#I am still not over my boss threatening to throw me off my project for being behind on work when I had been out sick two days the prior week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ordinaryunordinary · 3 years

Text

Ć̶͚̱͎͉̘̻̭̀̃̇̃h̷̨̛̦̩͇̠̙̜̟̙̮́̈́̔̓͜ä̴͙͕̞̳̪͉͈́́̈́͐́̈́̚n̵̠̖̘̉̋̎͑g̷̢̯̤̥͎͙̥̲̙̓̆̄͊̋͒̾̐͛̈́͝͝ë̶͚̱͙̰͇̜̭̭̤̭́̎̐̽̌͑̅̈́͌̈́̚͠ͅ

Experiment Zero was a success

Words: 5737

CW: implied torture, manipulation, violence, brain fuckery, they messed him up…that’s all I gotta say

For the most part, it was dark. It was also wet, what exact liquid that was though was uncertain. There were very few things he was certain of at the moment.

That it was dark, wet, and cold.

He was also certain that he was very sweaty and that it was hard to breathe. He was certain that his arms had been bound behind him by something very heavy and that same heavy object was also around his ankles and his neck. There was also something heavy covering his eyes, though it wasn’t as cold and hard as the ones arm his arms.

However, there were many things he was uncertain of. He was uncertain of where he was and who he was. He was uncertain of how he’d gotten here or when he’d gotten here and how long he had been here.

What he knew at the moment though, was how the constant ringing in his ears had stopped and a loud creaking had filled its place. There was also a small clicking noise that grew in volume as the seconds passed by.

“Get up.” He flinched, hearing such a gruff voice or just a voice in general in such a long time. When was the last time he heard a voice, when was the last time he heard his own voice? Did he even have a voice? The last sound he remembered hearing in this place was a high pitched giggle, if it could even be described as such.

Alas, he didn’t have much time to mull over it any longer before he felt that heavy weight lifted from his arms, legs, and from his neck.

“Get up,” demanded the voice once more. Hilarious, did the voice actually expect him to move in his state? He didn’t actually know what state he was in though, he was in pain. His limbs were sore where the weight had been, but there was also a constant ache going all throughout his body. If he managed to stand up, he wouldn’t make it a step before he collapsed once again.

He heard a sigh before he was roughly grabbed and pulled to his feet. As expected, he immediately wobbled and almost came crashing down if it weren’t for the sturdy arms holding him up. “Pathetic, to think someone like you was capable of evading us eleven times.” He didn’t know what the person was talking about, so there was no use thinking about it.

“The boss wants to see you,” he was addressed once more before he felt them moving. He tried to take a step, to walk along the person rather than drug behind them, but once enough pressure was added to his ankles he felt a burning sensation shooting up his legs. Giving up, he allowed himself to be pulled behind the person.

There was a slight shift in light, whatever was over his eyes was doing a good job of obstructing his vision, but he could assume that a light had been turned on in the place he was in. He staggered wherever the person was dragging him until they came to an abrupt stop and he felt himself fall to his knees. Clearly the person he was following had let go of him and scoffed watching him collapse into a heap of weak bones once again.

“Here he is ma’am.” Ma’am? So now he could assume that there were two people in the room. One being the man, he assumed who dragged him in, and another being the woman that he addressed.

“Good,” he felt a chill run through his bones at the smooth voice that rang through his ears. It wasn’t like the gruff voice of the man that he had heard so many times. And though he couldn’t quite remember who the man was, his body could definitely remember what he had done.

There was a small clicking noice that grew in volume before the blindfold over his eyes was torn away. His eyes slammed shut after a flash of bright light filled his voice and he held in a whimper to keep some of his dignity. He wanted to reach up to cover his eyes once again but his hands were blocked by a firm grip that held his face.

“Pathetic, you can’t even open your eyes.” Pathetic, he had heard that word several times today, maybe that was his name, or at least a name they were going to call him. “I myself am embarrassed that it took so long to catch you,” the woman continued before he pulled her hand away. “Open your eyes,” he winced. Just barely opening his eyes filled his vision with bright white light and it was started to give him a headache.

The man beside him scoffed, “open your eyes.” The mans voice was demanding, and he felt the man grip his head hard before his eyes flew open against his will. There was a flash of images that passed him. Faces he didn’t recognize, places he didn’t know existed, but eventually it all faded and he could see the cramped office room he was sat in.

He blinked before he turned his head to see the two standing around him. The man was tall with maroon hair and pale blue eyes and was currently looking down on him with a scowl. Meanwhile, the woman was also tall as hell, though it could’ve been because of her high heels, with long blonde hair and yellow eyes.

Her faces showed a smile, but it was anything but warm. “Young man, what is your name?” He tilted his head, “pathetic?” He flinched, his own voice was hoarse, high pitched, and barely audible. Nonetheless, it drew a laugh out of the woman. “No dear, that is what you are. But it isn’t your name.” He blinked and looked down at the ground. He truly didn’t know his own name, he was frightened by the sound of his voice, the amount of things he didn’t know were quickly becoming overwhelming.

Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to disappear off the face of the earth.

“I know, we can give you a name. Does that sound good,” her voice had turned into a sweet, caring tone, almost sounding as if she was speaking to a child. “I know you’re confused, and you probably have so many questions. But trust me, we’re here to help you, I promise.” He stared up at her, her yellow eyes softening and a warm smile spreading across her face.

“Zero, that’s what we’ll call you.” She directed her face up to the man, “in honour of experiment zero being a success.” The man nodded, his grip on the young mans head lessening before he eventually pulled away.

“Listen to me Zero, my name is Valerie and this is Keon. There’s a really evil organization out there, okay? They’re threatening to hurt civilians and trying to force their ideas on to people. I work for an organization called EMBER, we’re dedicated to ridding the streets of these evil “heroes” and restoring peace to the hierarchy.”

He shook his head, he still didn’t understand a thing she was saying. She sighed before reaching over and ruffling his hair, a soft gesture before she pulled away again and crouching in front of him.

“We’re going to help you. They hurt you, they put you in this condition, but we’re going to stop them. Think of how much pain you’re in, we don’t want anyone else to suffer the same fate. You’re so strong for surviving through all of that. Don’t worry everything is going to be okay.” She reached out and stroked his hair again before she stood. “Take him to his new room and let him rest, we’ll introduce him to the others tomorrow.”

The man nodded before he held a device up to his mouth and called for someone to come to the room. He…Zero, stared at the ground. He couldn’t remember half of the thing he had done while he was here. All he knew was what this woman, Valerie had just told him. She promised to keep him safe, but at what cost? Did they want him to help them? How could he in this state?

He felt himself be pulled up to his feet again by a third member in the room. The woman smiled, “he’s going to take you to you’re room. Don’t worry, it’ll be much better than that hell hole you were in before.” He nodded, for now, he would trust her.

The third person began to pull him out of the room.

What other choice did he have anyway?

———

Valerie watched the door slam shut behind the worker and the boy. “My my Keon, you’ve really out done yourself this time.” The red haired man shrugged, “it wasn’t all my doing. There’s only so much a simple memory recall ability can do. I also had Cyko and Thompson play with him from time to time so I’m sure that helped.”

Valerie nodded before she walked back to her desk and sat down. She breathed out a sigh, “three months. We started this project three months ago and it is just now finished?” Keon nodded, “he isn’t ready to use yet. Once he can stand on his two feet, he will be our trump card against those vigilantes.”

“So, explain to me. The silver eyes, what’s up with that?” Keon smirked, “to put it simply, the colour gold is full of life, spirit, and determination. The colour grey is lacking in anything, almost numb.” The redhead laughed to himself, “I have created an entirely new vessel for you to mold to your liking.” The woman nodded, “and you eliminated all chances of a relapse into his old self.”

Keon whistled and he felt the immediate scowl the woman bore. “Not entirely, though if that happens we can just throw him back into the chamber. I’ve discovered through the past few months that he does not like small spaces.” Valerie raised her nose up, “you’re dismissed, do not let this opportunity fall from our hands.

Keon nodded before he turned to the door. He had a hand on the handle when Valerie spoke once more, “if we use him in the field, what are the odds he will recognize one of the heroes.” Keon huffed, “he won’t, and even if he does, he won’t escape the grasp I have on his mind.” Valerie spoke no more and Keon dismissed himself.

The blonde swayed back and forth in her seat.

“I want Rei back.”

She smirked, “I feel as if a rematch is due soon.”

———

He, Zero, looked around the new room he was in. There was a bed in the corner, albeit it looked sketchy as hell, but it was a bed. There was a toilet and sink across from it, and a tiny mirror near the toilet, and that was it for the room. He laid his head against the metal door behind him and sighed, his eyes closing along the way.

He shivered, both from the cold of the room and out of fear. They told him to rest, but at the moment he could do anything but. Not really though, he was still in a lot of pain and his growing headache was making him sick.

“Zero, that’s what we’ll call you.”

“In honour of experiment zero being a success.”

He huffed, what was that supposed to mean. She said that the “heroes” put him in this state, but then called him an experiment?

His head hurt.

Slowly, he crawled his way over to the bed and painfully pulled himself up into the mattress. Immediately, there was a creak, and he felt as if a ton of needles were poking into his back. Nonetheless, it was much better than the cold metal floor, and what he now realized had been chains from the previous room. He rolled onto his side, onto his back, onto his stomach before sitting up again.

Of all times to be restless, it was the only time he was told to rest.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring at the wall, at the toilet, at the floor, he just sat there. “Pathetic,” it was the only word that seemed to stick to his head out of that whole lecture from the woman named Valerie.

Valerie, he had watched her mood change from sinister to caring in a matter of seconds. What was her motive, why did she want him exactly, and who exactly was she? He felt like he knew her, in the back of his head he could’ve sworn he knew her. But perhaps it was just a feeling of deja vu from a time he couldn’t remember.

Speaking of things he couldn’t remember, he had no idea what he even looked like. Did he want to know? Considering how much pain he was in, he could only imagine the state his body was in.

Curiosity got the best of him though, so he pushed himself to his feet and steadied himself against the wall. Stumbling, he reached the mirror and held one hand on the wall while he pushed back to look at himself.

His hair reached his shoulders and was matted in blood, what he assumed to be blood that is, and thrown all about the place. His eyes were grey with deep bags under them, and he could see large scars running down the left side of his face from under his eye to his neck and disappearing under his shirt. Said shirt in question was a white shirt sleeved shirt with several tears around his sides and chest area. On his right arm he could see several bruises and cuts lining his arm along with scares around his wrist and hand. His left arm on the other hand was wrapped in bandages all the way from his fingers to his shoulder, and he found that it was incredibly stiff when he tried bending it.

The black pants he was wearing also had rips around his thighs and there were large holes revealing his bloody knees beneath. And just by looking down he could see his beet red feet that no doubt were infected and scraped underneath.

Just as he thought, he looked…well, pathetic. He would hate for someone to see him like this. Then again, who was going to see him? According to Valerie, there were others he was doing to meet after he got some rest. Question is, would he like them or not? In this state, he could guess that he wouldn’t like them.

With not much else to do he eventually made his way back to his bed, and fell asleep with an empty, dull, and numb mind.

———

“Rei! Catch me!”

“I gotta ya Remi what’s got you so happy today?”

“I’m starting highschool, I get to go to the same school you did.”

“Yep! Be sure to say hi to Arlo for me.”

“I will! And let Kuyo know I say hello as well.”

“Don’t worry I will.”

——

“Get up.”

Zero was abruptly awoken by Keon standing over him, his arms crossed and eyes narrowed into a scowl. “We’re introducing you to the others and the people you’ll be working with today. Then Valerie wants to evaluate you on something.” Keon nodded before leaving the room, though Zero could see that he was only standing outside of the doorway.

It wasn’t like there was anything he needed to do, so he simply pushed himself to his feet and followed Keon on the door. “That was surprisingly fast.” He shrugged before Keon grabbed his arm and pulled him behind him. “I’m leading you to the dining hall, make note of how to get here cause I won’t be bringing you here everyday. I’d advise not getting lost, someone might get the wrong message and try to kill you.”

Zero nodded, though Keon couldn’t see it, and merely followed as Keon led him through a set of doors into a small and very crowded room. On one side, there were groups of people sitting and staring at nothing or picking at their food. On the other side, there were people wide eyed and excited and were flipping bottles, wrestling, and borderline food fighting.

Keon sat him down in the middle of chaos.

“Ahem!” At Keon’s voice, the group looked up at him and then to Zero. The young man curled in on himself at everyone’s gaze before the male in front of him spoke up. “Ohhh this is the fresh meat Keon was talking about. “Bundle of joy” he said, that diminished real quick once I was introduced.”

“Cyko,” the man looked up to Keon who shook his head. “Ohhh, interesting,” the man leaned back in his seat with a giggle. “Alright, this is Zero. He’s going to be joining Cyko and Thompson on the field as our trump card. Meaning he is your last resort if the target becomes overwhelming. Though he can be used just for fun as well.”

Keon’s hand was resting on his head as he spoke, and try as he may, he couldn’t remember a word the man was saying to the others. It was like it went in one ear and was pulled out of the other. Instead, he just stared at the man in front of him.

He had black hair with neon blue highlights that complimented his bright blue eyes and a grin laced with insanity painted on his face. And his piercing blue eyes were boring into his own dull grey ones.

“Zero.” At the mention of his “name” he perked up and looked toward the red haired man. “These two are you partners. Cyko, and Thompson.” The older man pointing at the guy with blue eyes and a man sitting next to him. “Eat your food, I will come receive you whenever Volcan wants you.”

Zero nodded, watching Keon release his head and briskly leave the crowded dining hall. Unsure of what to do, he turned back toward the table and found several pairs of eyes pointed at him.

“Zero huh,” the man with the blue highlights leaned across the table toward him, “how is it fair that you get a name cool enough without a nickname, yet you look like a kicked puppy. What’s your kill count? How many limbs have you lost?” The young man stiffened and shook his head, as far as he knew he hadn’t killed anyone, nor did he plan to.

A darker skinned male sitting next to this so called Cyko shook his head and pulled the younger back into his seat. “Leave the newbie alone, the thing looks like he can’t even hold a knife. He’s shaking like a leaf,” the other man had a deep voice and deep brown eyes that were almost black. At his words, Zero looked down at his hands to discover that he was indeed shaking.

“I’m Thompson, and as you’ve seen this is Cyko. We’re your partners on the field.” Zero nodded before Cyko leaned over and spoke again, “you can leave all the dirty work to us if you’re scared.” Again, Zero nodded and Cyko scoffed before sitting back down. “You’re absolutely no fun, it’s like I’m talking to a brick wall. Can you even talk?”

A nod.

Cyko gritted his teeth, “I’m gonna end up killing him Tom, I’m relying on you to hold me back.” Thompson sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “you can’t kill another one of our partners. Keon gave you one last warning and said after the next one they’d throw you in the chamber.”

Zero began to tune them out, he didn’t know what they were talking about. “Chamber,” it must have been where he was before. Considering how Cyko shivered and immediately curled in on himself, he could assume it was a terrible place even the worst people didn’t want to be.

On another note, the two men in front of him acted like killing was the most casual thing to do. Quite frankly, it unsettled him, he didn’t know why but it made him want to leave the table. He could begin to feel his heart pounding in his chest. Did Valerie want him to kill people? Is that what they meant when they called him their “trump card?” But she said they were going to help people, that they were going to stop the bad guys.

He wanted to H̴̛͙͚̮̜̻̰͇̽͛͌͐̈͝e̸̺̯̝͇̗̊̒̋̎̾̽͑̂͋̆́̑͛̅͌͜ͅl̷̛̛͉̘̺̱͓̮̺̼̺̯̗͋̒ͅp̸̧̙̦͓̱̣̦͚͔̼̞̤̏̃̾̒̓̃͐̔ people

He wanted to keep people S̸̡̧̻̻̄a̸͔̱͚͌͗f̴̤͎̘͕̄̔ę̷̛͚̤̳̫̣͂͊̃̉͠

He didn’t want to hurt people

He didn’t want to kill people

Ţ̶̛̜̣̺͑̀͂̊̂̇h̶̨̛̜̞͉͊̿̍̆́̆̿ä̶̻̙̼̤̦͈̥́̊͑̇̊͒ͅt̶̡̲͎̱̒͗̔͆͝͝’̴̲̙͓̮̻̤́͜s̴̢̜͎̬̪̱̬̙̈́̍̌͌ ̸̨̟̺̥̼̠͙͈̔̆͊̕n̸̨̹̲͉̠̭̥͎͐͠ơ̵͇̠̦͐̌̒̅́t̵̹̚ ̸̢͉̤͕̼̱͗͌̈̊̀̂͐͜w̶̰͕͔̹͙͈͙̯̌́͗̑̕ḣ̴̼̜̏̌͆̿͑̌o̴̼̤̓̅̊̋̾͝ ̸̜̤̭͗͒̈͠ḧ̵͚̳̳̰͂̎e̵̡͖͚̗̘̍̔̋͆͊̈́̿̈́ ̷̧̡̨̲̘̫̬͑̊̐͊͘͝w̶̛͉̞̉̾̌̚a̴̢͔̪̍́̏̆̎̎͋͜͜ͅs̸̠̲͌͑̂̑͆̇͘-

Zero blinked, his heart calming down and breathing coming down to a regular level.

