing after you when you tried to pull away.

“I’ve hesitated to say this until now but I truly love you. I’m sorry I haven’t said it before, I -“

“Was following the rules?”

“Yes,” you said in a hushed voice, hoping he’d understand. He shifted, moving his body so you could sit in his lap, before pulling you into him.

“I know. I admire you for it, you’ve got quite the tenacity to disobey orders just to obey rules,” he smirked, teasing you. You giggled quietly, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

Finally, everything felt correct. Maybe it was just because you might’ve been a massive prude, but there was the fact that if you were a massive prude, you would’ve waited until a wedding celebration to kiss him. So maybe you were just an avid rule follower. Either way, this time it felt right to touch him, so you did just that.

It was the first time you spent the night with him, both of you asleep in his bed.

Surprisingly, not much changed. Per your request his parents had not told anyone, so no one treated you differently than they had before. A small part of you appreciated that, and the other parts didn’t especially care. Planning for the young prince’s birthday celebrations continued, with you sometimes included in such planning.

Despite recent events you were still nervous about being his ‘plus one.’ It would be making a statement, something you never liked to do, though the statement was more on his behalf, not yours. Nighttime was often the only peace you got, what with daytime being hectic and stressful. Most evenings you played for the prince, whom you still referred to as the prince in your head. Usually out loud, as much as it bothered him. You’d get there eventually, you told yourself.

Sometimes he’d sit behind you, playing with your hair, landing soft pecks on the back of your neck. It was incredibly distracting for your playing and incredibly welcome by your heart.

“I love you,” he said, a thing he often said simply to remind you. When you were feeling especially shy, you’d reply, “I know.” However, during your more normal or confident days, you’d respond, “I love you too.” You had a feeling he preferred the latter.

“How are you feeling? I know there’s been a lot going on,” he asked quietly, threading your hair between his fingers. He tugged at it every now and then, and you wondered if he was trying to braid it.

“I’ve been alright. I got measured today for my clothes, for your party,” you told him in a calm murmur. The quiet moments you shared seemed to be the only time there weren’t voices yelling in your ear.

“Do you like the design?” He asked, tugging at your hair before releasing it.

“I didn’t see it,” you said with a soft laugh, stopping your music for just a second before resuming. He kissed just below the ear as you began, causing you to miss the chord entirely.

“Your affections ruin my playing.”

“Isn’t that the best way to ruin it?”

“There’s better ways.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your stomach. He pulled you away from your harp, dragging you into his embrace. You smiled, relaxing into his arms. Your harp, luckily, landed on a bed of pillows.

“I love you,” he murmured against your hair, kissing your head.

“I love you too,” you said, turning up so he could kiss you properly.

The celebration was, in your opinion, loud. In your sort-of husband’s opinion, it was joyous. The food was wonderful, you did admit, a good chunk of dessert being made out of sweet honey. Too many people for your taste, just the right amount for his taste, and too little for his parents’ taste. The entire time you sat by his side, people gave you odd stares, but said nothing. His parents didn’t say a word, but greeted you with a curt nod, which was a lot more than you were expecting.

“To the eighteenth birthday of the new Pharaoh, Ahkmenrah!”

The entirety of the table that stretched from one end of a very long hall to the other end of the very long hall raised their glasses. Wine sloshed within the cups, sometimes pouring onto the table. You raised yours careful not to spill. You hadn’t drank that much anyway.

As the hands lowered all took a sip or gulp from their drinks, and promptly after that, the Prince turned Pharaoh collapsed onto the ground. The chalice in your hand crashed onto the table as you knelt hastily by his side, turning him over and shaking him, desperately trying to get him to wake up. Your fingers tingled with pin pricks, all the blood rushing to your head and thumping loudly like the drumbeats of the reaper.

He was carried away from you, and in your own misery you missed the calamity. When you returned to yourself, aware of your own body, you found yourself still kneeling on the floor of the dining hall. It was empty save for a few servants cleaning up the table, and Ahkmenrah’s parents. You felt an empty hole in your torso, as if someone had plowed a log straight through your body.

His father set a hand on your shoulder, telling you to get up and stay by his side. You obeyed without question.

You sat by his bed, grasping his hand. Healers stood on the other side of the bed, putting some sort of ointment into his mouth.

With sluggish movements his head turned to you, lips purple and cracked. His eyes seemed to sink into his skull, eyelids blinking slow and red.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and cracking under the light pressure. You kissed his knuckles, holding them tighter.

“You’ll be alright, my prince,” you assured him, glancing up at the healer as you said this. He made a small shrug motion, giving you a worried look.

“No I won’t. Don’t… worry, about me? Don’t worry,” he said to you, trying to raise his arm to your cheek. He couldn’t bear the strain, so you leaned down, pressing your cheek to his open palm. The edges of his lips turned up slightly, smiling as much as you assumed he could physically stand.

The healer left the room, coming back a few minutes later with his parents.

“It’s poison,” he informed them quietly in the corner of the room. His mother gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth. Your mouth automatically fell open, eyes widening in worry as you looked back down at the prince.

“Your brother,” you said, knowing it must’ve been him. No one else hated him, at least not as much as his brother did.

“I know,” he murmured, trying to swallow. It hurt him, you could tell by the way his eyes closed and his brows knitted tightly together as he winced.

“I will -“

“Don’t. It’s not your job. He will be brought to justice, not by you.”

You nodded, gripping his hand tighter.

“My love,” he rasped out, “be at peace, for I am at peace.” His lips barely moved before he lay still. His eyes remained open, and his head relaxed towards the ceiling.

You numbed entirely. Your hands went cold, and his hand dropped from your cheek with a graceless thump.

And he lay still.

And he did not move, not for hours, not until people moved his body for him, moving him away from both his parents and your eyes. You stayed, kneeled next to his bed for longer than you knew.

Publicly you weren’t married to him. Publicly you were his servant, and that meant you could be buried with him, whether you wanted to or not. You weren’t sure what you preferred.

You didn’t get the time to think it through. He was buried, and his brother became King in his stead. True to his promise, he kept you as his servant. You weren’t allowed to be buried with the prince, and for a while, you served the Pharaoh well. For a long while, and many moons passed before you couldn’t bear more.

It wasn’t until grief consumed you that you changed your situation. His parents had died months back, and whether they were murdered or not you didn’t know. They got proper burials, alongside their son. The world had nothing left to give you, and the Pharaoh was cruel and unjust. You saw clearly now why his mother seemed so worried. You had originally thought that no one could be as inhuman as he was, and now you were wrong. And now you had to end it.

It wasn’t until you died that you awoke again. You’d killed yourself in Egypt, and found yourself awake years into the future, locked inside a half rotted wooden sarcophagus. Besides the tight encasing, the worst part was the dank smell. That had to be expected, after you realized that you had definitely been in that sarcophagus for well over a thousand years, and your wrappings were covered in dust and rot.

To your immense luck it wasn’t pitch black. The wood had rotted through enough to shine small specks of light into your coffin, and due to this whenever you awoke, you could see through to the other world.

You awoke and fell straight asleep and the same time every day. When you awoke, you shifted to a hole, and with your wrappings coming off just slightly below your eye, you saw people. All kinds of people - locked up in glass containers and wearing silly looking clothes. If they weren’t in their own casings they moved around, banging on the glass to be let out. None of them could fully speak, but the throat bleeding screams behind their wrappings was enough to make your blood run cold.

Sometimes, you’d see people not in wrappings, and not encased in glass. They wore dark blue clothing, and they looked old, with pale, white skin.

It made you wonder, very often (when you weren’t panicked about never getting out, and suffering eternity locked away), where you were. You had realized you were in the future, but how? How were you alive? Why were you still in your coffin, and why were you surrounded with glass? Most importantly, how did you wake up?

Ages later you were still in the same place. You lost count how many times you woke up, just to never be released, and fall back asleep. The funniest thing was, you were never tired when you fell asleep. You just did, as though it were instinct.

It was that evening that absolute chaos ensued. Something had happened - there was only one man in dark blue clothing, and he looked frightened. The screams of those around you grew louder, and soon the man was gone with a start.

This pattern of the man running through the room continued for a few more nights before peace came about once more.

A few more nights later, the screaming stopped. Two men spoke together outside in a language you couldn’t understand, but it seemed to be civil, if not worried. One of them got passionate, but was eventually calmed down.

Then a lock clicked.

Fresh air seeped in through the holes of your own prison.

And your lid opened.

You still wore your wrappings, so it was a little hard to see anything. Cloth kept your hands tightly bound to your chest, and when the two men you could barely see noticed that, they helped. Eventually your arms were torn free, quickly followed by the wrappings around your mouth.

You breathed truly, fresh air for the first time in longer than a century. Unfortunately, your eyes were still covered, so it was a bit musty.

“Um,” one man said, mumbling something garbled that you didn’t understand. Hands came behind your head, and for a moment you flinched back, but he slowed. With more care he came up from behind, slowly unwrapping your age old prison.

You blinked as harsh light filled your eyes, cringing away. Before you could fully see arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you out of your casket and holding you tight to a body, clothing and jewelry pressing tight into your skin.

“I - I’m sorry?” Was all you could think to say, eyes finally being able to see. The glass around you was gone, and you saw in full vision the others who were encased. They too were out, some more violent and confused than others, who seemed to also be from Egypt.

“Nour,” he mumbled, a cold sort of crown chilling your cheek. The voice, knowing your name, speaking it with such blessing, sounded too familiar. You tried to form words, but found yourself at a loss for them, resorting to confused mumbles and noises.

Over the mans’ (who was still hugging you) shoulder you saw another man, white skin, younger. Dark hair, strong brow, and looking incredibly awkward. Upon seeing that you noticed him, he waved awkwardly, saying something in another language.

“What’s happening?” You asked weakly, hoping the man who was hugging you understood your language.

“Oh, my love,” he murmured, lips brushing against your neck as he pulled back.

“My prince?”

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #night at the museum #rami malek #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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finallyaniguana · 5 years

Text

Watch The Eyes: Paris [7]

[6] masterpost ao3 [8]

She hadn't realized how long she had sat there considering the information she learned until her mother knocked on the underside of her trapdoor.

In the meantime of waiting for shock to kick in, she had been texting Adrien to fill her in on the fifteen minutes she'd missed. Apparently not much.

Minou: idk he didnt say anything

Bug: honestly I didnt either. I mean how do you explain to a person you've never met that you are currently in their brothers body???

Minou: oh! Also your eyes changed color I think

Minou: I wasn't sure because it changed back pretty quick after I noticed but yeah

Bug: really?!? What color were they??

Minou: they were green. Like mine but a bit darker

Bug: omg

Minou: what?!?

Bug: Andre was right lol

Minou: 😹😹

Her mother called her name from the other side of the trapdoor.

"Coming, Maman!" she called, clicking off her computer power.

She took one glance back at the dark screen before turning to go enjoy her birthday dinner. She had to inform her parents.

Ten minutes later, all sitting together, Marinette broached the soulmate conversation.

Perhaps a bit more blunt that she meant.

"I'm going to meet my soulmate this year," she stated simply.

Her papa almost choked. Her mother was a bit calmer.

"How do you know that?" she asked incredulously.

"Well... this afternoon, right before lunch, I was standing at my desk getting ready to go to the park with Alya and Adrien and Nino, you know? For my birthday! When all of a sudden my vision went black and when it came back a second later I was in a whole other place! And! It was six hours earlier. When I spoke I was talking in a boy's voice. I was super confused and the guy I was talking to in the new building was worried about me -or I guess whoever I was supposed to be- because he -me- was acting different. Sooo, I was there for about fifteen minutes before the world went black again and I was back in Paris but I was now in the park which means I moved! Which means someone else was walking in my shoes. At first I was worried I was losing my mind but when I got home I looked it up. It's an actual soul bond! Not alot of people have it so there's not too much information about it but it's real I swear! That means I'm going to meet him at some point during this year," she finished, breathless.

