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klove0511 · 3 months

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It's Rest I Want Chapter 4

“Just like that.”

The demon grinned, and Dean hated her. She had played on his one weakness, and she knew it. But hate or not, he couldn't be mad about it, not if it gave him Sam.

He opened his mouth to accept the deal when cold washed over him. Suddenly he was a passenger in his own body, completely frozen in place while something else took control.

No, he thought, struggling to move, to speak, to do anything at all.

Sorry, Dean.

The words blindsided him. Sam was possessing him? He knew ghosts could if they were powerful enough, but he'd never expected this. For a moment, just the smallest moment, he was happy. Dean had spent his whole life protecting Sam, and more than once he'd wished Sam didn't have to exist separate from himself. It was out there that could hurt him. He'd once heard a mother lamenting giving birth because now her baby wasn't safe in her body, and he'd understood exactly how she felt. The moment faded as soon as he heard Sam speak. His little brother, his beautiful, intelligent, stubborn asshole of a brother, was telling the demon no. That he would rather stay dead. Dean howled in fury, throwing everything he had at Sam in a vain attempt to reclaim control.

Then it was too late. The demon was gone and the summoning materials burned. Dean would have cried if he had control of his tear ducts. Since he didn't, he let his consciousness fall back into something like sleep.

He was alone in his body when he woke up in a strange motel room.

Sunlight filtered through the curtains, letting him see the ugly orange and olive décor. Some place still stuck in the 70s, then. There was a new bottle of whiskey on the table by the window, and next to it was a piece of paper folded in half. From the bed he could read his name, written in Sam's neat handwriting.

He crawled out of bed, reaching for the note.

Dean,

I’m sorry. I know you're pissed, and I get it. I shouldn't have done that to you. But please, you've got to understand, I couldn't let you make that deal. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you went to Hell for me. Please try to understand.

Please. Let me go.

Sam

With a snarl he crumpled the paper, throwing it across the room. Rage boiled up, needing to be released. He flipped the table, hardly caring that the whiskey bottle shattered when it landed. For the next few minutes he was barely aware of what he was doing, just needing to break whatever was closest to him. Needing to feel the pain in his hand when he punched the wall.

By the time the fury was spent, the room was trashed. Dean sagged to the floor, drained of the anger that he'd been wearing like a shield these last few months. Fuck Sam. He— His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, fighting down the sobs that were threatening. Slowly he took one deep breath, then another. When he had a sliver of control he said, “You still here, Sam?”

Silence. He waited for a breeze or a cold spot. The room was as empty as it had been when he woke up. His restraint crumbled, and he mourned with deep, gasping sobs. He hated it. Hated that he couldn't stop, hated that even this didn't feel like enough. There was nothing he could do. Nothing to save Sam. Nothing to let this feeling out.

He'd had one moment where he was as close to Sam as he could possibly be, and Sam had— Sam had used Dean's body to make sure they would never— It was impossible. Unthinkable. They'd never share another meal. Never fight over laundry day. Never bitch at each other over who cleaned the guns or wanted terrible snacks for movie night. He’d never again feel Sam’s hands on him while tending Dean’s wounds. He couldn't be. He.

God, Dean had been an idiot. He'd thought he was doing ok, considering. He'd thought he was getting by, dealing with it. Yeah, ok, maybe he was drinking too much and barely eating or sleeping, but he'd been out there. He'd been hunting, and he hadn't even gotten himself killed yet. So, yeah. Considering the circumstances, he'd thought he was doing pretty good. He was a fucking idiot.

John was tucked into one of the back booths of the Roadhouse, nursing a beer while he pored over his research. Ash had told him to come, but he hadn’t specified why. He’d been passed out drunk in the trailer behind the bar when John had arrived two hours ago. Ellen had told John to just be patient. Ash didn’t live on the same schedule as the rest of the world.

When Ash did stagger into the main room, he was rumpled and hungover, which did nothing to deter him from starting his day with a beer. He was in another hideous sleeveless shirt, flannel this time, with the shoulders fraying where the sleeves had been cut off. At least this time he had a shirt on underneath it. “Yo, Papa Winchester! You made it!” he said by way of greeting.

John struggled not to glare. The man had proven his talents already, so it did John no favors to alienate him. “What have you got?”

Ash flopped into the seat across from him. “I,” he started dramatically, “have got a lead.”

John cocked his head expectantly.

Ash rolled his eyes and guzzled his beer. “Winchesters. No flair for theatrics.” He shook his head in disapproval. “Fine. All right, did Ellen catch you up?”

John grumbled low. “No. She didn’t. What is the lead.”

“Fine. Shit, dude. So, you know Dean has been working this case. Well, he managed to find out that the mothers—not always the moms, actually, but mostly them—all encountered our Yellow Eyed friend before the night of the fires.”

John thought of the list in his journal, names and dates where the demon had appeared prior to coming to their home. “What do you mean ‘encountered?’”

“I mean encountered. Ran into. Met. But I also mean made a deal with.”

John’s blood ran cold. “Mary wouldn’t.”

Ash winced and ran a hand through his mullet. “Sorry, my man. Unless you did, then it’s safe to say it was her.”

“What does that mean though? Made a deal for what?”

“That part ain’t real clear. This guy wasn’t making deals like a regular demon. Said he didn’t have any interest in their souls. Just wanted permission. But anyhow. That’s not the lead. All that did was give me more people to look for. It took some doing, mind, but I’ve found like a dozen of these people so far. And get this: most of ‘em have gone missing in the last month.”

Permission. He thought of the demon coming into their home, into Sammy’s nursery. Given what he knew of Azazel’s plans, this information just cemented his certainty that he’d made the right call letting Sam go. He swallowed back bile. “You figure out where they’ve been going?”

Ash beamed at him. “Ding ding ding! Give the man a medal. Now, understand that I haven’t actually found these kids, right? But I have found demonic omens that line up with the patterns you’ve observed. It stands to reason that the missing people that this demon has previously targeted just might be in the place with all the demonic signs.”

The guy looked so damn proud of himself. John clenched his jaw, trying to keep his patience. “Ash. Where.”

John had just about finished planning his route when Dean came through the door. Dean hadn't looked good when John had last seen him, half-crazed researching for weeks while he tried to save Sam, but he was barely recognizable now. His son looked gaunt, like he hadn't remembered to stop for food enough since they'd parted ways. He was unshaven, unwashed, and the smell of booze reached John from fifty feet away.

Ellen greeted Dean, who asked for Ash. Ash had disappeared into the back rooms again, doing whatever it was he did most of the time. It didn't take long for Dean to emerge from the back with a new look of determination. He was headed toward the bar when he caught sight of John, his eyes widening in surprise. His poker face was good though, and that was the only sign of recognition John saw. They watched each other a moment, John studying his son's changed appearance. He obviously wasn't sleeping enough either, judging from the dark circles under his eyes. It hurt, seeing Dean look so— He searched for an adequate word. So broken.

It reminded him of himself in those early days. Trying to care for two young boys while he grieved Mary, trying to process what he'd witnessed the night she died. He'd barely survived.

Learning about the supernatural from Missouri had been the only thing he could hold on to, a reason to keep going. His quest for revenge. Like Ellen had said, he did understand that. He just hadn't understood what she'd meant when she'd been talking about Dean, not until now, at least. He’d never suspected things between them had been like that.

Of course, he'd known the boys were close. He'd encouraged it their whole lives. They relied on each other, trusted each other. Sam had worked with Dean far better than he'd ever worked with John, and Dean had blossomed in the year the boys had hunted together without John commanding them. Seeing Dean now, John understood that he had done this to his son. That closeness, such a boon on a hunt where a good partner meant life or death, was only a source of pain. It was a wonder Dean hadn't gotten himself killed yet.

Dean obviously wasn't going to make the first move, so John tilted his head in a “come here” gesture. Dean hesitated a moment more, then set his jaw and moved. He didn't say anything as he slid into the booth, didn't even look at John.

John sighed and said, “You coming with me?”

Dean's face contorted, some subtle fight between pissed and darkly amused. But he said, “I'll meet you there, and I’ll call Bobby, have him join us. Don’t forget to bring the Colt.”

“Dean—”

“I'm not debating this with you.”

That hadn't been what he was going to do, but it didn't matter. Apologies could wait.

Dean drove 20 over the speed limit the whole way, letting the roar of Baby's engine soothe him. Seeing John had been a surprise, and he'd have words with Ellen later about that. For now, he had to concentrate on not getting himself killed long enough to get his revenge. The demon, then John. Or John, then the demon? He saw advantages to both, but trying to play out each scenario made him feel hollow and numb. The anger was protecting him right now, and he needed that if he was going to stay functional long enough to get this done. Fuck planning. He'd play this by ear.

The radio crackled, and he reached for it, intending to slot a tape in. He was going fast enough that it wasn't worth finding another radio station. Too soon he'd be out of range and have to try again. At least South Dakota wasn't far, relatively speaking. Another hour or two and he'd be there. Before he could get the tape in the player, he recognized the voice breaking through the static, and it wasn't the latest DJ. It was Sam.

Relief flooded him, followed closely by shame and more anger. It took him a minute to even recognize what Sam was trying to say.

“Slow.... down....”

Dean rolled his eyes and pressed harder on the gas.

“Dean...” Sam sounded pissed, and Dean had no trouble imagining the bitch face Sam was shooting at him. He glanced at the passenger seat, a grin on his face before he remembered.

He refocused on the road, glaring into the night. “Where have you been? I thought you might have moved on or something.”

“Tired.... Work....”

Dean tried to work that out. “Possession wears you out?”

“Yeah...”

“The things you learn.” The air was cooling rapidly, but he didn't slow down. “You doing ok, otherwise?”

It took longer for Sam to respond this time, and Dean wondered if it was because he was choosing his words or because talking like this was hard too. “…Worried...”

“What do you have to be worried about?” It came out incredulous and harsher than he intended, but things often did when he was angry.

“You.” Just one word, and the only one so far that had been crystal clear. Well then.

“You don't need to be worried about me. I'm fine.”

“Not...” The temperature dropped a couple more degrees, and Dean turned the heater up.

Sam wasn't wrong, and he wasn't the first to express concern. Ellen had said as much, and so had Bobby. The way John had looked at him had spoken volumes. Even Ash had said he looked like crap, which was more social than the guy normally was. “I'm fine enough.”

“Don't... kill... Dad...”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What? Why? How do you even know about that? I haven't told anyone.”

“Not... mad...”

“How the hell aren't you mad at him? Huh? He killed you. His own son.”

“Already.... dead...”

Dean shook his head in denial. The road in front of him was blurring, and he had to let the car slow a little. No way was he dying in a car crash right before— before he finished things.

“Yes...” There was a longer pause, and then Sam's voice came through softer, pleading. “Please...”

“How can you ask me that?” He pulled in a shuddering breath. “You already— You want me to let you stay dead. Ok. Fine. I haven't summoned any demons, have I? But you weren't dead. Not yet. Not until he pulled the plug. So that's on him.”

“Dean...”

“I can't let him walk, Sam. I just can't. He's the one who taught us that family is everything. I don't— How can you be ok with this?”

“Not... ... fault...” Sam's voice was fading, and it sparked panic in Dean’s gut. He wasn’t ready to lose this again already.

“Hey, now. Don't do that. Ok? Just. You don't have to talk.” He drummed his hands on the steering wheel. “It doesn't make any sense to me, is all. After the way we were raised. He loved you most, you know? And I knew it, and I never even was mad about it because I loved you most too. It was just how the world worked, as far as I could tell. Not saying I never got pissed at you. Hell, we both got pissed at you. But that didn't fucking matter. You were the one we were protecting.” He grimaced. “I always kind of wondered if it was because of Mom. She died protecting you, so we spent the next 23 years trying to do it too. So, to have him do what he did, just doesn't make sense to me. I’m sure he had his reasons.” Dean chewed his bottom lip. “But I trusted him to look after you the way I would, and I lost you. So screw him and his reasons.”

Dean drove in silence for a long time after that. Eventually the temperature in the car returned to normal, and the static faded to normal levels. He pushed the Metallica tape into the player but kept the volume low. Sam stayed quiet, though whether or not that was by choice Dean had no way to know. He didn't even know if Sam was still listening. Some time after he crossed the border into South Dakota, Dean said, “I won't kill him, if that's really what you want.”

The words hung in the air, and Dean regretted saying them. But then the radio crackled again, and Sam's voice clearly said, “Yes... Thank you.”

“I can't promise to forgive him. That's not— It's unforgivable.”

Sam didn't respond again, so Dean took it for agreement. At the least, it seemed Sam didn't want (or didn't have the energy) to argue the point.

Bobby was the first to arrive. He met John at the end of the dirt road that led to the town. It had fallen into disrepair over the last several decades, and the surrounding forest had reclaimed it. They’d have to hike the rest of the way.

John thought back to that voicemail he still had saved and wondered if Bobby was going to follow through on his threat. Neither of them spoke, just nodded acknowledgement into the stony silence. Dean couldn’t be that far behind, and John felt the need to settle things with Bobby first. However Dean felt, he trusted his son to have his eye on the prize. He wouldn’t stab John in the back until the demon was dead. Bobby had no such motivation, and he’d made it perfectly clear that he thought he’d make a better father to John’s boys than John did.

Eyeing Bobby’s shotgun carefully, he was prepared to dodge out of the way at a moment’s notice. “Bobby.”

Bobby grunted in response.

It wasn’t fear that had settled in John’s belly. Resignation, maybe. Low level grief that had nothing to do with Sam or Mary’s loss. He and Bobby had been good friends, once. It had been years since that was true, but the man had put their differences aside not that long ago. John didn’t expect him to be able to do it again.

He opted for blunt honesty. In truth, he didn’t know another way. “How worried do I need to be about you using that on me?” John asked.

Bobby clenched his jaw and gripped the gun a little tighter. “I’m here to make sure Dean don’t end up like his brother. That’s all.” Don’t risk Dean, and you have nothing to worry about went unsaid.

That was fair enough, he supposed. It was good, even, because if Bobby was watching Dean’s back then John could focus on making sure Azazel got put in the ground. He wouldn’t have to split his attention.

Dean arrived in Cold Oak, South Dakota just before midnight. Bobby hiked ahead, acting as scout. Dean privately thought it was just to get away from John for a while. The tension between the two of them had been palpable when he arrived.

John broke the silence after only a minute or two. “Are you ready for this?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dean said. He was tired and pissed off. Sam had to be somewhere close, and Dean didn't particularly want to think about how it would go if John found out about that. Besides, he hadn't had enough sleep in the last four months. At this point he figured he was allowed to be a little crabby.

“Just making sure your head's in the game.”

Dean side-eyed his father. “Of course it is. We've been preparing for this fight my whole life. I'm not about to fuck it up now.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Dean let that be it for maybe a minute, but he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about it. “Why do you think my head isn't in the game?”

John shrugged minutely, barely visible in the moonlight. “You look like shit, Dean. It's obvious you haven't been taking care of yourself lately. I don't know how far that goes.”

“Why do you care?”

John faltered a step, turning to actually look at Dean. “Because I'm your father.”

That was the last thing he should have said. Fury boiled up past all of Dean's exhaustion, and he struggled to remember that an hour ago he'd promised Sam not to murder John. “You're my father? Is that like how you were Sam's father when you told me to let him die? Or how about when you gave me a fake spell that was supposed to heal him? Or were you his father when you took him off life support? God, with parenting like that, who needs monsters?”

John stilled. The tension in the air was palpable. “Sam was already dead, Dean.”

“No. He wasn't. That's the whole point of life support. There was time to save him. What's the point of knowing about all this shit if Sam was going to die anyway?” He shook his head and started forward.

To his credit, John didn't raise his voice. If it had been Sam arguing with him, it probably would have already devolved into a shouting match. “It's not our place to mess with the natural order. That's part of what we do.”

Dean groaned and turned to face John. “Right. The natural order. Like you would’ve made the same choice if it was Mom.”

“Don’t bring your mother into this,” John growled.

Dean stepped up into John’s space. “Am I wrong? You let Sam die because of the demon and its fucking plans, and you’re too much of a coward to admit you were scared of your own son.” Dean snarled. “Did you know Mom made a deal with the thing?”

John ignored the distraction. “I wasn't scared of your brother; I was scared for him! The demon was going to use him.”

“How? Have you even met Sam? He's not an idiot. No way he'd let a demon use him to fight a war.”

Sam's voice rippled out of the darkness to Dean's left. “If you wanted Dean to listen to you, why didn't you just tell him what you learned? You didn't have a problem telling me. Except, oh right, I was in a coma.” Sam chuckled, dark anger lacing his voice.

John's expression was a mix of horror and grief. “Sam? What are you— Damn it, Dean, what the hell did you do? Didn't I teach you better than this?”

“Fuck you. I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

“And it didn't concern you that he's a ghost anyway?”

Sam rolled his eyes and threw his arms wide. “What, you want him to burn the Impala? After giving him crap about it needing a wash? Give him a break.”

“I don't need you to defend me, Sam.” John and Sam fighting raised his peacekeeper instincts. He wanted to grab Sam's shoulder and push him back, to physically insert himself between the two of them. Only it wouldn't have worked anyway. Doing that had only ever made them shout louder.

John ignored Dean's statement completely. “Yes, if that's what it takes. What's dead should stay dead. You both know that.”

Sam snarled and reached for John, throwing him against a tree. He moved to follow John's trajectory, luckily not stutter stopping forward like most ghosts, and Dean scrambled to get in front of him.

“Woah, dude, chill out. What happened to not holding a grudge?” He was still livid, furious with John, but Sam needed him to be a voice of reason. Throwing people was serious vengeful spirit territory, and they needed to get a lid on this, right now.

Sam stopped moving, but he was still seething. “Why do you let him say shit like that? You—”

Sam didn't get to finish his sentence because a demon interrupted them. It was shaped like a little girl but sported long, wicked looking claws. Dean blasted it with rock salt, and it vanished into smoke. “Come on, we need to move. It knows we're here,” Dean said, helping John to his feet. “We must be close.” John looked a little dazed, but he moved ok. Dean hoped Sam hadn't managed to do too much damage.

Bobby broke through the trees then, out of breath and wild-eyed. “The Hell are you idiots doing back here?”

Dean filled him in tersely, and Bobby led all of them the last few yards to the town. Sure enough they had been close, and they broke through the woods into the town after just another 100 yards. The place looked empty, but it didn't feel empty. Standing by the tree line was enough to make Dean's hair stand on end. The buildings were in various states of disrepair. Some seemed largely intact, just a broken window or two. Others, like the house nearest them, had entire walls that had caved in, the wood rotting with time and neglect.

“Cheery place,” Dean murmured.

John glared at him, then motioned for them to split up and search the town. Dean silently groaned, rolling his eyes. They'd all been shouting at each other not ten minutes ago, and the Acheri demon suggested they'd already lost their element of surprise. John took the right while Bobby moved toward the center of town. Dean moved to the left, toward the collapsing house. A breath of wind on his neck made him look, and Sam was there, following.

“It's creepy when you do that,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Spooky ghost shit.” They moved cautiously. Well. Dean moved cautiously, and Sam moved silently. He had the same posture as Dean, though it probably didn't matter.

“Sorry I can't do creepy werewolf shit instead,” he deadpanned. “This place sucks. Seriously, why do you let him talk to you like that?”

Dean ignored the question. He hadn’t been letting John do anything. They walked in silence a few minutes while they searched the small town. “Does it hurt?”

Sam frowned, confused. “Does what hurt?”

Dean clenched his jaw a couple times before he managed to bite out, “Dying.”

The question surprised Sam, and he stopped walking while he considered his answer. The longer he took, the more certain Dean was that whatever he said was going to be a sanitized lie.

“If you mean after the spell, then no. I got kicked out of my body in the first couple hours after the crash, I think, and I didn’t feel anything after that.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “Good. That’s good.” The way Sam had phrased it, though. “You remember the accident?”

Sam chewed the side of his lip. “Yeah. You and Dad were knocked out, but I wasn’t. It was a demon possessing the truck driver.” Sam breathed a laugh. “I threatened it with the Colt. God. Dad really would have killed me if I’d used the last bullet on Stunt Demon #5.”

“I thought you weren’t pissed at him.”

Sam rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah. Uh. I don’t know. I’m not. Not like you are.”

“So what the hell was that back there, huh? Throwing people?” Dean cleared the next building. Nothing there but some battered and rotting furniture. They turned toward the center of town.

Sam didn’t answer. “Dude, are you seeing all these ghosts?”

“Most haunted town in America, or so the stories say. You can see them?”

“You can't? This place is full of spirits.” Sam grimaced and sidestepped an invisible object. Dean gave him an “Oh really?” look, and Sam elaborated. “I think— Most of them look old, but pretty normal. Like they just got sick or something. But some of them died bloody.”

“How can you tell?” He glanced at Sam, body restored in his spirit form.

Sam shrugged, stopping to study one. Dean wished it didn't look like thin air to him. “Some of them don't fit.”

“Don't fit how? Come on, Sam, stop being cryptic.”

“They're newer. Younger looking.”

Dean shifted, keeping an eye out for threats he could actually see. “So people have been coming here for years because of the stories. Some of them had to have been killed.”

“Well, yeah, some. That guy over there in the bell bottoms probably died back in the 70s. But her—” Sam pointed off to his right, toward the tavern where John had gone. “She looks modern. I mean, her clothes, but not just that. She looks,” he paused searching for the right word, “I don't know, fresher somehow. I can't really explain it.”

That seemed important and really fucking ominous. The demon was supposed to be here somewhere, though they couldn't figure out why. Ash had started finding other likely psychic kids somehow (the dude worked magic, seriously), and there'd been a half dozen so far that also had missing persons reports. If they had also been showing up here, and at least one was a ghost, then... Dean tried to fit the pieces together. He couldn't yet, but the picture that was forming was grim. He found himself half-grateful that Sam was already dead. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if Sam went missing and turned up here. Worse, if Dean found him too late. He shuddered, then pushed the thought from his mind.

While he'd been thinking, Sam had vanished. “Sam?” he called. “Come on, man, don't wander off.” Dean glanced around anxiously, wondering where his brother had gone. He had to keep moving, though. Sam would have to take care of himself.

Dean had cleared two buildings by the time Sam reappeared, blinking into the periphery of Dean's vision and making him jump. “Don't do that,” he barked. “I almost shot you.”

“It's just rock salt,” Sam said, brushing it off.

“And you're just a ghost, remember?”

Sam considered that a moment, then seemed to remember why he'd come back. “Dude, you need to find Dad and Bobby. One of the psychics is killing the others.”

Dean looked at him sharply. “It's not the demon?”

“No. Some girl is controlling the demons guarding the town. The ghost I talked to said this is some sort of Battle Royale, fight to the death sort of thing. Only the winner doesn't get to leave.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “That's messed up. Did he know why?”

“She didn't. But it sounds like there's a new 'round' every few weeks, so maybe it just isn't over.” The two of them started heading in the direction John had gone.

“That's a comforting thought. So the girl killing people, how long has she been here?”

“No idea. Sounds like she's won at least a few rounds though. Look, over there.” They could hear someone talking in the distance, and as Dean rounded the corner, he spotted John talking to a group of young adults who all looked around Sam's age.

Dean clenched his jaw. “That must be the newest crop. Lucky we got here before she picked them all off.” Drawing closer, he called out, “Dad!”

John looked over at Dean, then turned back to the group of kids he’d found. They’d all told him similar stories about blacking out and waking up in the ghost town. None of them seemed to know why they were there, but they’d just arrived earlier that day. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Stay put.”

Jogging over to Dean, he asked, “What?”

Dean filled him in on the supposed killer amongst them.

John was skeptical. Ghosts weren’t a reliable source of information. Their perspectives were always skewed; they saw what they wanted to see. It was part of what made them dangerous. “Even if that’s true, it’s not one of those kids. All their stories match.”

Dean pursed his lips, but he didn’t protest. Together they walked back to the group, and John introduced him to Tony, Ava, Leah, Vaughn, and Mark. All the kids were about Sam’s age, but they were otherwise a pretty diverse crowd. Mark looked like he would have been more at home on the beaches of California, toned and solid and definitely not dressed for a South Dakota winter, while Vaughn was taller than all of them and beanpole thin, though in the dim light of his flashlight John couldn’t tell if the boy was also wiry like Sam had been for a while after his last growth spurts. Tony’s dark skin highlighted the whites of his eyes, and it made him look more scared than the others, and his glasses and chubby build spoke of a more sedate life than the other guys. Maybe he’d be more at home in a library than a haunted town. Ava and Leah stuck together, though he didn’t have the impression that they had known each other before today. Then again, they were both slim and of medium height, and they looked similar enough that they could have been sisters.

Ignoring the guys, Dean plastered on his best cocky grin and said, “Hello, ladies.”