“So who exactly are ya kid? Where’d ya come from?” Thompson turned toward him and spoke, neither him nor Cyko managing to see his sudden freak out. Zero shrugged, “I don’t know.” He winced again at the sound of his voice, maybe it would get better with time. Cyko hummed, “so he can speak.” Thompson waved him off with a hand, “you don’t know?” The young man nodded, his eyes flickering between the two men in front of him.

The older man nodded, a small smirk coming across his face, “they made you into their perfect little war machine didn’t they?” Zero titled his head to the side, Cyko mirroring his actions with a look of confusion. “This frail thing? A war machine? Yeah okay, if he’s a war machine, I’ll give you my burger next time we have them.” At that Thompson mature demeanor immediately vanished and was replaced with a childish smile.

“Really?!” Cyko groaned and rolled his eyes, “you’re so immature.” Zero looked between the two, they seem to be friends. That was a nice thought to have, he wanted to have friends in this place, maybe it would make him less…less what? This place didn’t make him feel anything. That was one thing he had noticed while staying here, he felt, nothing.

Physically he had felt pain, and exhaustion. But mentally, he hadn’t felt anything in his entire time here. Nothing made him sad, nothing made his happy. He felt as though he was just existing, as if he was just following an invisible string that was pulling him through his life.

“Hey,” Cyko’s high pitched voice shook him from his thoughts and he looked at the blue haired man. “Are you gonna eat that?” The other gestured to his full plate of food, white stuff that he really hoped was mashed potatoes, purple carrots, and a single apple. The hell kinda meal is that? He grimaced before pushing the plate forward toward Cyko he smiled before absolutely devouring the plate.

Thompson cleared his throat, “you’re gonna have to learn to eat that stuff. Trust me, one only get full meals maybe one every three months. And burgers only come twice a year. The food is shit, but at least they give us food.”

Zero nodded, he would force himself to eat his food tomorrow. For now however, he simply sat and listened to Cyko and Thompson talk, along with whatever conversation he managed to hear from other people. I’m doing so he found out that Justine had an affair with Cole and now Erin was going to slit Cole’s throat. One of the lunch ladies died the other day and her body was found in the kitchen with several stab wounds, the suspected murderer was Cyko who giggled about it. A girl named Lumina got thrown in the chamber after refusing a job given to her directly from Volcan.

His name floated around the dining hall a few times as well despite his limited interaction with any other people. He had just managed to start ignoring the several mentions of his name when he spotted Keon out of the corner of his eye. The male gestured out of the room with his head before disappearing around the corner.

Zero could only take that as his cue to leave. So silently, without another word to anyone, he stood from the table on wobbly legs and slowly made his way out of the dining hall. He could definitely feel every pair of eyes on him as he left, but he kept his head straight and slipped out of the room.

“I’m shocked you actually understood my gesture, and that you’re standing. Maybe this will work after all.” Keon began walking once more and Zero followed behind him, that invisible string of fate pulling him in the direction Keon wanted him to go. Maybe Keon was pulling the string, maybe Valerie was, maybe this Volcan person everyone spoke about was.

He then realized that it had been a while since he last peed. His nose scrunched up, did that mean he had been peeing himself while in the chamber? Zero held in a gag, if that were true, then he was walking in pee stain pants and was very lucky that they were black.

“If you’re done having dirty thoughts, we’re here. And be assured, your pants have been changed.” Zero nodded, a feeling of relief coming over him. Feeling calmer, he let Keon lead him through a large set of metal doors and found himself outside. He blinked against the harsh light of the sky and the sun, it was the first time he had been outside in ages, and only now did he realize just how pale he was.

Where he stood he only saw sand spreading far away from where his eye sight could reach. All around him there were props, decorated to look like people. It was a little too realistic for him, if he hadn’t looked twice, he would have though they were actual people.

“Zero!” He looked up and behind him to what seemed to be an observation deck and found Valerie standing in the edge of it. She smiled down at him and waved, and he found himself do the same. “How are you feeling, well rested?” The young man nodded, never seeing Keon’s disgusted face next to him. “That’s amazing, listen I’m gonna give you a challenge. You see, if we’re gonna go out and stop those bad people, we have to train you. Understand?” Zero nodded again and looked back toward the training dummies.

He could see where this was going. She wanted him to take out all of these training dummies and would evaluate his abilities at doing so.

Keon made a noise and Zero looked over, in his hand was knife and it was gently placed into his own.

“Listen Zero, the best way to stop these heroes is to immobilize them quickly. They can’t hurt you or others if you knock them down first. We’re not sure how well your ability works at the moment, so we’re focusing on this first, okay? All I want you to do, is find the best method to immobilize the training dummies. You don’t have to use the knife if you don’t want to.”

He looked down at the knife in his hand. It felt heavy, like it wasn’t supposed to be in his hands. He felt like dropping it would made the feeling in his stomach and chest ease up and go away. He gripped the knife tighter, it was a self defense mechanism, he would only use it if he had to.

Slowly, he made his way to the first dummy in front of him. He stopped when he was face to face with the dummy and stared at it. These are meant to be the people Valerie says are our enemies. He stared at the black button eyes in front of him and gripped the knife tighter. They hurt people.

Before either Keon or Valerie could blink, he swung his leg and connected with the dummy’s neck. Keon inhaled sharply, his body tense as he watched the dummy’s head roll down the hill.

The young man took a deep inhale before he broke into a sprint toward the next dummy. In one Swift movement he landed a punch in the chest, his fist going all the way through.

His foot took off the arm of another, his bandaged arm claim another head, and he kicked the feet out from under a dummy before stepping down on its chest. He panted, sweat beginning to fall down his neck, his grip on the knife only growing tighter, enough to wear his hand was beginning to ache.

It felt…exhilarating.

He smiled as he lunged for the next dummy, and giggled as he arm flew through the stomach of another.

On the deck, Valerie could feel her own grin widening as she watch every last bit of sanity escape from her precious experiment. Keon on the other hand, felt as though he would be sick. He clenched his fist together as he watched dummy after dummy fall over. Some missing limbs, some missing heads, he gulped as he imagined what this “thing” could do once he used his ability.

Zero grinned as one final dummy stood before him, and without a moments hesitation he brought the knife into the throat of the dummy and lodged it deep within the thread.

He allowed himself a second to breath before pulling the knife back out and holding it in his hand. He stared at it and his vision blurred, red blood painting the knife and his hands. He looked down at himself and saw blood coating his pants and his shirt.

And he heard his own laughing before he knew that he was laughing. His chest was burning, there were tears streaming out of his eyes, the knife felt like fire in his hands, but he kept laughing.

And like a fire had been extinguished, he stopped.

The knife fell from his hand and he stumbled backwards. He stared at his hands, expecting to see blood covering his body, but all he found was dirt and sand. “Zero.” His head snapped up as he saw Valerie, Volcan, approaching him and he stepped back again. His ankle rolled and he fell to the ground, crawling backwards he tried to make space between himself and the blonde haired woman.

“Zero, you’re okay. I promise, you did very well.” Valerie walked toward the young man, but he only pushed further back. Finally, she stopped, “Rei,” she said with a glare and the mans head popped up. Frightened gold eyes stared back at her and she clenched her fist. “Keon!”

Rei shook his head, scrambling to his feet and running as fast as he could from the duo. “Rei! Get back here,” he ignored Valerie’s yelling and kept running. His body screamed in pain, and he had no idea where he was going, but he wanted far away from wherever they were.

A war machine, their trump card, the prefect vessel. They were making him into their weapon, and he had no way of pushing back against it. He mentally kicked himself, he allowed Keon to get into his head, and now they had complete control over his mind.

He wiped at the tears blurring his vision, he had to make it back to Wellston, and if not to Wellston then he had to get back home. He had to let everyone know he was okay. What about Remi, what about his mom? Were they currently grieving because they thought he was dead? And what about Arlo and Kuyo, were they okay?

He had to get home, he had to help them.

“Rei!”

There was a sharp whistle through the hair before he felt pain spread throughout his leg and send him tumbling forward on to the ground.

He winced, gripping his leg close to his chest and gingerly pulling the tranquilizer dart from his calf. “Please,” he whimpered and attempt to stand up again. He saw Valerie making her way toward him, anger painted on her features and flaming claws emerging from her hands.

The “sweet and caring” demeanor was gone, and was immediately replaced with cold, murderous anger that was currently directed toward him. He held in a Yelp when she gripped his collar with one hand and pulled his face close to hers.

“Don’t ever attempt to escape from me again.”

The greenette screamed as she plunged her claws into his abdomen and twisted them further in. “Or you will never get to see them again.” She yanked her claws back and allowed Rei to fall back down. “Keon,” she addressed the male who was panting as he reached the other two. “Take him back to the chamber, clearly he needs to learn who is in control here before we can effectively use him.”

Keon nodded, his stride directed to the young man rolling on the ground, his ability active.

Rei winced, his vision was beginning to blur but he mustered enough energy to active his ability. From two of his fingers he sent a weak spark toward Keon hitting him in the forearm after he blocked his face from being hit.

“Why you little shit.”

Fear overcame Rei as Keon practically tackled him and held him by his wrist in one hand and gripped his head with another. “I dare you to tell me to stop.”

And in a flash of images he watched Remi, Arlo, Kuyo, he watched all of them smile at him, before everything went dark.

———

*1 Month Later*

———

“Your target tonight is a duo by the names of X-Rei and Nobody. X-Rei has a lightning ability at a level of 5.4 and Nobody is a 5.0 with energy discharge. Both of them have incredibly fast reflexes and speed. Exercise caution and keep a distance between yourselves and them.”

Cyko and Thompson nodded, this was a regular night for them.

“They will likely hold out for a long time, whenever you bore of them, send him in.”

In the corner of the room, grey eyes scanned over the files in his hands. X-Rei was a pink haired girl with an x on a grey sweatshirt and Nobody was a redheaded male with almost his entire body covered in black.

“Zero.”

EMBER’s ultimate war machine looked up with a smirk, a glint of silver being seen under his green bangs.

“As you wish, Volcan.”

#unordinary #unordinary webtoon #unordinary rei

20 notes · View notes

honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Text

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part ii.

word count: 9.2k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he’s a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. if you’re here i imagine you know exactly what he’s about.

notes: hello! it has been a hot minute since i updated, but i promise i am not dead. i just went on a real vacation and juggling two longfic projects at once is (surprise) very time consuming! but i am here with chapter two. it's a lot of roman pretending not to be jealous when he's actually seething inside (we love to see it), as well as a few little drops of intrigue. yes, i know, i TOO wanted an entire longfic about roman and varya just making out between dramatic proclamations of their violent devotion for each other, but alas, alack.

special thank you to my beta @starcrier who of course helped me proof a good portion of this, and is eternally my cheerleader and the loml, as well as @shallow-gravy who put her eyes on the very very rough draft of this when i wanted to bash my head into the top of the desk a-la-roman's theatrics. without you this chapter would not have happened!

and thank you to everyone who has read this so far! carry your throne was truly my baby and so getting to write a sequel for it is the most incredible feeling. your support means the world to me. <3

Roman did not like sharing his things.

It was perpetually difficult enough to have let Varya waltz around the club so that she might have happily enjoyed being lavished attention on (attention that was, to be kept in mind, not his)—but watching a stranger, an interloper from her past, indulge himself in her, that was excruciating. Because that’s what it was, in the end; less about his girl enjoying herself and more about people enjoying her, realizing they would never have her, that she would always be his.

So as Irina took the twins back upstairs and Roman ushered her back into the throng of partygoers, he did so with intent; Roman watched Varya wind her way from person to person, lingering at their friend Dorian—dutiful member of the press always content to show her in a good light—before she and Maxim connected.

Roman watched them. He watched the way Maxim beamed at her, the way he ducked his head to hear her say something. He laughed and rocked back on his heels a little, and when Varya brought the glass to her lips, Roman saw it—saw Maxim’s eyes dart down to her mouth, their ascent short-lived as he busied his hand with sweeping a stray curl from her face. Maxim seemed very comfortable touching Varya, he thought. Men were never comfortable touching Varya. They were either—he had found, at least—aware of her proclivity for having hands cut off or (what he could only argue was the most correct deterrent) understanding of the simple politeness that came with not putting your hands on another man’s woman.

More than anyone, Roman appreciated having the things which others could not, so that he could be envied: but this?

This was treasonous. Poisonous. Heretical. Not in my fucking house.

Puzzling yet was Varya’s willingness to let her childhood friend conduct himself in such a way. She was a greedy thing, his girl; he knew that she so loved the attention, preening and glowing under the adoration. Greedy and hungry for love. Had she always been so active a participant in the act of touching, of being touched? Even by a stranger?

Not a stranger, he reminded himself tartly. Childhood friend, the man whose father she killed. That’s two fathers now, in her ledger—her own and someone else’s. And petulantly, he thought it a bit unsettling that it was a bond he could never have with her—dear old dad was already dead as a fucking doornail, wasn’t he? No chance Varya would want to ice him for Roman a second time.

He had determined to swallow his pride (impressive, gracious, generous) and make his way over when Dorian swept in; Dorian, preening and wrapping his arms around Varya from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder and making the noisy announcement, “Stealing her away, thank you!” just before he steered her past Maxim. There, the crowd shifted and scooted out of the way to reveal the birthday cake getting wheeled out on its little tray, decorated in gem tones and sparklers.

The determination to close the distance between himself and their newfound associate did not abate, even with Dorian’s well-timed interjection. As he wove through the crowd of milling partygoers, accepting compliments on his good work, he waited until he got within a foot or two of Maxim to stop. Everyone was applauding the cake. Everyone was having a great time looking at the expensive cake glimmering under the oh-so-obnoxious chandelier, but mostly he thought they were applauding his wife.

So, Roman clapped. He clapped, because the cake was out and the sparklers were fizzing and popping prettily, dancing golden light across his wife’s delighted face. He clapped, because everyone else was clapping, too. He clapped, and he flashed an all-teeth smile at Varya from over the top off the elaborately decorated cake (tasteful, not gaudy, of course).

Over the fizzing and popping, and without taking his eyes off of Varya, he said to Maxim, “Did you fuck my wife?”

Maxim clapped. He clapped, too, and he stood there for a moment and blinked a few times and replied, “What?” His accent was thicker than Varya’s, and thicker than Ilarion’s had been.

“You speak English, don’t you?” Roman snipped, his words and perhaps some of his annoyance masked by the party chatter. Varya shrieked delightedly when Dorian dabbed frosting on her nose. “I asked if you’ve fucked my wife?”

The blonde cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck, apparently grateful that the attention had gone from clapping now to cutting the cake. In the corner of his eye, Roman could see Zsasz lurking—watching, keeping an eye, making sure he didn’t need to intervene on Roman’s behalf. Always a good man.

“No, Mr. Sionis,” Maxim replied, talking over the din of music and laughter.

Good, Roman thought. And then: “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Fuck,” Roman bit out, “my wife?”

Maxim barked out a laugh. He looked caught off-guard by the question—like maybe he wasn’t sure if Roman was asking to threaten or offering to join their marital bed—and then he said, “You have put me in an uncomfortable position. If I say no, I am insulting my childhood friend. If I say yes, I am insulting my new boss.”

There was something about this that flared a little spike of victory in Roman’s chest. Yes, that was right—he was Maxim’s new boss. And Maxim should be nervous about pissing him off, shouldn’t he?

“But,” the blonde plunged on, “I imagine having something that other people want feels good, does it not?”

His eyes narrowed. He smiled thinly. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? “Yeah,” he agreed, “it sure fucking does.”

There was a moment where it looked as though the other man was going to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out, brows knitting together at the center of his forehead; but then silk and warm stretches of skin were filling up Roman’s vision, Varya having swept around to come to him, eyes bright. They’d only been at the party for a little while, but already his fingers were itching—he wanted, having stood by idly while greedy hands brushed against his Varya, and it was time to erase them all, he reasoned. Wipe her clean of them as best he knew how.

Still, she had not looked so happy in a while, he thought. Varya always beamed around the twins, practically glowing radioactive from the inside out, but it had been a long time since he’d seen her so delighted without them in her arms. And surely, this was a testament to his doing—his meticulous, flawless planning, regardless of whatever wrench Maxim Kuznetsov was trying to throw. Yes, Roman thought, he had done exceptionally, in this as in all things.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, “are you playing nice?”

“I’m always nice, kitten,” he demurred, sliding his arms around her waist and nosing the hair at her temple automatically. Every time she came around, the gravitational pull was inevitable—hands on, hands on, hands on, making sure everybody knew exactly who she belonged to. “But you can ask your little friend, if you’re worried I’ve hurt his feelings.”

He said, you can ask, but he kissed her after he said it, purring against her mouth and keeping her otherwise preoccupied; when she did pull away, still encircled in his arms, she smoothed her hand along the exposed skin of his sternum and looked inquisitively at Maxim.

Roman mimicked the tilt of her head. The blonde regarded him for a moment, and then Varya, and then smiled.

“Your husband is very accommodating, Varushka,” he told her, shrugging as if to say, and what else would he be? “I have never met a man like him.”