Her parents faces were shocked, absorbing the information their daughter had just spilled over.

"Marinette..." her father began.

She looked at him, worried about what he was going to say.

"That's amazing! Tell me all about him! I want to know everything!" he gushed.

"Tom, calm down!" Sabine laughed at her husband's antics.

Marinette visibly relaxed. She was worried for a moment her parents might not believe her. For years they had been concerned she may not have a soulmate. It's always difficult for those people. It's a very empty feeling. But now, at sixteen, finally evidence.

"Well, papa, I don't know what he looks like, really. Because I was in his shoes. But I think he has an older brother? Black hair? I mean... it was only fifteen minutes so I didn't really get to look around."

She couldn't help but think of the mask he wore. She knew there were other heroes out there... could her soulmate maybe know one? She would have to talk to the local superhero expert, Alya.

"Honey, didn't you say the time was different?" her mother asked.

"Oh! Yes... I think so. I'm pretty sure it was 6:30 am when I left there and 12:30 pm when I got back," the girl related.

"The United States, maybe?" Tom said.

Her mother nodded in agreement.

"The essay you wrote... wasn't that trip to the US, Marinette?"

Her eyes widened in realization.

"I must win the contest then! If I'm going to meet my soul mate in the United States that must mean my essay won!" Marinette jumped up, stars in her eyes.

"Well we don't know that for sure, sweetie. What if he comes here?" her father reminded.

Marinette sat back down, practically shaking with excitement. She knew her father was right but she had a feeling that she had the right the answer. How else would their paths cross?

"There must have been hundreds of kids who applied for this trip. We'll just have to see, won't we?" her maman smiled at her daughter.

Gotham

Bruce sat at the computer in the Batcave. He pretended not to notice when his youngest slowly approached his chair. He knew from three separate sources that Damian was acting strangely that morning. If Damian hadn't come to him by eleven that night he would have gone to see him. The emotional things weren't his strong suit, but he'd be damned before he let whatever had rattled his usual straight demeanor son go unresolved.

"Father?"

Just from hearing his voice Bruce could immediately tell it was serious. There was significant hesitation. As though he would rather be doing anything and everything else right now.

He turned his chair around to face his son. Damian's face was guarded. Nervous.

"Yes?" he asked.

He fiddled with the paper in his hand. It appeared to be a sheet of Tim's research, judging by its meticulous organization. Damian followed his father's gaze to the paper which he then slowly raised to hand to him. Bruce gently took it from his hand and began to read it through. Damian had a few additional notes written in the margins, listing out specific dangers of this apparent soulmate bond .

"Soul mate bond research," he stated.

Looking up at Damian, "I thought you wanted nothing to do with soulmates."

He squirmed uncomfortably under the Batman's string gaze. Bruce had never seen him act like this.

"I fear..." he was choosing his words carefully. " I may not have a choice, anymore."

Bruce looked back down at the research in his hand. He lifted it up slightly in acknowledgment.

"Did... did this happen?" he asked gently.

Damian nodded, face newly steeled in his neutral angry expression.

"Would you like to find her?"

His mouth tightened. Something else was wrong other than finding a soulmate you always claimed you never wanted.

"I don't think I can."

He blinked in surprise.

"Because...?"

"I was in here when it happened."

Bruce pulled in a sharp breath. Damian observed his father, worried he may be upset. This was, after all, a great breach of security.

"The universe is out to get us, I suppose," Bruce said at last. "What were you doing?"

"Sparring with Nightwing," Damian answered.

"In costume?" he asked.

The boy nodded his confirmation.

Bruce sighed a deep, bone tired sigh. He leaned back in his chair. He was silent for several moments, Damian's apprehension growing.

'This is it. I have failed-' Bruce cut off his train of thought suddenly.

"You know, I never meant for this to go as far as it did. I thought it would just be me for a few years tossing criminals into jail then moving on with my life. This is so much bigger than back then. I don't want my secret keep you from being happy, Damian. I'm glad you told me. But I don't want you to think your priority is keeping a secret I never wanted other people to keep in the first place. I'm certain the universe would have picked out a trustworthy soulmate for you. If you want, talk to the others about it. Make a plan. Maybe run it by Dick first, since she would have seen him. I know you've always said you don't want a soulmate. But... if you really want to find this girl, you will have my support. Don't hold yourself back on my account."

Damian was shocked to say the least. He was expecting a lecture on security or something along those lines. Not... support?

"Just... let me know how you'd like to proceed. If at all."

He stared at his father, still seated in his chair, before nodding slowly. He want to outright refuse to find this girl, but that emptiness he felt before started gnawing on him. He was filled with a desperation so unlike him, he would have thought he was facing psychic attack if he hadn't also felt a feeling of rightness. Yes. He had to find her. Identity be damned.

"I'll speak to Grayson."

taglist: (CLOSED)

@vixen-uchiha @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @violatiger8 @mochinek0 @constancetruggle @yamadochie @seraphichana @captainmac6 @nataladriana9 @iggy-of-fans @riarkle-felinettelove

#daminette #maribat

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skgway · 3 years

Text

1823 July, Fri. 18

7 55/60

12 50/60

1/2 hour in the stable (look after the horses, giving Hotspur oat-cake) and just walked a little down the lane to see that the hay-makers were at work – At breakfast at 9 1/2 from 10 to 11 10/60, sauntered with my aunt into the Allan-car to see the hay-makers there – And weeded the quick-wood hedge planted there in the winter – Making dye and blacking for the gig after M– [Mariana]’s receipt –

At 11 40/60 took George in the gig, and drove the black mare outside Skircoat moor – In returning called at Mr. Wiglesworth’s and brought back Baines’s Yorkshire Directory etc. 2 volumes which Mr. W– [Wigglesworth] yesterday promised to lend us –

Got home at 1 10/60 – Went into the hayfield (the Pearson Ing) with my aunt and did not come in till 1 3/4 – Curled my hair, had it pinched ready for evening – Note from Miss Pickford, a line or 2 to say her nephew Sir Joseph Radcliffe was come to Savile hill, and she could not walk with me this afternoon – We were to have met at Whitley’s at 4 1/4 – Sent the servant back with my compliments no answer required –

Mean to write her a little note relative to her question when she last drank tea here about the funeral rites of the Scythians – Looking over Larcher’s notes on the subject; turned according to his reference, to libro iv. capitulo 1. Ælian – Hustled over Plutarch’s lives at the name Theodosus; but of course could not find what I wanted, not having Plutarch’s libro αὐταρϰῪϛ Ὑ ϰακία etc. An vitiositas ad infelicitatiene sufficiat vide Ælian as above, and Larcher volume iii. page 491 –

Wrote the last 9 lines of today, dressed and went down to dinner at 4 55/60. At 5 3/4 down the old bank to Well-head, got there at 6 by the church – Only the family – Mr. and Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] and their 3 oldest daughters – Speaking of parliamentary elections said there was no subject on which I felt more warmly – Wished for another contested election, and that we might be able to bring in 2 ministerial members –

Mr. Wortley we all observed was likely to have a seat with the pews – When should we get in his place – Lord Harewood had not a son fit for it – We did not know whom to mention – But so far from 2 blue members Mr. W– [Wortley] feared we should not have one – I maintained Mr. Lascelles had lost his contested election thro’ want of better management and the rascality of his York attorney, not Woolley, who kept letters (respecting votes) in his pocket unopened till it was too late for them to be of use –

But the other party always outwitted us – We were always too late, or too supine – Coupled Mr. W– [Wortley] on his good judgement in not voting at all at the election of a law – Against to the navigation company – He said it was neither forgotten nor forgiven by some of the party (of course) Mr. and Mrs. James Stansfield) who said Mr. W– [Wortley] acted thus on account of religion – and “the election was lost for righteousness sake” – (Mr. James S– [Stansfield] is a unitarian) – This led me to remark that Mr. W– [Wortley]’s vote could not have gained the election: as it was 2 gents voted who had no votes; and, to say nothing of this, my uncle as chairman would have had the casting vote, and thus must have given the election to Mr. James Norris –

I then observed pretty severely upon the means the Messieurs Rawson and Briggs had taken in favour of Mr. James S– [Stansfield] their instigating Mrs. Christopher Saltmarshe’s note to me (of Tuesday 27 May 1823) begging me to use my influence with my uncle “that in case” (to use Mrs. S– [Saltmarshe]’s own written words) “Mr. L– [Lascelle] had promised has vote to Mr. N– [Norris] and at the same time, did not feel interest in his obtaining the appointment: but had given his vote, as many do – to the first applicant and not from wishing him to succeed. And if it would not be taking too great a liberty to ask such a favour – that he would have the goodness not to present himself, at all, at the election but preserve a neutrality” –

I observed that a note to ask me to ask my uncle to break his word if given, was an insult; that, if almost any one else had ventured to do such a thing to me, I should never have spoken to them again, but then I excused Emma; it must be her ignorance – Her yielding to her brother Mr. Stansfield Rawson; I knew, I felt assured, she did not mean an insult; she had even so excused herself and so apologized in her note that I would not take any serious notice of it, but, being out when the note arrived, I had never written any answer to it but merely called, and turned it off in joke – Adding that they little thought how much I was the last person in the world to whom such a note could be addressed with impunity, and that, so far from influencing my uncle as they wished, I had done just the contrary; –

For, in fact, my uncle’s vote was not promised – He was at liberty to stay at home if he chose he had made no promises, he had merely said to Mr. N– [Norris]’s oldest brother when he called, that he “thought he should not be his enemy” – But I told my uncle the easiest way would be to say at once, he had promised his vote – And if it was possible that he should be determined to go to vote for Mr. N– [Norris]. Thus, said I, they absolutely defeated their own ends –

Said I had merely laughed to Emma, saying her note was far too late – She ought to have written a week before – I mentioned too, to the W– [Waterhouse]s having drank tea at Lightcliffe some time before this, and that what Mr. P– [Priestley] said had put me a little on my guard, for he, Mr. P– [Priestley], was anxious not to have Mr. N– [Norris] elected, but tho’ I did not then agree with him (knew nothing of Mr. N– [Norris]’s alleged setting himself up – Being too meddling – Too blabbing – Likely to injure the navigation – Concerns by too much influence, his older brother being clerk to the company) yet I had merely laughed and said Bless me, we must think of all this –

We have all been gulled into thinking Mr. N– [Norris] a very proper person and said if we had a hundred votes we should give him them all – But I would tell my uncle what he (Mr. P– [Priestley]) said, and we must think of it – Determined then to advise my uncle to give Mr. N– [Norris] his vote, tho’ it was quite unnecessary to tell the P– [Priestley]s this –

It appeared that Mr. and Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] had gone to the Saltmarshes about 1/4 hour after Mrs. Saltmarshe had sent the note – They condemned it at the time, so did Mrs. Rawson of Stony-Royde; and Mr. Saltmarshe declared, if he had been at home, Emma should not have sent it – But said I, the matter did not rest here; for afterwards there came a note (I believed in Mr. Stansfield R– [Rawson]’s hand-writing) written in the names of the bank-firm to my uncle himself, making the same request Emma had done; and still, not satisfied with this, Mr. Briggs, bringing with him Mr. William Priestley (of Lightcliffe) had after this called on my uncle; and Mr. B– [Briggs] had the effrontery or ignorance to make the same proposal to my uncle of staying at home – Of breaking his word if given –

I believed my uncle was a little agitated (he looked so when he returned to us in the breakfast room) that any man should make him such a proposal – But he calculated on the ignorance of the person – Knew he could not mean to insult him – Kept his temper, and calmly said – “He could not do it – He must be consistent with himself” – Mr. W[illiam] P[riestley] knew too well what he was about to say a word of such a thing – He said nothing but simply that he thought if his uncle had been alive (the late John Walker Esquire of Crownest) he would have given his vote to Mr. Stansfield –