John murmured at him, “Keep it in your pants, boy.”

Ava ducked her head, flattered. Leah just shifted uncomfortably.

“Have either of you seen anything? Any idea what might have brought you here?” Dean had turned the charm up to 11. It had been long enough since they’d worked together that John had forgotten that Dean sometimes did this, used his sex appeal like a girl, charming witnesses and victims into spilling their secrets. He was good at it, too.

The temperature was continuing to drop, though, and they needed to get everyone inside. “All right, everyone,” John said, voice pitched to carry over the wind that had just picked up. “There’s a tavern over there that’s still in decent shape. Let’s get there, get inside. Dean, you see if you can find anything useful.” He shot Dean a look to communicate that by ‘useful’ he meant ‘weapons.’ With luck, he’d also find Bobby and fill him in.

Dean nodded and trotted off the way he’d come, leaving John to babysit five young adults. He herded them toward the intact building he’d seen, not trying to make small talk. There was always the chance that they would let something slip when they thought he wasn’t listening, and it was a good chance to observe them. If Dean and Sam turned out to be right, then they needed to figure out who was killing the kids. His money was still on the demon, or at least a demon. Azazel was supposed to be here, but the signs could have been wrong. He had the guys work on barricading the door while he checked the windows.

“Everyone, stay close,” he said.

Ava hugged herself tighter. “Who are you guys? Did you bring us here?”

He glanced at her sharply. “We’re hunting the thing that did.”

“Thing?” Tony chimed in. “What the hell does that mean?”

He’d hoped to get out of this without giving them all the Talk. The less they knew about the supernatural the better. No one needed a bunch of kids deciding they wanted to be hunters and getting themselves killed for it. All five of them were approaching him now, arranged in a semi-circle, and he sighed, resigned to it. The version he gave was abridged, limited to ghosts and demons.

“You’re insane,” Leah said, backing away. “You and that other guy are going to kill us, aren’t you?”

“None of you are dying tonight,” John said. “Dean is looking for salt and anything else we can use against this thing. We didn’t expect to find all of you here.”

She was shaking her head though, refusing to believe him. When she bolted for the door she was already well out of reach. He could chase her, but that would mean abandoning the other four. He swore but let her go.

“I’ll go after her,” Ava said.

“No!” Mark whisper-shouted. “What if the thing finds you? We’re safer here.”

Vaughn raised an eyebrow at him. “You actually believe this? No way is this guy telling the truth. I’ll go with you, Ava. Stay here if you want, man.”

“At least it’s warmer in here! I’m going to freeze to death in that wind.” Mark rubbed at his arms and grumbled in frustration. “Fine. Do what you want. Try not to get killed.”

“All of you should stay inside,” John said. “It’s safer as a group.”

Ava and Vaughn ignored him and left through the only door. He growled, but let them go. When Dean got back with supplies one of them could chase after the others. In the meantime, he’d make sure this place was boarded up as tight as he could make it.

Leah came back on her own a minute later, complaining of the cold. “Sorry. It’s just—” She shrugged. He understood. She wasn’t taking back her words, but she was at least allowing the possibility that something was happening to her that she couldn’t explain. He figured she’d come around to ghosts and demons if and when any of them showed up.

Any of them, like Sam. How could Dean have fucked that up? Sam was supposed to be at peace. He was supposed to be gone, far beyond Azazel’s reach. John didn’t know if he believed in Heaven, exactly, but he wanted to. If Hell was real, then why not the other place? If it was real, then that’s where Sam should be. Not here in this ghost-filled wasteland. Definitely not in the one place where Azazel would be.

That was going to have to be Dean’s problem, though, because the demon from the woods was back. It appeared just behind Leah, and John had enough time to shove her roughly to the side before its claws stabbed out. It caught him square in the stomach, going right through the space she had occupied a moment before. Grunting, he aimed his shotgun and blasted the demon. It dissipated in a cloud of smoke with a shriek.

“Oh my God!” Leah crouched near him. Her eyes were wide, but she exuded competence as she pressed her hands to his wound. “Sorry. It’s too cold to lose a shirt. Everything’s filthy anyway.”

“Doctor?” he mumbled. The tingling in his fingers felt like blood loss more than hypothermia.

She shook her head and pressed harder. “ER nurse. I could probably get you stabilized if we weren’t in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking demons. How is this real? I mean, I must be hallucinating. Except you’re really bleeding and that thing really attacked us.”

He felt lethargy pulling at him. “Hey. Tell Dean. Tell him—” He couldn’t get the words out; his throat wasn’t working right. Neither was his head, really. Everything was getting fuzzy, and there was a ringing in his ears. Just over Leah’s shoulder he thought he saw Sam flicker into view. Next to him was a stranger. Well. Damn it.

#spnproshipbang #wincest #tw mcd #season 2 AU #fic i wrote #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #ghost!sam

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kireimarkeu · 3 years

Text

retrouvailles; l.mk

THIS IS A REPOST!!!!

Summary: counting down the days until you finally see your long-distance boyfriend.

Mark is a jerk at one point. Also noticed how I put skype when they were calling through the phone and ft through laptop LOL

word count: 5.7k

Also lets pretend we can use spotify in korea ok

--Day 98

(10:33PM) Cutie: you idiot

(10:33PM) Cutie: answer my call!! You loserrrr

(10:34PM) You: omg give me a second

(10:35PM) You: ffs jshkdmj

(10:35PM) Cutie: omg what are you doing

(10:35PM) Cutie: why are you taking so long

(10:37PM) You: GIVE ME A SECOND

(10:37PM) You: im taking food

You plop onto your bed, placing the plate of grapes on the mattress, resulting in some to topple out of the bowl. You quickly pop one in your mouth before turning on your laptop.

Before you could even call Mark, he was already requesting a facetime with you. You immediately answered.

“Finally,” your boyfriend huffs when the call was finally connected.

You hum, your hands searching for more grapes that has dropped on your bed sheets, popping them in your mouth.

“What are you eating?” he asks.

“Grapes,” your voice came out muffled from chewing, but Mark understands.

“That’s what took you so long?” he frowns, “I can cut a watermelon in 5 seconds,”

“I didn’t ask,” you bite back.

Your boyfriend automatically raises his hand to flash his middle finger while you did the same back at him.

“What time is it there?” you ask him with raised eyebrows.

You were studying in Korea but because of the virus, you had to go back to Canada. You didn’t know how long you would be staying, but Mark had promised you that he would make it work.

“Um,” he looks at the clock that was a hanging next to him, “it’s 2:30PM here,” he answers, looking back at you, “It’s about 11 there, right?”

You nod.

“Don’t you have class tomorrow?” Mark asks.

Lucky for you, your classes has changed to the local timing in Canada. Meaning, you don’t need to stay up at ungodly hours for your classes.

“I think I can wake up tomorrow,”

“Do you want me to call you?”

“Please,” you pout.

Mark scowls jokingly at you, “the things I do for my girlfriend,”

You giggle innocently at your boyfriend, “I love you,” you make a heart with your hands, grinning at your laptop.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes.

--Day 90

“Babe, look up,” you call.

Mark looks up to see you holding your phone up, obviously filming him through the screen.

“What?”

He could hear you grinning from behind your phone.

“Smile,” you instruct.

He grins awkwardly while you let out a snort from behind the screen. You put your phone down, typing something before looking back up at your boyfriend.

“What did you do?”

You look up at him, biting back a smile— to which you failed, “go check Instagram,”

Mark immediately opens Instagram to see that you had posted something on your private Instagram. Only him and the members are following your private account since your relationship is still private.

He clicks on the bubble to see a video of him that you had recorded. When he smiles, his face morphed into a horse from of the filter you were using. Mark couldn’t help but chuckle at the funny effect.

“Okay, that’s kinda funny,” he admits.

He looks back up at you to see you holding your phone in front of your face again, probably trying another filter on him again.

“Is this another ugly filter, again?” whines your boyfriend.

You laugh, your phone not covering your face anymore, “it’s not!”

“Don’t lie,”

Your giggles got louder, “it’s not! I swear!”

“Fine,” he huffs. He straightens his back and stares at the camera, waiting for you to finish recording.

You put your phone down re-watching the video, chuckles leaving your lips.

“What filter did you use?”

“It’s on my insta, baby,”

He looks down on his phone again to see that you have posted another story. He immediately clicks on it to see it was an NCT filter.

‘Who is your NCT Bias?’ Was written on top of his head.

Mark waits for the filter to show the result. He grimaced when he got Jeno. He swipes up to reply to your story to send you a message.

markleeee99 replied to your story: ewww

--Day 87

(1:18PM) mwark: hello baby

(1:20PM) you: wht im having class rn

(1:20PM) mwark: so

(1:25PM) you: i have class??? go away loser

(1:25PM) mwark: :( I just wanna talk to my girlfriend tho :/

(1:27PM) you: later

(1:27PM) mwark: nooo

(1:33PM) you: omg youre an idol why are you so free

(1:34PM) you: go dance or rap or smth

(1:34PM) mwark: babyyyy

(1:35PM) you: im putting my phone on dnd

(1:35PM) mwark: nooo

(1:35PM) mwark: babe

(1:40PM) mwark: did you actually leave me D:

(1:40PM) mwark: ok whatev

(1:40PM) mwark: I was about to send you something but I guess I won’t now

(1:40PM) mwark: are you still ignoring me????

(1:41PM) mwark: omg babe I was jst joking I’ll send you some gifts

(1:41PM) mwark: booo u suck :(

--Day 81

This time, it was slightly different. Instead of your usual late-night calls through the computer, you had immediately skype him through your phone when you had received a package from Korea.

“You got me something?” you ask loudly when your boyfriend answered your call.

“Jeez, hello to you too, babe,” he rolls his eyes, “and yea, did it arrive?”

“What did you get me? And what type of shipping did you choose? It arrived so quickly,”

The box was pretty heavy, so you had to put your phone down to place the huge box on the counter before bringing your phone back into view.

“Express, I paid like extra,” Mark answers, eyeing you through the screen.

You click your tongue, opening the drawer to take out a knife, “stop wasting your money, you dumbass,”

Mark didn’t reply, instead he waits for you to open the package.

You let out a sigh, “what did you get me this time?”

You open the cardboard box, a navy-blue hoodie covering the top of it. You pull it out, looking at Mark who has a smile plastered on his face.

“Is this your hoodie?!” you squeal, putting it on yourself.

Your heart melt when the familiar scent fills your nostrils. It smells just like Mark.

“Canada is getting cold isn’t it? Keep yourself warm, baby,”

You lean over to take everything out from the box. Mark had given you his half-used cologne that he uses on a daily.

“I bought a new one just so I could give you mine,” he tells you, a playful smirk on his lips.

He had also packed some of your favourite Korean snacks, and some that you haven’t tried before. Along with some matching phone cases for the both of you.

“Now I feel bad I didn’t get anything for you,” you frown., pulling the hoodie over your head.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you, “being able to see you is already enough,”

You scrunch your nose in disgust, “cringey, Mark-ie,”

“Fuck you,” he chuckles, flashing his middle finger at you.

Your eyes widen when he cursed, “my mom’s home, you idiot!”

You laugh loudly when Mark’s eyes widen in surprise, both his hands covering his mouth.

“Y/N?” you hear your mom call from the living room, “who are you talking to?”

Before you could even reply, your mother was walking towards you.

“It’s Mark,” you answer as your mother got into frame to see Mark.

“Mark! It has been a while, how’s Korea?”

Your boyfriend greeted your mom politely, a grin plastered on his face. Your mom was about to reach for your phone to talk to Mark, but you frown and pull away.

“Noo, I wanna talk to Mark,”

You gathered the gifts Mark had given you in your arms before skipping up the stairs to your room, to spend the whole day (night for him) with him.

--Day 80

“Yo, Mark, there’s some food left outside, do you want it?” you heard Johnny ask from through the screen.

Mark turns to look at the intruder, “knock next time, dude,” groans Mark.

“Is that y/n?”

Johnny suddenly enters the frame with a gummy grin, waving enthusiastically at you.

“Hi Johnny, how are you?” you smile, waving back at the older boy.

Just when Johnny was about to get comfortable on Mark’s bed, your boyfriend let out string of whines, moving his phone until you could only see his cheeks.

“Ah, that’s enough,” your boyfriend says in annoyance, “y/n is tired, goodnight, baby.”

You couldn’t even reply because Mark had already ended the skype call.

You pout, opening your messenger to send a text to your boyfriend.

(7:35PM) You: heyyy why’d you end the call? ):

(7:36PM) Bubba: sorry

(7:36PM) Bubba: johnny was being annoying

(7:36PM) You: he wasn’t tho ):

(7:36PM) You: can we call again?

(7:38PM) Bubba: sorry angel

(7:38PM) Bubba: johnny wants me to go make music

(7:38PM) Bubba: later tonight?

(7:38PM) You: oky

(7:42PM) You: love u!

(7:42PM) Bubba: love u too

(7:42PM) Bubba: <3

--Day 76

You were in the middle of facetiming mark when your phone vibrates from a text. You raise your eyebrows, thinking it was Mark.

(12:11AM) Johnny: hey

(12:11AM) Johnny: I need to ask you something

(12:13AM) You: yeah?

(12:13AM) Johnny: is mark okay lately?

(12:13AM) You: he seems fine to me, why? Did something happen?

(12:14AM) Johnny: I don’t know if I should tell you about this

(12:14AM) Johnny: but

(12:14AM) Johnny: youre the only one who can probably help him

(12:14AM) You: help him with what?

You look up at your laptop to see that Mark’s eyes was still glued on his phone. Probably playing some games.

(12:17AM) Johnny: he hasn’t been eating lately

(12:19AM) Johnny: he doesn’t really tell us stuff anymore so I was wondering you would’ve known something?

(12:22AM) You: oh

(12:22AM) You: he hasn’t told me anything

(12:23AM) You: I’ll talk to him about it

(12:25AM) You: thanks johnny :)

“Hey,” you jump at your boyfriend’s voice. You snap your head to look at your boyfriend who was already staring at you with curious eyes. “What are you so busy with?”

You clear your throat, shaking your head, tossing your phone to the side.

“I wanna ask you something,” you say.

“Whats up?”

You scratch your head, unsure of how to put it into words without offending your boyfriend. You knew he hated being babied but you still want to care for him. He was your other half, after all.

“Have you been eating well lately?”

You could sense Mark was stunned by the random question. He looks away from your wary eyes.

“Who told you?”

“Mark—”

“It was Johnny wasn’t it?” he cuts you off in anger. “God damn it, this is why I don’t want you talking to my friends,”

Why was he making this such a big deal?

“Mark I was just asking a simple question, why are you acting this way?” you argued back.

He shakes his head, threading his fingers through his black hair stressfully.

“I need to go Y/N,” sighs your boyfriend, “Goodnight,”

“Mark—” you were too late. Mark had already ended the call.

A heavy sigh left your lips as you lied down on your bed.

You weren’t sure if you should text him or give him space. Should you apologize? Was it your fault for bringing it up?

After thinking for a while, you decided to send him a text.

(8:33PM) You: hi baby. I was just asking because I was worried about you. I know you hate it when I baby you, but I’m just looking out for you. I didn’t mean to bother you

(8:33PM) You: please don’t blame your friends for this.

(8:36PM) You: I’m sorry, okay?

(8:40PM) You: I just want you to eat healthily. I’m not there to take care of you and I just want you to be healthy.

(8:47PM) You: just text me whenever so we can talk this out

(8:57PM) You: goodnight, mark

--Day 75

(12:03PM) Lovey: hey

(12:03PM) Lovey: I was thinking and realised how selfish I acted towards you

(12:05PM) Lovey: I know you were just looking out for me and I was just wasn’t in the mood because of how stressful it has been

(12:05PM) Lovey: please don’t apologize. Its my fault

(12:15PM) You: why haven’t you been eating?

(12:15PM) Lovey: comeback

(12:15PM) Lovey: I’m trying to lose some cheeks for this comeback

(12:30PM) Lovey: sorry for worrying you

(12:31PM) You: whaa…

(12:33PM) You: but you know my favourite part of your face is your cheeks D:

(12:33PM) Lovey: :(

(12:33PM) You: will you start eating again?

(12:35PM) You: im not going to force you, mark. It’s really up to you.

(12:35PM) Lovey: im eating right now

(12:35PM) You: what are you eating

(12:38PM) Lovey: cereal

(12:38PM) Lovey: and um some left over sushi from yesterday

(12:38PM) You: ohhh sounds delicious

(12:40PM) You: okay I wont disturb you anymore, have fun eating bby

As you were about to put your phone away but there was an incoming videocall from your boyfriend. A small chuckle left your lips as you answered the call.

--Day 73

“Yo, did you see it?!” was the first thing Mark had asked you when you answered his call.

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, sitting up from your laying position, “see what?”

“We just posted a new dance practice; did you not see it?” his eyes widen dismay.

You shook your head, grabbing your laptop from the table, placing it on your lap, “nope, my phone was on dnd,”

“How did you answer my call, then?”

“You’re in my favourites dumbass,”

You type in your password before searching YouTube and clicking on the video that your boyfriend was talking about.

While watching the video, you placed your phone resting on the laptop so Mark could see your face. Throughout the whole video, you were singing softly to the song.

“Did you see that?! Did you see it?” Mark suddenly yells through the screen during the dance break part.

You jump a little, “what? What? What did I miss?”

He groans at you, “the bracelet! Johnny dropped it!”

“Huh?” you press the arrow to repeat it again and you noticed how Johnny’s bracelet fell while he was dancing.

“Wait a little more, I picked it up! Like a professional!”

You waited a little longer and your boyfriend was right. While he was getting into position, your boyfriend had swept the bracelet in his hands.

You grin, “proud of you, babe,”

You wanted to continue watching but your laptop started lagging from the terrible wi-fi. You groan in annoyance, pressing pause, hoping it would reload but it only hangs even more.

“God damnit, this fucking wi-fi,”

“Should I buy you a router? Or a new laptop?” he jokes.

--Day 71

(9:02PM) You: hey wanna call?

(9:02PM) You: today was so stressful I just wanna talk to you

(10:12PM) You: ahh you must be busy with comeback

(9:32PM) You: sorry babe! We’ll jst call tmr? :)

(9:33PM) You: love u! make sureee u drink lots of water <3

-Day 67

Mark lets out an aspirated sigh as he answers your facetime call. “What, Y/N?”

You frown at the way he greets you. He was moody probably because he just finished practicing.

You could tell from how he was laying on his bed without a shirt on, or how he would repeatedly thread his fingers through his black locks.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” you mumble out softly, your eyes softening, feeling guilty that you were disturbing him.

You bit your lip anxiously when Mark simply sighs, rolling his eyes slightly, “should we just call another time?”

He sighs once more, moving around until he lays on his side, “no, no, what’s up?”

You felt a little hesitant, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not. Mark wasn’t the type to approach something if he doesn’t like it, he would just go with the flow.

You shook your head, laying back down onto your bed, “No, you’re tired and I shouldn’t be disturbing you right now.”

Mark opens his mouth but you cut him off, “Sorry, Mark. Goodnight.”

You quickly end the call with a heavy heart, throwing your phone next to you. You knew you shouldn’t be expecting an incoming call from your boyfriend, but you shamelessly waited for his specific ringtone.

It did break your heart a little when you didn’t get any response from your boyfriend.

That night, you had spent your time watching Netflix with tears rolling down your cheeks.

-Day 62

“Y/N?”

A choked sob left your throat, your hands wiping the tears running down your cheeks.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Johnny’s voice filled your ears.

You gulp as your heart clench painfully when you hear Mark’s laughter in the background.

“Y/N, d-do you want me to pass the phone to Mark?”

“N-no,” you quickly say out, pausing a little. Hiccups leaving your lips, “d-don’t… please,”

“Okay?” Johnny replies in uncertainty, “Are you… okay? Should I beat Mark up?” he jokes.

You couldn’t bring yourself to smile. “How is he doing?” you whisper, but Johnny could hear very clearly.

You assumed that he had moved somewhere else since you can’t hear the boys screaming in the background.

“Did something happen?” Johnny asks, “I’m not with them right now, so you can tell me.”

You remember the last time you had last talked to Mark.

It has been exactly 5 days since the both of you last texted— or even called. You weren’t sure why or how it happened.

It had taken a big toll on you— you couldn’t focus during lessons and you had spent most of the nights wide awake, thinking what had gone wrong. You had contemplated multiple times whether you should send him a text, but every time you push yourself to say something, you would always remember how busy he is.

“We haven’t been talking for a while,” you answer painfully, “but he’s doing fine, right?”

You hope he’s doing fine.

You hear Johnny lets out an agitated sigh, “Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll go talk to him, okay?”

“Just… don’t stress him out even more.”

“I won’t. Just… stop crying over him, okay?” he says, “Mark is an idiot, he’s not worth crying over.”

A small giggle leaves your lips, “you sound like a girl right now,”

-Day 61

(12:12AM) Mark: hey babe

(12:12AM) Mark: johnny just talked to me about what happened

(12:13AM) Mark: can we talk?

(12:45AM) You: okay

(12:45AM) Mark: great, I’ll call you

(12:45AM) You: no

(12:46AM) You: we’ll text

(12:46AM) You: here

You just know that you would be a sobbing mess once you hear Mark’s voice.

(12:46AM) Mark: oh

(12:46AM) Mark: okay

(12:46AM) Mark: youre okay tho

(12:47AM) Mark: right

(12:52AM) You: mhm

(12:52AM) Mark: that’s great um

(12:52AM) Mark: i didn’t know you were feeling that way

(12:53AM) Mark: i’ve been so busy lately i forgot to text or call you

(12:53AM) Mark: and that is not your fault at all

(12:53AM) Mark: i shouldn’t be acting like that in the first place

(12:54AM) Mark: its just really hard with timezones and everything

(12:54AM) Mark: especially with the comeback and all

(12:54AM) You: what are you saying mark?

(12:55AM) Mark: what?

(12:58AM) You: are you breaking up with me?

(12:58AM) Mark: wat? no. what.

(12:58AM) You: wait so we’re not breaking up?

(12:58AM) Mark: what

(12:58AM) Mark: no of course not what are you saying?

(12:59AM) You: I DON’T KNOW

(12:59AM) You: i thought you wanted to break up

(12:59AM) Mark: no I don’t want to what the fuck

(12:59AM) You: so we’re good now right?

-Day 51

Soft melodies were playing in the background while the both of you were doing different things.

You were sitting on your chair, your elbows pressing painfully against your desk, working on your homework diligently. Your phone was perched on your lamp, making sure Mark could see your face.

Your boyfriend was laying on his bed with a notebook laying in front of him, a pen in his hand while he thought of lyrics. He had his legs swinging back and forth behind him cutely.

You exhale loudly as you re-read the same question over and over again.

Mark immediately looks up, “you okay?”

You hum without even looking at him before you continued doing your work.

Mark decides to leave you alone as to not distract you. He rests his cheek against his arm as he tries to think of another sentence to finish the song he was working on.

His eyes slowly dart towards you who had their eyebrows furrowed cutely, a pout plastered on your lips, baby hairs littering against your forehead and cheeks.

Without even realising, a small smile spreads across Mark’s lips. His breath slows down as he relaxed and stares at your figure.

Multiple sentences that could be used as lyrics flooded through his head. He quickly sits up to write the flood of inspiration that was bursting through his veins.

-Day 43

(2:53AM) boyfie: duuudee!!

(2:53AM) boyfie: vlive!!

(2:53AM) boyfie: quick!!!!!

(3:15AM) You: omg ok give me a sec

(3:15AM) You: I just woke up

With a yawn, you open the vlive app and click on the NCT127 page to enter the live your boyfriend was doing.

‘Hi’ you type in the comment section. You stare at your boyfriend, scanning his facial expression to notice your comment.

Exactly 5 seconds later, a huge grin spreads across his lips as he looks up at the camera to wave.

It eased you to know that he was waving at you, for you. Maybe you were being selfish, but you were glad that Mark was yours. Although it does get on your nerves when you see your friends post about how much he loves your boyfriend.

‘mark is so handsome’ you typed.

Unfortunately, Mark didn’t notice your comment, but Donghyuck did. Donghyuck nudges your boyfriend, who immediately responded, turning to look at him.

His friend showed him your comment, which your boyfriend immediately smiles to.

‘I love mark lee so much!!!’

A few seconds later Mark creates a small heart at the camera before looking away with crimson red cheeks.

-Day 38

“So you and Mina, huh?” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

You were referring to the interaction between the two when Mina was leaving music bank. You might’ve been slightly jealous of the chemistry between the two, especially when all the fans would ship the both of them.

Mark can only watch you in amusement, a small smile playing along his lips.

“Is she better than me?” you say sarcastically, clicking your tongue,

You envied their friendship. Someone who was merely a friend was able to see your boyfriend so easily.