He felt his mouth downturn—Varushka, the same pet name Ilarion had used with her. It was one thing to accept that his wife’s twin brother would always be held in high regard in her memory, that he’d had to endure the Varushkas and the closeness that they had shared that purposefully, intimately excluded him.

“That’s because there’s nobody like me,” Roman idled, despite the venom thrumming in his veins. He was cool. He was cool and fine and totally cool. Varya hummed and planted a kiss against the slope of his jaw; her nose brushed the hollow of his throat, more than content to remain there.

But even though their exchange remained pleasant, for a second, the blonde Russian regarded him with the same deadpan, venomous gaze that Ilarion had so often. It was so close to the way his wife’s twin had looked at him, in fact, that the disdain which had been almost exclusively reserved for Ilarion himself now prickled up the back of his throat like a bile—instinctual, muscle memory.

He had seen the same look crossing the faces of the men from St. Petersburg, flown all the way to Gotham to meet their new pakhan, as Varya had put it: disdain. We’re not for you, those fleeting glances said, despite the acknowledgment in all other things that they were. What do we want with some American gangster?

He was vaguely aware of Varya and Maxim saying something, exchanging words, but their voices had dulled to the cartoonish wah wah wah of an old-time cartoon, with Varya’s occasional laugh vibrating against his sternum. Maxim waved a hand dramatically. There was ink, there; he hadn’t noticed it before. He’d been too busy inspecting the man’s stupid fucking face, trying to find the lip of his mask somewhere in there. False fucking face, that’s all it was.

And yet: Roman could not help but feel a little burn of intrigue at the sight of the inked Cyrillic letters on the back of the man’s hand.

“—stairs, my darling?”

Varya’s voice bled through the dull static that had overtaken his mind. He glanced at her, reaching up and tracing the slope of her jaw with his thumb, his other fingers splaying along the spine of her neck. Obediently, her chin tilted. She was complacent like this—docile, even; he could have snapped her neck if he wanted, dug his nails into that warm, dusky skin and watched the blood well, and she would have let him—so much so that he wondered at it for a moment. All of his hard work, all of his tempering, cupped right there in his hand; she was his.

Rather than admit to having checked out of their conversation, Roman pressed the pad of a gloved thumb against her lower lip and deferred, “Whatever you want, kitten.”

Briefly, the thought that he had agreed to let Maxim into his loft occurred. Oh, what a dreadful thought.

“Then it’s settled,” she replied. “You can stay while the party goes on, of course, Maxi.”

Maxim lifted his head, regarding them with a gaze that was no longer venomous, but playful. “Of course.”

“And you’ll leave the address of where you’re staying with Armazd?”

“If you want it, I will.” He cocked his head, smiling politely. “Goodnight, the both of you. I am happy to finally put a face to the name Roman Sionis.”

What the fuck is it with these people, he thought wearily, and with no absence of annoyance. This is just how it had been before—everyone saying things beneath the things they were saying, layers and layers and layers, piling up over each other. Didn’t any of these stupid fucking gun dogs say anything exactly the way it was?

“Yes,” Roman agreed, “I bet you are.”

With great purpose—and having determined that Varya was quite done with the evening—he planted his hands on her hips and turned her, steering her towards the doors which exited out of the club and into the hallway housing the elevator. It was her birthday, after all; there was nothing he could do except whatever it was she wanted.

“Goodnight, Maxim,” he said over his shoulder, steering the brunette in his grasp toward the door. A distressed ugh! sounded to his left, and he turned to see Dorian glaring at him accusingly.

“You get her all the time, Roman,” the journalist announced. “Surely you can spare her for a little longer?”

“Afraid I can’t,” he replied over his shoulder, squeezing Varya’s hip when she stifled her laughter. “You see Dorian, close to a year ago, Varya and I decided that we had plenty of other uses for cake to be explored on our birthdays—”

Another disgusted sound came, but it was too late; Roman was already nudging Varya through the doors to the hallway, and down to the elevator. Once the door clicked shut behind them, it was quiet; it was the one area of the building where it seemed like the air conditioning didn’t quite reach, having so many accesses to the outside, and so the air already felt a little humid and muggy.

“Oh, we forgot the cake,” Varya pouted, trailing ahead of him. She’d collected the hem of her silk dress loosely in one hand, keeping it from the floor as she wandered to the elevator to push the button. The neon red of the Exit sign cut across one side of her, illuminating her in half crimson and half shadow. It reminded him of the night he’d come back to the loft to find her covered in another man’s blood, kitchen knife in hand.

And mine, he thought. Varya Astakhova, the gem of St. Petersburg, only living heir to the Astakhov gun-running fortune, his wife.

“Darling,” she purred, breaking him out of his thoughts, “are you going to just stand there all night?”

“Maybe,” he replied idly. “Maybe I will just stand here all night and stare at my wife, hm? Who would stop me?”

“Well, certainly not me,” she demurred, turning to look at him fully now. “But you can hardly kiss me from there. And what am I suppose to do, go without cake and without your hands on me?”

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Roman thought about the way Maxim had looked at him—just for that tiny split second—all of the disdain and venom welling in his gaze before it was wiped away. Your husband is very accommodating, I’ve never met a man like him. And that fucking tattoo on his hand. It nagged at him, dragged his attention away from the very, very delicious task at hand.

“Roman?”

“You go,” he announced. “I’ll be up in just a minute.”

A plush, ruby lower lip pouted out. Roman sidled over to the elevator, planting a gloved hand on the doorway so that the doors wouldn’t close, and she prompted, “What could you have possibly forgotten when all you need is right here?”

“You are most spectacular,” Roman agreed, reaching up and twisting a curl around his finger. “But it’s just a quick thing. Don’t worry that pretty head, kitten. I’ll be up in no time, and you had better—”

When he leaned in, their noses brushed; Varya hooked her fingers in the space between the buttons of his collared shirt and tugged a little, playfully, humming sweetly.

“—have this dress off,” he finished, voice pitching low and warm, “by the time I get up there.”

“And what if I don’t?” The cloying, saccharine tone of her voice belied the little spark of rebellion in her words. Roman made a pleasant sound against her mouth, a humid warmth plunging down his spine when she closed the tiny space between them to kiss him; it was entirely unhurried, and on instinct his free hand went to the small of her back, pulling her more flush against him as her lips parted prettily beneath his to sigh.

He said into the kiss, “Why don’t you try it and find out?”

“Is it a test?” Roman felt her smile. “I love tests.”

“Get upstairs,” he growled, unable to resist a final kiss. “Wicked thing.”

Varya did pull back, reluctantly and with a dramatic, long sigh. She’d always had a thing for the dramatics. “Fine, I will go upstairs all alone,” she drawled. “Don’t keep me waiting, Romy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He stepped back, dropping his hand from the elevator door and turning around to head back to the club. The party was still in full swing; people wouldn’t even begin to start leaving for another few hours, patiently and dutifully babysat by Armazd and Zsasz (well, mostly Armazd—Zsasz was not good at being ‘patient’ or ‘dutiful’ if it didn’t include face-carving). It was like having three nannies on payroll, instead of just the one.

The door swung shut behind him. People chattered brightly over the music, lingering around tables in clustered groups. He could see at least half a dozen mobsters and their families, associates of Varya’s from overseas, socialites she had charmed and wealthy businessmen determined to get into their good graces before the weapons chokehold came into full effect.

But there was only one man he wanted to see.

Dorian Young had been smitten with Varya since the moment they’d met, through Roman—and since then, they’d been nearly inseparable. Dorian had even done her the kindness of writing Ilarion a flattering obituary. It would have been annoying, if Roman considered Dorian a threat in the least. He did not.

“Dorian,” he barked out, catching the brunette’s attention. He smiled, full-teeth and as charmingly as he could. “Buddy-mine. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh?” Dorian arched a brow loftily. “A favor outside of the eternal wisdom of Gotham’s madonna, Roman? How scandalous. You know I can’t resist a special in.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Roman adjusted one of his gloves absently, glancing around the room before inclining his head and taking a few steps outside of the cluster of milling partygoers. He didn’t have many concerns about being overheard, given the noise level, but it was better safe than sorry. “You have access to certain records, don’t you?”

Now two perfectly-manicured brows arched upward before Dorian cleared his throat, dark eyes fluttering in a bat at innocence.

“I’m a journalist, Roman,” he intoned somberly. “If someone were to give me access to records that were anything but public, it would be a grave and disgusting infringement on the American Privacy—”

“Yeah yeah yeah, shut the fuck up,” Roman interjected, waving his hand. “I don’t give a shit about that. How about this: you don’t use the records you aren’t able to access, and you don’t dig up literally everything you can on Maxim Kuznetsov.”

“The ex-boyfriend?” Dorian tsked his tongue. “Roman, green is not your color.”

“Hey? Dorian? Don’t be a fucking moron.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well just say you’ll do it.”

“You mean,” Dorian amended, “that I won’t.”

Roman let out an exasperated noise, clapping a hand onto the man’s shoulder and giving him a little jostle that was meant to convey he wished that he could instead be strangling him in that moment. Varya would have been upset if he did. Dorian flashed him a pearly grin.

“Consider it done. Or not-done, as the case may be.” He took a swig of his drink, sucking his teeth. “Anything I should be on the look-out for?”

“Any red flags. Suspicious shopping behavior. Outgoing calls to private numbers. He’ll likely have two separate phones—one burner, one not.” Roman dropped his hand from Dorian’s shoulder. “Armazd will have his address, if you want to get that from him before you leave tonight. And—one more thing.”

The journalist looked at him expectantly, waiting.

“Not a word,” he continued. “To anyone. But especially not to Varya.”

“If you’re sure,” Dorian ventured.

“The surest.”

It was when he turned to depart the party—for real, this time; he was tired of waiting to unwrap his wife—that Dorian said, “Roman?”

A deep, calming breath. I need Dorian, he reminded himself, and V’s fond of him. Roman pulled another one-eighty. “Yes, Dorian, beloved of my wife?”

“How is Varya?” Dorian’s eyes narrowed. “I mean, really?”

The question was not one that Roman had anticipated. Why would she be anything other than great, glowing, in love with her life? Sure, the last year had been full of turmoil—but they had come out of it fine. Better than fine. Roman had gotten everything he had wanted, and Varya—well, much the same, hadn’t she?

Dorian’s prying reminded him of the way Varya’s body had stilled, the way her expression had hardened, that dark, wild look slipping into her eyes when the lights in the club had blinked on to reveal the surprise party. She’d looked frigid, the softness wiped clean from her in that split moment.

“She’s fine,” Roman replied after a minute. “I mean—she’s great. What do you mean?”

“I can’t get a good read on her. You know,” Dorian pointed out. “And she did watch her supposed-to-be-dead daddy unload a round into her twin brother while she was drugged to the gills on ketamine.”

Well, when you put it like that, Roman thought dryly.

“Some of us, Dorian,” he said primly, “are able to rise above our trials and tribulations and come out better, hm?”

The journalist smiled. He didn’t looked swayed by Roman’s words, but eventually he said, “I’ll contact you as soon as I find out anything.”

“Good man.”

It was only a few minutes from the club’s main floor up to the loft, but those few minutes felt like an eternity; stretching out, impossibly long and endless in front of him. Varya’s birthday was supposed to have been a problem-less occasion, and now he had several problems lining themselves up in front of them. Chiefly, Kuznetsov. And the rest of them, too, but mostly Maxim.

Roman tugged the gloves from his hands and shrugged the suit jacket from his shoulders as the doors to the loft slid open, the gentle ding announcing his arrival. Faintly, he could hear the classical music that Varya favored to play in the twins’ room as they slept; there would be a little speaker on the table closest to her side of the bed, so that she could rouse the second either of them needed her, but they were good babies, like she’d said; it was rare when they didn’t sleep through the night.

He tossed the articles he’d disrobed from onto the long dining table as he passed, nudging the door to the bedroom open.

“Ah,” he sighed, eyes roaming expanses of warm, dusky skin exposed to him as Varya lay stretched out on the bed, “I see we went with behaving tonight?”

“I told you,” she replied demurely, “I love a good test. I can hardly resist the challenge.” Her eyes glittered playfully, and she propped herself up on her elbows, the silk of her underclothes rustling in a way that beckoned him—his hands, his mouth. “You didn’t bring any cake up?”

A quick laugh billowed out of Roman as he sidled over, stepping out of his shoes before climbing onto the bed. “It’s vanilla, you know. Not chocolate. It would have been sacrilege, in memory of our first big fight.”

“Was it chocolate?”

“Oh, yes,” he told her gravely. “I’d never forget. Don’t you remember? You were a terrible brat to me, and then you didn’t speak to me for a week, and then you showed up with a cake—”

“Terrible brat?” She laughed, feigning insult. “On my birthday, no less.”

He grinned. Leaning down, he pressed a leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to the top of her sternum, hooking one hand in the crook of her knee to yank her down the bed so that she was more firmly under him, eliciting a playful little shriek out of her before he tugged the tie of her robe loose.

“Your birthday, yet here I am, unwrapping a present,” he murmured, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the slope of her jaw. He rumbled, pleased, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, you know.”

Varya made a sweet little sound. “Is that so?”

“Mmhm.” Roman kissed down the pillar of her throat, dragging his tongue over a faded love-bite bruise. He’d need to renew that. “Especially when you put on that dress. Admittedly, I am a bit disappointed—I was looking forward to cutting it off of you if you misbehaved.”

“For someone who spent all day thinking about me,” she murmured coyly, “you certainly spent long enough coming up here.”

Roman paused in what he was doing—his fingers hooked in the top hem of her underwear, scandalous things that they were—and glanced up at her. He was trying to gauge where she was actually at, emotionally, but true to what Dorian had said, it was almost impossible to get a read on her.

“It’s just business, baby,” he replied.

“Oh. Of course.”

“You see? I told you not to worry about it.”

“Yes,” Varya agreed, “what would I know of business?”

Roman groaned, pressing his forehead to the smooth plane of her sternum. The scent of her jasmine perfume washed over him, and even though he was this close to indulging himself (which he, above all others, deserved the most), he knew Varya wouldn’t let go of the conversation so easily.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted. He let the fabric of her underwear snap back into place against her hip bone, sliding down her body to kiss down her abdomen. “Focus on enjoying your birthday,” he added, “and let your man worry about everything else, hm?”

Varya’s lashes fluttered lightly, eyes watching him hungrily as he worked his way lower and lower still.

“Ambitious,” she murmured, “to think that I will let go of it so easily.”

“Well,” Roman replied against her skin, “I suppose it’s lucky that I love tests, too. And I always—”

The thin, silky fabric of her underwear made the most delicious sound as it ripped, tearing satisfyingly. Varya made a soft, sweet sound, and he glanced back up at her.

“—pass with flying colors.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his experience, Roman found that the best time to approach Varya about things was first thing in the morning. If he was exerting any amount of true self-awareness, of course, he would have acknowledged that “approaching” Varya about anything was not about the time of day, but rather how it was done—a skill Roman thought he had only honed in their short time together.

It was nearly ten; they’d roused late, thanks to the previous evening’s festivities—including an after-hours indulgence that Roman was more than pleased to drag out— and now Varya was chatting conversationally with Zsasz, who provided minimal noises between mouthfuls of food. It was as though her annoyance from the previous night had faded with the glow of morning, which left only the bones that Roman had left to pick.

Therefore, in a show of good faith, he let the chatter carry on for a little while before he decided to Broach(TM).

“So,” he said, sitting in his usual spot at the head breakfast table, “Maxim is funny.”

To his right, the brunette hummed and idly stirred her coffee. The gentle clink-clink of her spoon against the side of the mug was almost soothing; little creature comforts Roman hadn’t realized very often that he truly liked.

“I don’t remember you ever mentioning him,” Roman continued casually.

“I do not like to talk about boring things.” Varya’s brow was furrowed, lips pressing into a little line as she read the newspaper. “Pass me the cream, my love?”

She was feigning disinterest, but he thought she might have been listening more closely than she let on; one wolfish little ear swiveled in his direction, always.

He did as she asked. “He has an interesting tattoo on his hand.”

“I did not notice.”

“No?”

Varya finally tilted her head to look at him, dark eyes inquisitive. She didn’t ask what it was she was thinking, not right away; instead, she waited, did that thing where she let him sit in silence, maybe in the hopes that he’d fill it with his own chatter. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.

“Romy,” she said sweetly, setting the paper down and resting her chin in her hand as she gazed at him, “won’t you just ask me what you want to ask me?”

There was no room to stop the irritated noise that came out of him at her words. He scoffed and settled more comfortably in his chair, lifting his chin a little and watching her.

“Or we can play the little game,” she acquiesced, as though she were speaking to a particularly tedious child. “You don’t really care about Maxim’s tattoo. You just care what I think of him.” She fluttered her lashes. “Hm?”

“No,” he replied tartly. “I’m curious about the tattoo.” He paused. “And also what you think of him.”

“I think he is boring.”

“Well, I could have told you that.”

A smile curved her mouth, delicate and fine a gesture as gossamer spread across those soft, Renaissance-features. That painting of her that had been done in the ballroom of the Astakhov mansion was still around somewhere, wasn’t it? Not that he needed a painting when he had the real thing, but maybe he’d hang it in the foyer, as a reminder to anyone who just happened to pass by.