Both Mr. & Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] quite agreed in the justice of my remarks – Mr. W– [Waterhouse] quite surprised that Mr. Stansfield R– [Rawson] – Should have written such a note – He never knew of this near of Mr. Briggs’s calling – He knew they had done this to a Mr. Crossley (at or near Rochdale) whom they had persuaded to stay away, after he promised to give Mr. N– [Norris] his vote; – He knew they had tried to persuade Mr. Thomas Dyson of Willow-edge to do the same; but he had never thought they would make such an attempt with my uncle – Broadly insinuated, he did not think they durst – It was an insult to a gentleman –

The subject turned for a minute or 2 to Mrs. Empson – Mrs. Waterhouse had heard something I had said of her (Mrs. W– [Waterhouse]) and she had “long meant to give me a wipe” – I saw Mr. W– [Waterhouse] was a check upon her – He did not wish her to name it – At last I succeeded in learning that I “was very cool”, but I had said “I never saw Mrs. Empson so like Mrs. Waterhouse” that is as she (Mrs. E– [Empson]) was when she was telling her mind – I replied I had no recollection of making such a speech: it was very unlike me to do so: nor did I believe I had made it – But I perhaps I might

Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] must be aware the similitude might be good in 2 points – I had seen Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] out of temper and she had once behaved to me in a very unintelligible way: but I had forgotten or rather overlooked it, and it was very unlike me to revert to it in such a many –

If I had said it at all, it must have been merely to my uncle and aunt at home; but certainly if I really had said it elsewhere it was in confidence to Mrs. Rawson of Stony Royde or more probably to Mrs. Saltmarshe (which however I did not could not believe to be the case unless one of them should assert it); and I should know better how to say things in confidence in future –

However; I begged Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] to understand that said or unsaid I was very happy to make her any and every apology in my power, laughing and adding I knew her to be really good at heart – I would not quarrel with her – She was now a privileged person, and might say what she liked – As for Mrs. E– [Empson] “Love rashly formed too often ends in hate”, and I dared say she how hated me as much as she had ever done the contrary – “No! No! You are mistaken she does not do that” – “Then”, said I, “I have done her unjustice but it is too late now to say anything about it – It is a dead cut between us – I may speak to her at other places or how I did so in York – But here perhaps I may take no notice of her at all” –

Mrs. W– [Waterhouse] and I parted very good friends and I came away at 8 55/60 – Mr. W– [Waterhouse] set off to walk a part of the way home with me, came all the way, I persuaded him to come in to see my uncle and aunt, and he sat with us till 10 55/60 – As we walked along, I asked if he did not think this business of the Greenups a rascally thing: of course, he did not like to say yes, at once but certainly did not contradict it, quite the contrary –

He said no attorney in the town would have done for them for Mr. James Norris has unless it was a young man, and had a character to lose – But he had gone thro’ a great deal – He had been kicked out of the room, and buffeted about, and abused – Ashewed, very worthy man (a creditor of the G– [Greenups]) had said to Mr. W– [Waterhouse] that they ought to be very much obliged to Mr. N– [Norris] they ought to make him a very handsome present, but perhaps he had done himself more harm than any good the G– [Greenups] could do him –

I said, had my uncle known all this before the election, he would have staid at home – For he had too much the feeling of a gentleman and the principle of an honest man to countenance, or appear to countenance such conduct in any one – I thought the G– [Greenups] would make £20,000 by this business – Mr. W– [Waterhouse] thought they would make half thin debt – That if they owe as was said fifty-thousand pounds according to Mr. W– [Waterhouse] they will clear £25,000 – I thought such things ought not not to be overlooked – such people ought not to be noticed – Mr. W– [Waterhouse] agreed; but, said he, “these things get over, and in a few years are forgotten” –

Sat up talking to my uncle and aunt till 11 50/60. Spiriting up my uncle about the pride of the family about Shibden etc. Having Pontey or Mickle improving the place which I always take every opportunity of urging and I think I shall succeed at last –

After coming upstairs began thinking of a contested election and a plan for bringing two blue members. Thought of writing anonymous from Bradford (but to be dire[c]ted to me here) to ask the chancellor of the exchequer whom we should choose if Wortley is made a peer. Began building castles about the result of my success, the notoriety it would gain me, an introduction at court perhaps, a barony etc. etc.

A glass of hot red wine neguss taken with Mr W[aterhouse] (I never take any) heated me. I thought of myself how slight the partition between sanity and not. The blood seemed in my head. I was not likely to sleep. I tried to compose myself by thinking [of] that almighty being who had created me. I had already said my prayers fervently and on getting into bed began repeating the lord’s prayer aloud again and again for ten minutes till the tears trickled down my face and at a little after it struck one fell asleep –

No rain today except a slight shower about 2 o’clock which could not do much harm to the hay – Yet a dull day – No sun – No drought – Yet got in nine loads – Very soft, and damp, too much so I fear –

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #shibden hall 1823

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mathiaskillmaster · 5 years

Text

My GOT Ending: The First of the Starks (Episode 4 Season 8) Part 1

Jon Snow, his hands blocked by chains, finds himself sitting in a makeshift camp set up by the men of the golden company. The young king of the north is deeply worried and shows it. When he went away with Rhaegal to bring the King of the Night on him, the Battle of Winterfell was still raging, the wights had broken down the defenses and Jon unfortunately ignores everything that has happened so far. Harry Strickland, very confident and satisfied with his capture, comes to see him, offering him a sip of water, but Jon remains exasperated by the almost detached behavior of the mercenaries and try to talk with the captain of the mercenaries. _ "Listen, I'm not kidding! The army of the dead is on us and thousands of people are dying! You must act, help us, I beg you!" Jon claims, upset, but is quickly restrained by a mercenary who forces him to sit down under the threat of his sword. Harry Strickland listened, contenting himself with a nod and a smirk. _ "Thanks for the news. Queen Cersei will be delighted." responds Strickland. Jon remains speechless. The captain orders his men to move the camp and Jon is taken by force towards the south. But as Jon glances behind him as he is dragged by two mercenaries, he quickly observes Harry Strickland addressing one of his men on horseback and seeming to entrust him with a messenger mission. *********** After the Battle of Winterfell was lost, the survivors, who had managed to embark on the ships of the Targaryen fleet, went to Dragonstone for refuge, Daenerys having opened the doors to the refugees from the north. In the fortress, everyone is busy caring for the wounded. The unsullied, dothrakis and northerners soldiers having survived, who are few in number, make an inventory and try to establish a balance sheet of losses in their ranks, all under the direction of Brienne, Podrick and Jaime. An atmosphere of defeat reigns over the fortress. The sacrifices of some friends remain anchored in memories. Brienne remains strong and do not forget Tormund who gave his life while a white walker was preparing to slaughter her. Sansa remains deeply marked by Theon's death, as does Missandei for Grey Worm. Jorah could not have forgotten the heroic sacrifice of Lyanna against a giant who massacred her troops. The feeling of helplessness is total. Assisted by Gilly, Samwell uses some talents he has learned at the citadel to help the injured. Unfortunately, some people are seriously injured and many people succumb to it. Samwell finds himself helpless in front of a Northerner soldier who has had an arm torn off and just died. Tyrion, Sansa, Varys, Missandei, Jorah and Davos have gathered in Dragonstone's council room and are thinking about what they can do to stop the advance of the army of the dead. Earlier, Sansa wrote a letter to Yara Greyjoy, announcing the heroic sacrifice of her brother Theon at the Battle of Winterfell and humbly asking for help. Arya, on her side, decided to isolate herself, and Gendry has trouble trying to give her back a smile. Sandor is also isolated, embittered, trying to drown his anger in alcohol. But his loneliness is quickly disrupted by the arrival of Melisandre at his side. Sandor gives her a quick, scowling look and drinks another sip. _ "If you still come to tell me the same shit as Beric did, it's really not the moment ..." warns Sandor already very angry. The Red Priestess does not seem intimidated and approaches anyway. _"I did not come here to judge you. Only the lord of the light can give me that right. I'm here to fulfill a promise I made to Ser Beric. He wanted to give you something." _ "And what could this moron have to offer me?" the Hound asks, raising an eyebrow, wary. Melisandre leans over him and slips a few words into heis ear. Sandor listens, and seems disconcerted to the highest degree. _ "Are you fucking kidding me or what?" he asks. Melisandre merely shakes her head and moves away, leaving the man alone with his thoughts. He seems stunned by what she has just said and remains pensive, looking straight ahead in the vagueness. As Melisandre crosses one of the corridors of the castle, a familiar voice is heard. _"The last time we saw each other, you told me that you had to come back to Westeros to die ... Is that still the case?" Varys appears at a nook, staring at the Priestess almost suspiciously. Melisandre obviously recognizes him and is content to send him a slight neutral smile. _"Nothing has changed. My master has shown it to me again....you and me ... in the midst of great greenish and gleaming flames, disappearing little by little in their purifying veil .... your arms, dripping of blood ..... I clearly saw it .... " Varys remained skeptical about this mystical declaration from this woman from Asshai. Melisandre greets him with a slight bow and walks away again, leaving the master spy alone with his reflections. But as Melisandre comes around the corner, she notices Arya, standing up alone in a corner, giving her a look of very heavy judgment. The priestess does not pay any more attention and continues her way. ********** Daenerys did not stay long in Dragonstone, because after having deposited Jorah and Bran safely with the others at the fortress, the queen had flown again on her powerful dragon, in spite of the insistent reluctance of her advisers. Too worried about Jon's and Rhaegal's already protracted disappearance, Daenerys had left for Winterfell. Sitting on Drogon's back, she now flies over the snowy moors and sees Winterfell in the distance, now reduced to the state of an empty and silent city. No more traces of the white walkers or their army, which is not for reassured Daenerys. Did they continue their way south? Very probable. Daenerys and Drogon move away from Winterfell and still fly over the moors looking for the slightest sign of life. A little further, both discover the charred remains of Rhaegal's body in the snow. Drogon utters a sad roar as the dragon queen's heart breaks and her face twitches in pain. The loss of another of her children overwhelms her, but also reinforces her anger and determination to destroy the Night King and his creatures. But from Jon, no traces. Suddenly, something shining in the snow catches Daenerys' eye and she immediately steps down from her dragon to see what it is. Her heart is torn. It's Long Claw, Jon's sword, half buried in the snow. Recovering the sword in her hands, Daenerys feels her lips tremble. _ "JON! JOOOON!" she screamed insistently around her, hoping for some sort of response, but only the icy north wind was heard. The sword huddles against her chest, the young queen can only let a tear appaear in her cheek, fearing that the worst happened to Jon. As she gets ready to fly again to continue the search, Daenerys holds Drogon up and raises an eyebrow. A little further, a lonely rider approaches and seems to wave to her. He wears golden armor and stops a good distance from the dragon (this is the messenger sent by Harry Strickland). Barely stopped, the rider begins to speak in a loud voice in order to be heard. _ "The king in the north Jon Snow is our prisoner! If you try to follow us, he will die! And if ....." _ "Dracarys ...." simply answers Daenerys, darkened. The rider does not have time to finish his sentence as Drogon's powerful flaming covers him completely and reduces him to ashes in just a few seconds. Anger appears on the face of the young queen, but also fear. Knowing where Jon is now, Daenerys thinks. She can not take the risk of attacking Jon's captors without putting him at risk. Reluctantly, Daenerys flew away with Drogon to return to Dragonstone as soon as possible to warn others. ********** At King's Landing, Cersei still reigns with an iron fist over the capital, most of whose inhabitants now seem to be totally submissive to her. The tyrannical queen is in her royal apartments, sharing her bed with her new lover, Euron Greyjoy, who does not hesitate to enjoy this intimate moment. Cersei can not help but show a smile more than delighted, but Euron suspects that it is not because of him. _ "What makes you smile so much, my queen?" he asks, while continuing his work and filing hickeys in Cersei's neck. _ "News from the small birds of Qyburn. Winterfell has fallen, the armies of this little Targaryen whore and this bastard from the north have been practically wiped out .... and the height of happiness: that bastard in question, Jon Snow, was captured and is on the way to the capital." Euron seems at first astonished, but shares the sadistic pleasure of the Queen Lannister. While continuing his work, Cersei diverts her face slightly, replacing her insurance with a slight hint of fear. Indeed, earlier in an meeting with Qyburn informing her of the fall of Winterfell, the latter also mentioned disturbing rumors about a certain army of dead men ravaging everything on its path and heading south. ************ At Dragonstone, Missandei isolated herself on the beach, remaining silent and contemplating the sea with her closed face. The vision of Grey Worm changed into a wight does not stop haunting her. Ser Jorah arrives at her side, and noting the surprise that dominates her. _ "He was a brave soldier ...." said the knight Andal with sincerity "... and a most faithful friend." _"He had told me ... that I would see Naath again, that he would take me there and take care of me ..." the servant replied, biting her lip and not being able to stop the tears from running. Jorah gently hugs her to comfort her. _ "And you will see Naath .... That's what he wanted ... So stay alive, for him ... our queen will ensure that his sacrifice was not vain, I promise." _"I know, I have every confidence in our queen." said Missandei, thanking her friend for these words. The recognizable roar of a dragon echoes in the sky and it is with relief that Jorah and Missandei observe the imposing form of Drogon appearing in the sky. The arrival of the dragon also alerts Tyrion, Varys, Sansa and Arya who descend the stone stairs out of the fortress to go to the beach, while the mighty dragon lands heavily on the sand. Jorah and Missandei come to meet Daenerys as she comes down from her dragon, but they quickly disappoint when they see the queen's worried face. Tyrion, Varys, Sansa and Arya also notice him as they approach. _ "My queen, what has happened?" Tyrion asks. _ "Where is Jon?" Arya asks in turn. Daenerys takes a few seconds to answer and reveals, in the eyes of all, the sword Long Claw in her hands. _"He is prisoner of the Golden Company and they are taking him to King's Landing right now and threatened to kill him if we try anything to free him." This news has the effect of an electroshock for all, especially Sansa and Arya. Jorah, having been a member of the golden company, recognizes the trick of his captain, Harry Strickland. _"We can not leave Jon in the hands of Cersei, she'll kill him for sure." worries Sansa. _"Let's see Bran, maybe he'll have an idea." suggests Arya, who without waiting for the opinion of others, begins to head towards the entrance of the caverns under Dragonstone. Daenerys and Sansa follow her. ******** Since arriving at Dragonstone, Bran has asked to be brought into the dark caves under the island, and has not moved since. The young man in a chair remains alone, in the light of the few torches placed in the corners to offer light, and contemplates with his neutral air the cave paintings of the Children of the Forest adorning the walls of the cave. In particular, his gaze seems to linger on the fresco depicting the white walkers, and especially the Night King. Not long ago, Bran had another vision. The army of the undead, greater than ever and accompanied by the terrible winter storm, continues to advance relentlessly, leaving behind other fortifications in the state of silent ruins and enlarging its ranks with the occupants of these strongholds now in the service of their terrible king. The arrival of Daenerys, Arya and Sansa does not even surprise the young man who turns his eyes even before the first of them cross the entrance. _ "Bran ...." begins Arya, before being interrupted by the immediate response of the three-eyed raven. _ "I know ....." he said "... Jon was taken prisoner and he is taken to King's Landing." The three women remain somewhat surprised. Although having already seen Bran demonstrating his curious "power", it was always surprising to see. The young man does not stop there and continues. _ "The army of the dead has crossed the Neck and approaches the passage of the Twins ..... We must go to King's Landing without further delay." he then glances at Arya "... you have to free Jon, he is our only hope."