His face softens, “you know she’s not like that, baby,” his tone was soft, easy to persuade you.

Baby. You wanted to scoff at that. He only used that term when he was trying to win your heart.

You huff, crossing your arms violently. “You’re always with her!”

He chuckles, looking down at his phone before looking back up at you quickly.

You pout at the boy through the screen, “you love me more, right Mark?”

He sarcastically rolls his at your question. What kind of question was that?

His face scrunches in disgust, “Firstly, I don’t even love Mina that way, babe,” he tells you, “and secondly, the only person I love you, alright? So stop being jealous you wimp.”

“Wimp?” you scoff, “and you’re my boyfriend?”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Just as you were about to respond to him, your phone vibrated with a notification. You look down and gaped.

_happiness_o wants to send you a message.

“Mark…”

You unlocked your phone to see the message that Mina was trying to send you.

“You told her?!” you exclaimed, looking up at your boyfriend who was stifling his laughter. “Mark! Why would you do that?!” you whine, throwing your phone next to you.

“In my defence, I didn’t tell her to send you a text,” he says, “I was just talking about how cute you were being!”

-Day 22

You were laying on your side, deep in a slumber while Mark stares at you lovingly.

Your cheek pressed cutely against your pillow which made your lips pout cutely. The little pieces of hair adorning your temples and cheeks only made Mark want to push it back against your ear. Something he would do every time you were sleeping with him.

He suddenly got an idea and fishes out his phone, searching a filter that he had saved for this particular moment.

He clicks on the filter, waiting for it to load for a moment, before adjusting the angle so the filter could scan his face properly. Once he was sure it won’t budge, he presses record.

‘your soulmate is sleeping right now’

A sad smile adorns his lips, looking at you through the screen. He flips the camera, zooming into your sleeping form then ending the video.

Mark was quite hesitant to post it since he was never the type to post about his relationship with you. But these past few days has been hitting him differently.

He missed you so much, he swore he could go crazy. He had spent another unreasonable amount on you again. He couldn’t even sleep because you were always stuck on his mind.

He bit his lip anxiously before posting the video on his Instagram story. He noticed how your phone vibrated right when it was uploaded— you had his notifications on.

-Day 15

“So it’s gonna be forever~” you sing loudly, pointing your hairbrush to Mark who was laughing loudly through the screen.

“Or it’s gonna go down in flames…” he sings off tune.

While you were busy singing and dancing from all Taylor Swift’s song, Mark had stealthily recorded you with his phone to upload them on his private Instagram.

‘idiot. But my idiot’ he captioned before tagging you and posting it on his page.

“Sing with me, Mark!” you shout, looking at your boyfriend. “Cherry lips, crystal skies, I could show you incredible things,” you sang, pointing at Mark.

Your boyfriend blushes when he realizes you were singing to him.

You cough loudly before clearing your throat after blaring out lyrics to Taylor swift. You reach for your cup of water before gulping it down.

“What song should we sing to next?” you ask, scrolling down through you and Mark’s playlist. The both of you had shared one account ever since he found out the both of you shared the same music taste.

“Should we do a rap?” he suggests.

You smirk up at him, “oooh, because you’re a rapper, huh? Okay, okay.”

You thumb press on ‘Beauty and a Beat’ by Justin Bieber and Nicki Minaj.

“I’m a better rapper than you, Mark Lee,” you shout at your boyfriend before rapping to Nicki Minaj’s part.

It was so adorable at how you stumbled over some words, or when you had your eyebrows furrowed trying to rap to the lyrics.

At this moment, Mark thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. You had your hair tied up in the ugliest bun he has ever seen, but you looked so adorable, especially in the huge t-shirt you were wearing. But most importantly, the huge grin plastered on your lips and tint of red adorning your cheeks, puts a smile on Mark’s face.

Right when the song has ended, you let out a tired sigh, lying against your bed.

“Am I better than you, Markie?”

He bit back a smile and nodded, “you should replace me in NCT, babe,”

You pretend to think, “I should, shouldn’t I?”

-Day 7

You were talking about Mark about your friend who had pissed you off earlier today.

He shrugs, “honestly, I saw that coming. I never liked her,”

You groan, throwing your head back, “I know right,” you stress, “I should’ve listened to you,”

Mark rests his cheek against his palm, “so what are you going to do?”

You pout, “I don’t know. What should I do, Mark?”

Your boyfriend hums, thinking for a while, “I think it’s best if you cut her off. She doesn’t deserve you, babe.”

You let out an aspirated sigh, frowning. “she was just a close friend…” you trailed off sadly.

“I know, baby,” he coos, “but your mental health is important too.”

Your eyes widen cutely, “I love you,”

That caught your boyfriend off-guard, his eyes widen in awe. “w-what, don’t be weird!” he sputters out.

“You’re weird!” you bite back.

-Day 3

“Mark,” you call out, your boyfriend immediately humming. “I learnt a new tiktok dance,”

He raises his eyebrows. He has never downloaded Tiktok but he knows how much you love the app. Most of the time the both of you were calling, you would be scrolling through the app, sending him links of videos that you found funny.

It was a secret: Mark never actually watches the video. But you do not need to know that.

“Show me, baby,”

You stood up, adjusting your laptop in a decent position. You reach for your phone to play the music before you started dancing.

Mark recognized the song as Savage. It was a song that Taeyong would constantly play.

Your boyfriend’s eyes widen in bewilderment, amazed at how good you were at dancing.

“Woah, woah,” he gapes when you started throwing back.

When the song ended, you ambled towards your laptop, “how was it? Was I good? Was I as good as Taeyong and Johnny?”

He rolls his eyes at that, “do you do it to other people?”

“What?”

“The throwing back thing,”

Ah. He was jealous.

You shrug, looking away from his intense gaze, “I don’t know. I was planning to ask some of my friends about their opinion.”

“Y/N,” he says sternly.

“I was joking! Jeez. You’re such a party pooper.”

-Day 2

You laid on your side, your arm supporting your head. A movie was playing on your laptop screen but you could only stare at Mark’s face.

He was busy laughing at one of the scenes but you couldn’t focus from his handsome face.

He was wearing the ugly black glasses that he chose a few weeks ago, but he still looked so good in your eyes. His black hair was styled messily from laying around.

“Babe, are you watching?” his eyes widen cutely after sensing how quiet you were being.

“I am,” you mumble out, but your eyes never leaved your boyfriend’s screen.

“Okay,” he whispers, resting his body as he continued watching the movie that was played on the screen.

At this moment in time, you wanted to tell Mark how much you love him. You wanted to smother him in kisses.

“Mark,” you called. You realise how he had paused the movie that was playing to listen to you. “I love you,” you tell him.

Mark was frozen for a second, confused yet flustered by your sudden confusion. He smirks, playing the movie, “weirdo. I love you too, you cutie.”

-Day 1

(11:01PM) bub: babyyyy hiiiii

(11:01PM) bub: wanna call ;)

(11:05PM) bub: hello why r u not replying

(11:05PM) bub: it’s only 11 there

(11:10PM) bub: I know youre not asleep babe

(11:10PM) bub: arghhh

(11:10PM) bub: are you asleep????

(11:10PM) bub: :(

(11:10PM) bub: well ok gn bb I’ll talk to you tmr

(11:10PM) bub: love youuuu

D-DAY

You were laying on Mark’s bed restlessly, waiting for your boyfriend to reach his dorm. When you heard the door unlock, a grin spread across your lips when you saw your boyfriend walk in.

“Hi Mark,” you greet, waving at your boyfriend.

Mark looks up at you and nods, “hi y/n,” he says back before turning the other way to go to the bathroom.

You bit back a smile quietly, giving him a minute to realise. You quietly stood up by the bed to amble towards your boyfriend.

“Wait,” he pauses, turning around slowly, his eyes widening at the sight of you walking up to him, “w-what? Is this real? y/n?”

You smile at him, spreading your arms, waiting for him to tackle you in a hug. “I’m here, baby.”

“Oh my god,” he breathes out before rushing towards you to pull you against his chest. “You’re here, oh my god,”

You rest your head on his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. You’ve missed the moment for so long. For more than 3 months, you had to live without Mark’s presence.

He pulls you away, his hand gripping your shoulder tightly. “How— what are you doing here?!” he exclaims.

Your cheeks were hurting from smiling so much, “to see you, of course!”

“You surprised me!” he exclaims, pulling you in for another hug, “oh my god, you scared me so much, I love you so much. When did you get here? You didn’t answer my texts yesterday!”

“I love you too and I was in the plane, I couldn’t text you back,” you reply, however your voice was muffled by the black cotton shirt he was wearing. You pull away, looking up at him, “are you not going to kiss me?” you asked abruptly.

He looks down at you with wide eyes, “w-what. That is so sudden, don’t say that!” he stutters out, looking away from you.

You pout at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “what? I came all the way here, didn’t get enough sleep just to see my boyfriend but he won’t kiss me?”

He scowls at you, his arm dropping to rest around your waist. He leans down to connect both your lips. You felt your heart spark when you felt his lips graze against yours.

You didn’t even realise you were pulling him down even more to kiss him deeper. Mark’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer.

“Ah, the kids have finally met,” you heard someone say from behind you two.

Mark and you pull away breathlessly, his lips tinted a bright shiny red. The both of you turn around to see Taeil standing at the door.

Your boyfriend whines, “Go away, Hyung,”

501 notes · View notes

elleonmybeloved · 3 years

Text

Inspired by the beautiful art I saw recently of a kiss-dazed Diluc saying that he supposed you could continue, and from my own Diluc randomly coming home for absolute free on a random pull, I present you:

Kissing Booth!