“As far as I’m concerned,” Roman continued idly, “this man of yours—”

“My man, is he?”

“—is just one more obstacle to getting what I wanted. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds out that you put his daddy in the ground?”

“If,” Varya replied. “And what do you mean, obstacle?”

Another scoff came out of him. “Varya,” he chided, voice welling with a patronizing tone, warm and buttery, “come now.”

“Roman,” she replied. Her tone mimicked his. “Explain it to me like I am five.”

“I know the oh-so-omniscient lords of St. Petersburg and Moscow are dragging their fucking feet because they don’t like me.”

“You are trying too hard.” She settled back, dipping a bit of cream into her coffee and stirring again. Clink-clink. It offered him no comfort now; it had become a way for Varya to dismiss him. Don’t you see, Roman, how busy I am? “They are like cats. If you try too hard to gain their affections, they will balk and bolt. They hate being coddled, except by a woman. It’s terribly outdated, but what can you do?”

“I’m—” A sharp, incredulous noise came out of him. “I haven’t spoken more than a handful of words to the lot of them!”

“You see? That is already too much.”

“Well, I don’t want them to like me,” he managed out, feeling the bubbling frustration rising up in him. “I couldn’t give a shit if they like me or not. I want them to accept that leadership is changing hands and they have a new boss to answer to, now.” He leaned forward, forearms rested on the table. “And I know Daddy Astakhov liked to brand his things, hm? So what’s Maxim’s tattoo mean?”

Varya leaned forward, too. “I do not know,” she replied evenly, “and I wish you would stop bringing that man up in my presence.”

“I can’t very well erase him from the conversation completely when I’m inheriting his business.”

“My,” she snapped out viciously, suddenly, “you are inheriting my business, Roman.”

It was just a split second. It was only a split second of venom welling up in her expression, suddenly so wicked that not even Roman was shielded from it; it was worse, now, than it had been before. Those times he’d seen the switch inside of her flip had been under great duress. Was this duress to her, now?

Women, Roman thought, watching her smooth dark hair from her face and collect herself. Perhaps motherhood had not made her soft, but rather emotionally volatile. He couldn’t afford to look more hysterical than his wife, so he waited—with great patience and grace, he thought—for her. She cinched the silk robe at her waist more snugly.

“You know that I am happy to do so,” she continued, as though she’d not just bitten his head off in front of Zsasz, “and that I have no problem with it. I just want...” Now, her voice trailed off, and she skimmed the pad of her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup before she picked up the newspaper again, as well as the red-ink ballpoint to her right. “I want it done right, that is all. And if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”

A buzzing sound vibrated from the marble hallway leader to the elevator. Roman was waiting for Varya to issue her apology (which she was certainly going to do), and Varya wasn’t looking up from the newspaper.

“Who could be coming so early?” his wife idled, spurring on that molten-hot frustration inside of him as she continued to avoid the topic at hand. “Not someone you called on, Romy?”

The buzzer was the last thing that Roman wanted to think about, let alone deal with. He had much more on his mind; Varya’s elegant dodge of his questions, and—most importantly—her blatant dismissal of his concerns about their current timeline. She was all well and peachy over there, wasn’t she, drinking her coffee and reading her paper and not doing him the courtesy of looking at him?

She had always been a needler, Roman reasoned; she had always had a wild, stubborn streak in her. He’d watched her sit and push Ilarion’s buttons for an entire dinner, once, just to see him get to the edge of snapping at her. She was good at it. He liked it about her, liked watching her do it; might have even made a past-time out of the whole sport of it. How quickly can my little viper unravel a man? Place your bets, gentlemen, time ends when the idiot’s screaming his fucking head off in a public place.

And he would have been foolish to think that she never did it to him.

“Zsasz,” she said, without looking up from the paper, “be a darling and get that, won’t you?”

Zsasz, who had been sitting at the far end of the table watching all of this unfold the way a man might watch a trainwreck happen, moved to come to a stand. Roman barked out, “Stay,” and the movements stilled considerably, immediately. It was satisfying, at least, in an exchange which had been everything but up until then. He turned his gaze to the brunette on his right.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he said tersely. He gestured to Zsasz. “Sit.”

The blonde did. Roman could feel Victor’s eyes darting between them.

“Oh, darling, you are spoiling my morning.” Varya set the newspaper down on the table and smoothed it out primly, the thin paper edges fluttering between her fingers. “Why would you ever say such a silly thing?”

“Varya.”

“Surely you do not mean to.”

“V,” he snapped.

“Well, I do not know what you want me to say,” she replied after a minute, leaning back in her chair to finally look at him. “My father never deigned to share his operations with me. It was always ‘what a tedious child you are, Varvara’ this, and ‘since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved’ that. I mean, the man spent most of my life quoting Machiavelli at me. Do you think he told me what all of his little art projects meant?” She shrugged, picking her newspaper up again, ignoring the second sound of the buzzer. “You could just ask.”

The irritation spiked high and hot in his throat. Of course, he could just ask. Of course, he could, but he was the fucking boss, which meant doing things like asking an employee what a stupid fucking tattoo meant were below him. He replied tersely, “Why don’t you figure it out for me? Clerical work and employee management is your forte, after all.”

Varya hummed. It was a prim, musing hm, the sound she made when he’d said something she found to be particularly annoying. “If you wanted me to personally manage Maxim,” she demurred, glancing at him through dark, sooty lashes, “you only had to say.”

Somehow sensing this particular phrasing was not going to go over well with Roman (it wasn’t), Zsasz said, “Can I buzz ‘em up?”

“Yes,” Varya replied.

“No,” Roman insisted.

“Romy, there’s a guest.”

“I’m not through with you,” he snapped.

“I’m gonna buzz ‘em up,” Zsasz announced.

Roman felt the frustrated note rising in his throat, strangling it before it could quite make its way out of him. His jaw set; his eyes followed Zsasz on his way out of the main room and toward the elevator to—presumably—let up their guest (intruder). He drummed his fingers against the top of the dining table and said, “You think you’re very funny, don’t you?”

“Darling.” Varya leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together and cradling her chin atop them. She looked awfully pleased with herself, the little snake, that gigantic stone sitting on her finger. “If I knew what the tattoo meant, I would just tell you. Why not? I could tell you what the word is, but that is hardly ever what the tattoo actually means.”

Darling, she said, as though she hadn’t just snapped her teeth at him moments before. Roman sucked his teeth. Yes, it was very reasonable, he thought; Nikita had always cherished his son over his daughter, had always anticipated Ilarion taking over the business, as Varya had framed it—and even once, Ilarion had confirmed himself. He wanted you and only you, Ilya, and that’s why you couldn’t look at him when he died. That’s what she’d said, and the memory of that night—of Varya, needling the person she was closest to in the world, weaned from venom and taking so much pleasure from inflicting it on someone else—reminded him that there was still much about his wife left to be unearthed.

And it would be an unearthing. Roman had no doubt that it would be a graveyard he would be turning over, full of skeletons—not just a closet.

From the other room, the sound of an infant’s cry drifted down the hall. Varya’s gaze flickered to the space over Roman’s shoulder, behind him, and she came to a stand.

“I will ask, if you would like me to,” she told him, coming around the table and smoothing her hand along his shoulder in what was supposed to be a peace-making gesture. “But I don’t think there is a reason to bother yourself with the detail.”

He felt his mouth press into a thin line. Fine, he thought, fine, the tattoo isn’t a big deal. But what about everything else? “This is all taking a long time, V.”

“I know.” She paused, and then softened a little, all of her button-pushing and needling having dissipated for the moment; Varya leaned down and kissed his temple, and then the top of his cheekbone. “These things take patience, you know. It is not just a—used car business we are inheriting. There are processes, formalities, the like. The men have to know they can trust you.” She paused, tilting her head and regarding him with dark, inquisitive eyes. “You just have to trust me, Romy.”

Roman sighed. I do, he thought, turning his head to look at her. Don’t I?

Of course, he did. She was his wife, the mother of his children—and Roman hadn’t even wanted kids, not really. Not until he realized how much they, by proxy, made Varya belong to him. There was nothing quite so devoted as carrying someone’s child, was there? So yes; he did trust her, in the same capacity at which he supposed a man trusted a relatively-domesticated panther on a chain. Maybe just a smidge more than that. But enough to expect she’d bite off someone else’s hand, and not his.

“Fine,” is what he said, and the word still came out a little petulant. “I will. I do.” Reaching up, he snagged her wrist when she started to pull away, keeping her in place. She watched him expectantly.

When he didn’t say anything—just watched her, gauging her—she prompted playfully, “Are you going to scold me?”

Roman pressed the pad of his thumb to the pulse point on her wrist. His eyes narrowed. “I ought to, vicious girl. You just can’t resist pushing a button when you see it, can you?”

Her pulse jumped pleasantly under warm skin, whether by the term vicious girl or his touch, he didn’t know. It seemed that storminess had passed as soon as it had arrived; and though she hadn’t yet uttered the words I’m sorry, he almost preferred her like this. Coy.

“You would be bored, otherwise.” Her eyes glittered, mischievous. “Don’t you think?”

His fingers stayed curled around her wrist, but she didn’t try and pull away. Watching the flutter of her eyelashes, the way the corners of her mouth quirked upward in a smile, he felt nearly won over. How tedious, Roman thought, that even when he was irritated with her, he found her endearing. That’s amore.

“Don’t goad me,” he warned, and Varya smiled dreamily at him.

“I love you,” is what she replied, and then leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let’s never fight again.”

He dropped his grip from her wrist and she stepped around his chair, the silk of her robe fluttering behind her as she started to the sound of babbling infants. The one or two cries that had roused her initially had melted down into baby-chat. Roman was reminded, once again, that they had a nanny on the payroll for seemingly no reason.

“Varya,” he called, taking the newspaper from where she’d left it on the table, “I mean it.”

Her voice drifted from down the hall: “Of course, Romy.”

The sound of the nursery door opening echoed, and then Varya’s voice; saccharine-sweet, honeyed and muffled by distance. He glanced over the front of the newspaper, but it was impossible to focus on the words—what did they matter, anyway? He didn’t give a fuck about what was going on in Gotham. He had bigger fish to fry. Bigger, Russian, potentially radioactive amalgams of different fish that seemed to be stalling on a deal that should have been up and done with already. Not to mention, one of those fish breaking off of the nightmare-fish and showing up, unannounced, sporting tattoos likely administered to him by Nikita Astakhov himself?

These things take patience.

Roman suppressed a scoff. Like he didn’t have patience. He’d been the most patient. Varya had dragged her feet for about a month after they’d put Ilarion in the ground, but after that, things had typically moved fast—the engagement, the twins. Everything except the thing Roman had been waiting for since the beginning. Of course, he’d never anticipated inheriting the business himself and had only gone into the whole thing wanting an exclusive deal, but now he knew better. He knew what was owed to him. He knew what belonged to him.

The elevator door down the main hall dinged. Roman didn’t bother stifling the sigh that wanted to come out of him; it was only ten in the morning, who could possibly need him and for what? He pushed the chair back from the table and came to a stand, sucking his teeth and prepping what he thought could only be the tranquil expression of a man ready to murder before Maxim stepped inside.

He blinked. The tranquility fled his face. Zsasz trailed in after him, looking uneasy. There was something about his expression that didn’t sit right with Roman, the hard lines of the blonde’s face setting him even further on edge. Would his suffering never end?

“Oh, Maximillian,” he greeted, keeping his voice the pinnacle of lazily annoyed. “Clocking in for work a little early, aren’t we? Over-achieving?”

“I am an early riser,” the blonde acquiesced. He looked genuinely apologetic, the fuckhead, in Dolce & Gabbana, no less. “I hope I did not disturb you.”

“A big wager to make, first day on the job.” Roman trailed Zsasz with his eyes, watching the blonde pace around the far end of the table. What had gotten into him since he’d gone to buzz their guest up? Idly, he sat back down at the table, resuming to glance over the words of the newspaper he couldn’t have given two shits about.

And he said nothing. He instead enjoyed, immensely, the act of letting Maxim stand there in silent uncertainty. It was probably almost a full minute before Maxim cleared his throat, prompting Roman to set his newspaper down with a sigh, as though it were very troubling that he had to stop this thing he didn’t even want to do.

“If you’re here to play catch-up with Varya, she’s busy today,” he deadpanned, turning his gaze reluctantly to where Maxim stood. “And every other day. Generally, I think it would be safe to assume she’s much too preoccupied to assist with whatever problems you might have; that type of work is beneath her now, you know.”

“I am sure being a mother and wife is more than enough to keep her busy,” Maxim agreed soberly.

“And transitioning the business in my name,” Roman replied pointedly.

The blonde shrugged, smiling a little. “Of course.”

He felt his eyes narrow. He leaned back in the chair, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested on the armrests of the chair. It was impossible to figure out what it was about Maxim that Varya might have liked; the man was painfully well-mannered and non-confrontational, which Roman knew wasn’t her style at all.

Never mind that Varya had not once said that there was a romantic interaction between them. That didn’t matter. He knew how men looked at his wife, and Maxim had been a little too comfortable touching her for there to have been nothing at all.

“But, I did not come here to speak to Varya,” the Russian continued, taking a few steps toward the table. “I actually came here to speak to you, Roman.”

Roman blinked. Well, that wasn’t what he expected.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“I wanted to come and see if you were free today,” Maxim elaborated casually. “I was Nikita’s man. Now, I am yours. It only seems right I get to know you better.” He gestured with his hand. “I know you have more than enough help around here, and I was tied up in Turkey before, but...”

Roman’s lips pressed into a thin line. He saw no trace of yesterday’s venom in Maxim’s face, no indication that he was trying to be sarcastic or pull some kind of joke. Instead, Maxim’s face looked completely open and earnest.

“You’re here to ask me on a fucking lunch date,” he began, “and not Varya?”

“Varya,” the blonde replied demurely, “is not my boss.”

Huh, Roman thought. He swept his gaze over Maxim scathingly, and then looked at Zsasz, who remained unreadable. Well, wasn’t that just the most unhelpful thing? It did feel nice to hear Maxim say it, even if Roman would rather see him crying or begging or bleeding out.

“I’m busy today,” he replied after a moment, turning his attention back to Maxim. “But you can swing by the—”

“Maxim.” It was Varya’s voice. Roman turned to look at her. There was no baby in tow. This wouldn’t have been unusual, if Maxim had been a stranger; she tended to keep the twins as far out of reach of people she did not know as much as possible, nested away for safety. But Maxim had been her childhood friend, hadn’t he?

“Good morning,” Maxim greeted her warmly. “I was just asking Roman if he would—”

“I know what you were asking,” Varya interrupted. “You overestimate yourself, showing up to your boss’ home unannounced, don’t you think?”

Maxim looked about as lost as Roman felt; the sensation that he’d stepped into a fever dream very suddenly was washing over him. He looked at Zsasz. The blonde gave a little shrug, as though to say, Why the fuck would I know?

“Varushka,” Maxim ventured after a moment, “you know I did not mean...”

“I don’t know anything at all,” the brunette replied coolly. “You should have called ahead.” She paused, and then added purposefully: “Temka never showed up unannounced.”

Roman found himself in the very strange position of feeling...bad (?) for Maxim, standing there a little helplessly, the poor thing. Varya’s words had gutted him. He could only assume that she was referring to the blonde’s father when she said Temka, by the look on his face, and that—

Oh, you wicked thing, he thought, affection welling up inside of him as he looked at Varya, you know just how to unravel a man. Sticking a salted hot-poker straight into his grief-wound, aren’t you?

“I am sorry,” Maxim said after a minute. “I did not mean to be so thoughtless.”

“The transgression is not mine to forgive.” Varya swept around Roman then, sitting back down in her seat. She looked at him, expectant. “Roman?”

“Me?” he asked.

“It is as Maxim said,” she replied. “You are his boss, not me.”

He waited to see if there was some kind of strange undertow to her words, but he could find none; just Varya waiting, expectantly, for him to excuse Maxim’s showing up without having called ahead. It was odd, and he couldn’t figure out why it was that she was acting like this toward Maxim now—had it been the Varya is not my boss comment? Was she trying to make up for their little spat?

It was commonplace for nothing to be straightforward, with Varya. This was different.

“So,” she continued primly, turning to look at Maxim now, “apologize to your boss.”

“I am—” Maxim stopped, like he didn’t want to do it, drawing Roman’s gaze to him. Quite suddenly, Roman thought he knew exactly what his wife was doing; putting the blonde in a position where he’d have to put good faith behind his words. Varya is not my boss, he’d said, but did that matter if he couldn’t even apologize to Roman?

He finished, more smoothly now, “I am sorry, Roman.”

Roman beamed. “Insolence forgiven,” he replied, all thoughts of his disagreement with Varya gone now. He reached over the table, snagging her hand and dragging the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. “As I was saying—I am busy today, but you are welcome to swing by the club later this evening. Before midnight. We get busiest just before the witching hour.”

Maxim ducked his head. “Of course.”

Varya’s nails skimmed Roman’s palm. She didn’t look up when she said, “Was there something else, Maxim?”

“I do not think so.”