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #fanfiction #deviation #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #white walkers #dragons

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schraubd · 5 years

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I'm Very Tired and Cranky: S.1/BDS Edition

I didn't want to write this. I really really didn't. I've been swamped the past few days dealing with Rep. Rashida Tlaib telling people who backed an anti-BDS law that "they forgot which country they represent", then explaining why that's an antisemitic dual loyalty trope even when applied to non-Jews like Marco Rubio, then excoriating the AJC for literally making its own dual loyalty accusation against Tlaib as some sort of I-know-you-are-but-what-am-I racist retort to Tlaib's tweet, and finally just throwing up my hands and saying we should probably just avoid tropes of "loyalty" and whatnot in this entire discourse, because none of y'all can be trusted. And because this is the internet and this involves Jews and antisemitism and Israel and Palestine, I was doing all this while dodging a surrounding milieu of commentary that was as dumb as you could possibly imagine. In particular: Nobody involved in this controversy seems to have the foggiest understanding of what Senator Rubio's bill (designated "S.1") is even doing. When they're not engaged in outlandish hyperbole about it "banning criticism of Israel", they're outright mistaking it for completely different bills about BDS. And to the extent their arguments do touch on something that is within striking distance of an actual public controversy, they're almost universally awful. That's right: this is a rant post. Feel free to skip it. I'm venting. Longtime observers of "anti-BDS" laws may recognize that there are two very different "versions" of these laws which have been the subject of legal controversy recently. One is the federal "Israel Anti-Boycott Act", or IABA. This would (for the most part) update the Export Administration Act's preexisting ban on boycotting Israel as part of an effort to comply with a boycott demand by a foreign country to also include international governmental organizations (i.e., the EU and UN). I wrote critically about that proposed law here. Notably, neither the current law nor the IABA would prohibit, penalize, or restrict individuals or companies from boycotting Israel based on their own conscientious ideological choice -- it only covers boycotts which are done at the behest of a foreign power. The second are state-level laws which generally prohibit the state from investing in or contracting with entities which, themselves, boycott Israel. Such laws include the recently struck down Kansas and Arizona laws, as well as the Texas law that was recently challenged by a speech pathologist who could not (she maintains) renew her contract with a local school district because she boycotts Israel. These laws do target "conscientious" boycott decisions -- not by prohibiting the choice, but by declaring that the government won't contract with bodies that make that choice. I've written critically about these laws here and here. So which of these categories does Senator Rubio's S.1 fall into? Neither. His bill -- or rather, Title IV of his bill (the other three titles are defense authorizations for Israel and Jordan, and tightened sanctions on Syria) -- does one thin: it states that state anti-BDS laws (of the second-type, above) are not preempted by federal law. If that sounds technical, it is. Rubio's law doesn't itself impose any penalty or restriction on persons engaging in BDS. All it says is that if a state passes a law limiting its own investment or contracting to entities which disavow BDS, such a law wouldn't be deemed to conflict with any federal statute (preemption hasn't been a major feature of debates over BDS bills, but presumably Rubio is worried about Crosby v. National Foreign Trade Council). If no states pass these laws, then Rubio's bill does nothing. If a state does pass a law, Rubio's bill still doesn't shield the state from having to defend its enactment against a First Amendment challenge. The state laws which Rubio's bill would declare non-preempted either are constitutional or they're not, but that question is utterly non-germane to Rubio's bill. And likewise, the validity of these state laws is entirely separate from the IABA and whether it is a wise or permissible alteration to the existing anti-boycott framework of the Export Administration Act -- Rubio's bill doesn't even touch on that subject. And even if we move to the subject of the state laws and their constitutionality -- boy, are we ever getting a blast of Twitter School of Law. On the anti-side: There's the basic version that says these laws "allow punishment for Americans who protest Israel", which, no they don't -- they just hold that the state won't invest or contract with you if you boycott Israel. Why is it the case that every single intervention in these debates that at all requires any adjustment in how one registers one's objections to Israeli policy is perceived as tantamount to banning discussion outright? Don't answer that -- I know exactly why. Then you get the more advanced play that the state can't claim its own ideological right to "boycott the boycotters" because "the Constitution is designed to protect American citizens from the government, and not the other way around", which sounds great until you think about it for a quarter-second and realize how strange it would be to apply to the government in its capacity as an employer and contractor, where it repeatedly and necessarily will be making non-viewpoint neutral choices on a daily basis. First Amendment law has recognized this since at least Pickering v. Board of Education:

[I]t cannot be gainsaid that the State has interests as an employer in regulating the speech of its employees that differ significantly from those it possesses in connection with regulation of the speech of the citizenry in general. The problem in any case is to arrive at a balance between the interests of the [employee], as a citizen, in commenting upon matters of public concern and the interest of the State, as an employer, in promoting the efficiency of the public services it performs through its employees.

This doesn't mean that the state can impose any condition it wants on the speech of its employees -- if the phrase "arrive a balance" wasn't a dead giveaway, the sentence immediately prior to that passage in Pickering--"[T]he theory that public employment which may be denied altogether may be subjected to any conditions, regardless of how unreasonable, has been uniformly rejected"--is clear enough. But there is a balancing test, and it should be obvious that there are absolutely scenarios where the government can and should limit its contracting decisions (ex: the state can't ban racist speech, but it absolutely can fire a police officer who engages in racist speech, because the state has a strong interest as an employer to not let its employees talk that way). Moving to the "pro" side, first you have to hack through article after article talking about the IABA and how it is only a minor update to the EAA and har-de-har don't Sanders and Tlaib realize we've had a law like this for years -- you're talking about a different bill! Then you get the folks who say "well, these are just anti-discrimination laws" and ask what your position was on Masterpiece Cakeshop. The problem with that argument (other than the obvious "wait -- what was Rubio's position on Masterpiece Cakeshop?") is that these laws -- despite my advice -- are not being written as anti-discrimination laws. Indeed, Rubio's bill -- which only applies to boycotts which are taken "for purposes of coercing political action by, or imposing policy positions on, the Government of Israel" -- wouldn't even apply to a straightforward discrimination case where someone who refused to transact with an Israeli national simply because "I hate Israelis." If these are anti-discrimination provisions, then just write them that way: "we won't contract with any party which refuses to stipulate that they don't discriminate on basis of [inter alia] national origin." They're not written that way in part because these laws are, by design, meant to encompass activity that is not in of itself discriminatory (ex: the genuinely "nonpartisan" boycotter who refuses to do business with any party that she deems violates human rights -- Israel included as one of many). Those who cite Rumsfeld v. FAIR (upholding a federal law requiring universities which accept federal money to allow military recruiters equal access to campus facilities) are at least in the right ballpark -- it is an "unconstitutional conditions" case -- but it hardly disposes of the controversy here. FAIR relied heavily on the notion that the decision to exclude recruiters from campus is not itself inherently "expressive" (I'd also note that the government's interest in insuring its own agents have access to a facility they are, in part, funding seems especially strong and isn't present in the anti-BDS law cases). But a boycott is much more inherently expressive, and since -- unlike the law in FAIR (and again, against my recommendations) -- the state laws are explicit that they are quite purposefully targeting the expressive aspects of the boycott, not the conduct per se (again: Rubio's bill doesn't even cover a generic refusal to do business with Israelis) -- it sits on far less stable footing. All of which is to say: the law here is not fully settled and is complex, and we could stand for a much more careful conversation about how government speech versus individual liberty versus non-discrimination intersect in cases like these. But we're not having it, and nobody wants to have it. And I'm just really tired, all of the sudden. via The Debate Link http://bit.ly/2FnyoRA

#boycott #free speech #Israel #Palestine

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daysswithyou · 6 years

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Untold

Characters: DAY6 Wonpil x OC

Genre: angst, slice of life, slight fluff

Words: 4.6k

Description: the unlikely friendship – and the discovery that comes with it.

Author’s note: This is the longest oneshot I have written for DAY6 till date and honestly, I’ve wrote so much and spent so much time on it because this is such a personal, heart wrenching piece for me to write. This is the little part of myself that I present to the world – and I hope that all of you will love it (and be gentle with it)

---

Part I

Her voice rings in his head long after she’s gone. Now he’s just sitting alone in the classroom as the sun sets, the blinding light hitting him right in the face as the walls bathe in orange. But the piercing light doesn’t bother him one bit – the nagging unease scratching away at his heart does as he replays Ms Kim’s words over and over again.