Diluc x Female Adventurer Reader

Rated T: Lots of kissing in the dark with the big D himself.

~~~

With slow, drawn out movements, you did your best to set up the booth in the square. Around you, the other adventure teams set up normal ones, like cupcakes, charm bracelets, and assortments of artifacts. You cast a wistful gaze at them, wishing your group had also had some artifacts to sell.

In order to make the funding competition more fair and prevent repeats, each group had to draw a concept from a hat and make their booth sell that particular thing. Unfortunately, somebody had the great and hilarious idea to put some joke prompts in there, and your group had the great misfortune to pull the one and only paper marked “kissing booth” from it.

Admittedly, you had been kind of expecting Bennett’s group to draw that one, so the situation completely blindsided you. You weren’t the only girl on your adventure team, but Felicia had a boyfriend, so the burden was left to you.

“Hey, need a hand?” Jack, a fellow adventurer asks, having approached you with a friendly wave. “I noticed you don’t have your booth set up yet and Katheryn says we’re starting in five minutes.”

“Thanks Jack, but I’m good.” You give him an awkward smile. “Other than the curtain, the box, these chairs…” You sigh. “Aaaand this lipstick, there isn’t really anything else to set up.”

“Oh, okay.” He deflates, probably thinking you are denying him because he doesn’t seem useful.

As much as you’d like to hide behind the thick red velvet of the curtain, your group needs funding, and you’re not about to be the reason nobody can get their blades and armor fixed up at the blacksmith for the next several months.

“I guess, if you don’t mind, you can help me put this on top.” You acquiesce, throwing him a bone. Holding up a sign that says “Kissing Booth: One kiss for 1,000 Mora”, you gesture at the top of the wooden booth, where there’s a couple nails hammered in to hang the sign on.

“Leave it to me!” He says, and takes the sign from your hands to place it, dreadfully, in plain sight, right where it’s supposed to be.

“Thanks.” You say, trying hard to sound genuine lest he misunderstand.

“No problem! See ya, and good luck fundraising!”

He’s off with a whistle, and you wonder if he even read the sign he just hung up for you. Oh well, whatever.

A few minutes later, the chime of a handheld bell rings through the courtyard, and you hear Katheryn’s voice announcing, “Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild’s Biannual Fundraising Fair.”

Resigned to your fate, you draw back the velvet curtain and sit in your chair, gripping the tube of red lipstick harder than you would the handle of your sword if you came across an entire nest of giant slimes.

People filter into the square, most making a beeline for the sweets, and several crowding around the artifact booths to get first pickings of the feathers, goblets, and timepieces alike. With no flashy goods at your table, it’s a while before anybody even notices you. When a few people, you are relieved to see them laugh, and say “Look, they made a joke booth this year too, haha!” You let out a nervous laugh and give them a good natured smile.

You notice immediately when your luck runs out, a gaggle of young men and women just out of the cupcake booth heading your way. The exaggerated “No way, seriously?” accompanied by obnoxious giggles from one of the girls lets you know that they aren’t paired off, and the “Well if it isn’t my lucky day” from a lanky guy with a fashionable undercut and a flashy ear piercing tolls the bell of your doom.

“Hi, welcome.” You manage to greet the group with a stiff smile.

“You’re selling kisses?” One of the guys, a shorter one with black hair asks.

“... Yes.” You reply. “One thousand mora each.”

“Real kisses?” The flashy guy is the one to ask this time, leaning forward with a piercing look. “Like on the lips?”

“Or somewhere else on the face.” You suggest hopefully. “But yes.”

“Well then. Allow me to be your first customer. I’ll start off with three kisses, all on the lips. If you don’t mind.”

You do mind. But what can you do. At least he’s not ugly, but the amused stares of his group at your situation are humiliating, and your cheeks get hot with shame as you stare down at the table and he counts out three thousand mora, placing them on the table in front of you.

Applying a fresh coat of red lipstick buys you only a few seconds, and then he is leaning in expectantly. You close your eyes and resolve to make it as quick as possible.

“Stop!”

The voice is so sharp you startle in your chair as your eyes fly open. Crossing his arms and scowling, Diluc Ragnvindr stalks over and stands between you and flashy guy.

“Huh? Why? What’s the deal, man? I properly paid, count it if you don’t believe me?” Flashy Guy looks confused.

“That’s not the issue, just take your money and go.” Diluc swipes the coins off the counter and insistently presses the fist of them against flashy guy’s chest until the other man bewilderedly accepts it.

“Um, okay. I’m just gonna… go?” He and his group of friends leave, the girls already breaking into gossipy whispers before they’re even out of earshot.

“Uh, hi Diluc. Why’d you do that?”

Diluc turns to face you at your question, an annoyed expression on his face. “You’re really asking me why, Y/n? … Seriously, why would you even go through with such an idea in the first place?”

You frown at the implication in his tone. “I didn’t have a choice. And my group needs the money.”

“You should’ve made them give you a different booth concept.”

“I tried. Groups aren’t allowed to change concepts, since it would be unfair.” You explain with a sigh. As relieved as you are to have gotten out of kissing anyone so far, the weight of the empty mora box you are supposed to fill weighs heavily on the back of your mind.

“... You just need to sell all your stock, right? How much were you going to sell?”

You look up, and take a moment to think about it. “I guess I was hoping to get away with just fifty. Fifty thousand mora could possibly last us a few months… if we’re lucky and nobody’s sword gets shattered to pieces from a superconduct reaction again.”

“Make it a hundred, and I’ll just pay for it.”

“Huh?” You blink. “Oh, wow, thank you! That’s very generous of you. I wonder how I will explain all this to anybody who asks though…” Unable to help a cringe at the thought of your friends and guild mates teasing you for being the kiss-whore of the town, Diluc takes in your troubled expression with a raised brow.

“That’s none of anyone’s business.”

“Yeah but… if someone does find out you uh, sponsored us a hundred thousand mora, and didn’t even receive anything in return…” You play nervously with your hands, already imagining the protests of unfairness. “...But I guess I’ll just deal with it since the only way I can see managing to avoid that is if I actually give you a hundred kisses, ahaha.”

“...”

Dammit, this is awkward, why did you have to joke like that? Diluc is looking at you with an intense unreadable expression. You can’t help but squirm.

“What?”

“That’s a good solution. Let’s do it.”

“Oh. Really?” You stammer, feeling heat rise to your face. You’ve had a crush on Diluc for the longest time, but never in your wildest dreams would you think he felt the same. “With me? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. But I would appreciate a little privacy. Move over.”

You’re still reeling as he makes his way around and comes in the booth, leaning back instinctively to get out of his way as he reaches over and unbinds the thick velvet curtain, leaving the two of you in the dim red light that barely filters through the fabric.

Diluc pulls the second chair up next to yours, and sits facing you. He takes a pouch out of his pocket and places it on the counter of the booth next to you with a faint clink. You don’t even have to count to know there’s a hundred thousand mora in there, it’s a fat enough pouch.

Taking a deep breath, you begin, uncapping the lipstick to apply a fresh coat.

“Is that part necessary?” Diluc asks.

You falter, lips already cherry red. You don’t know what to say. Does he think it looks bad on you? You can’t help flushing in shame. “Oh, sorry.”

“No- it’s ugh, it’s fine. Continue. Please.” Diluc backtracks, placatively patting the air with his hand.

A long moment of charged tension passes, as you try and fail to work up the nerve to close the distance. His lips look so soft and the way his jaw works as he swallows sends a thrill through you.

“......”

With a small noise of impatience, Diluc shifts in his seat— and then kisses you, pressing his lips firmly against your own until you relax and melt back into him. He begins to rub his lips back and forth against yours, and strokes the shell of your ear with a gloved hand. The sensation makes you shiver. His breath is loud in your ears.

Heat builds up within you, threatening to burst. Your brain struggles to comprehend- Diluc, whom you’ve loved for the longest time, is kissing you.

Your breath catches in your throat at a particularly assertive press of his lips, and at the startled sound, Diluc breaks away.

“You okay? Still enjoying this, or…?” He asks, voice a rich murmur for your ears only.

“I’m fine, m-more than fine ahah,” You giggle breathlessly. “But I’m the one who’s supposed to be kissing you.”

“Hurry up then. You were taking too long.”

The implication of his feelings in the way he says it fills you with sudden confidence, and you smile and give him a look before leaning in and pressing a quick, sweet kiss to his lips. It leaves you exhilarated and buzzing, and a squeezing saccharine urge bubbles up within you. Resisting the sudden desire to clench your teeth, you swoop in and attack his face with kisses, pressing your lips into the smooth skin of his cheek several times before moving to the other one. Diluc gives a breathless laugh and you feel like your heart will just burst. The soft, tsck tsck tsck sound of repeated kisses fills your ears.

After his cheeks have received enough attention, you move down to his jaw, the slight indication of ginger stubble prickling against your lips as you give it a few smooches in adoration before moving to the sensitive skin of his neck. It’s warm and so soft against your lips, you can’t resist going further than you should and opening your lips after kissing to suck on it. The surprised, needy sound Diluc makes sends a distinctive squeeze somewhere lower than your stomach full of butterflies.

You hesitate, and then do it again. He gives a low grunt this time, and your head spins at how quickly the two of you are losing control. Somehow reminded of all the girls in Mondstadt who swoon over and try to woo Diluc, you place a restraining hand on his shoulder before diving in and sucking hard right below his jaw.

“Hey-!” Diluc hisses and pushes you off.

You startle out of your love-addled haze and are squeaking out the beginning of a frantic apology when Diluc roughly grasps both of your thighs and lifts you out of your chair and deposits you onto his lap.

Thrown off balance, you scramble to steady yourself, squishing your body against his chest and gripping both his shoulders to right yourself.

“What’s the big idea?” You ask, giving him a look as you recover your composure. “I almost fell!”

“I would’ve caught you. And if you want to kiss me like that, you’re gonna have to fully commit to it.” Diluc says, raising an eyebrow and giving you a cool glance right back. “I’m not going to get a hickey from someone sitting across from me in another chair like some nervous Church of Barbatos deacon in training.”

“Fine, fine, I get it.” You huff. He has a point. “You could be a bit less rough with me, though.”

Diluc blinks and averts his eyes for a moment. “... Right. Sorry, Y/n. Wasn’t intentional.”

“Yeah, I know.” You roll your eyes at him, thinking of how he throws his claymore around like a weightless treebranch.

Adjusting once more to get yourself comfortable atop his thighs, you apply another coat of lipstick. Leaning in, you're about to press another adoring kiss to his cheek when he turns his head, catching your lips instead. Your gasp of surprise melts into a whimper as he gets aggressive with it, pushing your mouths hard together with a gloved hand at the base of your head. You can’t escape his onslaught. Kiss after kiss, he doesn’t stop until you are gasping for air and then just dives right back in. Your mind goes blank of all thoughts, puddling into an empty haze.

When you come to your senses… a long time later, your lips are swollen, head dizzy from lack of oxygen, and … — Diluc’s gloves are on the floor, his face blissed out and slack, the sight sending a spear of heat straight through your stomach to your core. You swallow dry, clenching your thighs on either side of his and slide your hand down his stomach, and OHhhhgod abort, somebody is pushing the red curtain aside, flooding the small space with bright light.

“Oh, what the-! What in Barbatos’ name are you two doing in here?” Cyrus asks, rearing back with a shocked expression. “Archons, Y/n, I thought you’d left the booth behind.”

“Master Cyrus?!?” You’re just. Frozen stiff in Diluc’s lap, mortified. But instead of letting you scramble out of his lap, Diluc tightens his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace.

“Despite being given a ridiculous product, Y/n managed to sell all her stock to me. I hope there isn’t a problem with that.”

Cyrus stammers in the face of the thinly veiled accusation, monocle nearly slipping off his face. “Yes well. I’m not in charge of the prompts, miss Katheryn is… ahem, anyways, the fundraising event is over now. We’re taking down the booths and moving them to the Adventure Wagon.”

“Oh, okay.” You say, tucking your hair behind your ear, still flustered. “I’ll be right there.”

“You gonna need help taking the booth down and carrying it over, kid?” The blond older man asks, an unsure look on his face as he eyes your companion.

“I’ll take care of it.” Diluc says before you can answer, and you nod belatedly.

“Alright. See ya.”

When Cyrus is gone, the two of you are once again shrouded in red-tinted darkness, but the noisy sounds of people walking and loading things onto the wagon is unmistakable.

“...So, um… anyways…” You begin awkwardly.

“—That wasn’t a hundred.” Diluc cuts you off.

“...Huh?”

“That wasn’t a hundred. So you can deliver the rest of them later this evening. I’ll tell Adelinde to keep an ear out for you, so just knock if the Winery is closed by the time you arrive. I have some work to do with the guild but I should be done with all my most important business by five.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” You smile shyly. “Far be it from me to not deliver in a timely manner.”

“That’s my girl.” He says with a wry smile. “Blessedly quick on the uptake.”

“We should take the booth up before Master Cyrus comes back.” You admit reluctantly, climbing off his lap as he releases his grip on you.

“Let me do the heavy lifting.” Diluc insists, and the two of you come out the back and get to work on taking it down.

You try to help carry one of the smaller supports over to the wagon, but Diluc just says “I’m the one with the gloves, so I’m the one handing the wood. You’ll get splinters.” and shoves the Kissing Booth sign into your hands instead.

Diluc is… covered in lipstick kissmarks, and though several of your guild mates see and remark on it, there isn’t a trace of the pink on Diluc’s cheeks that you had seen in the booth as he gives cool responses. Remembering the sight of him, flushed and dazed and panting, has you nearly dropping the stupid sign though, and you hastily distract yourself from the thoughts of his lips that had tasted faintly sweet like grape juice… with the fate of Bennett’s booth.

You’re not sure what happened, but somehow it got burnt down to a crisp. Vaguely you recall he had drawn candles as a selling prompt. Ah. You can more or less guess what happened. Poor Benny.

“See you tonight.” You give Diluc a little wave goodbye when you’re finished, and he’s about to leave.

Catching your hand, he gives you a kiss this time, getting the top of your hand smudged with the faint remnants of your lipstick. “Don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m a busy man.”

#genshin impact #Diluc x reader #Diluc x female reader #kissing #genshin impact diluc #not tumblr refusing to copy paste it in the right format I-#I’ll Reupload it with the formatting later i cannot #*rageee*

275 notes · View notes

tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: Lovebug (6/10)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

“As an employee you’re entitled to sick leaves.”

Entitled. It didn’t necessarily mean he needed it. Levi allowed himself a sequence of motions, some reassurance that his body was still functioning as expected

He raised his shoulders up then rolled it back, stretching his neck, bending it to one side then the other. It did wonders to help send a rush of energy through his still exhausted body. It served as a reminder, he was strong, he was functional. “I don’t need a day off. I’m fine, ” Levi said.

Erwin raised one eyebrow, giving him a once over. If he had narrowed his eyes anymore or wrinkled his nose, Levi could have given in. Other parts of his body were still reeling from the ordeal from the beach and he was sure he could fall asleep if someone just laid him out on a sofa.

Erwin though was a man of the office, a staunch professional. When it came to work and productivity, he leaned on the side of ‘being productive.’ He took Levi’s word for it. “If you are feeling anything, just anything out of the ordinary, take the day off. Feel free to just leave me a note, and I can have Petra or Eld handle the rest of the testing.”

The word ‘testing’ didn’t do much to convince Levi to rest though and maybe Erwin knew that. Levi slammed the door behind him hard enough to have him preparing for a lecture from Erwin about door slamming manners.

He waited in front of the door, gripping the doorknob from behind him for a good few more seconds.

“We could start working next week?” Hange appeared right next to him. More specifically, she had accompanied him to Erwin’s office that morning, settling for just loitering outside the door, providing a perfectly valid reason for the internal question ‘ did she hear his conversation with Erwin?’

“It’s a Tuesday and it’s not a holiday,” Levi answered matter-of-factly.

“Well, don’t companies have sick leaves?”

“They do.”

“And you were in the hospital just yesterday.”

“I was in the hospital under observation,” Levi clarified.

“After almost drowning,” Hange added.

“Just because the doctor prescribes a few more days of bed rest, doesn’t make it an almighty rule.” It was evidence that maybe a day off or two would have definitely made the difference. That slightly caustic exchange had Levi’s head spinning. He found himself having to squint just to even feign eye contact. “Besides, why are you here anyway?”

“To work on the love alarm. Don’t you think it’s better if we work closely with each other?”

“Not this early into the whole process. We could have talked through email.” Levi attempted to walk ahead. His office wasn’t too far from Erwin’s a good few flights of stairs below. With his head slightly spinning and his legs feeling like jelly, Levi went for the elevators.

It was as if Hange was on a mission to flaunt her ability to speed up her pace. She walked next to him then a few feet ahead, turning back at him. And she had been that way since that morning.

Levi gave in. “Okay, so what parts of the planning process merit a meeting today?”

“Well, I’m worried for one.”

“There are many meetings that could have been an email and I think you lecturing me about not taking a sick leave is one of them.”

“Yeah, and there’s more...” Hange trailed off, giving him a good look from head to toe. Levi liked to believe she just couldn’t find the right answer to whatever implicit question he introduced at that moment. “I’m sorry about yesterday, and the day before.”

“That could have been an email.”

“I know Zeke gave you shit about being carried by me and having to be saved by me...”

Levi stifled a cringe. A bridal carry to be specific. “That could have also been an email.”

Hange huffed. “Fine. I get if you want to be so pissy about this but let me be selfish. I didn’t join Zeke on his business trip and it’s because I felt guilty. About you almost drowning, about you being forced to play golf and almost losing all your money over a few games. It was shitty okay. And for my own peace of mind, please let me join you at work, and maybe just help you make some progress with the alarm, even just a bit?”

There was nothing much else his muddled brain could come up with in that moment of silence. “Okay,” Levi said, with a tone that could have easily been seen through. It was in fact, not okay.

“Why? Is there anything else you’re busy with?”

Levi sighed. “Making sure that damn love alarm gets tested for the next release.”

***

Anticipation had the tendency of piling stress much higher than the stress was actually worth. For many people, they only realize how much of a simple task something can be when they’re actually doing it.

When work would pile up, stress would pile up. When Levi’s brain was working at half capacity, while trying to balance responsibilities and a guilty Hange in tow, he was barely thinking about work yet still attempting to the best of his meagre abilities.

When the work was finally in front of him, the workflow tracker out, the whole ordeal of anticipating a workload had turned out to be anticlimactic. Maybe he had just gotten used to days leading up to releases being particularly stressful. After all, it usually involved early morning sanity checks, junk food and a stressed out team.

Usually. They had some good releases and the one that day seemed like a good release. Of course it would be a less stressful release. It was under testing for months and it had been pushed back a week already. The QA work was almost over. To be just a little more certain, Levi filtered his workflow tracker to staged tickets and to tickets tagged ‘ready for release.’

“So, how does this pre-release testing work?” Hange asked, leaning forward. She had taken the liberty to pull one of the chairs to the corner towards and sat beside him.

“I’m working,” Levi said coldly.

“Oh, but you said you needed to test the love alarm.”

“Yes, the team is testing it. I’m making sure everything gets tested.”

“So how do you make sure everything gets tested?”

“Well… There’s this tracker here, I assign tickets for testing and when people say it’s tested they click QA passed and I see it here. Then if anything urgent needs testing or anything doesn’t seem to work, I help out and try to fix it,” Levi said, he opened his drawer dropping one of his test devices on the table.

“So you could have gotten a day off,” Hange asked, seemingly knowingly.

Levi glanced at the dashboard to seeall tickets were tagged as ‘Ready to Release.’ the others having been done a week back. He was too lazy to check the event history and there was no need to. The necessary work had been finished.

Maybe he could have taken the day off. He wasn’t admitting that though. “So tell me, what are your plans? We’re getting the money soon according to Erwin but you’re the mastermind behind this.” Levi swiveled his chair behind him, grabbed his whiteboard eraser and cleaned out some of the useless notes from the next release.

Half way through cleaning it up though, he stopped. There might be something you’ll need there. He cursed himself for even erasing some of it to the point of incomprehensible.

“You wanna just use the workflow tracker? Like the one on your computer?” Hange suggested.

“No, this is fine…” Levi racked his brain for those numbers and he settled for just writing the notes just much smaller below the release notes to the side with the larger font.

It looked messy. It looked ugly. And his dominant meticulous side would not stand for it. In one swift motion borne out of frustration, Levi swiped his white board eraser over the whiteboard five times, more than enough to wipe it clean.

“Was there anything important there?” Hange asked.

“Just a cleaner version of what we have in the tracker,” Levi said with a slight huff. He would rather Hange wasn’t reminded of whatever could have been there.

“Well, you wanna brainstorm on the whiteboard?”

“It’s blank now.” Levi gestured for Hange to go ahead.

“There’s actually not much to brainstorm on my end,” Hange said. Still, she walked a little nearer, grabbing the marker from Levi. She drew a heart. “You used biological markers to determine love right? That’s how you made the application. If you could assume love based on biological markers… maybe you can break it down and do it similarly for feelings right? I work with psychotherapy and I thought your application might have the potential to be tweaked in the context of assessing emotion Just to give therapists an idea of how their patients feel….” Hange trailed off. She drew a small diagram under the heart, a sad face, a happy face then a blank face. “I mean we have the technology for it already right? Most phones now are capable of more complex biometrics, that’s what the love alarm is taking advantage of.”

Levi hummed. The diagram made it look just a little too easy. “And how do you think we can break down the application?” He knew the answer. Testing Hange though had been a tempting option.

Hange looked back at him, a confident grin on her face.“Yeah, you have the data already? And you created models or algorithms. Maybe you can extract part of those data sets and we can cut it down… to ‘happy,’ to ‘sad’ etcetera. And you can use what you have to make other types of alarms, like a happy alarm, a sad alarm. Right?

“We have the technology and the hardware to pull that off I guess. It’ll just be a matter of making a model, logging data, and coding. Doable with the right resources.”

“But it should be easier since you already have some of the work done with the love alarm.”

“But it won’t be as accurate at first. It took us five years to get the love alarm to this level of accuracy. I can’t even guarantee it’s completely accurate,” Levi said.

“What about it takes time?”

“We use an AI algorithm.”

“Artificial Intelligence,” Hange said.

Levi nodded. “It’s a machine learning model. We give the model data as an input and data as an output and the more data you put into it, the more experience the machine has and the better the machine gets at figuring out what the correct answer is . We give it the biological data, the input and we give it the output, the anonymous test results and some formulas, and overtime, the machine starts to figure out for itself what love is.”

“So you can’t actually break down the application to do it for you?”

“We can but it will be a pain. Might as well just create a new model.”

“Will it take as long as the love alarm?

Levi shook his head. “We have the necessary APIs, the hardware. We can buy more server space but we will have to create a new model.”

Hange raised one eyebrow. “Okay, that’s a good start.”

“I’ll just have to make a plan, see how much more resources we need and send them off to Erwin.” Levi opened an a blank document and pushed Hange’s seat closer to his. .

“Wait, I’m curious though…” Hange started. She tapped one finger on her chin. “How does data processing work?”

***

Levi never considered the server room to be anything interesting. It was after all just a conglomeration of headless computers, wires and lights.

A very important conglomeration. After all, a fire or a faulty pipe would be enough to destroy millions of dollars worth of data.

He only allowed her one peek, just opening the door wide enough for one eye to see through for just a few seconds long enough for Hange to let out a hushed breath. “Our company handles a lot of applications and some of the servers supporting these applications are housed here,” he explained.

“And the data?”

“They’re housed here. Sometimes we use cloud servers too. Sometimes caching servers and everything is processed here then sent to the application." Levi kept his words simple.

"Billions of points worth of data…" Hange's voice deadened to a whisper.

"It takes time for the data to come, the machines to learn. We started off with manual loading the data, then testing. It took a lot of work to get this much data, enough for the application to work as expected."

"And you continue to get the data I'm guessing."

Levi shrugged. "During quality testing, during actual app usage. As long as someone is using the application and complying to their biometrics being gathered by the application, we get data. That's how all applications work."

Hange hummed. Her mouth curled up into a smile. "So let's say… when I turn on the application, you can collect my data right?"

"The servers are always on, they're always collecting data. It needs the data after all to ring the alarm right?"

"Then how do we check the data?" Hange asked.

Levi leaned on the door, shutting it with a click. "When we need it, I'll extract your data on my end, then maybe I'll extract mine. To be honest, I don't think they'd give many answers though."

"Serotonin, Oxytocin, Dopamine, Body heat. There's a lot to see from those numbers.” Hange pointed a thumb to her chest. “This is my specialty.”

"Then I guess we're going to have to make sense of it together."

Hange nodded. "So what are we waiting for? Let’s work on it over lunch.."

"Don't get too hasty. We're gonna have to make a research plan."

***

Hange already had a research plan on hand and she had been working on it for a while. A twenty page document with just a section filled with bullet points and comments.

There were points Levi had to fill out himself. Still, it wasn't too much work. "You came prepared," he said.

"What can I say, it's my pet project," Hange scrolled down towards the end of the word document.

"Zeke seemed excited about it, I thought it would have been his at first."

"If this works out, his hospitals will be the first ones in the country or even the world with this type of technology. If it's sure money, it'll be easy to convince him. Besides, I have my ways." Hange gave Levi a sly smile, soon concealed by the cup between her lips.

She was in a better mood. They were out for lunch in a more seemingly relaxed position and Levi saw opportunity.

It's better now than never. "How does he feel… about the developer of the application spending a little too much time with you?"

"It's part of the research process and I need to talk to a developer, not an investor. Besides, he has other investments," Hange said nonchalantly, too nonchalantly that it was almost unsettling.

"With what happened at the beach." Just the quick recall was enough to send blood rushing to his face. He wondered if outwardly he did look a little red. He bit his lip and looked away. From his peripherals, he could see Hange though was just a little too focused on his laptop screen.

Hange could have spit out her tea. "Are you still thinking about the bridal carry? I didn’t think it was too big of a deal. I could have sworn you were unconscious."

At first, Levi could have sworn he was unconscious too. Zeke had mentioned it just a little too many times though that Levi was starting to generate his own phantom memories of the incident.

"Sorry about the CPR though. I probably bruised a few ribs.”

He remembered the CPR just a little too quickly. Or maybe it had been the bruises reminding him. Levi ran his hands over his chest, feeling a slight twinge of pain in response. "Hey, you did it to save my life."

Hange shook her head. "Or maybe I was panicking. It didn’t look like you were breathing but everything was moving too fast and---” She was digressing.

“What does Zeke think about it?” Levi pressed.

“Why do you care so much about what Zeke thinks about it?” Hange asked. She had raised her tone, maybe only slightly. It was firm, almost abrasive that Levi regretted it.

“Zeke is an investor, one of the richest men in the world. I’m spending too much time with his partner. Then back in the beach---”

“Zeke is always busy and honestly, I’m grateful for any other relationships I can make outside this,” Hange argued. “You know, life, building relationships, these things don’t end after marriage. Sure, Zeke and I committed to a relationship but I think I should still be able to find joy in connecting with other people. Marriage isn’t supposed to tie anyone down, stop them from experiencing life. People in relationships are supposed to grow freely together.”

Maybe Levi had been thinking too hard about it. Or maybe Hange was just a little too laid back. “What do you think about the love alarm ringing?”

“It happens. Besides, I’m not too worried. Love is a choice,” Hange said. “Commitment is a choice. I think I remember sending you a book about that.”

“So you don’t believe in our product,” Levi challenged.

“I never said that.” Hange started to stir at her cup, just a little faster. “You can choose to love someone, to commit to them, to be patient with them and to ride out every single problem with them but there is the feeling aspect right? That’s what the love alarm measures, or that’s what I’m suspecting.”

Levi nodded.

“So the fact that it rings with strangers or just randomly, shows that it measures attraction right?”

“Hormones, movements, pace…” Levi listed them out as just another appendix in their dialogue.

“I wanna understand… where do feelings fit in all this.” Hange put her hands up in defense.. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Zeke, I married him. He’s a good man. And I wanna make whatever it is between us work for a good long time but as someone who works with human psychology, emotions, as someone who’s seen relationships succeed, relationships fail and some that are just so-so. I wanna know, how much of it is emotions, how much of it is volitional commitment. And this type of research, with the love alarm… I think it can teach us things. Emotions are fleeting but there are emotions that stay for a long time and maybe they make being loving and being patient easier---” She slammed her hands back on the table. “Am I making sense here?”

Levi only realized then he had been biting his straw and had barely gotten anything out. “I’m trying to understand and I think I’m kinda succeeding? GIve me a few more seconds.” He looked away, silently grateful for the good view of the shopping streets from the second floor of the cafe. The cafe was a good balance of loud and soft, filled with whispers and conversations yet still calming and relaxing if he focused on that part in particular.

“Have you really, never been in a relationship?” Hange asked, seconds or even minutes later.

“No.”

“And you told me, you’ve never made the alarm ring for anyone.”

“In my five years of testing, no,” Levi said.

“What made it ring with me?” Hange asked. “ Have you ever theorized that?”

“It could be a bu---”

“Let’s assume the application is working properly.” Hange pressed. “Do you feel anything different? When you’re with me?”

Maybe he did. Levi was tempted to look back the moment Hange had ended that question with her tone of voice higher than a second ago. Her eyebrows furrowed, her gaze fixed on his. Levi had to admit, he didn’t want to look away again.

So he looked away. “I should be asking you that question. Your alarm rang too. Do you feel anything with me that you don’t feel with him?”

***

They carried the conversation elsewhere, somewhere where the walls didn’t echo, somewhere where there wasn’t anyone within a good ten meters away. Somewhere they could have sworn nobody would be listening.

It was a silent agreement, consisting of nodding and pulling of hands and it ended with them in the park, a little past noon on a Tuesday.

“Do you feel any different when you’re with me?” The question was exchanged once again, in a park bench towards the center, after seconds of checking surroundings. It came in variations of it, in stutters, between clearing throats.

When it came to recovering eloquence, Hange won without a fight. “If I tell you, will you promise to at least try to tell me?”

“Try.” Levi was economical with his words. He made certain though to consolidate all the discomforts of such a pressing topic to that one word.

Hange took a deep breath. “It’s funny because we just met right? But sometimes, I randomly think of you. When I come home to find the cleaner cleaning out the room, I think ‘Levi would probably like a clean room.’ When I was drinking coffee this morning, I thought of how you didn’t get your tea time and today, I was excited to see you. But I’m excited to see Zeke too… So maybe I’m just lonely because he left so suddenly for a business trip. Were you excited to see me?”

“Not this morning,” Levi said. That had been easy enough to let slip out. It wasn’t a lie after all.

“Oh. Then maybe my theory is wrong.” Hange said it too quickly, her voice much softer.

That had Levi feeling a tad guilty, at the same time more motivated to find some way to cheer her up. “But I was excited to go to the country club with you and when I saw you with Zeke by the pool, I felt weird.”

“Weird?”

“I kept looking, but I wanted to look away…”

Then there was silence. He was watching Hange and she wasn’t opening her mouth to speak. In the silence, he found reason for a segue. It could have been too sudden or it could have been a natural progression. Levi was easily imagining the scene by the pool as he stared at the empty streets, he thought it natural, and at least appropriate. “You and Zeke really get along huh?”

“Now yes.”

One syllable, one slip of the tongue had Levi alert.“Now?”

Hange shook her head. “Now. As in, we get along but at first, we didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “ Zeke and I have known each other since college and he confessed to me in our senior year before graduation. We dated for a few years after that.”

“You chose to date him, even when you didn’t like him.”

“Sure he doesn’t give the best first impression, he’s a little extra, if you know what I mean, his head gets a little too big sometimes. My parents and friends said it would be a good idea to just try it out. He was the heir to one of the biggest companies in the country and he isn’t a bad person per se so I opted to try it out and over time, I got to know him, we got closer and he proposed to me a few years ago, I said yes… and here I am, married.”

“Married.” Levi looked pointedly at her. Hange had leaned back and hung her head back, staring at the sky above. She had said that last part with a little too much breath, and too little voice.

Hange gave him a wry smile. “Well, I honestly thought it was too early to settle down. I would have wanted to finish my PhD first, maybe travel a little more, meet more people before we get married but we’ve been dating for years, Zeke was insistent and....It seemed like a good choice. What was there to lose? He’s a good man. We were familiar with each other and besides, just because we’re married, doesn’t mean life stops right?”

“You tell me. I’ve never been married. Some people are asking me when I plan on settling down.”

“I guess we’re on two ends of the spectrum. You might end up marrying late. I married too early.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with why the love alarm didn’t ring?”

Hange shrugged. “Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. The thing is, I don’t want love to be a feeling because just bending over backward to however I’m feeling means that I’m not really free right? I want love to be a choice. I chose to marry Zeke, I chose to commit to him and regardless of what a computer says about love, I wanna be able to decide for myself how I feel, who I love and how I love.”

***

A few clacks of the keyboard. The click of the mouse. Then the computer whirred to life again, a few swishes among them.

“So, all I have to do is type out a query here on the server management studio and I’ll be able to extract whatever data we need,” Levi said. “So what email do you use for your love alarm?”

“Wings of freedom…” Hange didn’t finish. Instead she slipped her phone next to Levi, the screen open to the settings page.

[email protected]

Levi stifled a smile. “Don’t you have a more professional sounding email?”

“I like using pseudo emails for making accounts for weird things.”

“Nice to know our product counts as a weird account to you,” Levi said.

“Well, I was testing the product out before I even pitched it to Zeke. I wouldn’t want anyone to have gotten information on me.”

“Then I guess, that was a good choice.” Levi slammed the enter button and the screen froze for a second before the export box appeared.

“Yeah, I’d expect a company like yours will collect data.”

“I’m sure we have a tiny box saying ‘you comply to having your data gathered when you use the product.’”

“You did,” Hange admitted.

“Then you can’t complain about me having access to the location, the hormone levels, the heart rate and all other pertinent information of [email protected].”

“What email do you use?”

“I extracted that too,” Levi said. He opened his own application and slipped his phone to Hange.

“So you are using a pseudonym too.”

“Of course. I test the product. I need multiple emails,” Levi said.

“Sure, [email protected]. You really had to go for something tacky like that?”

“Well, no one got the username yet,” Levi said. He was quick to digress. “I extracted our biodata from the day we met and when we tested the application. It’s gonna be exported as a data file and just open it using excel or something and do what you need to do.”

“You’re a gem, Levi,” Hange said.

“Just don’t touch anything else. I’m gonna take a break first,” Levi leaned further back on his chair, grateful for Erwin’s suggestion that he got a reclining chair then. “Maybe I should have gotten a day off. Eld told me, support is quiet today and the release has been ready for a while. Nothing much else to do.” He went for his ebook reader next to his desk and held it above him.

It flashed open to the latest page.

The room was silent save for the clack of the keyboard and the whirring of the monitor. It was an odd position to be in but Levi found it was much easier to focus on words when all he had behind the reader was the white ceiling. If he tried a little harder, he could also pretend the clacking of the keyboard wasn’t at all, Hange.

He was tired. He was exhausted and the ordeal from a few days ago still bubbled at the back of his mouth. Surprisingly, the words had shifted so easily into sceneries, emotions, investment and Levi was thinking too hard about one Mr. Collins and his engagement to the protagonist.

“Levi!”

Levi was pulled out of that very comfortable stupor by one rash voice and as he looked up to see Hange smiling, he realized, maybe it had been his own emotional investment at that damn book that got him a little cranky at the wake up call. “What? How long was I reading?”

“Fifteen minutes at least,” Hange said. “I found something interesting with the data. Did you know, that when the love alarm rang, our hormones were low, our body heat was low, our heart rate wasn’t high. Would you know why it still rang?”

“I told you, after a certain point we don’t know. It becomes an algorithm. The computer figures it out for itself.”

“But we’re going to need that data when working with other emotions right?” Hange pressed. “I’m gonna take note of this.”

“Do you think the love alarm still works as expected?”

“It could. You told me yourself, billions worth of data points. How could they be wrong right? But this is nice to know, you know. Just looking at the data here, is somehow reassuring.”

“Reassuring how?”

Hange shrugged. “Well I’ll do a little of my own testing and will contact you when I come up with anything.” She looked at the clock on her phone. “Then we could schedule a visit to one of Zeke’s hospitals and have a talk with the staff, maybe they could give some feedback on the working plan.”

“You’re gonna leave?” Levi sat up, putting his ebook reader down on the desk next to him. Hange had started to rifle through her bag and that got him alert.

“Why? You want me to stay a little longer?”

“I never said that.”

“You said you were busy with work this morning and now you want me to stay?” Hange challenged.

“Well it turned out there isn’t much work to do anyway. We get the changes live by the end of this week and we work towards the next release.” Now that Levi did think about it, the job was pretty repetitive and Hange’s pet project had somehow added color to the whole experience. “But you can leave if you want to,” Levi added a second later. Just in case, she did get some sort of hint that he wanted her to stay.

That last sentence did the exact opposite. Exactly how? Levi didn’t have much time to ponder it. By the time, he had even attempted to read through the protagonist’s response to her suitor, Hange had already pulled her chair right next to his, close enough for him to be feeling slightly warmer. Then, warm enough for him to pull away. “What the hell?”

“I was just wondering what you were reading.”

“You could have asked. Were you looking?”

“No.I wasn’t raised to look over people’s shoulders when they read.” Hange said matter-of-factly. “Actually, I was about to ask what you were reading when you pulled away so fast.”

Levi sighed. “It’s one of the books you sent over in that drive folder.”

“Ooh, which one? Scott Peck?”

“I read though that already until I realized the author cheated on his wife.”