“Then,” she replied sweetly, “have a lovely afternoon.”

A moment stretched where the blonde looked a little unsure, and then he cleared his throat and said, “Of course,” and excused himself down the hall. Varya circled something in the newspaper with her red-ink pen, her other hands still interlaced with Roman’s.

“Mr. Zsasz,” she began, “did you let Maxim up?”

Zsasz looked at Roman. “I didn’t,” he replied after a minute. “Armazd did.”

“Hm,” came the reply, even as she noted something in the margins of the paper.

“Were you apologizing for your tantrum, just now?” Roman asked. He would puzzle out why Armazd letting Maxim up was worthy of a hm later. Now, he could see the hint of a smile ticking the corners of Varya’s mouth upward, but she did not sway from whatever it was that had captured her attention in the news of Gotham; instead, she circled something absently.

Varya said, “Did you find it a suitable apology?”

He considered. “Well, I would have liked it better if you’d made him cry.”

“It would have spoiled my appetite,” she demurred, folding the newspaper primly and coming to a stand. “I am taking the twins to the park with Irina. And Zsasz too, if you’ll spare him. I won’t be back until late afternoon.”

“Late? Then you’d better come here, wife.” Roman tugged on her hand, watching her expression warm when he said wife. Once, he might have squinted at loaning Zsasz out to her. Now, he didn’t mind; especially if it gave a peace of mind that she and the twins be that more secure. “So that I can get my fill of you before you’re gone.”

The brunette laughed, letting him tug her down onto his lap. She carded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and brushed their noses together; it was all glowing affection, now, warmth buzzing under her skin.

“Oh, darling, now I want to leave quicker, and more often,” she murmured, “so that you’ll never have your fill of me.”

Roman supposed that was how she’d gotten him in the first place. Hooked him with being inaccessible, with being coveted—as if she had always known he was not a man could resist something considered off-limits—and now that he had her, he couldn’t get enough of her. He’d seen the way that others looked at her, and by proxy him; with want. With envy. Bruce Wayne could eat shit.

“Roman,” Varya said, “I want you to be careful when you are around Maxim.”

He paused, pulling back to look at her a little. She smoothed her hand over the slope of his collarbone affectionately.

“You are right,” she continued. “When Maxim finds out what I did—if he does—he will be angry about it. He is used to being the right-hand man, you know. Do not...” She glanced down, looking for the words. “Do not give it to him so easily. Make him work for it and prove himself to you.”

Tracing the lines of her expression—soft, concerned—Roman dragged his thumb across her wrist.

“I told you, doll.” He planted an affectionate kiss to her wrist. “Don’t worry about these things. I’ve got it perfectly under control.”

“I know,” she agreed. “I know you do, Romy—”

“Then stop this fussing,” he interjected mildly. “You’re spoiling your very charming apology. You know I love a good public humiliation. Which park are you taking the twins to?”

The dark eyes of his wife swept over his face for a minute, contemplative and impossible to gauge, before she smiled at him warmly.

“The one just a few blocks away. It has the most shade. Mr. Zsasz, won’t you bring the car around?”

And just like that, things were back to normal. Varya swept away to busy herself with getting ready and loading the twins, and Zsasz went to pull the car around, leaving Roman at the table for a rare moment of peace. Soon enough, he’d have all the information he needed from Dorian, and he could well-and-truly mitigate Maxim Kuznetsov as a problem, and everything would be back on track. He could bet money Varya didn’t think he’d had the foresight to dig up information on Maxim—it wasn’t his style to get his hands dirty, but extreme circumstances called for extreme measures.

Roman sighed, quite pleased.

Back to normal.

#spilled ink #f: the land of gods and devils #roman sionis/oc #x: this smile is a loaded gun #c: varya astakhova #c: roman sionis #c: victor zsasz #c: maxim kuznetsov #honorable mention to dorian for being a true homie #birds of prey fic #birds of prey oc #i think uhhhhhhhh yeah i think that's it!#thank you thank you thank you everyone who has even given me a tiny bit of love for this #it's definitely a project that's self-indulgent but !!!!#<3

16 notes · View notes

popquizhot-shot · 3 years

Text

You’re not him-Chapter 2

( How do I put links?)

Italics are reader's thoughts

"ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION ABORT THE DAMN FRICKING MISSION-"

"Um, Miss, who are you?" Loki's voice dragged you out of your thoughts.

"Uh-I'm I'm an agent! here! in the TVA!" you say a little too enthusiastically.

Eyeing you worriedly, Loki replies, " Oooook, now Mobius." he says, looking at the man, " where will I be staying?"

" Y/n will show you your quarters Loki, and you'll have your own cubicle, where you'll be taught by Miss Minutes about the TVA" Mobius replies walking Loki out of his office, shooting you a sympathetic glance.

Following closely behind, the reality if the situation suddenly hit you like a train. A variant of your your soon-to-be husband, who died, was here

Alive.

Should you tell him? Should you not tell him? All the sadness and depression which you tried so hard to push away and bottle up was surfacing, leaking out drop by drop.

"Y/n? Y/n! Earth to Y/n!" you heard Mobius say your name, his hand waving in front of your face, he was looking at you sadly, knowing what you were going through.

" Sorry yeah?" you say, a little out of breath.

" Take Loki to his room ok? The staff quarters." He said.

" Yeah! Sure! Please follow me Mr. Laufeyson." you say heading towards the staff quarters.

Loki looks at Mobius before following you.

After a while of walking in complete silence, Loki tries to make conversation,

"I don't believe I've gotten your name madam" he says.

" Huh, well I thought, you already heard it multiple times, given how many times Mobius had shake me out of my thoughts, I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you." Again.

" Heh yes, well I'm Loki-"

" of Asgard, Yes, I'm aware of that Mr Laufeyson, I bet everyone knows who you are." you say.

It suddenly dawned that you might have not made a good first impression.

" I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, It's just everyone's on edge today." Yeah! particularly me! Well what am I supposed to do when I see a variant of my dead fiancé? Kiss him? Tell him the truth? No you idiot!

" Well, I doubt they have a runaway variant everyday." he says chuckling lightly.

" You'll be surprised, Mr Laufeyson." you say smirking at him.

Heading to a door, you unlock it with a keycard and show him inside. It's a fairly large room, with a bed, a Tv, a mini-fridge, with an attatched bathroom.

" This is your room, and so is this keycard, your uniform is in the cupboard and your work begins tomorrow. Good Luck Mr.Laufeyson" you say smiling lightly while simultaneously crying and sobbing on the inside.

" Thank you, Ma'am, and please call me Loki." he says smirking at you.

"Only if you call me Y/n."

"Alright then, Thank you Y/n"

" You're very welcome Loki, I'll see you tomorrow." you say walking out.

As soon as you leave and the door closes, you immediately sprint to Mobius's office.

" OK, NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO MOBIUS?! HUH? WHAT SHOULD I SAY, HI I'M ACTUALLY OR I WAS YOUR FIANCE WHEN YOU WERE ALIVE AND I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU AND YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM!" you shout at him.

"Y/n Liste-" Mobius begins,

"No no, this is where you zip it!" your eyes glowing a shade of orange . That's all that would happen, the only indication that you had magic, you're eyes would glow when you were you were really emotional.

" Picture yourself in my place, you're getting married, you're fiance is killed before you're eyes, then after a few years you see them again, but they don't know you, how would you feel? Think about that Mobius!" you say, tears threatening to spill out your eyes.

"Y/n, I understand that, but we need him, he's the key to ending this, lots of minutemen, Jamie, Cassandra, Damon, Stefan! All dead! We need him, and we need him to be focused, after the mission is over, then you can tell him whatever you want, but please for the love of the time-keepers above, please don't tell him, you'll be accompanying us on missions from now on. You know Loki almost better than he knows himself an we need both of you. Please." Mobius pleads.

Sighing, you nod and try to glare at him, but ended up sadly smiling, you couldn't help it, you couldn't stay mad at Mobius, he was like an elder brother, or your best friend.

Smiling Mobius gets up and hugs you tightly, making you feel a bit better.

___

That night, you weren't able to sleep, thinking about every good memory you had when Loki-well OG Loki was still alive.

You and Loki baking, him dabbing frosting on your lips, before kissing it off, the boops, the damn boops that made you feel so warm and fuzzy on the inside.

When you first met- 2013

It was a normal day at Avengers Tower, you had just gotten back from a long undercover mission, you had heard about the new resident staying, God of Mischief.

Throwing your duffle bag on the carpet in the room and immediately showered, trying to scrubbing the blood and grime off, before you went downstairs to surprise the team.

Being a dramatic bitch, you decided to make an awesome entrance.

*Steve in the kitchen*

" Hey, Tony?" Steve said

"Yeah capsicle?"

"Why do I hear boss music?" Steve says looking worried.

Suddenly the door's are kicked open, startling everyone.

" I'm BACK bitches!!!" you say while holding your arms out.( like how Loki does it)

Shriek and laughs and smiles later, you gather your courage and go up to Loki,

"Hi, I'm Y/n. Nice to meet you." you say smiling,

" Loki, of Asgard, nice to meet you too." he says, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles.

And that was the day you fell for Loki Laufeyson.

"- and what happens when a nexus event branches past red line?" Miss Minutes asks Loki.

Loki ignores her, reading Mobius's jet ski magazine.

"Come on Loki!" she says frowning

Sighing Loki looks at her before saying, " It's when the Tva, can no longer reset the nexus event." smiling smugly.

" and the collapse of reality as when we know it." she finishes.

"Can you here me? Are you a recording, or are you alive?" he asks.

"Uh--sorta both!" she answers.

Mischievously, he rolls up the magazine and starts swatting at the mascot, causing her to go back inside the computer.

Looking at him, from you're cubicle, you can't help but smile softly, it had been years since you had last seen that beautiful smile and you're heart was melting.

From his cubicle, he spotted you and waved, eyes slightly softening, he liked your company, you put up with his bullshit and you were fun at the same time.

Waving back, you can't help but blush when you realize he caught you staring, your blush made him smile more.

Suddenly Mobius appeared behind him, talking to him and giving him a jacket, before he called you over, to talk about the mission.

" Y/n there's been an attack, we need you to come with us." he said hurriedly.

"We've grabbed enough temporal-aura to know it's our Loki variant, but we don't know which kind." Hunt says.

"The lesser kind, just to be sure." Loki butts in, making you snort.

He seemed pleased that he almost made you laugh.

" Ok, here's the deal, when we get out on the branch, we're not looking for a time criminal; we're looking Loki, a variation of this guy." Mobius says pointing to Loki, while projecting imaged of other Loki variants, each one getting weirder by the second.

"Apparently you won the Tour de France." you say nodding towards the hologram.

"Apparently." Loki says smiling.

"Not so slight, different powers, though powers include-Shape shifting, Illusion projection and Mind contr-" Mobius began.

"Duplication casting." You and Loki say in sync, turning to look at each other in surprise before looking back at the confused team.

"Illusion projection."

" No, they're two completely different powers." you began

"How Y/n?" Mobius asked.

" Professor Loki, would you like to answer that or would you like to answer?" you say, smirking at him

" You answer first." he says smirking back at you

"Illusion projection involved one depicting a detailed image from outside oneself which is perceptible in the external world." you began, Loki seemed impressed.

" While Duplication casting entails recreating an exact facsimile of one's own body in it's present circumstance which acts as a true holographic mirror of it's own molecular structure. But you already knew that." Loki finished.

" Not bad, Laufeyson." you said.

"Not bad yourself." He smiled.

" O-ok take a breath. Noted. Ok let's go. Everyone gear up" ( sometimes, I'm not going to follow the lines well, cuz i don't remember them.

Stepping out of the dressing room, you felt amazing, it had been a while since you wore gear and you didn't realize how much you missed it.

You also drew the attention of a certain blue-eyed, raven-haired god.

He couldn't take his eyes off you and you didn't know whether to feel happy or awkward.

Both.

Both.Yes.

Both is good.

Happy and Awkward.

---------

After everyone was geared up, you headed to your destination.

Oshkosh, Wisconsin, Year 1985.

After reaching there, Loki went up to Mobius, and they started discussing things about the Tva, stuff you honestly did not give a crap about.

Headed towards a tent, Loki and Mobius were having a conversation. Loki seemed to trust Mobius and that's weird, he never trusted anyone except you.

"Ok stop, this is not your Loki ok, this is someone different, don't screw the relationship you have with this guy"

After all you went inside, you instantly spotted a TVA helmet.

Someone was taken hostage. Hunter C-20

"He's taking hostages." Hunter began

" He's never taken hostage before." Mobius mused.

" Maybe's he upping his game" Hunter said

"or he pruned her." you interuppted.

" A Loki couldn't have taken the jump on C 20." Hunt said.

" I think you underestimate-" Loki began

" Fan out, search for her and hurry up because we're at three units until red-line." Hunter ordered.

"Come on Loki." Mobius began. You follow him. Looking back, you see Loki staring at the helmet.

" Wait." Loki calls out, everyone stopping dead in their tracks and looking at him.

" If you leave this tent, you'll end up just like them" he continues.

As Loki explains, you zone out again, focusing on his eyes, ocean blue, with specks of green and gold, making them look like the most beautiful ocean ever.

"Did you know, you have beautiful eyes?" you say, stroking Loki's cheek while staring into his eyes.

" Oh, I have beautiful eyes?" he smirks

" The most beautiful." you whisper before kissing him softly.

Pulling away, Loki looks into your eyes.

"Darling, you complement my eyes, when yours are clearly superior!" He said

1, " But Loki, they're brown, they're so plain, what do you mean they're pretty.?"

"Darling, you're eyes are so beautiful, they remind me of a glass of ale, the mud that makes the earth, your eyes represent earthquakes, that bring the biggest of the biggest mountains to kneel for them. I love your eyes, they make me feel home."

( sorry about that, that's for people with brown eyes, cuz I have brown eyes, and I don't see them appreciated enough, pls ignore if you don't have brown eyes)

"Y/n, Y/n snap out of it! Come on, we're going back." Mobius said, walking out, you follow him, slightly smiling at the fond memory.

After you come back, you immediately head to your room, shower and take a nap.

#loki #lokixreader #lokilove #lokiseries #lokispoilers

12 notes · View notes

lonelypond · 3 years

Text

BETWEEN US

NicoMaki, Love Live, 3.6K, 1/1

Summary: Nishikino Maki and Yazawa Nico have many challenges ahead, but they get through them together.

Between Us

Is this what love is? Not a fire that bites painfully but two people laying so close to feel every breath, hands nearly touching, eyes on the brilliant stars opening themselves up suddenly, sure enough to share truths they speak into the night, this solitary space, this private moment between them.

Nishikino Maki spoke first, always the more impatient, curious about Yazawa Nico’s state of mind. “What do you want to do, Nico-chan?”

“Nico wants to show everyone that little and cute can be strong, sexy smart, talented, funny, hard working, successful….I’m tired of how the world treats cute girls like Nico. Nico is a star.” Nico flung her arms out, to encompass the sky. “They should be in awe.”

I am, Maki said to herself, and then thought, why not say it out loud. This was all new, why not be bolder.

“I am.”

Nico squeezed Maki’s hand, a reward for honesty. “What do you want to do, Maki-chan?”

No one said Maki’s name like Nico. It had been Maki’s anchor through the continuing craziness of Muse, Eli’s taskmaster torture, qualifying, Honoka’s collapse, then starting over, right as they discovered these new feelings, a gift from all they’d been through.

“I want to use the Nishikino fortune for new things, good things, to stop propping up out dated ways and awful people. I want to find new ways to help…” Maki was a person of specifics and she had a list. “Girls, gays, empaths, people fighting bigotry, neurodivergents, water protectors,” Maki thought of Rin and giggled, “furries, us, our friends, the world.”

“Maki-chan will do great things.”

“Once I’m 30.”

Nico Yazawa considered. This was so new and 14 years from now, when Maki was a doctor and her trust vested, seemed as distant as the nearest star Nico could see. But Nico knew naming goals was the first step to achieving them, even if it seemed a wild fantasy.

“Nico will be there.” Not flashy, just quiet determination.

Nico heard Maki gulp. She was probably tearing up and couldn’t speak. Nico didn’t really expect her too. Sharing was such a new trust. But Maki’s hand carefully kept precise palm to palm contact with Nico’s. That said everything.

“Marry Nico.”

Maki sighed. “No one can know.”

“Okay.”

YAZAWA NICO FINISHES FIRST INTERNATIONAL TOUR WITH SPRING SPLASH IN HONOLULU

NISHIKINO MAKI BEGINS RONIN YEAR SOLO WORLD TOUR SURFING IN MAUI

Sunrise. Quiet beach. Her own choices. Is this what contentment felt like, Maki wondered. Finally, moments of quiet to listen for the important things. Leaning against her duffle and board, dressed in a striped rash guard, bright lavender board shorts, and a faded denim “You Are On Native Land” cap, Maki stretched, watching the horizon as a lone speck appeared in the distance, jogging toward her, not actually growing much as the distance closed, Maki thought with a private grin. Nico, running in an oversized hoodie and bikini bottom, gasped dramatically, reaching a hand for the water bottle Maki held out as a lure.

“Still running 5Ks every morning?”