"Wonpil-ah, could you come over here for a while?"

"Ok, just a second." He placed the broom by the corner of the room before settling himself in the seat in front of Ms Kim.

"I need your help Wonpil."

Her expression was grim, her lips drawn into a tight line. Instead of asking him for help, she made him feel as though he was about to be reprimanded for something he did wrong.

"Is it writing for the school magazine? I can do it by next week."

"No Wonpil, it's something more serious than that. I need you to tutor Y/N.”

This statement shocks Wonpil a little – why him of all people? He wasn’t even close to you. As if she could read his mind, she answered his question swiftly.

“I know you must be wondering why you – when you aren’t even close to her, plus you’re class president and part of the school band; you’re a busy man. I understand all that Wonpil, but you’re the only one suitable for the job. You top the cohort consistently and you have the patience to nurture and teach – I trust that you’ll be able to help her. You know she hasn't been doing well and it's more urgent this year since all of you will be sitting for your college entrance exams. Do me a favour and help her ok?"

Even though she ended with a question, Wonpil knew she wasn’t giving him a choice. He simply nods in understanding as she stands to leave.

Wonpil puts his head behind his head and squeezes his eyes shut as he lets out a deep sigh.

Y/N – why does this name make him feel so bad? In his mind, Wonpil tries to conjure an image of you and all he can picture is a girl whom always had her head down, never willing to look at anyone in the eye.

A girl that was always shunned and mocked by others. Although, why again? Wonpil tries to recall if you ever did anything to anyone to deserve such a response but come to think of it, he doesn't even remember you speaking to anyone at all. He’s been your classmate since middle school and high school, but he doesn’t know anything about you. Why don’t you have friends? Why are you constantly being scolded by teachers for your tardy appearance and work? Why don’t you ever talk to anyone? His lack of knowledge about you has him balling up in shame – as class president all these years, he feels personally responsible. His job is to make sure everyone in class progresses together but has he, really? How was it that you had fallen through the cracks but he hasn’t even noticed?

I’m going to help her in any way I can – that’s my duty.

Wonpil was your seatmate with effect the next day. Your eyes grew wide when you saw him in the seat beside yours, which was far away from his usual seat at the front of the class. But you quickly schooled your features back to neutral, keeping your eyes firmly fixed on the ground. You settled into your seat stiffly, ignoring his greeting.

"Y/N, if you need help with anything I'm right here."

Once again, you gave him the cold shoulder. Hesitation in his eyes, he gives you a lingering look before turning his attention back to the front. Math class proceeded as usual and Wonpil’s hands never stopped copying, his brain never stopped processing – there was simply so much to take in. So when your hands stilled, he knew you were stuck.

“Y/N do you need help with that question?”

It was as if Wonpil had set off some trigger, his words scalding your ears. Before he could even do so much as lift a finger in your direction, you snatched your book and pen out of his sight as a fierce rejection left your lips.

“No. Just leave me alone.”

Angling your body away from him, you continued to struggle on your own, adamantly refusing any offers of help from him. Still shocked by your sudden outburst, Wonpil stared wide-eyed at your back – unsure of what he had done to elicit such a response from you. But nonetheless, he remained unfazed. Over the course of the day, he constantly looked out for you, asking you if you were doing alright but you gave him a scowl each time – making it clearly known that his help was unwelcomed.

This became a vicious cycle – him constantly offering to help, and you retreating more and more. No matter how many times he asked, you simply won’t let him in. In the beginning, you would still bother to open your mouth to say “No” or scowl at him, but gradually, you just began to treat him as though he was invisible. Today was no different.

“Hey Y/N let’s study together now? We can work on the latest Chemistry assignment together.”

With a zip of his bag, Wonpil turned to face you but you had already bounded out of the door. Unfortunately for you, you had bumped into Brian– causing your precious time to be wasted.

“Watch where you’re going.” With a backward glare thrown at you, he walked off towards Wonpil as you dashed down the hallway, not even bothering to apologise. Wonpil watched the scene unfold with unease – slightly angry that Brian had treated you so harshly. Brian plopped down on the table, rotating his shoulders where you had bumped into him squarely. He muttered something about you as detest dripped from his eyes,

“She’s such a freak. Don’t even know why she’s in such a hurry each day – she can’t even spare the time to look where she’s going.”

To make matters worse, Jae had to chip in.

“Probably rushing to be with other freaks, who knows what she’s up to anyways?” Both Brian and Jae then laughed at their mockery of you, before fistbumping one another. Wonpil, however, wasn’t stomaching this very well.

“Quit it! Stop being so mean, what she ever done to you? It was an accident Brian, she didn’t mean it.”

Brain then snapped back – both in anger and disbelief of his defence of you.

“Why do you even care so much about her? What has she ever done for you? All you do it get trampled on by her – since when has she ever been nice to your offers of help? Just in case you didn’t notice because you’re becoming too much like her, I was the one injured in this episode, not her.”

“Yea man, what’s up with you geez. I don’t even get why you care for her so much, she’s an outcast Wonpil. Don’t spend too much time with her before you become like her.”

Wonpil was now fuming mad at both their comments and he couldn’t bear to be part of this conversation anymore.

“I can’t reason with your thick skulls; until both of you have developed some consideration for others, this conversation ends here.”

Slamming the door shut on his way out, Wonpil didn’t stop fuming until he got to his house. They’re his friends, but their words and actions were absolutely uncalled for. However, their comments do beg the question – where do you rush off to everyday after school?

The next day, Wonpil disappeared from class a few minutes before lessons ended and didn't come back since. Of course, you didn't wait around for his return, you simply got up and left like you always did. You dashed off in the direction of home but why does it feel like someone was following you?

Wonpil didn't expect you to be that fast. You threw quick glances over your shoulder every now and then and so many times, you nearly caught him. You walked exceptionally fast too and he had to literally run after you to make sure that he didn't lose you. By the time you stopped, he was drenched in sweat beneath his black hoodie. As much as he wanted to just collapse, he had some commen sense to make sure that he was well-hidden behind the wall before sticking his head out to observe the scene.

“Mother I’m here.”

“Thank goodness. Dear, could you help me check the new batch of spices that just here? I need to attend to your siblings.”

“I got it.”

The sounds of loud wailing can be heard over the rumbling engine and Wonpil watched as you meticulously checked each crate before hauling the heavy boxes one by one to the back of the store. The boxes left nasty scratches down your forearms, the rough material cutting through your delicate skin – Wonpil now understood why you wore long sleeves even on hot summer days; you had something you wanted to hide. For the rest of the afternoon, he watched as you ran around the family store without rest. You either had to attend to customers or deal with your siblings, a girl and a boy that looked like they can’t be above age 8.

When the skies turned indigo, you pulled the shutters down over the shop with your mother but instead of leaving together, you bade her goodbye and walked away from the direction of your home.

Where is she heading to now?

Wonpil needed the answer to that question – and so he followed. Your footsteps led you to the back of Aurora – the most expensive restaurant in the entire city.

So she works here?

And indeed you do. Through the big floor-to-ceiling glass panes, it gave him a very clear view of you hurrying around the busy restaurant – a skilful balancing act of handling trays full of heavy trays of beverages and food and remembering long list of orders. Even as the night got busier and your co-workers offered to help you, you rejected them politely with a smile, waving them off as you walked around the tables. Despite the weariness that showed around your eyes, the professional smile never slipped off your face through the long night.

But when you trudged home that night, your sagged shoulders and dragged footsteps made it clear that you were thoroughly exhausted. Wonpil kept a sharp eye on you all the way till you passed the threshold of your house. From his position, he could see you hunched over your desk, twirling a pen in the air as you tried to do your homework. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before the light from your room was extinguished.

At that moment, his wristwatch read: 03:00

Under the dim lighting from the rusty street lamps, he scanned the exterior of your house with its cracking and faded paint. The metal on the front gate was rusting, the paint job clearly done decades ago. The hinges of your door were falling apart and looked hastily put back together by a non-professional – Wonpil assumed it was you. The entire house looked decrepit – marks of age and neglect showing itself in all the nooks and crannies.

Trudging home that night, a million thoughts ran through his mind, each one making guilt and frustration bubble in him.

All this while I never knew that this was how she had been living. Being her classmate for so many years… why was it that I never even bothered to ask? Why did no one extend a helping hand to her, not even me? Rushing home immediately after school to help with the family and then having to work a night job before struggling with school till 3am. And the condition of her house… That’s not how a girl her age should live.

But what was more apparent to Wonpil was that you desperately needed help, but yet you weren’t accepting any.

For his lack of better judgement and inability to hold in the frustration anymore, he slammed his fist against the brick wall before placing his forehead against it in defeat.

Why won’t you let me in Y/N? Why won’t you accept any help from me or anyone at all? What other untold stories do you have?

Part II

For an entire week, Wonpil continues to shadow you and the same cycle repeats itself. There wasn't a day where you slept before 3am and on the weekends it seems worse - you'll work overtime and not get any sleep at all. There were so many times when he wanted to storm up to your house and put you into bed but he didn't want to get arrested for trespassing or give your mother a heart attack. He stood by and simply watched as you worked yourself to the bones - both of you helpless and powerless.

The only thing he does to vaguely help is patronise the Aurora. He'll stay for as long as you did and then secretly tipping you at the end of every night. A small bubble of happiness raises in him when he sees the small glimmer of hope in your eyes but both of you knew that the help you needed was far greater than this.

He stayed in the shadows all this while, silently watching over you.

Until one day when you didn't turn up in school. Wonpil felt so odd that entire day - your absence screaming louder in the void of his mind. Irrational thoughts filled his head - did you drop out of school? Were you badly injured?

But it turns out that you simply sick.

"Wonpil-ah, this is Y/N address. Could you go down to pass her her work, and maybe just check up on her too."

But he didn't need the address anyways - it was already stored in his memory.

It took a few good moments of pacing around outside your house before he finally worked up the guts to ring your doorbell.

Y/N POV

I wasn't expecting him at all. He was the last person on earth that I expected to show up at my doorstep. But despite my usual nonchalance towards him, I still unconsciously ran my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it as much as I can. My eyes rapidly darted around as I chewed on my bottom lip; I was trying hard to look at everywhere but him.

"Hi Y/N."

"Hi Wonpil."

"Can I come inside?"

I stepped aside to let him before directing him around my house.

"Just step where I step. The rest of the floorboards are rotting."

I faced the front quickly before moving on - I can't stand to see his look of pity that I knew would surely come. Pulling out the wooden dining chair for him, I poured him a cup of water before setting it down in front of him.

"Here. I'm sorry but this is all I have to offer."

Staring at the tin mug and plain wooden furniture, I thought about how this was all such a stark comparision to the comfortable lifestyle that Wonpil has. My entire house is rotting and the interior is threadbare. Everything must look so pathetic and I became very self-conscious of this as I sank back further into the kitchen counter, my nails carving half-moons into the soft wood. A heartbeat later, his answer came.

"Don't be sorry, this is alright."

I snapped my head up to look at him and his eyes do not betray his words. In them, I saw no judgment and prejudice against me, only genuine concern.

Why is he being so nice to me? I don't understand.

He must have noticed my furrowed eyebrows because he was now doing the same.

"Are you ok? Do you need a rest?"

"No I'm fine. But what brings you here?"

"School work and..."

Both of us waited in silence for him to continue speaking and when he did, it was so full of sincerity that I continued hanging on to the last wisps of his words, desperately wishing that he'll say more.

"And I wanted to check up on you to make sure that you're doing alright. I was...worried about you." He then fiddled with his fingers, he himself unsure how the words he just said came out.

Worried for you.