“That doesn’t make his words any more invalid. Love is a choice,” she sang. The amount of times he had heard that since he even read the book maybe even the most melodious tone grating. “So what book is it?”

“The novel, Pride and Prejudice.”

“Oooh, which part are you in?”

Maybe Levi had let his guard down just a little. He probably tilted his reader a little bit towards her. Those minute details might have been enough though to have Hange pulling closer towards him, looking over at whatever he had been reading.

“I’m a slow reader,” Levi explained.

“Well, it’s a classic. Hange said. This time she was looking at him again. “I swear, I think it shaped my own idea of love. think there’s a lot to learn about love and marriage the way that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy fall in love---”

“Wait. Stop.” Emotional investment in the book had Levi vulnerable. He only realized it then when he felt his mouth twitch, his eyebrows raise just a little higher. He found himself dropping the reader on the desk in front of him again, a retaliation at that ringing in his ears and the uncomfortable drop of his stomach. Spoilers were surprisingly painful things. “Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth… They end up together?” He managed to let out.

Hange nodded hesitantly. “Yes, it’s in the title. Mr. Darcy is pride and Elizabeth is prejudice.”

“You’re talking about the asshole Darcy right? Ten thousand pounds a year asshole Darcy?”

***

To hell if Hange looked just a little uncomfortable. Maybe more than a little. “I swear I thought everyone knew. Pride and Prejudice is a classic and it’s so talked about that---”

“I thought she was gonna end up with Mr. Wickham,” Levi admitted. It was difficult to wipe that grimace off his face, to the point that he had worn it almost as a medal while escorting Hange down to the lobby.

“Hey, I’m sorry…” Hange said. Her attempt to make amends though was grating.

Levi sighed. “It’s fine. This is a sign anyway, I need to do something more productive with my last few hours of work. I have a few more hours in the office, I’ll probably check on the team first. Is someone picking you up?”

“I messaged already,” Hange said glumly. “You know, I thought we could hang out a bit first.”

“Just focus first on getting an appointment with the hospital. To be honest, I really think I do have some work to check on.”

“Hey, I’ll make up to spoiling you okay?” Hange said. She had tried to curl her lips up to a smile, to widen the grin on her face. It had come out as something wry.

He found some solace at least in realizing he wasn’t the only one a little too bothered by those spoilers. He could have sworn it had never affected him that way before. But it’s just spoilers. He reminded himself. “I’ll get over it. Just focus on your work.” Still, it was difficult to enunciate words, it was difficult to even look at her. “Who’s picking you up?”

“Probably a chauffeur,” Hange said. She opened her phone again. The white glare of the screen reflected on Hange’s eyes and Levi was seeing stars in them again. Stars that somehow breathed life into her dead half smile of a while ago. “I can go from here.”

“Wait what?”

“Zeke’s picking me up at the gate. He said he wanted to try one of the restaurants at the nearby shopping street,” Hange explained.

Levi’s mind was an aggregate of unintelligible emotions. Do you want me to escort you out? Of course you don’t, I practically kicked you out. When there were things he couldn’t understand, maybe the right thing to do was be professional about it. “I’ll wait for your reply on the hospital visit. I’ll do what I can with the working plan and hopefully we could come up with something by Friday.”

“That would be cool. I’ll make sure to message you.” Hange wasn’t looking at him anymore and Levi had been perceptive enough to notice that her voice slowed just a little, the volume much softer than a second ago. Her mind was elsewhere.

Then suddenly, she was talking again, her voice a stark contrast from a second ago. “Zeke! I’m so glad to hear from you. Levi and I were just working on the application just now… And we have some great ideas…”

He never heard what Hange said after that. If he closed his eyes, and focused just a bit, maybe he could have but the ache in his chest was overpowering and he found it most convenient to blame the spoilers at first.

Hange walking away. Hange mentioning Zeke. Those were moments of clarity.

Darcy had reminded him a little too much of Zeke. Elizabeth, a little too much of Hange. When he walked back up to the room, back scrolled back to the scene at the ball, the scene with Mr. Wickham, he let out a laugh.

Fiction was supposed to be comforting and somehow with his own emotional investment in the story, he had hoped for an ending where money didn’t win. And he was scrambling for it long after Hange turned the corner way past the entrance.

Back in the office, alone with the reader on hand, he thought about it a little more.

I swear, I think it shaped my own idea of love. think there’s a lot to learn about love and marriage…

“A lot to learn huh?” Love and marriage which ended with a rich abrasive asshole?

There was definitely a lot to learn. Marriage could be for money. Love could be learned.

To commit, to love was a choice.

And Levi didn't need to read the whole book to be reminded of what he had already figured out.

Levi checked the table of contents, then the tracker at the bottom, he was barely thirty percent into the book, a very long book. Or maybe he was just a slow reader

After a few more minutes of staring, he managed to stumble upon the stone cold conclusion that it was a waste of time.

He quickly deleted the book, muttering to himself for a second longer that it was a good decision. Then he walked to his team's office, laptop tightly on hand. When he was looking left and right, when he was looking through his workflow tracker again on his phone, he found an out.

After all, he shouldn't have the time to ponder Hange's own ideas of love when he had an application to maintain and investors to please.

***

Levi ended up leaving work earlier than expected. It was a total lie to think there was any work needed to be done. Exhaustion clambered up quickly, a special kind of exhaustion at slogging through a day of work less than forty eight hours after being discharged from the hospital. An exhaustion that came with having spent a good hour lying to himself and to his subordinates that they had anything else to do before the release.

"Any support queries?" Levi asked. It felt more like a formality.

His subordinates had already started to pack their bags for the day.

"Nothing too urgent," Petra answered. “Nothing that can be finished in ten minutes either..”

“Leave it for tomorrow,” Levi said. As much as possible, he preferred to be the only one having to do over time.

“Sir, do you have any idea when we would start working on that new request by Mr. Jaeger?”

Levi’s answer was calm and straightforward. “We’re currently working on a plan, me and Hange and as soon as we get it approved, we can have a meeting about it.” And exhaustion made acceptance all the more natural. “You’ve all been working hard the past weeks leading up to the release. Stay low or take leaves if you need to, I’ll handle making sure everything goes live on time.”

Greetings were exchanged after that. Thank yous, sighs of relief and Levi wondered how hard the past few weeks have been, only for the release to have been delayed over Zeke’s request. Somehow, Levi felt some responsibility and guilt over such a ‘bug.’ Whether it was actually a bug or it was his own shortcomings as a human which caused the test to end that way, whatever musins he had about them, did nothing to placate the guilt as he watched their relieved faces, their much calmer faces.

The next day he woke up to emails, requests for leaves that week which he immediately approved. One week of calm, one week long enough to have it go live that weekend. Then Monday would be the post release sanity check.

He’d use the week to plan, to coordinate a little more with Hange. He opened his phone to see her number just on top, just like it had usually been recently. He had decided not to open her message until he got to the office.

Business is business. He thought to himself. The banner had given hints to the message but there weren't many hints to the context of a date time.

5/15 3:23AM. Check my body heat, serotonin levels, dopamine levels….

Less than a minute later, Levi was on the phone rattling numbers.

“So they’re high,” Hange said. “High numbers are a sign of love.”

Levi could have sworn he had heard the smile in her voice. “Why? Did something happen last night?”

“Zeke and I had a late night. It was the most fun we had in a while.”

Before Levi even noticed it himself, his mind was racing, asking questions. If Zeke had the love alarm on, would it have rang? And soon, it was clamoring for answers he knew he could never give.

Zeke’s own love alarm wouldn’t be on and even if it wasn’t on, it didn’t send data the same way Hange’s did. All he could do then was settle for speculation. “Maybe there is a bug then Hange. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the data. We’ll turn on your love alarm again when we visit, let’s try it again.”

The call ended amiably and Levi was a little more sluggish soon after. He lay his phone back on his desk and turned on the love alarm.

As expected, no hearts appeared. One hand on the keyboard next to him, he typed out a query and pulled his own data. His own hormone levels were much lower than 3am Hange’s. He opened the data Hange had analyzed just yesterday. The hormone levels were still low.

He clicked on the settings on his application, back at the dashboard then pressed the home button and sighed. “Some developer I am, can’t even figure out how my app works anymore.”

Then he thought something he hadn’t thought in a while. Maybe going for something as complex as love from the start wasn’t such a good idea.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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cakejots · 3 years

Text

this is us trying, Chapter 7 - The Aid

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

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21. Roommates

The journey to Marinette’s house was a short one, it was no wonder she appeared so quickly earlier on. They went past the Dupain-Cheng Bakery and within a minute, they landed on her balcony.

Lady Rouge? Rena Bug? Rena bug sounded more consistent with her other unifications but he still didn’t know. Marinette slid open her balcony door and stepped in, but Chat didn’t follow. When she realised he had yet to come in, she went to the balcony door.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you sure?” He glimpsed at her. “I don’t want to impose.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I’m not okay with it,” she rolled her eyes. “And don’t worry, you’re not imposing at all!”

Chat still stood rooted at the balcony.

“You… We can treat it as though we’re roommates?” She tried. “You can sleep on the bed while I sleep on the mattress.”

“Actually, I should sleep on the mattress and you on the bed. I don’t want to intrude on the place where you need your beauty sleep.”

She sighed. “If I agree to that, will you come in?”

He nodded.

“Alright, I’ll sleep in my bed.”

Once he entered, they de-transformed, and Marinette’s stomach growled.

Her arms flew to her abdomen and her cheeks turned pink. “Aha, I haven’t had breakfast…”

“Let me make it for you!” Adrien jumped on the chance.

“Adrien, all I have to do is to spread the butter and jam on the bread,” she chuckled.

“I know. But please,” he activated his kitten eyes, “that’s the least I can do for you.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “Alright, alright.”

He beamed. “And for your drink?”

“Tea, please.”

“Coming right up!” He started to move, but stopped soon after. “Uhh, I might need you to show me the way to everything.”

Marinette laughed. Such a dork.

After they had fun making their breakfast together and feeding each other, Marinette went into her room to get something while Adrien stayed in the living room to browse his public social account. He understood that he couldn’t run from the scandal for long. He needed to know what the public was saying so that he could come up with a suitable statement to address it.

“Chaton, you need some time off from that.” He jumped when her voice appeared so suddenly beside his ear as she planted herself next to him. “So put that away and join me!”

“What are you doing?”

“Designing!” She held up her sketchbook. “What do you think?”

Adrien took the sketchbook from her and focused on the sketch she had drawn. It was a long and elegant A-Line dress with lace-patterned sleek long sleeves.

He smiled teasingly. “Is my lady aspiring to be a fashion designer?”

She nodded, anticipation for his opinion clear in her eyes.

“It’s really classy!” He raised an eyebrow, then wiggled both. “Are you making this for a future date with me?”

She flushed. “I-I know you have something to comment about the dress, tell me!”

He laughed. “Well, it’s perfect the way it is. But since you asked, you can always go sleeveless as well.”

Her eyes sparkled at his comment, a smirk growing on her lips. She flipped a page on the sketchbook still in his hands to show the same dress. But this time, the sleeves are gone, exactly what he had suggested just moments ago.

Adrien’s smile faltered for a second before coming back wider and prouder. “You sure you’re not a fashion designer yet?”

She scratched the back of her head. “I really wanted to intern at Gabriel…”

“Oh.”

“But no worries!” She clapped her hands to disperse the gloomy atmosphere. “Having the model of a fashion powerhouse compliment my designs? It’s more than I could ever ask for.”

“With skills like these, it won’t be long until someone picks you.” He held her hand and rubbed his thumb on the back of it. “Do you have a portfolio? Can you show them to me?”

Marinette’s eyes gleamed. “Can my day get any better?”

They spent the rest of the day admiring her impressive collection of designs.

The yawn that came from Marinette halted whatever they were doing.

“S-Sorry,” she covered her mouth, cheeks reddened. “I woke up earlier than usual today, so I think I’m turning in right now. D-Do you want to join me?”

“I would love to,” he smiled.

She stood to get the mattress but Adrien held her arm. “Actually, is… is it okay if w-we sleep together on your bed?”

Her eyes shone and she squatted down to his level to booped his nose. “Of course, mon Chaton.” She grabbed his hands and led him to the toilet before going to her room.

She jumped into her bed and moved in to give him space. Marinette looked at him expectantly as he stopped at her door. She raised her arms to entice him into her embrace, and it worked. Adrien walked towards her bed and snaked his arms around her waist as he got on, pulling her body flush against his.

“Ahhh,” she melted into him. “Your heat is very welcome right now”

“Did you invite me just to be your personal heater?”

“Maaaybe,” she smirked.

He pulled away and gaped at her, mock-offended. “How dare you.”

She cackled and chased after his heat. “Adrieeen! Don’t do this to meee, come back here!”

Marinette managed to pull him back, her arms caged his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, effectively trapping him.

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, arms encircling her once again and he kissed her nose. “Goodnight, Marinette.”

Her cheeks burn at the sweet gesture. “Goodnight, Adrien.”

22. Heal

Adrien awoke from his slumber, alarmed that he’s in an unfamiliar room, until he recalled that he was staying over at Marinette’s. He checked his side, and there she was still sleeping as soundly as he remembered just a few days prior.

Marinette wasn’t clinging onto him as tightly as she was last night, but she’s still snuggled up in his personal space. He doesn’t mind that all at, he had his arm wrapped around her shoulders pulling her towards him. Her hand and leg were draped lazily across his waist and leg, and her head was on his chest, rising and falling in accordance to his breathing.

It wasn’t a dream.

She’s by his side.

And he still has the scandal to deal with.

Adrien ran his hand down his face to wipe away any sleepiness before he grabbed his phone from the shelves above him, and concluded Marinette is a pretty heavy sleeper. He shifted quite a bit searching for his phone but she didn’t stir at all. After finding a comfortable position, he went online and browsed through.

There’s the side that’s all rainbowy, sparkles, and flowers. The side that supports his decisions, saying how adorable they are as a couple and calls for the media and harassers to stop their digging and let him be happy.

And then there’s the mob and haters, holding their pitchforks and axes and spreading false rumours, negativity, and hate about their relationship. Demanding them to break up, else they’d boycott him.

He has been in the eyes of the media all his life, he has learnt how to filter out the noises pretty well. He can’t please everyone. They’re all unique with their own taste and preferences. He understood that much. Which was why he really didn’t care if people boycotted him. If they really supported him, they would’ve wished him happiness.

What he really couldn’t stand were the nasty remarks they'd made of Marinette. He knew it was going to come, but to read about them with his own eyes made his blood boil.

How dare they call her these abhorrent names. They are just vomiting words that didn’t describe Marinette at all. Golddigger? Slut? Whore? He was so disgusted that people could scope to that level. She’s the sweetest person he’s ever met and was pretty sure no one could come close to her level. She’s Ladybug! Protector of Paris and people love her. And as soon as she shows up in a different form, she gets hated on? He was never one to be bothered by haters’ opinions, but they are directed at Marinette, the love of his life. He can’t let this slide! This shouldn’t even be happening. Why are humans so ugly? What—

“Adrien?”

Her groggy voice snapped him out of his onslaught of the haters, and he directed his attention to her on his chest.

Those blue eyes were staring at him so intently, and it made him self-conscious. But it also made him finally realise that his heart rate was accelerating and he was inhaling quick and shallow breaths. He was also gripping her shoulder stiffly.

He released his hold immediately.

Shit. Were those what disturbed her beauty sleep?

“Good morning, my lady!” He tried his best to sound as cheery as possible, to hide the fact that he was doing something she had disapproved of earlier on.

“What are you checking on your phone?” Fuck.

“Uhh—”

He wasn’t able to explain because Marinette had pushed herself from his chest to stop beside his head to have a better look.

Adrien could hear his own pulse in his head, and it was amplified by the silence that nestled itself within the room. She must be furious.

“Adrien,” her voice sounded deafening. “I would prefer it if you step back from social media and heal from what you experienced just yesterday.” She frowned and turned towards him. “Is there a reason why you refuse to stop browsing it?”

He let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Adrien didn’t know why he was so afraid of Marinette finding out, maybe he was scared of disappointing her, but her reactions showed that he has nothing to worry about. He supposed he did owe her an explanation for it.

“I… I hoped to get a general understanding of the public’s view on the matter,” his hand reached for hers and his thumb shyly caressed the back of her hand. “So that the statement that I eventually have to release can address them accordingly.”

“Okay, fair enough,” she still didn’t like the idea though. “But could you take more time off first? Or at least, we view them together?”

As much as Adrien admires Marinette’s commitment to solving issues, he truly didn’t want her to be reading those revolting comments about herself. “You really don’t want to see how distasteful they can be.”

“Haters gonna hate,” she shrugged. “I’ve dealt with that in school before. Besides, I don’t believe in liars. ”

Adrien’s eyes widened like saucers. “There were people who hated you?”

“Of course. I’m pretty sure they still do. I know I can’t please everyone,” she petted his head. “So don’t worry your pretty head about how I’ll take them. It’s us against the world, remember?”

“As always.” He smiled teasingly and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her cheek. “And you think I’m pretty.”

“Hush.”

23. Guilt

It’s been a few days since Adrien arrived at her home.

A few days since he had a taste of the potential life he might have with Marinette in the future.

A few days since pictures of them were invasively taken on the night of their reveal and sold to the biggest gossip magazine in Paris.

Adrien still has yet to do anything to address the issue. He had taken Marinette’s wishes to heart and took time off of social media to properly rejuvenate from the traumatic experience he went through in the Agreste mansion. She was right, he himself went through the intense rage he didn’t know he was capable of after reading about the offensive things some members of the public had said about her.

Marinette’s presence was very warm and welcoming. She had made the healing process much faster than if he had been dealing with it all alone.

But it still didn’t ease the guilt that has been eating at him ever since. Adrien knew he had to deal with the media when Shadowmoth’s identity became public knowledge. It was one of the reasons why he didn’t want the reveal to happen right after the final battle. He didn’t want his lady to be caught up in the mess. And to think that all her waiting had been for naught just because he slipped up on the night of their reveal.

He felt like utter shit.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

She was taken aback by the sudden apology. They were currently snuggling on her sofa, Marinette toying with his hair and Adrien lying on top of her chest, arms around her waist, listening to her heartbeat and enjoying the sensation her fingers brought. Nothing about the current situation they were in warranted a need for an apology from his end.

“Adrien, what do you mean?”

He looked at her. “I know how much you value your privacy. I practically put your face out for the world to see.”

Marinette frowned at this. “No, no you didn’t. Why would you say that? You took extra precautions for us to meet up, remember? Who walks in empty parks at 3 am in the morning? Literally no one! So—“

“But think about it, Marinette,” he cut her. “If I didn’t insist on walking you home in our civilian forms, if I had just chosen another date for the reve—”

“Are you saying you regret the way the reveal went?”

“No!” Adrien was flabbergasted that she even came to that conclusion. “Of course not! I would never! It has brought me so much joy to finally know who you are.”

He squeezed her waist. “But I can’t help but think all this mess could’ve been avoided if only I was more careful.”

When Marinette didn’t reply, he took it as she was waiting for him to elaborate further.

“I was so blinded by what I wanted at that moment that I created this mess. I caused you to be in harm's way.” He averted his gaze as tears started to form in his eyes. “The media was one of the reasons why I held off the reveal. I didn’t want the media’s eyes on you. And now, all the time you’ve spent patiently waiting for the reveal has been for nothing, all because of what I did. I was so selfish in my approach. I’m so sorry.”

Marinette held his face in her hands and wiped away the tears. “But you made it right straight away, didn’t you?”

Adrien snapped back to her. “H-Huh?”

“You asked me to transform and leave the area as soon as you realised something was wrong, didn’t you?” She smiled gently and caressed his cheeks.

He said nothing to reject her deduction. She shouldn’t be giving him those looks when he had ruined her life.

His eyes widened as she planted a kiss on his forehead. “You’re selfish, Adrien. But not in the way you think you are. The fact that you're guilty of your actions makes you aware and sensitive to the ones around you.”

She moved to stroke his hair. “You’re empathetic towards others, that’s far from being selfish.”

Her actions were so simple. Yet, her eyes, voice, and touch all soothed him to no end.

Marinette held his cheeks again and pressed her lips to his nose. “Have you actually forgotten that you’re Chat Noir, Protector of Paris? You're the reason why Paris is safe now.”

She pecked his left cheek. “It's not selfish to want something you desire, when giving is all you’ve been doing all this while.”

And then the other. “So Adrien, you don’t need to apologise for exposing me to the media. I don’t blame you for that. At all. Because you’ve done nothing wrong. But I do hope you forgive yourself for being selfish.”

He leaned towards her hand and rubbed his face against them. Her assurance means everything to him.

Marinette regarded him, and added one last sentence to solidify her speech. “I would say I’m selfish too, I refused to let you go when you clearly needed some time and space to yourself.”

“You're not selfish, my lady” he immediately jumped to deny any allegations she made against herself. “Your presence really helped me.”

“Then apply these to yourself too, Chaton. You being selfish made me really happy,” she flashed a pleasant and tender smile to him. Her hand travelled into his hair again and played with them. “I finally got to know who the love of my life is. It's what I’ve wanted for 6 years. So your selfishness has made me really blissful. I think I would’ve been more offended if you weren’t selfish,” she giggled.

Adrien was about to melt into a puddle of goo if she continued throwing those looks at him. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles, hoping to convey his gratitude through his eyes and gesture. “I was heading towards a negative headspace, and I apologise for that. Thanks for pulling me back.”

She smiled, and he knew that it had. “I forgive you, and you're welcome. Treat yourself nicer, Adrien. It's okay to be selfish sometimes.”

Adrien lifted himself off of her and moved to rub his nose on hers admiringly before his lips landed on hers, pouring all of his love and adoration for her into that kiss.

#ladynoirjuly2021 #ladynoirjuly #ladynoir #mesfics #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #mlb fanfic #chat noir #ladybug #alternate universe #light angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #this is us trying

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years

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How Do You Feel

PART 5 (heads up, this part is pretty angsty compared to the other parts)

Julia never knew the pain of time before that week. The boys had left for Upottery Airfield at the end of the month, leaving her behind with a scattering of staff - mostly females - in Aldbourne. In one fell swoop, Julia had been separated from her boss, best friend, and their family of Easy Company men. She felt purposeless. Each minute of the day was spent either trying to gather any tidbit of information she could or trying to get the time to pass faster.

There was work to be done but there was no urgency to it as all of Aldbourne held their breath waiting for the paratroopers to make their first jump into Europe. Finally, on June 6th, the news of the invasion arrived. The news must have reached them after the men had already landed, Julia thought. All of Julia willed George to be among the paratroopers who made it to the ground. They were separated by roughly 376 miles but it might as well have been another universe. The things he would face were beyond her imagination, but the notion that he hadn’t even made it to the fight was even more unthinkable. Across the channel George’s training was kicking in. As a radioman, he carried more weight than the average rifleman. This responsibility had once been a joke; of course, George Luz was a radioman, he had the largest mouthpiece in the company. In training, it had been a piece of cake. George picked up the shorthand and coded language like it was nothing. But no one had prepared him for what it meant to be the vessel of all communication - or lack there off. No one had prepared him for how helpless it felt listening to officers with thinly veiled panic in their voices shouting for support. No one had prepared him for the desperate feeling of being the one on the radio hoping and praying that the person on the other end understood your request, and would show up for you. Only in the quiet moments at night when it was dark would George allow himself to think of Julia. He didn’t want to associate her face with a bloodied corpse he would inevitably pass. He couldn’t bear to imagine her laugh among the gunfire. In the states, in England, they had shared a paradise and now he was in hell; there was no reconciling the two worlds. The near month in France took everything out of George. It was one thing to be physically exhausted, but his soul was worn down. He was more than aware of how he was seen in the company. He couldn’t let his guard down for the Germans or for his comrades. If the clown stopped smiling how would anyone else know when to smile? Julia anxiously received the few letters George managed to write. By the time they reached her, they were worn from water and the exchange of hands but she was grateful to have them anyways. Each letter she received meant he was still alive. All around her, the staff and ladies of Aldbourne received letters, each one affirmed George’s survival. His death would have been mentioned by someone because everyone knew George Luz, Julia’s George. Leading up to D-Day, George and Julia’s antics had grown beyond subtle. Their intimacy had become an unspoken, accepted fact of life in Aldbourne. Julia’s romance with Chuck was an often forgotten memory. But no one knew what the true nature of their relationship was, including George and Julia. While the troops were in France, Julia’s colleagues awkwardly stumbled across polite inquiries regarding George’s wellbeing. Was he a friend or a romantic partner? Perhaps something more considering their intimate relations. Julia didn’t know, nor really cared how they defined it because in her mind she was simply waiting for her best friend. Her patience was rewarded at the end of the month when a bedraggled Easy Company made their way back to Aldbourne. George trundled along the rain-worn roads of the English countryside in a lorry, Frank Perconte to his left and Buck Compton to his right. He was cracking jokes; though the men were exhausted the adrenaline of relief coursed through them. They had survived D-Day plus some and were back in England to tell their tales. Men chattered excitedly about hot meals, pretty women, and where they would take their leave. It sounded like a coalition was forming in favor of London. That sounded pretty good to George. All he wanted was to get blindingly drunk and cause a lot of mischief with his best friends - excluding Julia. The places and things the soldiers had in mind for London were not appropriate for a lady, even George’s easy-going, tough-as-nails Julia. George spotted Julia immediately as his lorry rolled onto the base. She was dressed in civilian clothes, a bright yellow dress that had to be new. He had never seen her in it before and he would have remembered if he had because she shone like a ray of sunshine. George swung his body out of the truck, throwing his rucksack on his back. Julia stood at the center of a group of women, half in uniforms, half in civilian clothes. She searched the crowd of incoming soldiers for George. As soon as she spotted him she rushed towards him, flinging her body into his arms when they met. “You’re back,” Julia sighed a deep sigh of relief. George gripped her tightly, “thanks for waiting.” Julia stepped back from him with a wide smile, the beginning of tears formed in her eyes.   “Hey, hey,” George said lightly, “none of that. Don’t go soft on me now!” Julia laughed, a sound that caused George’s heart to soar. She wiped the tears away with a smile, “I’m just so glad you’re back! Now I’ll save some money on postage.” “Pretty sure you get the same military allowance I do,” George said, “by the way, I love the dress!” “Yeah?” Julia twirled on the spot, “your favorite color.” George tried to keep his smile cool. Yeah, she was his best friend, of course, she knew his favorite color. But something warmed his heart to think she took his preference into consideration when she purchased it. “Great for summer,” he said. The first days of his return were spent in bliss. George thanked all of his lucky stars each day for returning him to his paradise. Winters wasn’t about to let the men slip; he had training exercises and calisthenics planned for each day. But George found himself with more free time than before D-Day and he easily slipped back into his routine of visiting Julia both during the day and at night. The men were granted one week off and the majority of Easy Company decided to go to London. Winters warned them that they were still paratroopers, they needed to maintain the dignity of their uniforms. His words were of no consequence because a new energy had grown in each surviving man. There was a new wildness about them, a vivaciousness that could only be satisfied by debauchery. It was only in George’s nature to lead the charge, along with Bill Guarnere, John Martin, Floyd Talbert, Don Malarkey, Joe Toye, and the other gambling-fan, oversexed paratroopers. To say the least, the week in London was wild. Gambling and drinking ran rampant as relieved soldiers from across England filtered into the city. Money, alcohol, and women kept the men busy and got them into trouble. Headlines in the paper joked that the American’s had done more damage to the city than the blitz. One evening when George was particularly drunk he followed Bill and Joe into a particularly seedy bar near Piccadilly Circus. Bill introduced him and Joe to a few women he had met the previous night. George felt reckless with the alcohol coursing through his veins so when the thought of Julia crept into his mind he had no regard to how their relationship had evolved over the last few months. More importantly, he disregarded rule number five. George didn’t wear a condom that night, a realization he had when he woke up in a panic at 7 am the next day in a stranger's bed. George didn’t say anything about the week to Julia when he returned. He brushed off her questions with short answers about how it was fun and a great time with the guys. Rumors swirled around Aldbourne about how raucous of a time the men had had. The non-specific gossip only made Julia smile and shake her head. The boys deserved a fun time, she thought. It was perfectly understandable that they had wanted to blow off some steam. But the energy changed between her and George when he returned from London. The honeymoon period that had experienced upon his arrival was over and George suddenly felt like a foreigner to her. He was himself, but different. There was an edge to him that hadn’t been there before. It was faint, just a whisper in his eyes when he told a joke, but Julia could sense it. He was still quick to laugh but there was an occasional bitterness to it. As a couple, they grew more reckless. Not in their playful disregard for subtly but in their intimacy. They had been diligently safe before D-Day but since George’s return, there were more and more instances of not using protection. Whenever paranoia crept into George’s mind the reckless monster that had latched onto him since coming back reared its ugly head. Fuck it. He thought. He didn’t care. In turn, Julia found herself lacking the energy to remind him. In the moments they shared she was so desperate to connect with him that she ached for the closeness of his raw body. “George?” Julia whispered. There was no answer. Maybe he was asleep, she thought. They had only finished having sex a few moments ago but when Julia returned from cleaning up George was turned away from her. She gently placed a palm on his back. The smallest connection. On the other side of the bed, George was awake, starring into the darkness. He wanted nothing more than to roll over into her arms but he couldn’t bring himself to move. Any clear thought refused to form in his brain. He barely noticed the heavy wetness forming in his eyes as he searched the wall for the strength to return to his former self. In France, the nights had offered the greatest respite. But in Aldbourne, it was the days that George preferred. The days meant comfortable routine, people to laugh and joke with, and sunshine without shrapnel raining down. At night George couldn’t see anything except for scenes of destruction painted on the back of his eyelids. “How did you feel about your competition?” Floyd Talbert teased Julia one day at lunch. “What?” Julia asked innocently biting into an apple. George squirmed down on the bench beside her. “What’re we talkin’ about?” he asked.  

“Apparently I’ve got some competition,” Julia smiled playfully at George but there was a hesitance in her eyes. George’s stomach clenched. It wasn’t as if he was forbidden to be with other women. For all intents and purposes, nothing had changed regarding their agreement and Julia understood that. George’s guilt came from the uncertainty of whether or not he had contracted anything from his lustful night in London. It was a thought he had had a few times since reuniting with Julia but his reckless monster always tamped down the guilt. “Is that so?” George deflected as he pushed the food around on his tray. “Don’t worry Jules,” Floyd reassured her, “you’ve got his heart. He had to pay for it!” “Actually, we covered it,” Joe Toye grumbled from down the table. “Ol' George couldn’t locate his wallet,” Bill chortled from beside Joe, “it’s alright, we told him he gets to cover us next time we go.” Julia chuckled along with the men’s laughs but George didn’t miss the flint-like look in her eyes. “Paid for it, George?” Julia didn’t wait long to ask. She cornered him soon as they exited the mess hall. “Look, it was just a bit of fun,” George said calmly. “George, sleeping with women in town is one thing but a prostitute,” Julia hissed. “I didn’t know they were prostitutes!” George held his hands up in defense. Julia narrowed her eyes at him, “I have a hard time believing that.” “It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s my business. That was our agreement.” Julia’s mouth tightened into a thin line, “did you at least use protection?”  

“What kind of question is that?”

  “I have to ask, I’m sorry. I know it’s your business but with how irresponsible we’ve been lately I want to make sure - with a prostitute… they’re at much higher risk for disease.” “That’s not only my fault we haven’t been using protection, you could also remind-,” “George, you’re not answering my question.” Julia had her arms crossed across her chest, a desperate look was growing in her eyes. “I don’t have anything. No lumps, no bumps, nothing,” George said. “So you didn’t use a condom?” Julia raised her eyebrows. “No. I-I don’t know!” George said quickly. Julia’s face filled with thunder, “how do you not remember?” “I was drunk.” “I’ve seen you drunk. Even when you’re drunk off your ass you're coherent enough to remember if you used a condom or not!” “Jules-,”

  “Answer the question, George!” Julia was nearly shouting now. “No.” Julia wanted to cry, from anger or from the hurt she didn’t know. George hung his head in shame. “Okay,” Julia did her best to keep her voice level, “thank you for being honest. But this,” she gestured between them, “is done.” Julia walked down the road towards her office. “Julia!” George stumbled after her, “Julia, no, I didn’t do anything wrong!” “George you broke rule number five! No bringing anything back!” “I didn’t bring anything back! I told you I don’t have-,” 

Julia whirled on him, “even if there are no lumps, bumps, or whatever who knows what you could be carrying! And that doesn’t even matter because we were together as soon as you got back from London before you would have known if your dick was all bumpy!” she gestured angrily at him. “You betrayed my trust, George! This makes me feel unsafe.” 

A knot formed in George’s throat at her words. “Jules, I-,” “Just,” Julia sighed and held her hands up in exasperation, “leave me alone. Give me some space.” George watched helplessly as Julia walked back to headquarters. He wanted to be angry with her, she was over-reacting, he thought. Just wait until he told Perco about how irrational she was being, Frank would take his side. But really, George felt terrible. His rational brain realized how much he had messed up. By the grace of God, he had been returned to his paradise only to burn it down with his own stupidity.

#band of brothers #hbo band of brothers #george luz #fanfiction #how do you feel #angst #heartbreak #original character #george luz x oc #george luz x original character #oc #luz

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ccsthemovie2 · 3 years

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top ten ccs cast (imo) most likely to deal with feeling upset via sad looking animals and other aestheticy things online

1: AKIHO. for sure she makes little edits of sanrio characters and stuffed animals crying that say nobody likes me...im just a burden.... when she’s really down in the dumps and it breaks momo’s heart like nothing else. she doesn’t post em tho just has a folder on her phone of depression blingees

2: sakura. posts photos of crying edit cats on her social media when she’s feeling down. very sincere about it, she captions them with something like “i feel like this cat :(” and its true she truly feels like that cat :(

3: kero but its pics of himself edited to be crying and then texted directly to the group chat or person hes upset with

4: ruby posts ironic exaggerated ‘DO YOU HATE ME/AM I ANNOYING’ animal pixel comics that are making fun of the sincere ones but like. shes genuinely upset when she does this so in the end it is sincere

5 and 6: yukito and touya think they are kind of overdramatic and funny and will text each other sadcore hello kitty images to make each other laugh when they are upset for real

7: yue thinks they are perfect representation of ugly sad emotions but would not be caught DEAD posting one publicly for people to see. so in the middle of the night hes got all these moody filtered pictures with captions like ‘hes not okay cause he believed’ etc etc and then deletes the entire account to hide the evidence

8: rika is not immune to the occasional sad animal comic reblog. if she saw the parodies ruby posted shed be so insulted

9: yamazaki but he makes up these long elaborate histories for why the cat is crying and by the times hes on “chapter 5: the death of my melody’s parents” he feels all better

10: syaoran used to save (BUT NOT LIKE OR POST!!!!) crying animal memes but then yamazaki told him its not an edit and they really put eye drops to make the animal cry for the photo and then he stopped bc he thought it was animal cruelty

#talky #yknow what? its worh a tag #cardcaptor sakura

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

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Fiore the Genderfluid Kelpie

Notes: this is a commission from a user who wishes to remain anonymous, about a curly-haired musician meeting her monster match for the first time.

If your roommates weren’t such absolute twats about the noise, then you really wouldn’t have much of a reason to practice your violin in the outdoors like some kind of lonely vagabond. The day is bright, only a few clouds in the sky, but not specifically warm enough to make you melt into the little dirt path. Nor do you feel much strain in your lungs as you hike around the dirt path. It’s the kind of day that hints of summer, with all the warm, soft sunlight of the day without the same, stifling heat that comes in the deeper throes of those months.

Hauling everything- the violin, the stand, and the sheet music should be more complicated than it seems, but you’re so used to it by now that you don’t really notice the effort. All the better, then, because having an explosive argument with your roommate over staying indoors would be more trouble than it’s worth. The smaller university also locks its practice doors during the summer, so you can’t go there.

So, again, outdoors, it is.

Google maps is very helpful for seeing the dirt trail that weaves its way around the nearby lake, though it doesn’t register it as a viable pathway. You have to eyeball it, which is okay, because you think it would be reasonably simple to make your way back to the high rises of the city, as you can see them once you stand on a hill, right on your tiptoes. There’s a gorgeous, large, and ancient weeping willow that google’s satellites have captured, one that’s large enough to provide shade and shelter from any unruly breeze. Already, you spot it on the other side of the water, so you tuck your phone into your pocket and head in that direction.