“10K when I don’t have a concert or rehearsal. Nico is a boss.”

“Umi would be proud.”

Nico dropped and did ten fast pushups in the sand next to Maki, “Not if Nico told her it was only to make girls swoon.”

“Girls?” Maki arched an eyebrow, hand sweeping through her hair.

“Girl.”

“Fiancee.”

Nico laughed, rolling toward Maki, pulling her down into a playful, sandy kiss. “Ready to upgrade to trophy wife?”

“Yes.”

But there was no hurry that morning. Both had put their other lives on multiple 15 plus hour flights and fallen briefly off the grid to sit side by side on this hidden beach, the tide surging, a rare treasured morning to share.

“Went to the symphony last night. Monica Mancini sang, Henry Mancini’s daughter,” Nico hummed the Pink Panther theme, “Nice voice, more your thing than Nico’s though. She sang a lot of Johnny Mercer. And some new stuff. Nico was taking notes.”

“You’re great on stage Nico-chan, but I guess you can always learn from other performers.”

“Nico is learning songwriting.”

Maki pushed against Nico, “Going to try to get me to put Nico Nico Ni to music again.”

Nico’s mood turned serious, “I miss watching you play.”

“I miss playing.”

“When Nico gets her penthouse, there will be a baby grand.” Nico let her hand settle on Maki’s, “Working with a portable keyboard now. And Umi’s giving me advice, so many books...I’m so busy reading, there’s no time to party.”

“Good.”

“Hey, do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

Nico stared at Maki for a moment, but there was only earnestness in the amethyst staring back, “Not since you got here.”

“I’ve been talking with some of the elders, volunteering on Maui, learning about healing plants, and aloha ‘āina.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s really cool. I’m going to get Papa to invite some of the teachers and doctors I’ve met to give seminars for us. Aloha ‘āina means so many things, but it’s mostly being determined to take care of each other by taking care of the land. It’s very land based and tradition based, here in Hawai’i,” Maki picked up a handful of sand, “but it’s caring and not soft...exactly...when you meet Kai, he’ll explain it better. We’ve been invited for dinner, his uncle plays the ohe hano ihu.”

“What’s that?”

“ A nose flute, not for big concerts, more personal...Kai says his uncle has so many stories about it being used in courting rituals.”

“Is Maki-chan taking notes?”

“Maybe.” Ah, Maki’s sexy, best musician in the world grin. Nico missed that one a lot on the road. A killer cute band was no replacement for the brilliant, lovely pianist who’d so boldly wrapped Nico’s heart in music.

They were in the teasing phase now. “Do you have to keep courting a cute girl after marriage?”

Maki shoved into Nico again, “Well, duh…”

Joint laughter, rolling out to meet the tide.

“We’re getting married.” Maki said quietly.

“Just need to take our passports to pick up the license and go to the shrine. We filled out everything else online.” Nico glanced at her bare legs, “And Nico brought a kimono. Although Maki-chan looks sporty cute just like she is.”

Maki had a far off look, not paying much attention to Nico. Happy to wait ‘til Maki drifted back to the beach, Nico was going to enjoy memorizing her favorite scenery, Maki’s beautifully expressive face, now relaxed and open, thoughts waves and clouds in constant motion. Nico knew the solitude here allowed Maki to relax, there was no family pressure, their phones were off, nothing on either of their schedules for at least the rest of the week. A rare moment to sit with each other, sharing this beauty.

NISHIKINO REAL ESTATE GROUP BUYS LARGE LUXURY TOWER NEAR NISHIKINO MEDICAL CENTER

SUPERSTAR REFUSES TO GIVE UP PENTHOUSE APARTMENT TO NISHIKINO HEIR

Fast food. School girls lingering from Otonokizaka. Two people shoved into the booth furthest from the door and windows, sitting on the same bench, hip to hip, back to the rest of the room.

“So many memories in this place.” Nico unwrapped her burger.

“So many french fries.” Maki dipped a sample french fry in her chocolate milkshake.

“Another meal Nico paid for. You got rich not paying for food.”

“Hey! You were too proud to let me pay.”

“Nico is still too proud.” Nico tapped her fingers on the table. This late afternoon, for this clandestine meeting, they’d allowed themselves the indulgence of wearing their braided gold and platinum wedding band, Maki added the simple diamond Nico had bought her for their engagement.

“Is this going to work? Us actually living this close together without rumors starting?” Maki had been worrying. So many comments in the press and on social media.

“Everyone already has us at war. Nico’s a selfish poser, Maki’s a spoiled brat. Enemies to lovers.”

“Not funny, Nico-chan.”

“Nico will throw a huge party before I leave on my next tour. My new landlord will threaten very publically to throw me out of the building. Everything will flare up, but Maki-chan will continue to do boring future doctor things and by the time Nico gets back, all anyone will be talking about is Nico’s new album.”

“They’re not boring future doctor things.”

“No, they’re smart, saving the world future doctor things and Nico is so proud.” A quick kiss on Maki’s palm.

“Meanwhile…”

“Meanwhile, Umi and Eli install a secret hatch above the decorative staircase centerpiece of your expensively designed main room.”

“I’m going to miss you, Nico-chan.” Sadness.

Time to change the mood. Nico dipped a french fry in her strawberry shake and fed it to Maki. “How’s studying going?”

Maki leaned, chin in hand, frowny. “I could be more motivated.”

“So B?”

“A minus.”

“Nerd.”

“ ‘s dull." Maki said, chewing slowly. "But have to stay on track with the family benchmarks.”

“Yeah.” Nico decided to talk about happier things, “ooohh, did I tell you Eli’s setting up a foundation for Nico as her graduation project. We’ve already donated tickets to queer youth groups in every city on the tour and Nozomi’s setting up mentor programs.”

“Expect a large anonymous donation.”

“Expect a large not so anonymous thank you.”

“I’m just proud that you’re doing things to actually help people. I want to do more.”

“You’re studying to be a doctor, Maki-chan. That’s hard. Nico’s got it easy. All Nico has to do is” Nico went into her signature gesture, “Nico Nico Ni and everything gets brighter.” Nico suddenly remembered she shouldn’t have let her catch phrase out full voice during what was supposed to be a secret meeting, but this was a low traffic period so no one seemed to notice.

“I couldn’t get that out of my head, the first time I saw you do it. It was annoying.”

“But you loved Nico.” Nico snuggled closer, enjoying a chance to feel Maki next to her.

“But I loved Nico, all of Nico, the bold, brash, terrible liar, the kind, caring sister, the determined ally and friend, the hard working and talented performer.”

“Nico wasn’t a liar, Nico was an optimist.”

“Private chef,” Maki cough giggled.

Nico grabbed the french fries as Maki reached for another one, “Confiscated for cheekiness.”

“Give me those.” Maki grabbed, Nico dodged, french fries flew loose and they giggled their way through the next few minutes until Nico leaned forward to whisper in Maki’s ear.

“So are your parents still in New York City?”

Gulping, suddenly completely flustered, Maki nodded.

Nico bounced up, offering a gallant hand, “Nico will walk you home.”

“Fancy.”

“Only the best for Mrs. Yazawa.”

“That would be Mrs. Nishikino.”

“We’ll wrestle. Nico will win.”

“Optimist.”

Nico’s hand on Maki’s waist was a gentle guide into the autumn night, two hats pulled down, two collars pulled up, Nico in a mask to protect her voice. “Wait and see.”

Maki leaned into Nico. This night, unlike too many others recently, felt just right.

HEAD OF THE NISHIKINO MEDICAL GROUP COLLAPSES, HOSPITALIZED

NICO NI NEW YEAR’S CHARITY CONCERT SELLS OUT IN MINUTES

Nico had never been so sick. She’d lost count of the medicines she was taking to sleep at night, and then the additional ones added to get her through tonight’s concert. Then she could rest. Go to her Mama’s house and get babied for a bit. Maki had been so sad at Christmas, with too many family obligations to fly to Los Angeles. Nico had gotten through their Christmas Eve quick chat and then collapsed, barely moving until yesterday’s rehearsal, which wiped her out.

Pounding on her hotel room door. What the hell? Phone pinged, the Maki-tone.

“Open your door, Nico--chan.” Maki sounded angry. Was she pounding? Nico felt even fuzzier, slumping to the door, opening it to fall against a tall, angry Maki, beanie over her hair, sunglasses, and a mask.

“Nico-chan?” Now Maki’s voice sounded tearful.

“Hi, Mrs. Yazawa.” Nico croaked out, hoping to make Maki at least giggle.

Strong arms swept her up, Maki striding across the room, putting Nico gently down on the bed, Maki immediately examining every bottle by Nico’s bedside, “What kind of quack put you on all this?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t know? You don’t know.”

“Trainer found ‘em…recommended.”

“You should be in a hospital.” Maki’s voice broke.

“Concert, charity, millions. Nico Nico Ni.” Nico had no idea if what she was saying made sense.

“Cancel. Refund. I’ll make a bigger donation.”

“Nico is a trooper.”

“Nico is a zombie. What the hell kind of irresponsible moron gave you all this?” Maki crashed all the bottles to the floor. “Did they inject you with anything?”

“It’s LA, Maki-chan, the beautiful people never stop.” Nico coughed. It hurt like 50 Umi arrows to the chest, “Nico is a beautiful people.”

“Nico-chan…” Maki was kneeling next to the bed, desperation and weariness lining her face. She’d never travelled well, Nico realized.

Nico managed to flip so she was on her side, managing to smile at Maki, “Hey pretty girl.”

“I am going to sue that quack into despair and destitution.”

Nico blinked, suddenly aware that Maki should be in Tokyo. “Why are you here, Maki-chan?.”

“Hanayo heard a rumor…”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t care.” Maki’s head dropped to the bed, “Papa collapsed...and you’re like this and hiding it from me…and letting some greedy idiot try to kill you...if anything happens to you, Nico-chan…” And the tears, Nico could feel them as she reached for Maki, hot, heavy, rolling off pale cheeks.

“Nico will be fine.”

Maki shook her head.

“Look at me, Maki-chan.”

Maki raised her head. Her eyes were bright. She was always so bright, so caring, her native prickliness a fortification against all the emotions Maki didn’t know how to process.

“I will be fine.”

Maki surged up, her arms drawing in Nico, whose heart was really not rested enough for tackled into bed by the redhead of her dreams. “Maki-chan, you’re going to hug Nico to death.”

“Don’t say that.” Maki’s arm twitched for a minute like she was going to shove Nico away, but then Nico found herself pressed as closely as she’d ever been against a clothed Maki, which would have been amazing if she could breathe. So Nico let a cough out and Maki loosened her hold.

“Let Nico sleep.”

“Okay. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Nico had closed her eyes, muttering, “...love you.”

“I love you too, Nico-chan.”

A-RISE STEPS IN AT LAST MINUTE FOR NICO NI

NISHIKINO MAKI CHECKING OUT STANFORD RESEARCH FACILITIES, POSSIBLE PARTNERSHIP

Nico is officially spoiled. Another morning waking up to Maki curled up by her side...She’d shipped everyone else back to Japan, tour over, a solid break until Nico’s doctor cleared her for rehearsal. Nico sat up, teasing tumbles of red hair, Maki had been very clear that Nico had to clear the steroids out of her system first. But at least Maki hadn’t banned other forms of exercise.

“I’m not asleep, Nico-chan.” Maki mumbled, sounding totally still asleep.

“Thanks for coming to rescue Nico.”

“Don’t make me do it again. I might have to go back to school.”

“I thought you were joining the Board Of Directors ahead of schedule?”

Maki opened her eyes, stretching, “Order pancakes. And bacon. And orange juice. And muffins.”

“Brunch in bed.”

“I’m not leaving until I have to.”

Nico reached down to kiss Maki’s forehead, “It’s been nice having you here.”

“Then come home.”

“Nico is working on it.”

Maki raised an eyebrow. Nico sounded excited. “Is there something I don’t know about?”

“It was supposed to be your Christmas surprise, but Nico’s agent was still negotiating.”

What could Nico’s agent be negotiating that would be a Christmas surprise for Maki?

“I’m going be the main character in a TV drama, based in Tokyo.”

“Really?”

“Really. I didn’t get to be there when your Dad ended up in the hospital and I’m so sorry…I knew you needed me, but...this is our life...” Maki nodded as Nico gestured at the hotel suite, continuing, “And I knew you were going to be super busy with family stuff so I pitched an idea and two production companies jumped on board. Nico is taking a paycut and ownership, but all you’ll have to do is come upstairs and Nico will be right there, at least for six months.”

“Nico-chan…” Maki sat up.

Nico put her arm and pulled Maki in, Maki dropping her head to Nico’s shoulder, “We get through the tough stuff together, Maki-chan. We always have. I love you.”

“Love you.” Maki was falling asleep again. Nico would add coffee to their brunch order. Maki had to be awake enough to sneak out and catch a plane.

YAZAWA NICO TO STAR IN DOCTOR SMILE

DOCTOR NISHIKINO MAKI TAKES OVER FAMILY MEDICAL PRACTICE

If she didn’t have Nico, Maki would probably just live with a grand piano, a huge bathtub, and a couch to eat take out on, Nico thought as she sank into lavender scented steaming water.

“It’s not funny, Rin. And I don’t need weekly updates about who Nico’s kissing on the show.” Maki sounded aggravated. Nico giggled. She’d come home early from a weekend meet the fans event and snuck into Maki’s luxury tub to recover. Candles were lit, Idol music popping.

“Wait a minute, Rin. I think…” Maki’s steps sounded hasty and she was suddenly in the door of the bathroom.

Nico winked. “Hi Maki!”

Maki made a grumbly noise and turned sideways, “No, I’m okay, Rin. There’s just a surprise in my bathtub…” Maki glanced at Nico, “Rin says hi. And you have to stop using my cases, Nico-chan.”

“Did Rin say that? And who says Nico does?”

Maki glared, “Where do you even get your information?”

Nico raised a finger to her lips and winked.

“And that red wig. It’s awful. People think you’re making fun of me.” Maki listened to her phone. “Shut up, Rin.” And the phone went in her coat pocket.

“What did Rin say?”

“Nvermind.” Maki muttered.

“Maki-chan…” Nico splashed at Maki.

“No one would ever call me Dr. Smile.”

Nico guffawed, slapping water everywhere. “I miss Rin.”

“If I had Umi’s bow, I wouldn’t.”

“You love her.” Nico leaned back, watching her wife, who had flopped on the nearby chaise. “So who thinks Nico is making fun of you?”

“Papa.”

“PFfffffff…who cares.”

Maki glared, ‘“We’re trying to keep his stress levels low.”

“Red headed doctors are the best.”

“But I like your hair; it looks like you.”

“But our daughter will look like Dr. Smile.”

That threw Maki’s train of thought completely askew. The closest she could get was imagining Cotaro when she first met him with bright red hair.

“I wonder if our children will look like you? All your siblings do.”

“And they’re cute. But our children will be NicoMaki cute. I’ve seen your baby pictures, you were adorable.” Nico leaned back, smiling up at Maki. “Nico can’t wait to have a family to come home to.”

“You have me.”

“And I love it.” Nico blew lavender scented bubbles at Maki, “But you, me, the cutest children ever in the universe, and Christmas morning.”

Maki couldn’t keep the huge grin back. “I can tell them all about Santa-san.”

“But we’re not spoiling them too much.”

Maki pouted at Nico.

Nico giggled, “That’s what our parents will do.”

Maki got up, taking off her coat, sliding out of her jacket, unbuttoning her shirt halfway and slipping out of her pants. Then she sat on the edge of the tub, feet in the water, toes teasing Nico’s legs. “You’re going to tour less, right.”

“Nico’s not touring now. You’re going to cut down your hours, right, Maki-chan.”

“Just started the search for an Executive Director. And put the LGBTQ+ Health Centers proposal on the fast track.”

Nico leaned over, her chin on Maki’s thigh, “We’ve worked really hard for this.”

“We have.”

“I think Mama knows.”

Maki laughed, “It was that morning she surprised us at breakfast, wasn’t it?”

For once, Nico was the one blushing. “Nico needs…” Nico’s arm slipped under Maki’s shirt, a casual touch on Maki’s back, “more elegant pajamas for entertaining company.”

“No you don’t.”

“You like it when Nico borrows your shirt.”

“No, I love it when Nico-chan borrows my shirt.”

“Nico loves your pajamas.” Nico’s fingers started tracing patterns.

“Ha!” Keeping her cool with Nico this close had always been impossible so Maki just lowered herself into the water, pausing for a messy, wet kiss, “Let’s skip dinner.”

NISHIKINO MAKI AND YAZAWA NICO: DETAILS OF THEIR WHIRLWIND COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE

The interviewer leaned forward as Maki ran a hand through her hair. She was relaxed in a light gray Tadashi Shoji corded lace sheath dress, and confidently answered her question, “It was a long day, my eyes were so tired everything was blurry and I got in the wrong elevator. Nico had just gotten pics of the Ayase twins and we started talking about high school.”

“Talking?” Nico snorted, standing behind Maki, hands in the pockets of bright pink Victoria Beckham trousers, the matching blazer falling open, “It was all Nico’s sex appeal. Nico is irresistible.”

Maki leaned her head back, a private smile for Nico, “Nico is irresistible.”