Those words sounded so foreign. When was the last time that someone apart from my mother cared about me? Perhaps none. And now, a boy that I barely know says he's worried for me, that he cares about me. I knew better than to sink into this flitting sense of bliss but a part of me couldn't help but keep his words stored in my heart, caressing it like how a mother would to her precious firstborn. I let myself indulge in this delusional bliss before replying him.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t go to work today.”

“How do you know I work?”

The colour drained from his face rapidly but he managed to give me an answer nonetheless.

“Oh I was at the restaurant some other night and I saw you working. I didn’t greet you because I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh.” That is possible, he can afford to dine there and that fact is no secret.

“Promise me you won’t work today.”

Now my hackles were raised, and my defensive mode was on.

“Why? Why are you so adamant trying to stop me from working?”

“You’re sick Y/N! Look at you! You can’t even stand up straight, how can you expect to work tonight?”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t own you an explanation!”

His constant prying was now pissing me off and the pounding headache wasn’t helping my case.

“Y/N…”

“Just please… stop asking and leave now.”

His clenched jaws and defeated eyes told me that I had won – without even saying goodbye, he left and when the door closed shut with a definite click, I allowed myself to collapse to the floor, the exhaustion and pain leaking out from my eyes.

Pressing my palms against my eyes, I kept repeating the same lines mentally over and over again.

You don’t understand, you don’t understand, you don’t understand…

This constant reminder of my helplessness didn’t make me feel any better and as sobs wrecked my body and grief takes it hold around my throat, I dig my nails into my face, hoping the pain would go away.

Wonpil POV

Rooted to the ground, I continued staring at her house at my wits end – what else must I possibly do to make her open up?

“Don’t take it personally young man; she treats everyone like that. Poor child… ”

I turned to face the source and I found an elderly man watering his plants next door, a look of resignation on his face as his eyes travelled between Y/N’s house and me – he must know something that I don’t.

“What do you know about Y/N?”

“Nothing but pain for the young girl – she didn’t grow up in a good family.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her father ran off when she was young, leaving the family in debt. She’s been helping her mother clear off the debts her father left behind ever since she could work. She might be cold but don’t blame her or judge her for it – she didn’t grow up being taught how to love the world when it’s so cruel to her.”

All I could do is mumble out a feeble “thanks” before turning to stare back at her house. That piece of information didn’t make me judge her more – it made me understand her better.

Needless to say, you didn’t pay heed to Wonpil’s words. At 6pm sharp, you left your house in your white working blouse and black trousers and as you stepped through the kitchen doors, you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the night ahead.

From his spot on the second level, Wonpil had a clear bird’s eye view of the entire place and it didn’t take him long to find you with your distinctive hairstyle. He cursed and swore mentally – berating you for being so stubborn. But he couldn’t just drag you out from the place; you’ll have a hard time explaining to your manager if he did that. Despite his growing frustration, all he could do was sit and wait, hoping to catch you later on the way home instead.

The night steadily grew busier – a never-ending line of customers leaving and entering the place. You rushed around from place to place, sweating even under the strong air-conditioning. The crowd was beginning to get wild and it was simply too much for you handle; it was only a matter of time before you made a mistake.

You didn’t even know how it happened – your tired eyes misjudged the distance and when you let go, the shrill sounds of successive crystal glasses smashing into a million pieces silenced the entire place. Customers and co-workers alike waited in bated breath for your verdict and all you were aware of was your ragged breathing, rapid heartbeat and the sight of the broken crystals shards. Before you could make another move, you were yanked out of the restaurant harshly by your enraged manager.

From above, Wonpil squeezed past tables of people, not caring about the rude words and stares that he had gotten – just to get to you.

Y/N POV

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU Y/N? HOW COULD YOU MAKE SUCH A BIG MISTAKE?”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to -” Before I could even explain myself, he held up a hand.

“I don’t care about your bloody reasons Y/N. You’re going to have to pay $2000 for those cups.”

I felt like my whole world has just came crashing down. $2000. That’s my family’s living expenses for 6 months. I don’t have that kind of money.

“Please, I don’t have that sort of money. I’ll work extra!”

“I SAID I DON’T CARE Y/N. JUST PAY UP NOW!”

From my right, a few bills were thrown into my manager’s face before a familiar voice reached my ears.

“If you want your money so much, take it.”

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, I was dragged away from the scene by Wonpil.

Wonpil dragged you all the way home and he only let go of your wrists when he was outside your gates. Turning to you with disappointment and mild anger, he was about to scold you but he stopped, unable to carry on at the sight in front of him.

Tears were brimming in your eyes as you trembled like a leaf on a frigid November night, your footing unsteady. Gulping, it took you so much effort before you croaked out a few words.

“Are you…are you the one that’s been tipping me this past one week?”

“Yes.”

You made a choking sound before running your fingers through your dishevelled hair, burying your head in your hands as you tried to squeeze the world out.

Stepping towards you, Wonpil called out softly to you but what he wasn’t expecting were your fists. “Y/N…”

“DON’T TALK TO ME KIM WONPIL! Why did you do it? Huh? Why did you help me? Did I ever ask for help?”

With each sentence, you punched his chest with your fist as you stepped forward; and he simply stepped backwards each time, letting you vent your anger.

“Why? Why do you keep doing the things I told you not to? WHY!” By now you were in hysteria, shaking the angry tears away as you repeatedly rained your fists upon him.

In a swift movement, Wonpil caught hold of both your wrists and pulled you into him, trapping you between his arms and chest. You continued to resist him for a few moments but your intense outburst had burned you out and realising that there was nowhere to run anymore, you simply let your defences down as you sobbed freely into his chest.

Wonpil didn’t say a word or make another movement – all he did was stand there as he tried to hold a broken girl together to keep her from falling apart.

When your sobs evened out, Wonpil then spoke up, his words travelling to the depths of your heart.

“I know about your family situation Y/N, don’t ask me how, just trust me when I say I do. I don’t claim to understand what you’ve been through or how you feel because I don’t but I just want to ask you something – why don’t you accept help from anyone?”

He could feel it when your delicate lips moved against his collarbone, your answer so faint it stayed between the two of you.

“My family is in this state because of debts. I don’t want help from people because I don’t want to own anyone anything.”

“Then I want you to know this Y/N: you don’t own me anything. I don’t do these things in hopes of getting some sort of return from you – no, I don’t. Also, it’s alright to accept help when you really need it – we’re all not superheroes that can solve all the problems. Sometimes, it’s ok to ask for help even after you’ve tried to solve something by yourself. Remember what I said before?”

“That you’re here if I ever need anything?

“Yes. I’ll do good on that promise.”

Another heartbeat passes before he speaks up.

“Please just… let me in… I don’t want to see you struggling alone anymore. I won’t try to change you, but I will try to help you in any way I can. But first you got to let me in ok?”

When your arms wrap around his waist, Wonpil doesn’t have to hear the words to know you’ve said “yes”

Epilogue

You rub your hands and press them to your lips as you scanned the list of students on the board. When you found your name, realisation slowly dawned upon you…

I can go to college. I have to tell Wonpil!

Squeezing past the crowd of clamouring students, you found Wonpil leaning against the wall, smiling ever since he caught sight of you squeezing through the crowd.

“You did well didn’t you? I knew you could do it!”

Too overwhelmed with emotion, you simply threw yourself into his arms as you hung onto him tightly, as though he was your one and only lifeline to this world.

“Why are you being like this?” His tone was half amusement, half concern as he ran his hands up and down your back in a soothing motion. When he felt his shoulders getting wet, that’s when he gently pried you off before looking at you.

“Why? What’s wrong? Please don’t cry, you did great Y/N!”

“It’s…not…because of that.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m crying out of happiness. Thank you Wonpil, just thank you…” You muttered a few more “thank you” before Wonpil had to stop you.

“I know Y/N, I know. You did great and I’m proud of you! Smile a little ok!” He held onto your face gently as he wiped the tears from your eyes, and you nodded, telling him that you understood.

“Don’t cry anymore, I got something else to tell you.”

You opened your eyes in time to see him dive in, feeling the press of his warm lips against your forehead.

Then, you heard your own words reflected back at you.

“I love you Y/N.”

#day6writersnet #day6 imagines #day6 scenarios #wonpil imagine #wonpil scenario #day6 wonpil scenario #day6 wonpil imagine #day6 wonpil #kim wonpil #day6 #i hope all of you loved this piece #critisism is welcomed!

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geeelatinnn · 4 years

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Sketches and Crowded Places

Hi! It’s been a while since I posted a fanfic that I wrote for various reasons but anyway, here’s to giving it another shot. Posted the same thing at my lj account.

Sketches and Crowded Places

Characters: Kagura Ryuhei x Kojima Tae

AU "Platina Data" x "Gantz: Perfect Answer"

Rating: G

Walking through the busy streets of Tokyo was something she loved to do in order for her to form ideas for her next work. She loved to observe people, it helps her figure out how she wants her next character to look like next. She loved doing this in crowded places and even traveled around a lot, she doesn't stand out that much that people sometimes never did pay attention to her which she could very much use to her advantage.

At her place, all her sketchbooks are gathered up in one area. She arranged them based on what years she used them, she found it easier this way to find what she was looking for. She had always noted down whether or not she has used a particular sketch before or not but there was this sketch that always bothered her. Each and every one of her works are special to her but this particular sketch was different, every time she looked at it, she felt a warm feeling covering her, she felt a sense of safety, and she felt...loved.

Kurono Kei

That was the name written below it. A name was written down even though she had never used it in any of her work, she wanted to keep that particular sketch to herself. She had tried searching the name on the internet but no one looked close to her sketch, even when she checked her old photo albums and photos on her laptop, there was no one who looked close to him. She does not remember when she drew it nor her inspiration. That particular sketchbook was placed in her room, she loved to look at it before going to bed.

*******

Kojima walked leisurely around the train station, her job did not really require her to clock in at a particular time so long as she stays in the office for eight hours. Just like any other day, she observed the people that walked past her. A man walked by her left side and he caught her attention, he looked like him. He looked like Kurono Kei.

She turned around, but by the time she made the connection he was already a few meters away from her. She walked after him, faster than her pace earlier.

"Kurono Kei!" She called out to him, the station was crowded so it was possible for him not to hear her. She followed after him and when he was within reach she grabbed his coat. "Kurono Kei." She said while panting.

The man turned around to look at her. He gently took off her hand from his coat's sleeve. "I'm sorry, but you got the wrong person." He said in a calm and collected tone before turning his back on her.

Seeing his face up close made her more confident that he really was the guy in her sketch. She was stunned for a little while but followed after him. She rode in the same bus that he did, careful enough to keep a distance that he would not notice her. She followed him until he reached a building that he entered by tapping in his identification card.

NPA Special Analyst Research Institute (SARI) the sign read.

Kojima quickly looked for Sumiyoshi Misuzu's number on her phone, her lawyer friend that had plenty of connections was the first person to come to her mind that could help her look into a company's employee list.

"Sumiyoshi," she said as soon as the call connected. "If it's not too much trouble could you possibly find out if there is someone named Kuroni Kei working at NPA Special Analyst Research Institute?"

"It might be difficult getting an employee list," Sumiyoshi said. "But I'll try. I have a case at the moment so I'll hang up now."

"Thank you." Kojima said before ending the call."

She sent a message to work telling them she was under the weather and she stayed around the area where she could see the entrance of his work building. The only time she left that area she was hiding in was when she ate her lunch. She was sketching the building on her notebook to pass the time, she thought it might be something she could make use of in her next work. It was already getting dark but there was still no sign of him going out of the building. Just as when she was about to give up because there was a possibility he left while she was eating, there he was, coming out from the front entrance of the building.

She followed him a few meters away, thinking about how to approach him this time. To her surprise he did not turn to the direction of the train station but instead kept on walking, making a turn from time to time until she realized they were walking at a dark alley. She followed every turn he took, but it was getting even darker. She seemed to have lost sight of him, she fumbled in her bag to look for her phone while walking until all of a sudden an arm blocked her way and it made her jump on her feet.