Setting everything up is easy, the collapsable stand simple enough to build, the ground flat enough to allow it to stay upright. You trap your sheet music to it with clothing pins, just as a precaution despite the breeze isn’t quite strong enough to blow them to kingdom come, and turn on your metronome app on your phone as you set it right next to the paper. Once everything is set up, albeit with your violin still in its case, you allow yourself to go investigate the edge of the lake itself, just for the sake of looking around.

The lake is large, extensive, and a shimmering, crystalline blue. You remember that a few years ago, some environmentalist people in town managed to get a large clean-up production in order, clearing out the trash and filtering the muddied water until it stopped shining with grease. There’s an ancient, dilapidated dock, the old, rotting wood half-submerged in the reeds and water, though you think that the very center might be able to hold your weight.

Wanting only to get a better look at the lake as a whole, you step onto the dock, wincing as it creaks under a portion of your weight, but it seems to take it well enough. Carefully, you place your other foot down, too, then carefully tiptoe over the part of the wood that looks the most stable, getting about halfway down the dock. The lake itself is supposed to be ridiculously deep, there’s a river that provides freshwater from the melting snow on the nearby mountains, so it also must be rather cold.

Funnily enough, as soon as you think that, there is a violent crack sound from beneath your shoes, and you find out for yourself exactly how cold the water really is. It’s freezing, just as expected, a biting, icy feeling running through your nerves, and you barely even have time to shut your mouth tight to avoid getting a mouthful of water. Your arm smarts as it hits a plank wrong, and there’s a snap that you aren’t sure is from the wood or your arm.

You struggle, arms flailing limply as you try to surface. There’s something on your foot, though, it’s somehow pinned or stuck in a stray part of the dock, and you don’t think you even have the air to deal with it. Letting out a breath of bubbles to help ease the tension in your chest, you bend your knee a bit, dragging yourself down further, and try to feel out what you’re stuck in.

Wood, definitely another part of the dock, and it feels like you just punched your foot clean through, right up to your ankle. You wriggle, trying to shimmy your way out, but there seems to be absolutely no way for you to get out without at least dislocating something. Before you can even process true, absolute panic at the thought of drowning, a pair of arms wrapping around your chest and pulls. A shock of pain runs through your leg, and your struggle, harder, jabbing your elbow against something… rubbery, you think.

The water is too murky for you to see beyond the blob figure that swims gracefully down to your ankle. After just a moment, two arms reach forward, snapping the plank with such ease that you wonder why you weren’t able to pop out of it yourself, but suddenly you’re being pulled up again, though this time, you actually feel the air.

You splutter and gasp, your face probably cherry pink with the violent effort your body makes to resupply oxygen. Once you manage to take in a few, choking gasps, you spin around to see your rescuer, a bit taken back when you notice the lack of clothing on her pale, freckled body. She’s slim in frame, not at all looking anywhere near strong enough to be able to snap a slab of wood like it was nothing more than a twig even if it had been rotting in the water for god knows how long.

“Um, thank you,” you say awkwardly, unsure of what else to do, “for helping me, I mean.”

She eyes you up and down, her eyes glittering in the reflection of the sunlight dancing up from the water. There’s something that’s oddly absent from her gaze, like a slab of blankness beneath the blue irises, and you find yourself unconsciously crossing your arms across your chest in a sort of protective gesture of yourself.

“Of course,” she says finally, after a long, awkward pause, “you were drowning.”

The way she says it makes it sound like she wasn’t entirely sure if that was what really was happening or not, so you wonder if maybe she’s teetering on embarrassment? That might explain her strange behavior.

“My foot was stuck, yeah,” you say. “If you hadn’t freed me, I probably would have.”

“Hm,” she nods sagely, as though that were an answer to another unasked question, “you cannot breathe in the water.”

“No, I can’t.” You are suddenly very aware of your wet socks as you shift your weight, the thick layer of silt squishing down and over the soles of your tennis shoes. “That’s the thing about humans, we can’t breathe underwater.”

“Fascinating,” she mulls the idea over, as though she couldn’t possibly relate.

“Um,” you’re trying very hard not to stare at any other part of her body but her face, “yes, so I was here to practice my violin, but um, I didn’t realize that anyone else was here.”

“Practice the violin?” She echoes.

“My instrument,” you gesture vaguely in the direction of where you set up your temporary haven of music, “I was going to practice out here because my roommates get annoyed by the noise. I didn’t realize that someone was out here, though, I thought I’d be alone.”

She waits for you to elaborate, but when you don’t, she suggests, “if you are worried I might mind a little music while I lounge and swim, you should not. I will somehow survive.”

It takes you a moment to process that she must be joking, so you let out a brief laugh. “I’m sorry for crashing your lounging and swimming. Um, do you happen to have a name?”

“Of course,” she says.

When she doesn’t embellish, you ask, “what is it, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She has to think about it for a moment, you can see her eyes fade as she wanders through the depths of her mind to drudge it up. You wonder how long she might have gone without hearing it because the long silence that follows seems a little too meticulous to be her looking for a fake one to give. “Fiore.”

“Fiore?” You shift again, wincing at the feeling of slime absorbing into your shoes still. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thank you; it is, isn’t it.”

Slowly but steadily, you manage to get yourself out of the muck, kicking off your shoes and socks once you’re free from the reeds. Bare feet on a dirt path, you think, is preferable to the soggy, squishing feeling of muddied and wet shoes, and when you turn around, you don’t spot your savior anywhere. Shrugging that off, you head back over to your little setup, checking over your phone, thankful that you had the foresight to pull it out of your pocket before you took an impromptu dunk in the lake.

Popping your violin case open, you begin on your scales, just as a brief exercise to warm your fingers up before moving onto more complicated pieces. Pressing against the strings, you quickly draw your bow out to make the notes. C major, then minor, then D major, then minor, and so on until you moved halfway through the scales before glancing self-consciously over to where you last saw Fiore, but there isn’t any sign of her slim figure.

Thinking that she might have just left while you were paying attention to your finger’s positions over the strings, you go back to practicing, finishing your scales, and choosing from your bags which piece to begin working on.

You would say that this is the most peaceful practice session that you’ve had since this whole worldwide ugly situation has started. No roommates come banging on your door to tell you to quiet it down, no angry stomping protests from the neighbors in the above apartments. Just you, the violin, and your music, and you find yourself improving somewhat on one of the more difficult passages in a piece that’s had you stuck for a long while.

In fact, it was so productive that you find yourself returning in a few days, spurred on by the annoyance of your roommates. The weather is beautiful enough, a gentle breeze cooling any sort of heat that may become stifling in the warming spring. You repeat the actions from when you were last at the lakeside, setting everything up, leaving your phone on the stand, then move to investigate the shore.

You are looking to see if Fiore is here, you’re not ashamed to admit it, but as you scope out the edge of the lake, you see no one around. Not even a telltale sign of rippling to suggest that someone is swimming just below the surface, so you suppose that she just isn’t around. Which, you assume, might as well be expected, because it’s not like you know her whole schedule of when she actually goes for a swim.

So you start practicing again, going through your scales, then beginning on your regular pieces. As you pause, maybe a half-hour into working, to turn on the metronome on your phone, you notice a head of black hair poking up from the water. Which is weird, because you didn’t see anyone in your periphery arrive, you think you might have given the circumstances, but maybe you were just so sucked into the music that you weren’t paying attention to anything else.

Thinking it must be Fiore, you walk over, popping up on your tiptoes so that you can get a better view of her head, you almost stop in your tracks when you realize that the body swimming in the pond is, in fact, very masculine. And just as naked, but you digress. Face so red you think you might look more like a tomato than human, you take a step back, your foot catching on some root or twisted patch of grass, and you fall hard on your ass.

He’s looking at you promptly, eyes sharp and hauntingly familiar. You’re even more embarrassed, now, because you thought that you might have been able to make a quiet and unnoticed retreat. Instead, you’re looking at the face of someone who seems to be debating on whether or not to eat you alive. At least, that’s what it feels like from his predatory glare.

“I- I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.” It dawns on you now that he might think that you were trying to get a sneak peek of the goods, and just the thought of gaining the reputation of a peeping tom makes your face heat up even more. “There was like this girl who was here last time I practiced, I mean, I saw her when I was practicing violin, too, and you two actually look a lot alike, so I thought- I, um, thought you were her because of the black hair.”

The man regards you with no small amount of suspicion, eyes narrow.

Nervous, you try to dig yourself out of the hole you’ve made. “I was practicing violin, she seemed to like the music- I mean, I think she did. I’m really sorry to bother you, and I’ll just go back to practicing, sorry.”

As you get up to leave, the man cocks his head. “Your hair.”

Mindlessly, as if spurred on only by the word, you reach up and pluck one of the coils, pulling it down to its full length if it were straight. “Y-yeah?”

“It didn’t do that, not when you were here last. How did you make it crumple up?”

Was he there, and you just didn’t see him? “I- I don’t know what you mean.” You release the strand, and it pops back into place, frowning. “It’s just curly?”

“It was straight when you fell into the water.”

“Oh,” feeling sheepish to have your past mistake thrown out like that by another stranger makes you want to bury yourself, “that’s what happens when my hair gets wet. It stops being curly.”

The man regards you like he’s never even heard of such a thing before. Ignoring the weird feeling in your chest, you approach the water, cupping your fingers together, and bring a fistful of water up to a strand. True to your word, it straightens out almost instantly, and you allow him to stare at you like a bug under a microscope, comparing the now damp strand with the rest of your hair.

“See?” You offer, hoping the pinkness in your face might have died down by the attempts to satiate his own curiosity.

“So it was you,” he says, nodding sagely as if he figured it out on his own.

“Yeah, yup, that was me.” You take a significant step back, wiping your hand on your shirt. “I don’t remember seeing you, though, so you must have been swimming out on the far side.”

There’s an awkward pause, and just when you’re about to turn around and retreat back to your music stand, the man speaks, “You don’t remember me?”

Immediately, you try to go through your recollection of that day to see if you somehow wholly blocked the presence of the man, as well, but you don’t think you did. “Did you introduce yourself?”

He looks almost hurt. “I’m Fiore, I told you.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to bug out of your skull, because no, that’s not Fiore. Fiore is… admittedly, the same size as this man, tall, slim, with black hair that does fall past her shoulders, but come on. Come on! There’s no way the two are the same person, at least, you don’t think so, because you could have remembered everything wrong. You couldn’t have, though, because this really isn’t something you can just mix up.

“You’re confused,” probably-not-Fiore observes, which is most likely an elementary observation on his part.

“Yes.” You admit, not wanting to outright refuse to believe that what probably-not-Fiore’s saying is false.

“I see.” There’s a faraway look in his face, open enough to give you the feeling that he’s trying to put some kind of explanation in words. “It’s like your hair.”

“My hair,” you repeat, unsure.

“Your hair changes. My body changes. It’s… the same, but different.” Maybe-Fiore places a hand on his chest and drags it downwards to his stomach. “Sometimes, I feel better in this body. Sometimes I feel better in other bodies.”

“Oh,” you say, because that makes perfect fucking sense, of course, why didn’t you think of that earlier, “right.”

“The humans have a term for that, I think,” Maybe-Fiore places a hand on his chin as he thinks, “another visitor to my lake told me, but I cannot remember it.”

“Oh, you’re not human,” you say, not believing him in the slightest, “I didn’t realize.”

“Did I not mention it,” Fiore says in a tone that suggests that he very well knows that he never uttered a word about his species, “interesting. Anyway, I enjoyed the music you played earlier, and I would like to hear it again.”

“Alright,” you hesitate, though you know that you might as well comply. Slowly, you head back to where you left your stand and pick up your violin. Trying your best to focus, you begin practicing again, starting with scales and arpeggios as you did the last time you were here. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him, lounging, still very naked, on the outer banks of the lake, clearly enthralled in your music.

You’re not sure if you can be flattered over that or not, but you continue practicing nonetheless. When you’ve put in some time- about an hour or two, according to your phone, you begin breaking down your practice area, collapsing your music stand, and packing away your books. Maybe-Fiore is lying leisurely on the side of the dilapidated dock, eyes only opening once the music has ceased.

Sometimes, I feel better in this body. Sometimes I feel better in other bodies, he has said, and you try to digest what that means, the humans have a term for that, I think.

“Did you mean genderfluid?” You ask suddenly, popping your case shut.

He sits up as you stand, trying to formulate a sentence. “What?”

“You said you sometimes feel comfortable in other bodies, and that there was a word for it. Did you mean genderfluid?” You clarify, trying to adjust the straps of your myriad of bags, so the weight is evenly distributed on your shoulders.

“Yes- that.” He smiles, and there’s a weird feeling swimming in your stomach when you see it. “Sometimes, I feel like a male. Sometimes I feel like a female… and I have the advantage of being able to change.”

“Okay,” you nod, wondering for the first time if he actually is Fiore, if Fiore could simply switch their sexes the moment they felt different. Which… you think is a tad bit out there, because changing one’s shape so instantaneously and thoroughly isn’t physically possible. That you know of, though.

“Will you play closer to the lake next time you come?” Maybe-Fiore says, laying back down against the half-rotted wood, closing his eyes.

“If you’d like,” you say, warming up to the idea. You would be directly under the sun, but a lot of sunscreen and plenty of water might keep you from dying.

“I would like,” he nods firmly, rolling back over into the water.

Trying to not look below his waist, you say your goodbyes, and turn to leave.

The weather is already warming up, as though spring was nothing more than a few-day blip on the calendar. The humidity doesn’t help matters, either, because your hair has decided to do something very unique with itself, poking out in oddly placed tufts that don’t want to conform to any other look but insane person. When you come back to the lake, you have a water bottle filled to the brim with mostly ice to melt and sip on while you practice.

You hear the horse before you see it, the tromping of hooves against the earth, a loud, resounding whinny as it sees you in the middle of its path. It’s an incredibly large, foreboding creature, pale like a ghost, a myriad of speckles dotting its back half. Immediately, adrenaline bursts into your veins, because random, galloping horses are not good news, especially when it seems to be heading right for you.

Just when you’re about to shed your stuff and dodge, the horse makes a sharp turn, kicking up some dirt as it does so. Even though the immediate danger is over, your heart is still quaking in your chest hard enough to feel the aftershocks in your fingertips. You are far too startled to do much other than watch the admittedly majestic creature with a wary eye as it gallops over to the lake, the white spray of water splashing about as it plunges beneath the surface.

All that happened within the span of a few moments, and you are far too surprised at the… the absurdness of it all to do much more than stand there, mouth agape, as you quietly debate the pros and cons of leaving your things so you could run away faster. Before you come to a conclusion, though, you see a head of black hair pop up from the water, and all you can think of is Fiore and a feral horse getting into a tussle that the creature would not lose.

You drop your things and run, but not away from the lake, towards. Wild horses could easily cave someone’s skull in like a mallet to a melon, and you’re not going to just leave when Fiore- whoever they may be- might end up pummeled to death by hooves. While you try to shout- keyword try here- you find that the ungodly speed you’re running at mixed with your panicking lungs, all you can manage is a weak wheeze until you near the edge of the lake.

When you get that close, you see that it is Fiore, her slim, long hair sticking to her skin from the water. You’re just about to run yourself into the mud, but you manage a screeching halt, gasping for air, a drop of sweat rolling down your temple as you manage to choke out, “horse, there’s a horse-”

“Not anymore,” Fiore chirps, completely unaware of your panic.

“What? No,” you bend over, your lungs desperately trying to compensate for the sudden strain, “there was like a huge-ass horse that almost trampled me earlier, it went into the lake- and-” come to think of it, why haven’t you seen it surface for air? Where did it go?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fiore steps closer to the shallows, the water only waist-deep on her. “I was just delighted to see you, I may have gotten a little too excited.”

You shake your head, only half processing the nonsense she’s speaking. “Not you, the horse. There’s a horse!”

“Yes,” Fiore sounds like you, almost exasperated that you do not quite understand what’s going on, “I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t startle me, the horse did!”

Fiore looks at you, her eyes narrowed slightly, making you feel like you’re missing a massive, undeniable piece of some puzzle you didn’t know you were playing. “And I said I was sorry, sweet thing.”

Even though a shiver runs through your back when she calls you that- sweet thing- you have to be misunderstanding something significant here because... is Fiore insinuating that she can turn into a horse? You are going to faceplant onto the ground if the answer is yes. “Fiore.”

“Yes.”

“So, you were a horse just a few minutes ago.”

“Yes?” She sounds almost relieved that you finally understand what’s happening. Like back and forth was exhausting, and she could not understand why you didn’t.

“Ha.” You’re going insane. Or maybe Fiore was trying to pull a fast one, a long drawn out fast one, and this is all some kind of elaborate hoax to mock the girl who hikes half a mile just to play the violin. “No.”

“Ha, yes,” Fiore counters, almost impatiently.

“But-”

“What makes it so difficult to understand?”

You feel like your brain is going to explode. “Um… I need to go fetch my violin.”

She brightens somewhat. “Don’t forget that I want you playing closer this time.”

“R-right.”

Surely you’re teetering on the very edge of sanity because that conversation did not just happen. Slowly, you gather your things, trying to mull the conversation over in your head. Fiore- the woman, the man, the horse, this can’t be happening. But you can’t come up with any sort of more logical explanation, especially since any other alternative seems far wilder than the simplicity of shapeshifter. So as you begin to put everything together to play, you ask, almost timidly, “what are you?”

“What do you mean?” She’s sitting out of the water, naked, only a few arm’s lengths away.

“I mean,” your fingers are shaking too much to actually play, so you pretend to tweak at the strings of the violin to tune it, even though you don’t have the means to properly do so, “if you can change like that, and you even said that you aren’t human, what are you?”

There’s another faraway look in Fiore’s eyes, the same as when you first asked for her name. Like she has to struggle to remember, as though she hasn’t had to explain her existence in a long while. “Your people have many different names for mine,” she says, reminiscing, “but I suppose that you might know the word ‘kelpie,’ hm?”

You are not going to be scared, not yet. Trying to keep your voice calm, you ask, “like the man-eating horse creature?”

Fiore, to her credit, seems to find that description funny, of all things. “I haven’t tasted man in so long, but I can’t say that I find it particularly delicious. I prefer those creatures with the horns, what are they called... cattle.”

At least she doesn’t seem to favor the taste human, so you force your body to relax a little. “And you live in the lake?”

“For as long as this village has existed.” She closes her eyes, you can see a timeline play in her mind. “Though, not so much a little vagabond grouping anymore.”

You think of the high rising skyline and let out a little snort, unbidden, “you can say that again. Have you visited the city square recently?”

“I’ve never visited the square,” she leans back on her elbows, staring up at the sky listlessly, “never needed to, really.”

“Huh,” you’ve finally managed to stop your shaking body, calming down enough to lift your violin to your chin, “maybe we should go together sometime.”

Before you give her time to process the offer, you drag the bow across the G string, letting the note resonate over the landscape, just to make sure you didn’t muck anything up during the impromptu tuning. Satisfied with the outcome, you begin to play, not bothering to set up your stand or bring out any books, sitting cross-legged in the soft grass instead of standing. This isn’t really about practicing, you decide, but about letting the music flow through you naturally.

By the way Fiore’s eyes become half-lidded, then slowly close, you can tell that she’s enjoying your improv. With your focus only on the next several notes, you need your fingers to grasp; you can’t put too much attention in how beautiful she is, sprawled out in the sun like this. Only that she is, but you try to only use your periphery to observe this.

“You said that you could show me the main square?” She asks when the music notes slowly ebb away.

“I mean,” how do you put this delicately, “you might have to put on some clothes, first.”

Her face scrunches up in a slight scowl at the mere thought. “Yes, I’ve noticed that humans are cautious about covering your bodies up. If you’d like, you can take yours off now, I wouldn’t mind.”

You try not to balk at the idea right off the bat because you’re not sure if mutual nakedness means the same thing to her as it does to you. “I’m fine for now, actually. I don’t mind the clothing.”

“If you insist.” She goes back to her leisurely lounging. “But I suppose that I would have to wear… something, if I were to enter the city.”

“Yeah, unfortunately, there are laws about public nudity.”

Fiore lets out a little hmph, “and there are certain rules to the clothing.”

“... Yeah,” you say, trying not to show too much sheepishness.

“But you will help me?”

“Of course.”

Fiore pauses, cocking her head to the side as she thinks. “I believe someone once told me that such an outing would be called a ‘date.’”

You just about crack the wood of your violin in half. Not entirely sure in which direction either of you would like to take, you say, “I mean- yes, it could be, but it doesn’t have to-”

“What do you mean when you say it is, but it doesn’t need to be? Are humans always so very confusing about such matters? Must be exhausting.”

There’s some truth to that statement, your brain is especially ready to explode again, though for a much different reason than before. “I mean… if you’d like it to be a date, it could be a date. But if you didn’t want to go on a date with me, it could be like a platonic get-together.”

Fiore squints, running over her options, then shrugs. “I’m fine with a romantic outing.”

The hairs on your arm stand up. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.” There’s an odd, explosive sensation in your chest, and you’re not sure what to do about it. “That sounds like a plan.”

#exophilia #kelpie #kelpie/reader #monster lovers #monster/reader #genderfluid monster

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streetslost · 3 years

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“sometimes…” his voice trails softly. “sometimes i wish you could look through my eyes.” insp. from @famebounded

RISING DESIRE TO SCOFF as the echo of his words were to hit her came in a sudden wave that nearly drowned cat to the point she couldn’t muffle the sound. yet, barely, she caught it at the edges of her lips with an inhale, thudding heart skittering in surprise from the broken rhythm of her breath. the brunette was almost ANGRY at his words, because her opposition to them burned a fire in her belly. how her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides was a reveal to the struggle of emotions within, though expression did its best to maintain an apathy in response.

why did he r e f u s e to see what she was? what she looked like? ugly and broken... love really was blinding. she appreciated his love, his compassion, his care... but how could he call her beautiful? anything but. too short, no real bust, no curves, too skinny, wild hair, average face, too many scars... mars upon her body that may signal she survived, but now haunted her as reminders of horrors she’d rather have escaped. now caused her to look like a piece of pottery measly put back together by glue after shattering against hard earth. over and over...

“you’re so tired of seeing the pretty people in hollywood. m’just a break on the eyes, i guess.” twinged with a laugh that edged with pain, she still winced at her own self deprecation. though she believed strongly in how she saw herself, that didn’t mean it felt g o o d. chest knotted, and head would crane itself away from the mirror that stood in reflective silence nearby.

shaky fingers brought out her mobile device, seeing briefly on the screen the scene of herself, a hideous sight enticing eyes to squeeze shut, thankful for facial recognition not need green depths to unlock. pulling up many a photo app, selfie mode initiated... then filter was placed. then another, then another.

held up to show him, she grimaced as the dog one revealed itself. that was still a thing? gracious...

“...i look better even with this dumb thing, scott. i look...” she broke, feeling a soft touch as he forced her to lower the phone, to stop GAZING into the camera like there was some chance she could shift into one of the touched up appearances within. to someone worth his love and time and energy and who could appear in magazines with him and not make him look like he was with her for pity.

lips to her temple, she felt the fire quench in the pits of her soul, relenting into him, his arms keeping her upright as legs became jelly. desire to collapse and feel stupid, features finally twisting into agony. it wasn’t that she wanted to be pretty in the long run. she just wanted to look okay.

she just wanted to not be herself.

his words were quiet, barely above a lilted whisper as he spoke, arms wrapped behind her, face nuzzling into her neck. “you look like hollywood when you use one of those filters. fake. when i look at you, i see real. i see strength, survival, bravery. and then i see you smile, genuine and bright. i see your eyes, FILLED with intensity when angry or joy when saying a pun. always the most lovely shade. and you’re the perfect cuddling size. you fit-” he pulled her even closer, “you fit right here...”

silence. she felt her heart breaking free from the bindings of her own self hatred. cat turned to now face him, bury against him in return. she couldn’t love herself immediately just from such tenderness... but maybe she could start trying. maybe she could just be... o k a y.

#&&. drabble ( scratches leave scars )#famebounded #&&. verse ( homeward bound )

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that-freaky-mysterious-one · 4 years

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Roll Some Mo'

Summary: Bucky Barnes x Black! Fem! Reader, When you and Sam learn of Bucky's night terrors, you two come up with a solution to his problem. What you two don't know, however, is that will create more problems than initially meant.

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, and your beautiful self! <3

A/N: mentions and use of marijuana, slight swearing, this is my first fanfic, let me know your thoughts! :D

It was a little known fact that you smoked weed. The earthy, floral scent when it was fresh out the bag? You loved it. Tricks such as the Ghost and French Inhale? Mastered with ease. Not to mention all the afternoons spent bonding with Sam over funny stories about each other's lives. That's wasn't the main reason why you smoked it, though.

You had really bad menstrual cramps. You'd always had painful cramps, but as you got older, they seemed to get worse. So bad, you got sick and had to miss out on some missions, and there was no time for that. So when your best friend Sam took you to a doctor to get a weed card and to a dispensary one day, you had finally found a solution that worked. Though you used medical marijuana with CBD in it, you'd occassionally buy goodies with THC in it, so y'all got high and did all the fun stuff.

It was just you, Sam, and some cannabis against the world.

That's when Bucky crash landed into your lives. He was a bit rough around the edges and closed off to most, but once you sat down with him and got to know him, he revealed himself to be shy and sweet. He was so adorable!

You two had hit it off right away! He was such a sweetheart, and you just adored his innocence and sense of humor.

Then, he told you about his anxiety, and how Hydra had abused him. He told you about the night terrors he'd have, and how he'd never get a good night's rest.

That's when you got the idea to add him to your, as Sam called it, "Avengers Weed Fanclub," circle. You figured this would give him a chance to open up to you and Sam, and hopefully, sleep better at night. You wanted to let him know you truly were there for him.

So that night, after getting him a card and buying various products at your favorite dispensary, you sat him and Sam down on your bedroom floor, and taught him all you knew about cannabis, from how to roll a joint to how much of an edible to eat at a time.

"So, do you want to try some tonight before you go to sleep?" you asked Bucky, hoping he'd be open to this.

"Hell yeah," he exclaimed, making all three of us laugh at his enthusiasm. "Can I try the THC stuff, though? Just to know how it feels."

"My man," Sam said, giving Bucky a high five. "(Y/N), can you open some RAWs real quick while I grind these for Buck?"

"Of course," you say, as Bucky looks between you two, watching Sam open a bag of flowers and load the grinder with them, then to you folding your papers, then back to Sam twisting the cap back and forth, and finally, to him handing you the grinded buds to pack into the paper. He was totally lost.

He watched intently as you used your fingertips to pack the paper. You were tedious with your work, just to make sure every joint you made hit just right.

"Bruh, hurry up, it doesn't take that long to roll a joint." Sam said, obviously joking, but wanting to start smoking.

"Don't rush me, I'm not about to have an ugly lookin' joint that doesn't hit. My joint always look cute and always hit." You responded, earning an eyeroll from Sam and a chuckle from Bucky.

Finally, you added a filter and began to twist the paper closed in between your fingers. When you concentrated really hard, your eyebrows furrowed, your nostrils flared a little, and your lips did the cutest little pout. Bucky was intrigued by this, and he didn't know why, but he was just so drawn to your lips. Maybe it was the way your lip gloss made your lips pop.

But you were just friends. It was just a little crush, and he enjoyed being you friend. He didn't wanna ruin that.

It was after you pulled the final piece of paper closed and exclaimed "Alright, looks good," with that genuine smile that he loved that he snapped out of these thoughts and reached for the joint , careful not to ruin your "masterpiece".

"Have you ever smoked a cigarette before?" Sam asked him, wondering if he had to teach another person how inhale without them coughing a lung up.

"Yeah, I used to all the time," he said, putting the joint between his lips. "Mind giving me a light?"

You put a towel under the door, flicked the lighter with your thumb, and brought the flame up to his joint. You looked up and locked eyes with him, both of you holding each other's gaze. You weren't gonna lie, he was handsome. It was just so easy to love him.

You were just friends, though, and you didn't want to ruin that. You enjoyed his company, and you didn't want to scare him off with your feelings.

He inhaled deep, held the smoke in his mouth, and exhaled forcefully, coughing a little as he did so. All you and Sam could was give each other a look and chuckle to yourselves.

After a couple more hits, all he could muster up was, "Delicious," in a low, husky voice with a smirk on his face. You and Sam bust out laughing, because you knew it was already starting to kick in.

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

After a couple of hours of smoking more joints, talking about Steve's hilarious past behind his back, playing UNO, and having a genuinely good time, Bucky said "I'm tired,", followed by him yawning.

"Yeah, it is pretty late," said Sam, yawning as well. "We should probably go to sleep."

You got high, but you never really had the symptoms of it. The red eyes, poor muscle coordination, none of it. You just became goofy as hell. You did get the munchies sometimes, though.

These two, however, looked burnt as hell. Both of them were slumped up against your bed, with red and droopy eyes. They were fighting sleep and were currently sharing their third bag of chips.

"Alright, well, 'night guys," you said to both of them, getting up to light a Nag Champa. You loved how fresh weed smelled, but after it was burnt, totally different story. So you used the incense to rid your room of the smell.

"'Night," they said in unison, both tripping over each other a couple of times before actually making it out your room, leaving you rolling around on the floor laughing.

Finally, you gathered the strength to get back up. After a couple of minutes of watching T.V., you blew out your incense, changed into a t-shirt, and climbed into bed, letting sleep consume you.

---------------------4 hours later-------------------

Your eyes blinked a couple of times, trying to adjust to the darkness of your room. Usually, when you woke up in the middle of the night, you had a certain gut feeling, and it was never good. Something just told you to check on Bucky. Just to make sure he was okay and still asleep.

So, you got up, put on a robe and some slippers, and walked to Bucky's room.

"Bucky," you whispered into the dark room, earning no response. "Bucky, you okay?"

You pushed the door open a crack, just to look in to see if he was asleep, but you saw nothing.

"Bucky?" you called out, walking into his room, turning on his lamp, and looking around, only to find nothing.

"Damn it," you whispered to yourself. Now you had a man who had never been high before running around the Avengers Facility.

"Bucky," you called out softly. You were starting to worry where Bucky was. He was supposed to be asleep, not be wandering around the facility. What if he left the facility? What if he hurt himself? "Bucky," you called out a little louder. "Bucky, where are you?"

"Dude, shut up. I'm trying to sleep," Sam said groggily, rubbing his eyes as he left his room to see what you were up for. "What are you going on about, anyway?"

"Bucky's missing."

"WHAT?"

"Shhhhh, I don't want to wake anyone else."

"Oh, so you can wake me up at 3 a.m., but everyone else is supposed to be able to sleep?"

"Can you help me find him?"

"No, I'm goin' back to sleep."

"Please?"

"Uh-uh."

"Sam, I'm begging you," you said, tears starting to prick your eyes from the worry taking over you. "Please."

He took a long look at you, rolled his eyes, released a dramatic sigh, and muttered a "Fine." This earned him a tight hug and multiple rushed "thank you's" from you.

"Yeah, yeah whatever," he said, patting you on the back. "Okay, you can stop now. If we don't find him, I'm takin' my black ass back to bed."

You guys looked everywhere. Well, maybe not everywhere. The facility was big as hell, and there was no way in hell you were going to search the whole base. You did, however, look everywhere you two thought he would be.

You searched the gym, the firing range, the lounge, etc. It wasn't until you went into the kitchen that found quite an interesting sight.

Did you find Bucky? Yes. How you'd found him? Well, let's just say when you two found him, surprised was an understatement.

Bucky was sitting on top of the refrigerator, eyes bloodshot, with the most blank expression, eating Sam's box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. He was so fried!

" Oh, hey guys," Bucky slurred out. "How you doin'?"

"Bucky, how the hell did you get on top of the refrigerator?" Sam asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

"It's kinda complicated."

"AND ARE YOU EATING MY CINNAMON TOAST CRUNCH?"

"Dude, chill. I'll buy you more in the morning."

"Sam, can you just help me get him down?" you somewhat whined back at Sam. You just wanted to get Bucky back to sleep so that you could do the same.

"Please come down, Bucky" you said, reaching your hands out for him like an infant wanting to be picked up.

"NO!" he shouted, frowning like a toddler and folding his arms over his chest in pure childishness.

It took awhile for you to get him down. With Sam arguing with Bucky on whether he should take his weed, and Bucky just being plain stubborn at this point, you didn't make any progress for awhile. You decided to insert yourself, telling Sam you'd take care of it and to just go back to sleep.

"Don't have to tell me twice. Good luck," with that, Sam was gone, allowing you to focus on getting Bucky down.

"Bucky, it's 3 a.m., how and why are you on top of the refridgerator?"

"I woke up in the middle of the night hungry, so I came down here and Sam's cereal was the one thing in sight, so I used the counter as a stepping stool to get to the top of the fridge, and since then, I've just been chillin' up here."

"Okay, can you please just come down, now?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he said with a smirk. "Yes, yes I will."

Bucky proceeds to somehow hop off the fridge, onto the counter, and finally, onto the ground before almost tripping. If you hadn't been there to catch him, he would've fallen on his face.

"Thank you," he mumbled into your shoulder.

"No problem. Now, let's get you back to bed."

Once you finally got back to the sleeping quarters, you bring Bucky back to his room, make sure he's situated, and then leave to return to your to room. You then notice as your walking down the hallway, you hear footsteps that don't quite match your own.

"Bucky, you have to STAY in bed to go back to sleep," you said not even turning around. You didn't even have to turn around to know it was him. He was the only still up aside from yourself, not to mention he was the only one still high.

"But I'm not tired."

"But I am, so you have to go to sleep."

"But I'm lonesome."

"When you're asleep, you won't have to worry about that."

"But I-"

"No more 'buts', just go to sleep."

"Can I just hang out in you room? Just until I get sleepy."

"Yeah, fine, whatever, just don't try to stay up all night, because I want to go to sleep."

"Yea! Thank you," he exclaimed, hugging you from behind and shaking his hair in your face.

"Shhhhh, you ain't about to be hollerin' all night, especially in my room."

"Okay, sorry"

You walked him by the arm back to your room, hoping he'd fall asleep as soon as you got him in.

"Okay Bucky, just, you know, fall asleep," you said, easing him onto the foot of the bed.

"Okay," he responded in a small, sheepish voice.

You leave to go use the bathroom one more time and get comfortable before you go back to bed, come back, and find him going through your edibles.

"Bucky, no!"

"Why do you have food on a shelf?"

"Those are edibles, and to hide them from nosey-roseys like you!"

"You should share these, man. They're delicious."

You paused for a good minute, inhaled deeply, approached Bucky, and said "Bucky, did you eat any of those?"

"Just a little piece, about a pinch." He said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay, just go lay down while I clean this up," you said, slightly agitated.

As you're cleaning, you hear Bucky whisper a husky "Damn, doll" under his breath. You forgot you had taken off your robe, leaving you in nothing but your panties and a t-shirt.

"Bucky, you're supposed to be sleeping, or at least trying to, not watching me."

"But you're so beautiful, especially without all that clunky junk you wear on missions."

"You think so," you say, laying on your stomach next to where he was sitting.

"I know so," he says, looking you in the eyes with his blood-shot, blue eyes.

"Nah, I think you're just high," you say laughing his "compliment" off.

"No, I mean it, really. You're a very beautiful woman," he says leaning back, laying his head on your butt.

"You just like looking at my booty!"

"Maybe I do. It is quite nice. It's like a pillow," he said chuckling under his breath.

"Are you gonna fall asleep like this?"

"Only if you'll let me," he says, looking up at you with his chin still on your butt.

"Bucky....get under the covers, you silly goose."

"Okay," he said as you both giggled at his actions.

You and Bucky got under the covers together and watched "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" reruns all night, or morning, long until you felt something laying on your bosom and you heard light snoring. You looked down to see Bucky had fallen asleep, and you were happy to see him finally sleeping, peacefully at that.

With that, you turned off the T.V., cradled Bucky's head to your chest, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "Goodnight, Bucky," to him, only earning a low rumble in return. Though Bucky may not remember it, this was one of the best nights of your life.

#bucky x you #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky x black!reader #sam wilson #blackgirlmagic #black reader #marijuana #medical marijuanna #bucky barnes x reader #steve rodgers #avengers #avengers fanfiction #avengers fandom #marvel #disney

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victorsandvanquishers · 3 years

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i am plagued by liebe pulling a tenemos on asta's life (thank you for reminding me of the meme's name btw), throwing riots in his head, etc. also asta has a whole line of people looking his way, but what of this devil that now actively participates/shares in his life? perhaps Mohabbatein fits for this? idk have at it, bless you and have a good week

Hi! I’ve taken some liberties with the Mohabbatein prompt due to the recent happenings in the manga. If you’re not satisfied with the story I’ve written, please feel free to request another prompt with their dynamic (platonic or romantic).

The story I’ve written explores friendship, rebellion, and acceptance through Liebe’s eyes. This fic is rather lore-heavy! The relationship between Liebe and Asta remains ambiguous here, but you can take it anyway you like. :D

Thank you for requesting, and happy reading!