“Is it irresponsible to take so much time off from your responsibilities to take a world tour honeymoon and then start a family?”

Nico chuckled, her hands on Maki’s shoulder, “We’ve planned carefully. And they’re our businesses. Nico never understood people working themselves to death, not taking time for family. We want to change corporate culture.”

“You’ve always been ambitious, Nico. What’s your next project?”

Nico winked, “That’s just between us.”

“No hints for our viewers, Maki?”

Nico leaned down, arms around Maki’s shoulders, whispering something in her ear. Maki’s full, flaring blush could have been a picture from high school. The interviewer laughed.

“Nice to see you two worked out the Penthouse Wars.”

“Nico is a reasonable person.”

Maki threw back her head, laughing, “Sure, that’s why.”

“Well, Nico is certainly a top…”

“Nico-chan!”

“I love you, Maki-chan.” Giggling, Nico kissed her wife’s cheek.

Nico might have been the only one to hear Maki’s muttered, “I love you, Nico-chan.” But it had always been true.

A/N: Another AU Yeah August request, it started out as Married Rivals, but I was reading a Dolly Parton songwriting book and in the songs about love chapter there were these lyrics from "Between Us":

In our love let's share a friendship between us Always close enough to talk things out Let's be honest with ourselves and each other And our love will never know mistrust or doubt

So I just started writing conversations.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #married #married life #fluff #minor illness and angst #au yeah august

7 notes · View notes

anxiouslyfred · 3 years

Text

Moss Graffiti

Summary: Virgil was convinced his soulmate worked in nuclear power from the poem he got describing them. He’s about to learn how wrong that is, and how weirdly some corporations view graffiti.

/\/\

Virgil's soulmate had to do something in nuclear power. He was certain of it. Why else would his poem include the line 'Green pollution close to hand'?

Really he'd taken decades to reach that conclusion, trying to decide what it could mean. Pollution usually wasn't anything green at all, but from those Simpsons opening credits, to the glow shows always used for nuclear radiation, that had to be what was intended. Unless there was something else being done that corporations would try to claim as pollution, but that just opened too many trails for his thoughts to follow.

“Uneven floors present a trip hazard and either need indicating or fixing. That's the most important issue, I've found, shall we continue through the rest?” Virgil shook the momentary thoughts of his soulmate from his head, focusing back on the Health & Safety inspection he was doing.

The offices were just waiting for an accident to happen in a lot of places, and if he had to yell to actually get the manager to come over instead of the receptionist, he would be. There's no point booking him to conduct the inspection if they just wanted to ignore the issues raised in his report.

“Mr Furniss has requested you confirm if the pollution on the outer walls will need a specialist to remove.” The receptionist, Miss Mauby, asked, noting down his comments.

“I haven't noticed any pollution. Do you mind showing me the section he's referring to?” Virgil raised an eyebrow. There had been some graffiti on one of the walls near the entrance, but it hadn't looked like anything he'd need to take note of.

The wall he was led to pretty much guaranteed he would be storming back into the manager's office to give his report. Wasting his time demanding answers that a fool could tell was simply moss was absurd, despite the design and words showing it was all deliberately placed. Virgil already agreed that the company had a lot of issues it needed to be addressing, especially regarding the waste products being incorrectly disposed of at the factory site.

Turning to Miss Mauby he nodded, “I believe it would be best for me to give my initial review to Mr Furniss directly, and I'll send the report over in a matter of days.” He didn't wait for a reply, already returning to the building and the office that was indicated to belong to the site manager.

By the time Virgil was leaving the site, he'd begun to calm down and find it amusing. The manager of the place really did think that graffiti was pollution and not just unauthorised artwork. Perhaps they needed some language lessons to clear up the definition and impact of using the wrong terms. Science classes could help more though.

When he glanced back towards the moss words, he had to call over, “Better get away from there. I think Mr Furniss mentioned getting cameras set up to monitor their walls.”

“I'll find some other wall to protest on then. He can't monitor them all and ignores any emails or government mandates to follow the laws for disposal of contaminated waste.” The person called back, voice shrill and uncaring.

Virgil wandered closer, a little curious to know more. “How did you even manage it anyway? I didn't think you could control where or how moss grows.”

“I made moss paint and spray with water each afternoon. For this lot at least. I've got twenty other sites I do this too and commissions to take for peoples gardens occasionally.” Virgil began to worry he'd asked the wrong thing with the lack of energy compared to the person's original response before they jumped to face him, “I'm making nature fight back for itself when it can't speak. The moss, lichens and plants shall rise to destroy humanity with my aid!”

“Okay, cool, erm good luck with that. I'll leave you to it then.” Virgil backed away at the yell, startled and very concerned that if someone in the office came out to see him talking with the moss graffiti guy he could lose payment for his services.

It was only once he got home that Virgil thought whoever it was looking after that moss seemed to fill 3 of the 4 lines in his soul poem, especially with that companies boss claiming graffiti was pollution.

He checked while swapping his jacket for a hoodie and the idea only grew at the familiar lines:

Uncontrolled by any rule,

Dangerous Attitude, surface cool.

Green pollution close to hand.

Trust fleeting as the sand.

Virgil had gotten the poem as a tattoo as soon as he was old enough to. He didn't want anybody finding out what his poem was and the easiest way to ensure that was to keep the only record of it literally on him.

Perhaps they'd encounter each other again in the city. Virgil did have other gigs coming up for offices of corporations known to be major polluters.

/Over to the Graffiti Artist\

Remus had been curious about the guy who'd come over asking about his graffiti, but he got people running away from him. It happened often enough pretty much anytime he tried to make friends.

He pushed the curiosity out of his mind though, focusing on that morning's project. He was still cultivating the moss on the edge of an animal testing lab for a soaps company and needed to make sure he was using the right mosses so the creature yelling at the company was recognisable.

“Get Away from there! I'll call the police on you for doing-” The angry yelling cut off when the woman got close enough.

Remus smirked, not turning around, but well aware it looked like he was just painting water onto the wall with how diluted he'd made the moss-paint today. He'd expected someone to try and stop him and wasn't going to give away what he was doing, including the fact these were rare mosses that if it got out the company had removed would enrage some environmentalist charities.

“Well isn't this fun. Do you often greet contractors by yelling at someone painting the walls with water, or am I just special?” The curious guy from yesterday was back, and apparently ignoring Remus in favour of greeting the woman. It was an interesting way to try and stick up for him though.

None of the apologies she was now stuttering out got directed to him either, and Remus finally realised this was one of the managers of the building and the guy had to be some sort of contractor. Not that it mattered to him of course, guy got scared off by a tiny bit of excitement.

He was humming while working on an established moss garden that evening when the guy walked passed again, and seriously Remus was beginning to think some cosmic force wanted them to talk.

“How'd you get the different colours?” The guy actually stopped to ask, glancing over the patterns. Dull, boring spirals. Remus had a far more interesting moss garden on the outer walls of his apartment.

“Different mosses.” He replied, turning to get more water for his spray bottle. It wasn't necessary, but he didn't feel like watching someone try to escape him currently.

The guy stayed waiting there, long enough Remus couldn't avoid returning to his work. “I'm Virgil by the way. He/Him. Sorry about that bitch this morning. She really needs to focus more on adequate safety railings and less on how the building looks. Aesthetic is not worth health hazards!” He sort of ranted, definitely trying to make conversation.

“I'm Remus and you're already scared of me, so I don't think you want to hear my actual views. Bugger off to screw in a H&S approved fallout bunker or something.” Remus interrupted before he could say anything else.

“No need to be a jerk, and sorry I'm not interested in losing a paycheck because the boss of a building is an asshole. Yelling and getting attention when I've just finished a place that specifically tried to call your work a biohazard could easily have the company finding some way out of paying for aiding a vandal or whatever.” Virgil snapped back, glaring. “I just wanted to know more because your work looks awesome, but fine, I'll leave asking more for some other day.”

Remus scoffed, throwing his spray bottle to one side and turning, “Yeah, when you decide I'm invisible again because I'm near one of those building's that's contracting you to yell at them. Fantastic chance to ask questions when you won't even glance my way.”

His words must have trigger some confusing thought process for Virgil as his right hand jumped to covering his left forearm, almost brushing over it in an odd pattern. He watched for a moment before turning back to checking the outlines were still clear.

“I can't put my chances of making the rent at stake, but fine, next time I see you I'll find time to stop and at least say hi. I'm going to get to know you, Remus. You can trust me on that, whether you believe it or not.” The words were threatening, and Remus wanted to come up with some actual threats Virgil could have used, but still didn't want to watch him run away.

“Only the naïve trust people instantly. Or the people wanting to use you and twist you into a different shape. I'm neither of those and the only time someone else controls how I twist is when they're bending me over.” He dismissed the promise and started humming again, pretending to focus on his work.

If they spoke for much longer of course he'd say something to have this brittle connection thoroughly sever.

That night Remus was still wondering about Virgil. How concerned he sounded over losing pay, and some vague terrible happening that could follow it.

There was definitely something of his soulmate poem in how the man was speaking and acting, but it just felt like another thing for Remus to hope for and end up destroying.

He had to listen to that old song again, if only to confirm it couldn't be Virgil at all:

Lashing out just to be heard

Worry infusing every word.

Cautious but convinceable,

Dreams their friends invincible.

/Days passing by\

The warning Virgil had given on the first time they encountered each other had been proven right. That company had put up cameras over the footpaths on the buildings, with only a few sections left clear of surveillance.

Remus had refreshed his free-running skills enough to get up onto one of the ledges. He wasn't expecting to get yelled at to get down and that it wasn't safe while checking if there was another layer of moss-paint needed or not.

“Virgil, you're really going to attract attention if you don't quiet down.” Remus sing-songed, leaning to look down from the ledge he was stood on, and grinning at the glare he was being given.

He wasn't expecting Virgil to walk a few steps back before launching himself up the wall. “And you're going to do yourself a freaking injury. Is constantly climbing up here really necessary for you to get the message across?”

“Yes, they're going to keep having the message painted until the listen and actually sort out the waste disposal of the factory.” Remus nodded. Virgil had been speaking to him, and actually seeking out the places Remus would turn up ever since threatening to get to know him. “Besides, a suicide on the property with this message growing afterwards would definitely make the news, get public interest sparked over everything they're doing wrong. Sounds like the perfect storm for them to face.”

“Except the part where you die. Not allowed. You act like you're invincible and I wish to whoever's listening you were.” Virgil snapped, and snatched the brush from Remus's hands for some reason. “Come on, tell me where I'm painting this one, and I'll help. Sooner you get this done, the sooner I can get you safely down from here!”

Remus blinked at the change, wondering whether this was what 'cautious but convinceable' meant before shaking it off. “That's for the darker bits. Currently just look like some discolouring. I'll do the pale bits since the difference for those can't be made out yet. Why would you want me to be invincible anyways? Most people would be glad to see something break me, even if they wouldn't wish me dead. A sever injury, maybe causing paralysis, and they'd all sigh knowing where I am and thinking they could control how much trouble I cause.”

“Sounds like you know a ton of jerks then. You're my Friend Remus. Not many people can say that and I'm not going to let you jeopardise my friend's life all to make a point against horrible business practices.” Virgil lectured, already following the lines, although his shoulders were so tense Remus wondered how his movements with the brush could be so fluid.

In more interesting news that literally sounded like the 2 lines Remus had mentally been insisting couldn't relate to Virgil had fallen into place and suddenly fitted him perfectly. He was singing the soul poem without thinking it, performing a short dance when he realised Virgil was staring.

“So are you writing poems about me now or is that, you know?” Virgil muttered a few moments after he finished singing.

“My soul Poem!” Remus squealed and the only thing that stopped him bouncing was Virgil's eyes quickly falling to his feet. The edge was close behind him and he wasn't going to fall after deciding that Virgil was his soulmate. “Seems to be perfect for you, right?!”

Virgil just nodded, shoving up the sleeve of his jacket and holding the arm out to Remus. “Get away from the edge, read this and have a laugh at what the manager of this place called your art.”

The tattoo was brilliant, with letters that looked like they were bleeding, and thorns twisting together to frame it. Realising the poem actually did describe him only made it better.

“So we are simply meant to be.” Remus grinned.

At least he knew this health and safety inspector wasn't completely against breaking the rules occasionally, at least if it meant they could keep each other safe instead.

#dukexiety #soulmate au #virgil sanders #remus sanders #moss graffiti #graffiti artist remus #H&S inspector virgil

8 notes · View notes

beastars-takes · 4 years

Text

Zootopia Takes: The Power of Really Liking Each Other

Our main event, Beastars Takes, will resume soon, but in the meantime I want to talk about one of my favorite movie relationships:

Has this been talked about to death by other people? Yes. But this is my blog and I write it for free so I can do what I want.

Note: this is not a shipping post--this is just an examination of their canonical relationship in the movie and why it rules.

At first glance, this is your typical enemies-to-friends story. I love those. But while the typical arc tends to involve two characters who can’t stand each other, who eventually develop a grudging respect for one another (often through some kind of shared ordeal) and maybe thaw into actual friendliness at the end. Zootopia packs all of that into the first half--by the midway point they are clearly not just allies, but friends, and by the end of the film they’re inseparable.

It’s important to recognize this isn’t just for the hell of it, or just to be cute--the closeness and trust they build is the linchpin of their success in the final moments of the movie.

All the reasons why, after the jump.

Something I talked about in the previous post was the messaging of Zootopia, and I don’t want to rehash it too much here. It’s a movie about prejudice, and the work it takes to overcome it. A key theme (one that it shares with Beastars, incidentally) is that friendships with those who are different from you are hard--but they are worth it.

Part 1: They Hate Each Other! (Right?)

Now...it goes without saying that when these two first meet, they bounce off each other hard. Each is seeing the other at their absolute worst.

Judy can’t stand Nick because he takes every bit of optimism she has about this world and throws it back in her face. She want to use him as a prop in her vision of an equal society, where “not all foxes” are crooks. He laughs at her. He humiliates her. All he has to do is walk away, but he takes his time. He twists the knife.

For his part, Nick sees a laughably ineffectual bunny who condescends to him and threatens him with jail for the crime of...humiliating her. She may not personally be a threat to him, but she wields the institutional power of the ZPD--a power he has plenty of reason to be afraid of--and she does it irresponsibly.

On first viewing, Nick inarguably wins this exchange. He avoids arrest, reads her to absolute filth and leaves her stuck in cement.

And he makes her really sad. Nice!

But, and I don’t pretend to be the first person to have pointed this out, on second viewing it’s obvious he can guess her story so well because it’s basically his story. The only difference, in his mind, is that he’s accepted the reality that he’ll never be allowed to live the life he wants, while she is still vainly pursuing hers.

I don’t know about you, dear reader, but the people I’ve met who have always most pissed me off are the people who remind me of things I hate about myself. The people who seem to embody the flaws I’ve worked to minimize. Nick’s naive hope is what has brought him the most pain in his life. He sees this bunny full of the same naive hope, surmises that she’s facing the same failures he did and yet stubbornly refusing to learn from them. It’s irritating.

Pictured: irritation.

Maybe I am projecting, but if Nick is anything like me, he probably didn’t walk away entirely happy from this exchange. Yes, he “won,” but he was also reminded of everything about himself that he least wanted to think about.

Part 2: They Are Not Very Good at Hating Each Other

So, the thing about Judy is, she is naive. By default, she assumes people are her friend. But she’s not stupid.

Nick assumes she is stupid, not least because she hasn’t wisely given up on her dreams like he has, and...he learns that she maybe not so fun to pick on after all.

So they wind up doing the first part of this enemies-to-friends routine, allies of necessity.

So, naturally, because he is Him, he makes it his mission to torment her.

In fact, we get two whole scenes where all he does he does is watch her struggle and make this face.

The first read of this behavior is that he’s just enjoying the failures of someone he hates. He says as much later. But I would also argue--from a viewer’s perspective--Judy is ridiculously entertaining and charming throughout these encounters. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and it’s hard not to like people like that.

Is there more happening here than just schadenfreude? I won’t pretend to know for sure. But worth considering.

By the time they’re investigating the limousine, his sabotage has diminished into something more like gentle trolling. And you can’t see this face, in context...

...and tell me she isn’t starting to like him, at least a little bit.

He’s also starting to help! By the time they’re past the minor detour of almost being murdered by a mob boss, he’s entirely cooperative, helping her conduct interviews and look for clues. The movie doesn’t call particular attention to this, but it almost did.

Finally, let’s look at Nick’s behavior when they’re being chased by a rabid jaguar. He could have absolutely booked it, with no regard for the cop who was blackmailing him into helping her.

These moments go by so quickly, but they’re hugely revealing of his true character, even before he defends her in front of Chief Bogo.

He picks her up when she falls.

More importantly, when he gets to the skytram, his first instinct isn’t to jump in--it’s to hold the door for her:

He sees she can’t make it, and she even tells him to leave without her. He doesn’t. He holds the door until he can’t anymore, and as a result he’s nearly killed.

Nick is a good boy.

Part 3: They Are Friends Now

She save his life, so he saves her job. This is a key story beat, and it’s a Disney movie, so there’s not a lot of subtlety (except how the specular highlights in Judy’s eyes fade as Bogo asks for her badge--the light literally goes out of her. Go watch).