“You suck at following people.” The man she thought was Kurono appeared in front of her. “Why were you following me? You even went to the extent of stalking me to my workplace. Did anyone pay you?”

She did not answer him but instead marveled at his face, it really did look like the one in her sketch the more that she looked at him.

He snapped his fingers right in front of her eyes to wake her up from her daze. “Your answer?”

She shook her head. “I was just - just… you look like someone.” She avoided his gaze. Tilted her head from side to side. “I can’t exactly say someone I know. But someone I sketched some time ago.”

“Kurono Kei.” he said the name in a serious tone. “Right?” She nodded in response. “As I have already told you this morning. You got the wrong person. Do not follow me.” he voice was threatening that it made Kojima afraid for a little while that she could not move and simply watched him as he walked away.

*******

She brought her sketchbook that had Kurono Kei’s sketch on it in hopes that she might run into him again at the station and she plans on showing him the sketch. But days have passed and she never once ran into him at the station at all. Come Friday, she took the afternoon off from work and went back to his workplace and waited for him to come out again. It was almost 8pm and there was still no sign of him, she waited a little more.

9pm and he finally came out of the building. She wore darker clothes this time, more neutral colors to not be easily spotted by anyone. She kept a considerable distance between them, blending in the crowd of people, careful enough for him not to notice her. Again, he did not turn to the direction of the train station but he took a different path from the one they walked on the last time she followed him. She was having thoughts that maybe he was able to notice that she was following him again. The alley she walked into this time was darker than the one last time, she was about to give up and turn back when somebody suddenly put an arm around her and placed a cloth over her face. She struggled a little before she fainted.

She slowly opened her eyes, squinted when the first thing she saw was the white fluorescent light bulb, which hurt her eye a little. She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes, she was inside an unfamiliar room, her hands were tied together but that was it, she was still able to sit up. She looked around the room, the furnitures were monochromatic in color and everything was tidy and in place. It was a place she has never been before.

“So have you learned your lesson not to follow random strangers around?” The man said as she turned to look over at the desk. “Don’t worry, I did not do anything that would harm you. I tied your hands up for my own safety.” He leaned on his chair.

Kojima bit her lip. But still, she wanted to know who he was. “Could you take this off of me?” She raised her hands.

The man shook his head. “Not until you tell me why you have been following me. This is the second time.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “My bag.”

He pointed at the end of the bed. Her brown leather bag was placed there with the zipper closed. “I did not rob you or anything. I simply took you here, knocked out so you would not remember how you got here. I need to protect myself, too. But I want to know why you were following me.”

“Open my bag and you’ll see a sketchbook there. Flip it to the middle page and you’ll see… you’ll see a sketch and you’ll understand better why I was borderline stalking you.”

He did as he was told, he stood up to get a sketchbook from her bag and flipped it to the middle page. There it was, the sketch of Kurono Kei. After seeing it, even he was convinced that it looked like him but he still maintained his composure and did not look shocked or bothered by it at all.

“It does look like me.” He said as he placed down the sketchbook on the bed. He sat down beside her and carefully took off the necktie he used to tie her hands together. He took it off gently, once it was off he held her hands together with his while reaching for a tub of cream from his night stand. He gently massaged her wrists with the cream. “Does it hurt?”

She shook her head. Somehow, even after just meeting him, she felt a warm feeling just being with him. His skin was porcelain white up close, his hair was cut short, and his lenses were thicker than she thought they were. She looked around as he was massaging her wrists, at the center table were two bento boxes, one was eaten halfway and the other one was still untouched.

"You must be hungry, I bought some food for you. You were sleeping for a while and it got this late," he looked up at the watch it was 11:30pm. "I think it will be better for you to spend the night here. It's dangerous for someone to travel at this time at night alone… that is if it's okay with you."

She nodded in response. "I'm sorry for causing you trouble." She looked him directly in the eyes and bowed down. When she sat back up she smiled at him, her dimples were defined.

He rubbed his nose with his hand trying to mask any unnecessary reaction he might show her. He stood up and turned his back against her. He took a shirt and pajamas from his dresser.

"You can change your clothes first." He said and left the room to give her some privacy. He closed the door behind him and leaned on it, his hand on his chest.

His breathing became hurried as he remembered how she smiled at him. He closed his eyes and he could picture her: she had long black hair that dropped up to half her upper arm that contrasted with her porcelain hair, and her smile… god her smile, he could not think of words to describe it. Asking her to stay over, now that he thought about it, could he really maintain his composure the whole night?

She knocked on the door to signal that she was done. He did not answer but instead hurriedly went to sit on the sofa so that she would not find out that he was trying to compose himself by the door. She came out of the room wearing his clothes, carrying both the bentos in her hand.

"Would you like to eat together?" She said as she walked towards the center table to put down the bentos. She sat on the floor and placed the half eaten one in front of him. "She turned her head to the side. "You might already be full." She gently took off the lid and separated her chopsticks.

He couldn't see her face but she seemed at ease enough in the way she sat and she was already eating her food. He turned on the tv and there was a variety show rerun playing.

"Ah!" She said. "This ones a fun episode." She said excitedly.

He placed down the remote on the table and sat down beside her to eat his leftovers. Every time she laughed he felt like his heart would burst, he covered his mouth from time to time to restrain himself from saying anything at all. He felt like he was about to lose his composure with the little proximity they had and the way she laughed as if she did not have a care in the world.

"I'm sorry," she cleared her throat. There was a commercial playing on the television. "We really don't have to watch this. We can watch whatever you want, I don't want to… impose too much." She fiddled with her chopsticks.

He swallowed what he was chewing first before he answered her. "Nothing in particular I'd want to watch anyway. Are you done?"

She nodded in response and placed her chopsticks inside the bento before closing it. He took them to his kitchen and threw them in the trash bin.

"Would you like to drink anything? I have tea and beer. Or water?"

"Beer would be fine. Cold beer on a warm summer night~" she said in a sing-song like voice.

He took four cans from the fridge and sat back at the sofa, placing all four cans on the table before picking up one for himself. She was yet again laughing at the show on the television, seemingly unbothered that she was at someone else's place. She opened a can of beer and held it between both her hands. When it turned to a commercial break again, she sat up at the sofa beside him.

"It's strange that I somehow feel comfortable here with you when we don't even know each other's names." She turned to look at him, unbothered with how close the two of them were. He drank what remained of his beer. "Kojima Tae." She tapped her own shoulders with her free hand as she introduced herself.

He cleared his throat and reached for another can of beer. "Kagura Ryuhei." He opened his beer, she was still not moving away from him but sat down facing the television now. "You draw really well."

"I should because it's what I do for a living." She reached for another can of beer as what she was holding was already empty. "It's nice to meet you."

He stood up and took four more cans from the fridge, just in case she would have wanted more. Somehow he felt comfortable with her, like he could trust her. She felt at ease with him, even when she just formally met him.

"What do you do for a living?" He faced his side of the sofa.

He sat a few inches away from her to give them both some space. "I'm a research developer. Currently working on something related to DNAs." She looked at him like she was urging him to say more. He talked a little more about it as she listened intently while drinking her beer.

"That explains why you thought someone was paying me to follow you at first." She took her fourth can of beer.

"Hey, are you sure about that?"

She nodded her head. The two of them talked a little more, not even being bothered by what was playing in the television. He has put his guard down and occasionally laughed in with her as they shared some stories with each other. He found her even more amusing. She was starting to flush red, from laughing too much or from the liquor he could not really tell.

She was feeling a little warmer than she was earlier, she figured it must have been all that beer. They both lost track of how much they have drunk, the table had a lot of empty cabs scattered all over it.

"We should call it a night and get some rest." He said pointing to the clock, it was already 2:30am and they already had a lot to drink. "I'll clean these up tomorrow." He turned off the television.

When she stood up, she dropped right back on the sofa after only one step. He put her arm around her before picking her up from the sofa. He gently put her down on the bed. He took his extra futon, moved the center table to the side, and spread out the futon beside the bed.

He turned off the lights. He could still somehow see her because of the light that came in from the window. She was sleeping soundly. He tucked in her hair behind her ear to get a closer look of her face. His heart was beating at a faster pace than normal, he rested his hand on the bed and he felt her place hers on top of his. He took her hand and played with her fingers.

"Kagura." She called out in her sleep. He looked at her face again. "Kagura." She called him once more and smiled, her eyes were closed and she looked calm.

Hearing her call out his name made his heart skip a beat. He let go of her hand and kissed her forehead before he laid down on his futon.

#fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #nino #ninomiya kazunari #yoshitaka yuriko #gantz #platina data #au #alternate universe

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kristallioness · 7 years

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Healing herself

Summary: Kya discovers that she has healing abilities, just like her mother.

Word count: 2,941

Author's note: I haven't written anything in awhile, so I came up with this short drabble about Katara taking care of Kya. And I can't believe I teared up when I wrote the last things Kya and Katara say to each other. The little waterbender is more of a healer than a fighter, so I like to think that she would've tried to use her waterbending to heal as well (besides learning the basics of medicine), but she had never successfully done it until this moment. The way Kya reacts (grabbing her mother's hand/the stethoscope) when Katara wants to listen to her is something that I found to be quite adorable after I'd stumbled across a random video about a baby doing it during an exam. Also, when I remembered that airbenders have a special breathing technique, which helps them keep their bodies warm, I wanted to turn this into something interesting.. Read and you'll find out. There are *counts*.. four references to my older fics, including "Falling to pieces", "An afternoon at the hospital", "Playing healer" and "Recovery". I feel like my writing has become very rusty.. okay, maybe not that bad. I just need another idea, something that'd actually have a plot. In the meantime, take this or leave it *hides*.

----------x----------

"Kya? Good morning, sweetie!"

A slightly drowsy little girl peeked at her with her left eye before releasing a loud yawn.

"Aaaaahhhh.. morning, mommy!" Kya stretched and turned on her back, rubbing her eyes to clear the blur from their watering. The little waterbender had fallen ill last night and since she'd already been too tired to stay up any longer, her mother had allowed her to go to bed early and rest, promising to give her a checkup the next morning. With Kya being the one who insisted, which usually meant that she felt rather poorly. Hence why she was greeted by three gentle knocks against the door to her room a moment ago.

Katara quietly slid the door open and stepped inside. She was carrying a tray of food and medical equipment, one of which was a familiar shiny 'necklace', decorating her neck. Only the most essential things they'd need. The smell coming from a bowl containing still slightly boiling stewed sea prunes and a cup of hot ginger tea filled the girl's room.

"So, how are you feeling?" Katara asked as she placed the tray on the nightstand next to Kya's bed, then took a seat on her bedside. She had to make room for it since there was also a nightlight, a few children's books and a beautiful framed photograph of their family on the cupboard.

Kya had accidentally knocked the photo off the table by throwing one of her pillows at it once, breaking the glass and even cutting her finger while she attempted to clean up the mess. She'd recently turned two years old and had a huge argument with her daddy, about him not being home so much. It was all an unfortunate train of events, Aang really did have to visit Republic City during that time. Kya felt so sorry and was afraid that because of what she'd yelled at him, her daddy had left their family behind. A 2-year-old's logic, after all. Of course, Aang had already forgiven her and offered her unconditional love when she apologized while crying. Katara had helped heal her boo-boo, comforted her during the day and fixed the glass by replacing the shattered one with a new one. The little waterbender has been extra careful with it ever since.

"A bit warm," Kya answered her mother's question, watching intently as she laid the cool palm of her right hand against her temple. The heavy feeling in her forehead dissipated a little, even without Katara doing anything - a healer's touch, as everybody liked to say. She went into a short coughing fit while her mother pondered. That was the first symptom, along with weariness, which had appeared the previous evening.