~~~

In a way, Liebe always knew he was fated to die in the worst possible way.

In the grander scheme of things, it made the most sense. He was born in the lowest caste, and his days leading up to his fateful meeting with Licita could hardly be called 'living.' Who wanted to spend their existence suffering? If anything, Death was a reprieve – a gift, even.

And so, Liebe made his peace. He'd die horribly, if only it meant that he could exact his revenge, and maybe then, just maybe, he'd finally find some peace.

In hindsight, Liebe probably should have known that in this life, some fates were that much worse than Death.

'Who would take you?'

'There's no value in magicless little critters.'

'You'd be wiping shit off their floors, and eating roaches.'

Licita had loved him and wronged him in the same breath. She hadn't known at the time, of course. She'd been dying, dying, dying, and Liebe didn't had the heart to beg her to stop, to beg her not to lock him away in the grimoire, to beg her not to put him in another Hell, a Hell where he'd become someone's slave.

But she had – she'd loved and betrayed him in the same breath, and locked him away in the five-leaf clover grimoire.

In Hell, there was no concept of time. He'd eaten nothing, breathed nothing, cried for nothing. A grimoire was a holder of power, whether it be magical or non-magical, a binding portal that chose its holder, that didn't take into consideration if any of the objects locked inside its pages were sentient or not. Licita had bound him in a house with no door. His revenge was useless until the grimoire found its chosen holder.

And so he simmered – simmered with hatred he hadn't even experienced in the Underworld, a distinct rage that only grew every time he screamed, every time he cried, every time he remembered.

When the anti-magic power first flooded into his body, he started reciting the names of every demon who'd ever laid a finger on him. After his recitations, he fell asleep. Lucifero's name was the first name he uttered when he awoke, and the last one he whispered before he went to sleep.

'The smells! Oh, the above world smells of everything! Fragrant flowers, piping hot food, perfumes – even smoke has a scent! Who wouldn't want to make the contract? As long as you give them power, the humans above don't care what you do. Some even take you as lovers! Can you imagine – desiring power so much that you'd lay with a spawn of the Underworld? Humans will do it! They'll do anything for power!'

Liebe would do anything for vengeance – even kill.

Time didn't exist in Hell, so somewhere along the way, his eternity came to a stop, and suddenly there was someone holding the grimoire he was trapped in.

It was a performance in three parts – one moment he was floating in nothingness, the next moment he had unimaginable power, and then finally, there was a human with Licita's eyes, her smile, her infectious kindness.

It burned him up inside, because he'd already been marked for a violent death, and knew murder was the only option if he wanted to exact his revenge.

He couldn't kill Lucifero if he couldn't even kill his vessel.

'Warmth! Do you know how warm humans are? They're like flames with flesh! If you hold on too hard, they can die out quickly, but if you fan them gently, they just get bigger and hotter! And when they hold you – there's nothing warmer! Even the Allfather's womb didn't give us warmth. Cold, cold, cold! It's all so bloody cold!'