But it’s such a sweet moment of teamwork--he was contemptuous toward her from the start because she believed in herself. This is the first time she’s simply given up in the whole movie, and he steps up. Because he believes in her now.

And she believes in him! Or, she wants to.

Judy’s supportiveness here is sweet, but it’s also still a little selfish. It’s not that different from their interaction at the ice cream shop, really: she wants to meet a fox who defies stereotypes, who is easy for her to like. Someone who ticks all the boxes to prove her family wrong.

When he starts being more foxy, later--self-identifying as a predator, showing his claws, challenging her--we learn that her supportiveness is conditional.

Am I being too hard on her? Sure. She’s been in bunny country her whole life. She’s new to this and she’s trying. But that’s where she’s at.

But still! They’re friends now. They’re no longer pretending they don’t like each other. Judy’s openly encouraging, Nick is fully in her corner, and we get a few cute sequences where they keep being more and more impressed with each other.

He’s still not above affectionately messing with her, and she’s getting worse at pretending to dislike it.

And he trusts her enough to let her flush him down a toilet...

Which gives us this heartbreaking shot where he thinks she’s drowned. He cares a whole lot about this bunny.

She likes him too! Enough to want to team up on a more permanent basis. This is pretty standard-fare enemies-to-friends stuff now, but considering where we started, and considering they’ve known each other for all of two days? Not bad!

It’s clear this moment means far more to him than it does to her, too. It’s actually taken very little persuading from Judy to get him to step up and be brave and helpful and trustworthy. The fact that he’s turned around and opened up to her so fast suggests he’s been ready for an opportunity like this for his entire life, and never got it. I mean, look at his face.

The foundational flaw in her worldview is still there, though, and it’s about to do almost-irreparable damage to their whirlwind friendship.

Part 5: Fuck!

So Judy gives her press conference, and gives a great example of why police usually answer every question with “the matter is currently under investigation,” or “we’re not prepared to comment further at this time.” Honestly, though, this is on Bogo--I had coworkers who once did some press interviews, and they spent over a week doing media training. They didn’t even break a major kidnapping case. So, you know.

So she repeats some weird race science stuff she assumes is true because someone in a lab coat said it, which is amusingly similar to how race science (or “race realism”) often propagates--people with low-rent doctorates from crappy universities write a bunch of scientifically shoddy material and people say “well, he has a PhD!”

And then Nick has a PTSD flashback? I don’t want to be irresponsible and make an armchair diagnosis, but also...that is absolutely what is depicted on screen.

You’re not immediately “better” after something like this, which is why I cut Nick a bit of slack when he basically blows up their friendship.

Judy...doesn’t get it. It’s completely heartbreaking, because she likes him, and doesn’t understand why he’s mad, and isn’t self-reflective enough to stop and think maybe he has a point. Not until it’s too late. He tests her, and she fails.

Their friendship has always been a little inequal. He’s trusted her with everything, shown her his deepest vulnerabilities. She’s never trusted him completely.

So he leaves.

I don’t want to impugn her professionalism by suggesting she wouldn’t have quit the force if she hadn’t had that friendship-ending fight, but, you know. Maybe.

This is the second time she gives up, and this time he’s not there to pick her up again.

Judy is intensely goal-oriented, and I don’t think she realized what Nick’s friendship meant to her, as the first person in the city who truly believed in her, until it was too late. Judy is sweet and well-meaning but emotional intelligence is not really her strong suit (which is actually cool to see in a female Disney protagonist, imo).

So, while it would have been nice for her to track Nick down immediately and apologize, I think it makes sense for them to spend time apart. Her own self-perception has been shattered, and she needs time to figure out how she went so wrong.

So when she does come back, she delivers one of the best animated apologies I’ve ever seen. Only AtLA compares, in my mind.

Part 6: They Are Much Better Friends Now

Nick forgives her, because of course he does.

(Sidebar--people talk about how he kept her carrot pen the whole time they were apart. He also kept his handkerchief from Ranger Scouts, AND he only wears shirts that match the wallpaper in his mother’s house. He desperately needs a hug.)

Credit to Nick also, who can’t fight and has no police training whatsoever, who has multiple times been almost killed helping her out, now agreeing to help her out again. She’s not even threatening him with jail this time!

We, the viewers, are then rewarded with this great montage of them being best friends.

She’s finally stopped pretending not to be amused by his shenanigans.

(One other sidebar here--Nick is canonically a really gentle character. For all their adventuring, this is only time in the movie he gets physical with anyone: to protect the bunny. Again, he definitely can’t fight and immediately gets smacked across the room. But it’s the thought that counts, right?)

Per the post title, more visual evidence of them really liking each other.

Judy trips on a dead body, and here we get the second time in the movie that Judy tells Nick to leave without her, and he won’t--this time, he refuses explicitly.

Which then gives us the opportunity for the big moment--the culmination of all this care and intimacy and trust.

In order to con Bellwether, she lets him stalk her, and bite her throat. This has been often pointed out, but it’s important--throughout the movie, Judy’s wriggling rabbit nose has been used as a signifier of fear and suspicion. It wriggles when she’s spying on Nick at the beginning. It wriggles like hell when he confronts her after her press conference.

Not here. Doesn’t move. It’s a great, clearly intentional animation choice that tells a close observer (or more likely, a repeat viewer) that she’s completely unafraid.

She trusts him.

I could write a whole other post about how well-scripted this movie is, how every scene is doing half a dozen different things, but the way the personal and the professional come together here, the way the threads of prejudice and friendship and the police case all tie together in this moment. It’s good shit.

This is basically where things end, in terms of character development, but we get a bunch more shots of them clearly adoring each other:

So there it is.

To sum up, certainly not suggesting this movie invented “characters liking each other,” or anything like that. But it goes above and beyond in portraying a friendship that’s not just one born of circumstance, one that’s authentic and unmistakably loving. Characters who enjoy spending time with each other, regardless of what’s going on around them.

I hope everyone is able to experience friendships like that. I absolutely treasure the few I have.

Appendix: The Shipping Thing

I hope I’ve made all this ship-agnostic, which was my intention. I personally like the ship, and I think the reason it resonates with people is because that love and trust and closeness is clearly there, and a romantic relationship creates a lot more easy opportunities for dialing those things up even higher.

I would also argue, if pressed, that the amount of teasing and physicality that happens reads as pretty flirty. If they were humans I knew in real life, I’d definitely think there was something going on there. But I’m an American, where touching and emotional intimacy tends to be read as romantic. Also, animals are a lot more cuddly than humans. So who knows? I think it’s perfectly reasonable to read them as platonic friends until the end of time.

But, one way or another, they love each other a lot. Shout out to this, one of the most emotionally rewarding relationships I’ve ever seen in a cartoon.

#zootopia #zootropolis #zootopia takes #judy hopps #nick wilde #disney

230 notes · View notes

fletchphoenix · 4 years

Text

Everything You’ll Never See Again

Chapter 11 is here - sorry it’s short, I just wanted to get through this chapter ASAP (You’ll see why when you read it) and..yeah. Thank you for the support - I love y’all loads, and onwards with the chapter!

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

Hugo stood in the kitchen, preparing drinks for all of them as Varian and Ulla sat in the living room catching up. A billion questions flooded his head. How did she know they were here? Did she know Hugo was Donella’s….kind of, sort of son? Why was she coming back now? Varian had said that she left when he was younger and didn’t come back, so why did she suddenly show up now? It didn't make any logical sense - surely Varian must’ve known that. As excited as the boy was to see her again, he had to admit there’s gotta be an ulterior motive for his mother coming back. It had to be selfish, after all that’s the kind of woman Ulla was according to Donella.

He didn’t know Ulla personally, however Donella had told him many stories about her. About how they were friends when they were younger, and used to do a lot of research into alchemy and chemistry along with engineering, and how they were the perfect team. They had worked together in harmony, Hugo having read the few salvaged ones that Ulla hadn’t stolen when she’d left. He was fascinated by the sheer brilliance behind the words they wrote - each one seemed to be meticulously planned without a word being out of place. It was honestly perfect in his eyes how it just flowed so naturally from word to word and made so much sense despite using lengthy, scientific words throughout. He was in awe, however...as soon as Donella saw him with them, she’d immediately taken them and ripped them up right in front of his face as he stood in shock. That was the first time he’d ever seen any emotion on her face - and it was one of his worst memories. Seeing the usually stoic woman with such heartbreak in her eyes at even the sight of her old partner’s handwriting...it hurt. Soon after, she’d told him the story of her and Ulla.

“We were teenagers when we met, only new in the field and trying to establish ourselves.” she began, her gaze on her hands looking distant. “I suppose it was natural that we’d drifted together - with her eccentricity and my seriousness..we made for a force to be reckoned with. Our research was incomparable! We’d done so much together and..well, of course she’d met that man, Quirin and soon got married and pregnant. Suddenly, she never had time to dedicate herself to our studies, it always being her and her family at the top of her priorities. I should have seen it coming, she was always the weaker one when it came to love and romance.” she let out a sigh, and Hugo shuffled closer to her in silence.

“We had an argument - a large dispute. It wasn’t...we both said many things we regretted and..we parted ways for a while, me going to my research and her working alone. However, one night, I made a big revelation. I knew I couldn’t do it alone so I called her. We got back in touch and decided to pursue it. One night, she’d figured it out. She tried to steal all of our papers - mostly my hard work. She threw a test tube at me. I assume it was meant to scare me, but she miscalculated and..” she gestured to the gnarled scar on her cheek, it twisting disgustingly from her chin to just below her lip. “She caught my face and, when she saw what she’d done...she just ran. Ran far far away and I haven’t seen her since”

Hugo silently stirred the coffee, the teaspoon boiling hot at this point as he looked back on how broken his..mother figure was. It was the most emotion she’d ever permitted herself to show him, all of it truly reflecting how betrayed she’d felt. Why did Ulla have to be Varian’s mother? It just wasn’t fair at all how the universe gave him everything he ever wanted and then ruined it by making Varian’s mother the one person his mother despised. It really was just spitting back in his face, huh? He let out a frustrated sigh and picked up the mugs, leaving the room and heading towards the sitting room silently.

Donella wasn’t gonna like this.

Varian sat beside his mother, listening to her ramble on and on and on about the different things she’d done since she’d left him and his father. He didn’t absorb the information, only staring at her face in wonder and confusion. “That’s...that’s great and all, Mother, but...how did you find me?” He questioned, interrupting...whatever adventure she’d been telling him about the whole time. She looked at him and tilted her head slightly, a smile on her face.

“Oh! Me and your father kept in touch - well. Kind of. I went over to his yesterday and asked where you lived. I just..had to see you again. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my baby boy. And look how much you’ve grown up..it’s honestly fascinating…!” she exclaimed, pulling him into another tight hug. “Also, who's that boy you live with? He seems nice!”

“Oh, his name is-” He smiled as, speak of the devil, Hugo strutted into the room and placed the coffee cups on his face, however..something felt off. His shoulders seemed stiffer than usual, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that made him look...almost conflicted. What was he conflicted about? What wasn’t Hugo telling him? “This is my boyfriend, Hugo.” He explained, a smile on his face as Ulla once again extended her hand, Hugo glaring at it and turning away.

“Charmed. Goggles, I’m heading out. I’ll see you later.” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading towards the door. He didn’t understand..why was his boyfriend so distant? Had he done something wrong? He took a second to glance over at his mom, her eyes narrowed and returning Hugo’s previous glare, as if trying to put a name to a face. But that was impossible. They couldn’t have met each other before...right? As soon as that though crossed his mind, Hugo left the bedroom, grabbed his keys and essentially ran out of the front door, giving his boyfriend no chance to say goodbye or..anything. What was going on with that boy?

Immediately, Ulla grabbed her son’s hands and pulled him closer to her. “Varian. I know this is very forward but...you need to break up with that boy. Now.” She declared, Varian moving away in shock and staring at her. Break up..with Hugo? Really? She’d just waltzed back into his life and was trying to command him already? Did she really think that was normal? “I know what you’re thinking...but that boy? His mother is the woman who forced me to leave Corona until it was safe for me to return.”

Varian paused. “What..? What do you mean?”

“His mother- well, motherly figure...is Donella. At least I think so from the fact that he has her old jacket. Aka the woman who I used to conduct my research with. We had gotten far on our projects together, however...she wanted to sell our creations to some..very very bad people. She had threatened me so..for our safety, I took the research notes and ran as far away as I could. I wished I could have come back for you, but with her around..it was too risky. And I’m sure your boyfriend knew, judging by the way he looked at me. I’m...very sorry.”

Varian sat in a shocked silence. Hugo. Hugo was working for the woman who took his mother away from him, and he knew the whole time. He knew that Donella was bad, and yet he still worked for her. His head hurt. He thought Hugo was good - that he loved him and would tell him anything..his fist slowly clenched at his side. He’d been betrayed once, it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen again.

It was time for him and Hugo to have a talk.

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

“WHAT?!” Donella’s usually tight and toneless voice boomed in anger, loud enough that Hugo thought she’d caused the very foundations of the building to shake. His eyebrows furrowed and the hands that had been in his pockets curled into fists in an attempt to calm him down, nails digging in causing painful little spikes. Her usual perfect hair wouldn’t stay in her ponytail, strands sticking out wildly with the older woman making no attempt to fix it whatsoever. She was like a shell of the woman she was only a few minutes prior - shock and discontent plastered over her features at Hugo’s news of Ulla’s return. “I forbid you from seeing that boy. Ulla is trouble and her offspring will be too.” she concluded without a second’s thought, walking away and leaving Hugo with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I-what? No! Mo-Donella, I can’t just break up with Varian! I love him!” he called out, following her down the darkened hallway, knowing full well their argument was bouncing off the steel walls of the warehouse. He didn’t care though - she couldn’t just keep him away from Varian because of some grudge she had! That wasn’t fair on them! He loved that boy with all his heart and soul..Donella could never change that no matter how hard she tried!

“I don’t care if you love him or not, Hugo. I am your m-” she stopped herself, her feet stilling. “I am your boss and you WILL do what I say or you’re going to have to leave! It's me or the boy!” she yelled, continuing to walk. Surely the boy would get the message- a bang sounded on the floor. She turned to see her jacket in a pile on the floor, Hugo glaring at her with defiant eyes.

“Then I choose him.” Hugo stated, clear as day. The..he was leaving her? She watched him walk down the hall, her feet stuck to the floor as she tried to get over the shock to her system. Her own son- well...student was leaving her for some stupid boy - Ulla’s son no less! It was a sickening thought, making her double over, until she finally concluded. “He’ll be back.” She muttered to herself as she continued her trek down the hall, though a part deep deep down inside of her silently prayed that he wouldn’t. That he would find happiness and love with Varian. It’s what the boy deserved. She just hoped the other boy didn’t hate him for her actions..

Hugo sprinted home, throwing open the door. “Varian, hey- I have something I need to-” he paused when he saw Varian, standing with a glare on his face and his arms folded. He looked murderous, blue eyes filled with the utmost contempt for Hugo. He’d never seen that look on the boy before...and it made him freeze up in fear. Had he always looked that terrifying?

“You’re working for the woman that took my mother away from me. And you knew this whole time. Didn’t you?” Oh god. His voice sounded so spiteful, all his love for Hugo turned into hatred in just a few hours. He should’ve told him, but how could he have even entertained the idea that Ulla would show up out of nowhere? “Answer me.”

“Varian I-I didn’t mean to-”

“You did! OH MY GOD, HUGO! You have no idea how much I prayed for my mother to be lying to me about that, but she wasn’t! I-Get out! I never want to see you again!” Varian yelled, tears flowing freely down his cheeks as he clenched his fists at his sides. Hugo wanted nothing more than to pull the boy into his arms, comfort him and tell him how truly sorry he was...but he guessed that wasn’t a possibility anymore. He felt his heart shatter as he looked at the boy for longer. Surely he didn’t mean that..

He slowly reached his hand out to the younger, a frown on his features. “Varian..”

Varian slapped it away and screamed at him. “WE’RE DONE! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? YOU RUINED MY LIFE SO-SO JUST GET THE HELL OUT! NOW!” And with that, Hugo felt his heart break for good, a million pieces shattering on the floor as tears started to well in his eyes, before he quickly turned away and ran.

NO. No this can’t be happening. This CAN'T BE HAPPENING!- He couldn’t lose Varian! He was-he was the only thing he had left! He ran as fast as he could through the rain, feeling it soak through the T-shirt and trousers he was wearing before he finally turned into the warehouse. He stared at Donella, tears building before running forward and wrapping his arms around her, letting out the emotions he’d pent up for so long...crying freely into the shirt of the older woman.

Donella merely petted his hair and sunk to the floor, hugging him for the first time ever. She couldn’t bear to see him like this - she’d prayed this wouldn’t happen to him. That he wouldn’t get his heart broken so young..but he did. She sighed and muttered to him. “It’s going to be okay, son..don’t worry.” She whispered to him, holding him close.

Ulla was going to pay for this.

#varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian x hugo #varian tangled #tangled varian #hugo tangled #tangled hugo #alchemy boyfriends #varigo coffee shop au

35 notes · View notes