"You are a bit warm.. do you think that we should take your temperature?" Katara wondered as she reached for the thermometer on the tray. The current reading was a bit too high probably due to the last measurement, so she began swinging it in the air to force the mercury to go down to its normal level. Kya hummed and nodded in agreement, allowing her mother to fiddle with her sleeve in order to place the thermometer under her right arm.

"Let's keep it under there for a few minutes.."

"Okay, mommy," Kya said as she laid her right hand on her stomach to make sure it didn't slip anywhere, just like her mommy had taught her.

"While we wait, why don't you tell me what else is bothering you besides that nasty cough?"

The only reply Kya gave to her mother was a very loud sniff.

"Ah-haa.. a runny nose?" Katara raised an eyebrow playfully, Kya nodded again.

"Nothing else? No tummy ache? You're not feeling sick?" the master waterbender tenderly ran a finger across her daughter's abdomen, slightly tickling it, which helped cheer the little girl up by making her laugh.

"Nuh-uh!" Kya shook her head and smiled back at her mother, who reached for the wooden tongue depressor next.

"Good.. but since you've been coughing a lot, do you mind if I take a look at your throat?"

Kya simply opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue, which was all Katara needed to proceed.

"Say 'Aahh!'," she ordered after a couple of seconds of observing.

"Aahh!" the little waterbender repeated.

"Well, it is a little redder than normal, but that's probably because you've been coughing all night long," Katara gently touched Kya's neck to be sure there wasn't any swelling, which would've indicated an infection. She was pleased that she couldn't feel anything.

"You know, Kya, we talked last night and your daddy promised that he'll go to the hospital as soon as the pharmacy opens."

Since it was a Saturday, the biggest pharmacy in the city, which happened to be in Katara's hospital and had the largest variety as well as supply of drugs that could be kept in specific conditions, didn't open until noon.

"But I don't want daddy to go! I don't need any medicine," Kya pouted, breaking eye contact with her mother as she stared blankly at her stuffed Appa plush, which was among her other toys on the carpet.

"Kya.. it's not just any medicine we're talking about. It's frozen wood frogs," Katara joined Kya's right hand with her own, softly grazing the back of it with her thumb.

"Exactly. I told you - I don't wanna suck on frozen frogs!" she whined.

"Daddy will go anyway. I tried to tell him, but he's already made up his mind about this. And who knows, maybe you'll change your mind when he comes back," Katara said as she moved on to stroking her daughter's head. She merely puffed out an annoyed breath, which sounded more like a pathetic cough.

"I'll remind you that if you eat the substance, you'll be cured within a day or two, otherwise you'll be sick for a few more days before you start to feel better.. Think about it. I sucked on some of those little critters when I was sick. And you being my healer certainly helped, too."

"I remember.." Kya sighed sadly. It wasn't too long ago when their roles had been switched - Katara being the patient and Kya her healer.

"So, will you let me be your healer now?" Katara tilted her head, gazing into her daughter's eyes, a loving smile on her lips.

"Sure, mommy," Kya eventually gave in, prompting Katara to release a short chuckle.

"Thank you, sweetie!.. I think it's ready," Katara stated before she pulled the thermometer out from under the little waterbender's right arm, then stared at the result. Her facial expression remained somewhat neutral, yet relieved, meaning it wasn't anything serious.

"37.5 degrees, that's a normal fever there," she put the medical instrument away, then grabbed that pretty and long shiny 'necklace' of hers.

"Would you like to lie down or sit up while I listen to you?" Katara wondered as she rubbed and breathed on the metal end of her stethoscope to warm it up in the meantime.

"I don't mind either way," Kya shrugged.

"Alright, in that case, I'll listen to your lungs while you're lying down. Okay?" she said while undoing the two buttons on her daughter's shirt. The little waterbender nodded.

"Would you take nice deep breaths through your mouth for me?" Katara asked once more. Kya complied, knowing exactly how thoroughly her mother would go through this procedure.

"Good girl, go on..." Katara praised, moving the diaphragm from left to right while going downwards to compare the sounds of her lungs.

"Cough," the elder waterbender ordered once she'd reached the lower half of her chest. The little waterbender coughed twice so her mother could listen to both sides.

"Nothing abnormal so far.. I wanna hear how well you breathe just a little bit longer, so would you mind sitting up now? Come sit with me," Katara smiled and patted her lap, inviting Kya over. The little waterbender slowly rose from her bed, then crawled closer to her mother, who helped by lifting her into her lap. Katara removed Kya's shirt completely and put it on the blanket, then pushed her long hair to the front and continued auscultating from her back. Kya also continued to breathe very deeply as well as slowly.

There was one thing her mother had to admit - she definitely had the proper breathing technique of an airbender, which sounded clearer, was really calm and collected. Kya must've been born with it because Aang hadn't taught her anything related to it yet, which made it even more impressive. Katara was very much aware of that. All those nights sleeping on Aang's bare chest like it was her personal pillow, feeling it rise and descend along with her own head as he breathed, the soft thumping echoing the beats of his heart into her right ear. She'd recognize an airbender anywhere based on the way they breathed to keep themselves warm.

"And one more time?" Katara finally asked, after which her daughter released a slightly rattling cough. She actually needed to catch her breath after that last one.

"Very good, sweetie.. Muah!" the elder waterbender gifted her with a kiss on the top of her head for being such an obedient patient.

"You can breathe normally now, I'm just gonna listen to your heartbeat," Katara explained while she softly pulled Kya's thick hair on her back again, which provided her with some warmth, too. She carefully ran the fingers of her free hand through her daughter's locks to comb them straight. Having taken the diaphragm into her left hand, she placed the stethoscope on the girl's chest, this time to listen to her heart. Kya gently grabbed Katara's hand with both her own, holding on to it whilst her mother moved the diaphragm around above her ribcage. Every time Kya did that, it reminded Katara of how she used to do it when she was just a baby.

Aang would have her in a cradle hold in his arms while Katara carried out her regular checkups. Kya's tiny cerulean eyes were rarely open, being close to her daddy always helped her calm down and fall asleep easily. The quiet room of a healer's office also helped along, which only simplified the examination for the healer herself. So one time - when Katara wanted to listen to her heart - as soon as she'd laid the round end of her stethoscope on the baby's chest, Kya's small fingers had grasped it and held it down pretty strong, even when Katara had finished and wanted to pull it away. Aang gently nudged Katara when he'd noticed the first time she did it.

"Hey, look! She's even trying to assist you," he joked in a whisper, making his wife giggle, too. Kya stopped doing it after she'd turned about a year old, becoming more alert and timid of the process. But once Katara allowed her to listen for herself for the first time a few years later, she discovered a new exciting side to it, one that amazed her and felt rather comforting at the same time. Now - whenever Katara was about to finish - she'd ask the same question every time, knowing just how eager her daughter was.

"Sweetie? Do you wanna listen, too?"

And Kya would nod happily, a silent 'Mhm!' escaping her mouth.

"Just a moment.." Katara placed the diaphragm on the spot where the beating was the loudest, mostly palpable as well.

"Okay, hold it right there," she added, then removed the earpieces and put them into Kya's ears. The little waterbender's room remained silent for almost a minute. Katara wrapped her right arm around her small body, slightly pulling Kya closer into her embrace. She didn't mind, although she did notice it and looked up at her mother, who had a big grin on her face.

"Mommy?" she asked in a quiet tone.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Can I listen with the.. the..?" she pointed at the metal chestpiece, but she'd forgotten how the other side was called. Katara helped her out by pretending like she was holding something in her hand and sort of tinkling it.

"The bell?"

"Sure.. here, let me help you," the master waterbender took it in her hands for a moment to turn it around before offering it back to her baby girl. Kya gently pressed the hollow side of her mother's stethoscope on the same spot to listen for another minute. Katara had been teaching her other medical terms and life-saving skills too, including how to wrap up a smaller bleed or wound. Obviously that would've been much easier to heal, but since Kya hadn't shown any signs of having healing abilities, she couldn't practise it.

The little waterbender's cerulean eyes grew wide when she heard a sudden loud grumbling, Katara couldn't help but laugh.

"Looks like someone's hungry, your tummy growled," she tickled her daughter's stomach again, which made her giggle, too. Kya handed the medical instrument back to her mother, who hung it around her neck.

"Time for breakfast," Katara declared while helping Kya put her shirt back on, after which the little waterbender crawled back onto her bed, climbed under the blanket and lay down on her two pillows.

"I hope you like stewed sea prunes, cause that's what you're having," she handed Kya the bowl along with a spoon.

"Can I have some fruit pie, too?" the little girl pleaded.

"Of course, after you've eaten this and gulped down at least half of that ginger tea. Besides, I'm not sure, but I'll probably have to check if we have any left over.. And I suppose if we don't, daddy can help me bake some more for dinner. Agreed?"

"Mhmm.. yummy!" Kya nodded while slurping some of the delicious broth. Katara helped her put the empty dishes back on the tray once she was finished. By the time she was beginning to drink her tea, she also began shivering.

"Are you cold? Aww, your fever must be rising," the elder waterbender checked her temple.

"I'll go find my pouch and bring some cold water to lower your fever, be back in a few minutes," Katara stood up from her daughter's bed and, in a slight quicker pace, left her room to head to the healing hut where she'd most likely left her water skin. Kya tried her best to finish her tea sooner when she suddenly remembered that there should be some fresh water left over in her own pouch.

"Mommy!" Kya called for her, but her mother was probably too far away to hear her. Since it didn't sound like a very desperate cry either, she probably wouldn't turn around and come back.

The little waterbender decided to take matters into her own hands, so she put the almost empty cup back on the tray, jumped out of bed and went to pick up her water skin from the floor, where many of her toys were also located. As soon as she'd made herself cosy in her bed, she waterbended some of the liquid on her tiny palm and pressed it against her forehead. She attempted to move it around in slow circles, or at least in a similar motion that she'd usually feel when her mother does it. She did feel a little better, but she wasn't certain if she was doing it right.

When Katara finally returned, she'd been waterbending for two minutes.

"Sorry I was gone so long, sweetie. I heard you calling me, but I was just on my way to-"

Katara's sentence was cut off by a sharp clatter, which startled Kya, and her mouth dropped wide open. She'd dropped the porcelain plate with the only piece of leftover fruit pie she'd found in the kitchen, whereas her daughter would've almost lost control of the water she was bending. It was a good thing she didn't.

"What's wrong, mommy?" Kya wondered, a bit scared and confused. Katara remained standing there like that for another few seconds before she managed to take a couple of hesitant steps closer until she reached the bedside and could take a seat. She gazed at her daughter, her diamond blue eyes still wide from the surprise and shock. She could hear the familiar humming sound, she witnessed the radiating glow. She was definitely not dreaming.

"Kya.. y-you.. you're healing, sweetie."

"Huh?" she found that hard to believe.

"Look," Katara summoned some of the ice-cold water she'd filled her pouch with, which was hanging near her waist. She froze the fluid into a thin layer of ice, an alternative for a mirror, and showed Kya a reflection of herself. The water on her forehead, around her hand, was glowing brightly. The little waterbender's cerulean eyes grew just as wide as her mother's had been moments ago. Actually, her mother's eyes began to tear up now.

"You have healing abilities, sweetie!" Katara exclaimed in delight. She quickly melted the ice back into its liquid state and waterbended it back inside her own pouch, letting her daughter do the same with hers. Then she tenderly cupped Kya's cheeks and placed a big kiss on her wet forehead, pulling her precious baby into a full embrace. The little waterbender was still busy processing what had just happened, so she said the most irrelevant, or rather the first thing that came to mind.

"Uh.. sorry about making you drop the plate, mommy. Can I still have some fruit pie?"

"Oh, my silly little waterbender! You can have all the fruit pie you want!" Katara choked through her crying.

#Katara and Kya II #Katara #Kya II #Aang #ATLA and TLOK #my fanfiction #mine #shards of Kristal

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