Liebe figured out the grimoire's holder was Licita's son when he and the other boy went back to the orphanage after their fight with the Magic Knight. Licita never spoke about the child, but Liebe had been around long enough to know when someone was overcompensating. Licita could never hide her true feelings, but he'd never made it a point to call her out on it. Instead, he'd noted the hidden glances, the longing looks, and the late-night sobs that filtered throughout their little house when Licita thought he was sleeping.

It was one of the reasons why he never tried to call her 'mother,' not until the very last moment. He knew he was a replacement, the acceptable changeling of her story, because no sensible human would ever do what she did, just pick a demon up off the forest floor, and pretend that it was her child.

Liebe wasn't even a child – there was no such concept, not in the Underworld. One day he just was, and it was beating after beating from then onwards, always the one to get chased down and knocked out, a mistake born in the Allfather's womb, a short, ugly little creature that would never attract a human long enough for it to escape the Underworld and experience warmth up above.

And so Liebe said nothing and pretended he didn't notice, and he pretended, and pretended, until he couldn't pretend anymore, and then Licita was gone.

Asta cared as much as Licita did, and Liebe hated him for it.

'If they truly love you, they'll worship you. Megicula found a human and gave them so much power, they created a cult around her! To this day, she lives above. She eats, sleeps, and experiences all the warmth the world above has to offer. That's why we have to make ourselves desirable enough that the humans will take us in. That's why we're here – to use them to return to Allmother's arms. The Allfather will not let us go, not until we find our vessels!'

Liebe needed Asta to live long enough for him to be able to take over completely. Asta was barely a flicker when they first met, him inside of the grimoire, while Asta unknowingly stared at him from the outside. Liebe started slowly, gave him a little of his power everyday, so that the vessel could get used to his presence, to his rage, to the power he'd birthed inside of the grimoire much like the Allfather had birthed him.

He knew it was time to take Asta's life when he met Lucifero again – when he realized Lucifero didn't remember him.

And he'd do it! He'd wring Asta's neck and suck the soul out of his mouth, and then settle himself into the bulk of flesh before hunting Lucifero down and torturing him for seven hundred years. Liebe had it all planned out. He had every step memorized, every action already practiced in the hollow nothingness of the grimoire, all he had to do was put it into motion, all he had to do was murder Asta and take his body so that he could exact his revenge.

All he had to do was kill Licita's son.

He couldn't, of course. He was weak, the runt of the litter, Allfather's biggest mistake in eons.

Liebe succumbed even before the ritual binding ceremony, because this was Licita's son, Licita, the first creature in his miserable existence that showed him a modicum of warmth. He couldn't kill her son. Licita only loved him because she gave Asta away. Liebe wouldn't be Liebe without Asta, because at the end of the day, Liebe was a product of her loss. His existence hinged on Asta's existence. He was Liebe because Asta was Asta.

He couldn't kill the one who had Licita's face. He couldn't kill his doppelganger.

The shackles and collar threatened to strangle him, but Liebe didn't care. He was fated to die a sad, lonely death, but at least he'd die knowing he'd let Licita's son live.

'And if the human takes you, then you take the human! They don't realize it because their lives are so short, but when they bind themselves to us, they take our lifespan. It's a deal that spans eons, eons spent in the sun, in Allmother's arms, until they're dragged down to the Allfather's womb! How's that for irony, runt?'

“You're the type who can't kill people, aren't you? You can hate or be sad for someone else's sake, right? In that case, we can get along! That's why I want us to be equals! This isn't a ritual for devil-binding, it's devil-friending! Let's crush the bad guys together!”

Liebe couldn't do anything but give him the name Licita gave him, and shake his hand. He couldn't tell him about the things he'd heard in the Underworld, or about the cold. He couldn't tell him sorry, or thank you, because there was nothing to be sorry or thankful for. They just were, and now there was an eternal bond, for eons in the sun, and for eons down under.

'It's easier if you fall in love. That way, you'll want to be around them. It's a forever kind of thing, runt. You'll learn to love them. With their hot skin, horrible tempers, and wicked, wicked deeds – this place is like heaven compared to up above! But it'll always be warm – they'll always keep you warm. Megicula sleeps with her woman now. She'll never be cold again. I'm going to find my human one day, too. A shame you'll never be enough for anyone, runt. So weak, so brittle – just pray someone's desperate enough to take you in one day. Just pray! That's all you can do! Allfather have mercy, that's all you can do!'

#black clover #liebe black clover #asta #licita #avafanfics

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obscure-bullshit-emporium · 4 years

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resources that i use for my userboxes and other things that are free (with links lol) and applicable examples:

Userbox Maker: Since we’re talking about userboxes, this one is indeed a no-brainer. The interface is easy and simple: You type the message, you change the colors, and then voila. The site doesn’t have images to add to the userbox ID square, thats up to you to put something there later.

What does it offer me?/Pros:

well, it offers you a way to make really easy userboxes with a color scheme (some are premade, others you can choose the colors) and resizeable text.

Cons:

The whole ‘Use this code in the English Wikipedia’ to get the box is LOST on me completely. im savvy but im not that savvy! What i normally do is enlarge and cut it, make the background transparent, then make the edit from there for what I need. Is that illegal? Who knows.

The colors of the premade color schemes are very dull and kinda washed out/ muted. You can change the color scheme of you box manually in the hex boxes, but even then they’re not as bright as you would hope. But hey, its free, what can you do? Here’s the color hex site that I use: X and here’s a pixel art maker bc I know the kids love that: P

LunaPic: Allows you to make transparents, flags, and other little photo edits like crop and filters. Con is that you have to have the thing you want to edit saved on your computer already, thus if you wanna do a quick edit of something in your clipboard you have to save it first aka, a hassle if you’re trying to meme

What does it offer me?/Pros:

See all those tabs right there? each one has a bunch of effects and things that go with them, so you’re bound to find something useful on the site no matter what you’re looking for, complete with sliders for easy adjustments. There’s color tinting, watermarking, transparency, pixelations, and the list goes on. You can also draw but its no PTS if you catch my drift.

There’s a editing history at the bottom of the page for you to see what you’ve done to your image. The site automatically carries your image over to the next tool you click on (if the tool is applicable to it, such as Draw from Color Tint). This is also a con if you accidentally edit your picture to something else entirely, but the history allows you to jump back an edit.

No flash needed for a lot of them!

Cons:

The site it massive in your browser, and because of the automatic drop down when you hover, you end up getting this overlap over the category and may end up clicking what you didn’t mean to. Easy fix is zooming out to about 80% to combat the overlaps. Because of this, if you’re going to use your phone, do it in landscape mode. wont be the best experience but it gets shit done.

site has ads but not pervasive ones. if you really dont like them, use an adblock.

For flag editing, the colors are a little rough, and require pretty damn good memory of what the right colors you want are called if you want a richer or more specific look. there is a color wheel though, which i believe is new.

Bloggif: another photo editing site, but its hella retro kinda. I believe the site is originally french so hey. lets you make old internet type gifs and icons, complete with glitter effects,fx effects, and even little smileys to add to your stuff.

What does it offer me/Pros:

Truth be told: not very much! There are only 20 editing tools on the site to use at your leisure, a significant downgrade from LunaPic’s 200+, but what it lacks in editing it makes up for the lovely retro feel it has. There is gif support, including deconstructing gifs if that’s your flavor, and the infamous glitter tools kids love these days!

some of the tools actually have lots of options with them, for example, the ‘Animated smiley’ tool, which offers 16 smiley shapes, numerous little add ons, and the ability to upload your own image to edit into this ‘smiley’. There are options at the bottom for the blink speed (Rapide, Moyen, Lent, Aucun which in layman translation is Fast, Slow, Slower, Stopped).

can support small images and larger images, but i wouldn’t recommend trying to over power the site. Here’s an example of the smiley tool in effect:

It’s fast! And really easy. You can do it from your phone as well!There are photo collages, animated text with effects on the letters and a few other things.

Flash not needed for all of them!

Cons:

‘Swiss army knife of photo editing’ is a bit of a stretch since there are so few tools.

For smilies, there is no free placement of the little effects. They pick a spot and stay there. To layer, you have to reupload the smiley and drop another effect.

Just not a lot to offer, tbh...but retro! and cute!

Blingee: ye olde blingee.com, lets you make blingees for that really early 2000s feel. TRES IMPORTANTE: to make blingees you need to set up an account (its free). You also need to use firefox (if DDG works im not sure i havent used it with that browser) and update your flash to actually make them after setting up an account. IDKY but it does not work with chrome whether you fixed your flash or not. the site gives you options to share your blingees as well, and you can also see shit from like ...2006 sksk

What does it offer me?

The ability to make blingees. What more can you want? If you’ve been online and a little tech savvy for a lot of your childhood, you may even have a blingee account still. the site is still active hasn’t updated its look for a WHILE, but it’s a pleasing site to look at.

Variety is of the essence here, as there are more than just blingees to create. There are internet postcards and stamps as well, with lots of little effects to add like sparkles and glitter and backgrounds of your problematic kins.

it’s cute ahaha <3

Cons:

G-D FORBID YOU LOSE YOUR PASSWORD!! I believe there is a bug right now that won’t let you sign up, even though the FAQ claims that you don’t need an account to make blingees (you very much do!!). I have emailed about the process of logging in after you reset your password and if there is a wait period until you can log in again, and I’m still waiting for a response. I also told them about the signing up part. I’ll update later...

You need flash. Flash is leaving soon :(

Pretty damn confusing to use actually. So much so you wonder if it’s worth the trouble...

Honestly its a very archaic site, would recommend using Bloggif frfr

Glitterfly: it’s glitter. its a lot of glitter. Theres 50 cent glitter images on this site. It’s legit.

What does it offer me?/Pros:

Glitter. And lots of things to put glitter on. And i mean A LOT!

Allows you to upload a picture to throw glitter on.

The jonas brothers are here. and camp rock.

Make glitter words, change their color, and roll that sucker in some sparkles!

askjhdjasf theres a tab to make??? a fucking PIMP CXARD/???JKHFSK (its just an american express black card stock image with a fake number on it)

Cons:

my G-d is it ugly. So much purple....

use an adblock

Not a lot of glitter effect options or color options for the words

No way to get rid of the watermark at the bottom, but what’s a little credit?

FOR NOW that’s about it! For some artwork, I use either my own drawings or images that I just...have on my phone or free cliparts that fit the topic. Uh...that’s all, goodbye!

#not a userbox #not obscure #refrence #tools #if anyone has any others they'd like to share i am here for it #long post

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maladaptive-ninja-returns · 4 years

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Dawn (5)

Loki x fem!Reader

ONE/TWO/THREE SHOT

Warnings:hurt, danger, wild beasts

Summary: A truce to end all wars leads to an alliance between Earth and Asgard in the form of Loki marrying a mortal. None of them what this. None except fate.

Word Count: Whenever my brain is excited I dance. Today I danced- it was the worst but I had fun- because I had an off from work. And because I knew I was going to write :D Yayy!!! People should not see me dancing when I am alone. Especially when I am in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil. No wonder that stray cat has a weird look on her face whenever she comes by for some milk and I am in the kitchen.

MASTERLIST in bio, darlings. Tags are open (check bio)

"You do realise I am being kept alive for negotiations. So, it wouldn't kill to give me a cloak at the very least! I am freezing here!"

"Then why did you rip your skirt apart!"

"Are you kidding me?! Can you not see my legs?!!! They cannot handle the itchy fabric, you dumbfuck! Look at all the redness! Now get me a goddamn cloak!"

The stubborn stares go on till the guard decides to give up and get out of the tent for five minutes of silence. "Do not run because we will-"

"Do I look like I am in shape to run? DO I?!!"

The orc gurgles in irritation before stomping out and you get down to work.

It was not easy to tear into the fabric with the hidden knife strapped to your thigh. But once the first slit was made, the ripping was easy. Something you had learned while hanging out with Sybll was the sturdiness of the Vanaheim fabric that you were wearing. It has three layers. The first one being cotton harvested in the local fields that lets the legs breathe. The third and the innermost one is the silk woven by the silkworms cultivated by the royalty. But the second layer is the most interesting one. This used thin stretchable threads to wire a protective sheath around the cotton and thus the body. The thread work is done almost like body armour, loose enough to breathe in, tight enough to leave no room for error. But there is another thing about these threads that is the most crucial thing to getting you out of here. They have high tensile strength.

Your hands have already got to work to get those threads apart. Surprisingly it is easy to do so once you realise it is all one huge strand going about. It is hard to slash it into multiple pieces but your knife seemed to have done half the job for you. One end of the strands go to the end of every lamp and candle- even the oil lamps- in the tent, tied together by the other end to meet one thread that you tie around your fingers just when the orc enters the tent.

You are quick to straighten your back and look down on him. “Well?”

“Master says you can survive the night. If you don’t he’ll get you a coat.”

Son of a-

“Okay,” you shrug, getting up and picking the remnants of your dress in your hand before walking towards the opening of the tent, “come on then.”

“You are not going anywhere, missy,” the ugly creature growls, trying to stop you by placing his arm in between you and the path to the opening.

“Thanks to your master, now I have to pee because of the cold. And trust me this won’t be the first time I do it tonight.”

The orc has a shade of confusion and fear colouring his face that is followed by hues of hesitation. “Unless you want the tent to reek of piss,” you add, making it easier for the orc to huff and growl before walking in front of you.

Wrapping the remnant of you the poofy part of your dress around your shoulders, hiding the string in your hands that are thin and transparent enough to not be seen.

The cold air outside brings some relief along with a pit of anxiety in your stomach as you watch many more orcs sitting around the fire while many other armoured ones roam about other tents, growling, gambling, drinking and causing as much of a ruckus as they could.

A couple of wild eyes look at you from one corner or another, forcing you to tuck the ripped fabric closer to you. Some try to stand in your way and watch as you squeeze through whatever narrow passageway they leave for you, all the while letting you curl a few more strings by the poles that housed the burning torches.

A couple more tedious steps and a racing heartbeat, and you are by the edge of the forest, searching for a good vantage point.

"Don't go too far. I will catch you," the orc grunts at you.

You give him a stink eye before taking a few more steps uphill within the trees. "Keep an eye out for any perverts or animals," you order the creature, who in turn scoffs and spits on the ground.

"Great. I would rather be eaten by a wild boar than be kept prisoner," you mutter loud enough for the orc to hear and scratch his bald head, ponder upon it and then turn around in disgruntled annoyance.

The moment his gaze has averted, you drop the fabric from around you and pick up the mess of the threads. It is a miracle that none of the connections seems to have broken yet.

Okay, here goes nothing.

Wrapping the bunch around your palm, you gather enough air in your lungs and yank the strings running down towards the tents, trying your best not to grunt or scream in agony the threads put on your palm.

There is some movement. And then there is a faint sound of something snapping. What follows is a ball of fire going up in the air where you were being held against your will. And yelling. Lots of yelling.

Gradually the fire is being seen in more tents, orcs and white elves running around trying to make sense of the mayhem.

The orc that has accompanied you watches the fire, a layer of a certain fear building in his eyes. He starts to turn around but is stopped with a dagger to his throat.

One blow to the throat and then make sure you take the weapon out. Let them bleed to death. Just like Natasha taught you. You hesitate to take the dagger out but are promoted to do so- with a light scream- when the orc tries to claw into your arm, bringing his own death unto himself faster.

It is disgusting; the gargling, the trembling body that collapses on the ground, the failed attempt of him reaching out for you with eyes that are about to pop out while he drowns in his own blood. It is disgusting but you cannot seem to take your eyes off the helpless figure of that creature. With zero ideas about what your subconscious is thinking, a step is taken towards the writhing body till you can hear cries coming closer to the edge of the forest, forcing you to come out the trance and run into the deep for your life.

Sybll does not see it coming. The orcs or their attacks. She knows she isn't alone in the forest but she does not realise it will be the orcs that she will run into while searching for Y/N.

No words are exchanged. No greetings or warnings. Just the exposed dirty fangs of the emotionless creatures bared at her as she tries a protection spell. It does work, but only against the first attack. She knows the only option she now has is to run.

Oh, spirits of the forest, help me!

It does not take much time for them to catch up to her, surrounding her to play with her before they can feast on her in whatever sense they want to.

The first orc to step towards her- while the others howl and hoot with a sense of victory- disappears with a black whirlwind that comes and goes in the blink of an eye.

It confuses the orcs, making them look all around them before one of them tries to go for Sybll. This time too, the black whirlwind comes and takes this one. Now, the fear in those yellow eyes is real. The fear of the unknown striking from the darkness.

But it doesn't take a while for them to witness the golden eyes glimmering in the darkness at them, seemingly floating in the black as it watches them, their every step, every little ounce of fear trickling down their murky bodies.

The strikes happen without a warning. Before she can blink, the orcs are gone. All that is left of them is an arm dumped at her feet.

She never sees it coming. The predator or the prey.

It is getting harder to breathe. The running and the fear that is burning you inside out are not working too well with your tired limbs. It is hard to suppress the clamorous breathing when you hide yourself behind a tree. The cacophony of the party searching for you comes and goes from a distance, adding certain minutes to your life. It is a boon that the moonlight cannot reach down to the ground in here, making it easier for you to hide or walk about without being seen. What your frail little heart does not contemplate is that the enemy has thought of the same.

Once the silence seems to have returned around you, you get up and make your way towards the edge of the cliff where the moonlight seems to be filtering through the leaves and trees. Need to find a way back. Need to find a way back. Oh, Gods, I hope Sif and the others are okay. I’m sure they’re okay. This idiot just wanted me. Yeah, yeah, they are definitely okay. Didn’t see them back at that camp so-

A snap of a twig sounds somewhere behind you just when you reach in the clearing, realising the vulnerability as the moon makes your skin glimmer under its borrowed light.

“I love the attempt, my dear,” Torbarik’s voice comes from the edge of the forest before he steps into the light, “but you should have thought this through.”

Six elves just like him, three on either side come out behind him, their weapons thirsting for some blood in those itchy hands.

“I did, actually, think this through.” You did not. “Either I reach back to my family safely or you, Torbarik, will die by their hands when they come for blood for my death.”

Torbarik’s thick brows rise a little in mild surprise, his eyes moving between you and the thousand feet deep valley behind you. “Do you really want to kill yourself?” he mocks you, chuckling at your futile attempt to threaten him.

“I would rather die than live in your-”

“Is that how badly you want to get out of your marriage?”

That hits a nerve.

“Excuse me? This has nothing to do with my marriage.”

“Did he chuck you out of his room on your wedding night?” the elf guffaws and his men follow suit, rubbing you in all the wrong ways.

The fear that his elf had been inculcating inside you till now seems to be fading away as something else is starting to take place. Rage, probably.

“Stop it.”

“Is that what you said when he tried to have his way with you?” The laughter that follows itches every part of your brain.

You do not utter a word till they are done holding their stomachs. “What happened? Cat got your tongue?”

You do not blink and Torbarik, for the first time that night sees something feral shine from inside your eyes. “Say another word about Loki from your maggot-filled mouth and I will personally cut your tongue and feed it to you before slicing your throat and driving a blade right through your skull.”

They try to chuckle at the threat but the perilous aura surrounding you makes it difficult to do so.

Torbarik smiles and takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough for him to run a finger on your cheek. He does not show it but he can feel his insides tremble when you do not so much as change the pattern of your breathing on his touch.

“Turn a smidge more ferocious and I might start to do things to you that I have been thinking about for a while my dear,” he whispers to you.

It is hard to keep up the rock-like facade but you are lucky to be interrupted by a voice from the edge of the trees.

“Stop!”

All eyes turn to the voice, not being able to handle the shock to see you stand there.

“What in the nine circles of Hel?!” Torbarik is shifting his gaze between you next to him and you standing close to his guards. “Guards!” he yells at the elves to capture the one that just came out of the forest while you are stepping away from this one as your brain tries to take in your doppelganger.

The guards barely get close to her when they are thrown back into the clearing by huge black clouds growling and snarling at them.

Wolves!

With their teeth bared and their golden eyes sharp at their prey, they have their claws dug in the ground, waiting for something.

Oh. Oh, Gods. Oh my-

The doppelganger looks right at you and gives you a knowing smirk before softly declaring, “Árás,” and breaking all Hel loose.

The wolves jump at their prey. Agonising screams and cries fill the night and Torbarik watches with a newfound fear the end of his greatest men, his mouth agape, his skin whiter than it was before.

That is when he watches- from the corner of his eyes- your figure starting to run in the direction where your mirror image stands, giving in to his impulse and catching hold you buy your waist, before restraining you with a hand around your neck and the other arm around your torso.

“Let me through or she dies!” It is yelled more like a command than a request, of course.

The doppelganger takes a step in your direction. You can feel Torbarik’s erratic pulse in his hold around you when he pulls you a step back towards the edge of the cliff with him.

She steps, watching him before turning to you.

“I think,” she starts, looking down at your legs before catching your eyes again, “you do not realise how dangerous she is, Torbarik.”

And then it hits you.

Struggling with one hand, you use the other to fish underneath your dress, going for your thigh holster and feeling the cold hilt of your blade under your fingers.

The next bit happens in a flash. The distracted elf never sees the rage-filled stab coming for his thigh and ends up screaming. The pain loosens his grip on you, allowing you to stab back right by his lower rib cage and stepping away from him.

Even in the agony, his curses at you do not stop but for the moment in which green and yellow glow emanate from your doppelganger and in her stead stands Loki.

Torbarik is on the ground now, bleeding as he looks up in shock at Loki.

“Loki, my Prince,” he utters, wincing through the pain while trying to crawl towards the God, “I think there *grunts* might have been a mis-*inhales*- misunderstanding.”

Loki watches the elf with a blank expression before turning his head to watch you. Within a few steps, he is standing in front of you, looking down at your face, taking in every little scare and every bruise that has started to form. You can feel his gaze on every wound and spots of dried blood on you, unsure what he was going to do.

Loki’s hands are in the air around you as a black fur coat appears in his grasp that is wrapped around your trembling frame, restoring some warmth within an instant.

He does not shift his stance, but he does turn to look at Torbarik hiding a knife while trying to make his way to Loki.

“You hurt my wife,” Loki declares into the wind that has started to blow, “there is nothing we can work around now.”

With that declaration, he whistles, and the wolves come back already hungry for some more violence.

“Loki, n-no,” Torbarik stammers at the sight of the fanged beasts slowly making their way towards him, “we can have a t-truce!”

“Taka hann í burtu,” Loki announces to the wolves, stopping Torbarik’s heart.

Torbarik begs for mercy as the wolves drag him into the forest by his legs, the sounds going away with them; for good.

Once the silence resumes, Loki turns back to look at you. The wind is bringing with the smell of moist soil from a place that seems to have witnessed fresh showers. He does not realise soon enough that you are still in a little shock, looking at him to make sure he really is standing there.

“Y/N,” he finally speaks, “are you all right?”

The pent up emotions have no place for a release but the eyes. And so they rise up with the moisture, waiting on the edge to fall at a moment’s notice.

“You came.” Your voice trembles and it scares you that it does, forcing you to take in as much air as you can.

“Why would I not?” he is surprised. “Did you have doubts?”

You stop breathing, going blank for a few seconds. “A little?”

All he does is smile, giving you soft eyes. “Come on, let’s get you back to the pal-”

“You’re wearing black. Is this a stealth suit of sorts? Is that a braid? In your hair?”

Your voice is soft and filled with curiosity. Loki realises you have never seen him in this attire before. Neither have you seen those braids in his hair.

“Yes. And yes,” he answers patiently, not realising how much he is liking this.

“I like it,” you reply, your eyes still stuck on his braid running from one side of his head down the length of his hair, “it looks really nice.”

Your voice says that but your face somehow feels it is in pain. And just as Loki is about to ask you, he feels his body jerk back a little when you step in to wrap your arms around his torso.

You do not know if he approves of this, but you do know that you need this right now. Just a few seconds till your body calms down and regains some sense. And the will to walk without any breakdowns that you are not made aware of beforehand.

It is a need for you but it is a confusing surprise for Loki. He does not remember the last time he was hugged. He is sure it must have been Frigga on the other end some ages ago though any memories of that love are nothing but a blur. He has never had a touch stop his breath like it does today. And this? Your gesture of embracing him as tightly as you can, leaning on him for some sort of comfort after being chased by danger sends his conscience into a slow whirlpool of its own. That whirlpool, instead of sucking something in, seems to bring out this unexplainable warmth in his chest that he has never felt before. How could he? He has not been hugged like this before. And so, the God of Mischief is left speechless, standing at the edge of the world with a human, making him do the one thing for which he cannot give himself a rational explanation.

He wraps his arms around you, hugging you back; feeling the glow in his chest grow denser and brighter by the second. His hand rests on your head, caressing it, feeling lighter just by that action. At that moment he knows.

He knows what is the one thing he is going to care for till the end of his life.

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