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halcyone-of-the-sea · 7 months

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The Invisible String Theory

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You didn't expect the man who gave you his coat to be the same one to bust down the door where you and the other women slept - sniper hood scaring everyone within an inch of their life. You didn't expect him to become so important to you, either. (Based on König's in-game backstory).

WORDCOUNT: 9.2k

WARNINGS: Human trafficking, mentions of unwanted touching, trauma, blood, gore, guns, bullets, protective!König, soft!König, nightmares, mentions of bullying, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

'DATE: 25, NOVEMBER, 2021

LOCATION: BERLIN, GERMANY

TIME OF EVENT: 0230

MISSION REPORT: PENDING….'

You don’t remember much from the day that could be called out of the ordinary. Ever since you’d been moved here with the other girls, everything was predictable down to the time the men would come over, to the point where the screams had to be muffled by pillows.

Never in your life did you think you’d be part of the nearly fifty million people stuck in this situation, and neither did you think you’d be the one in one hundred who got out. But before you can think about November twenty-fifth and those pale gray eyes, you have to go back to the beginning. To Al-Qatala.

You hadn’t been with this cell initially—you’d been moved around and bartered off more times than you could count; the initial founder of your predicament was long gone at this point. North and South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, and Oceania…you’d been practically everywhere and on every continent barring the obvious last. In Europe, you couldn’t name the countries, but you knew this for a fact: you’d never been to Germany before.

They had you with five other women in a large SUV in the beginning, this international ring of human traffickers. You had watched from the window, face blank and eyes unblinking, at the men who met near the docks. They had brought you in through Hamburg, first—not only the largest seaport in Germany but the third largest in Europe; you think you read that on a flier at some point. One of those flimsy ones that you find in gas stations with bright lettering to attract the tourists with their interesting facts.

You wished you were only a tourist.

You’d watched the men shake hands, and that was when you knew your fate, as well as that of the five other women, was sealed. You were going to all be here for a long time.

This Al-Qatala cell was ruthless, but you supposed with being around terrorists, ruthlessness was better than being executed.

For days you’d be exploited with the false promises of moments of freedom, breaks, food, and water. For some of the women it was drugs or money, but when your stomach was empty and your eyes blurring from lack of sleep, even addictions seemed to pale for brief hours. But above it all was the threat of death at every corner. These men would kill you.

It was only a matter of time unless you could give them what they wanted.

You yourself had developed a system, and it was probably the only reason you were still alive. Pick one of the handlers, gain his favor, and pray that he treats you specially while you keep up the act of a mindless, weak, woman.

Ivon was the man’s name this time around. Born and raised here in Berlin before the clutches of his fanatical ideations brought him to Al-Qatala. You hated him.

Hated his touch—hated his scent and how he talked; every bit of him was corrupted like a black dog at a crossroads, always leading people down the wrong path. Your only saving grace was that he was stupid. The other girls called you Cat—said you managed to nuzzle up to someone and soon after got them to give you what you wanted. Everything you wanted except freedom, that was.

You didn’t deny that Ivon did give you privileges, but that was the point. About a week into your stay in Berlin, he allowed you to go into public with him. Arm-candy.

A doll.

The townhouse you’d been stuck in had disappeared into a spec behind the rearview mirror, the chilled air from outside making you shiver at the lack of heat and the thin shawl you’d been thrown. No jacket.

The care of your health only extended to how well you were able to work—at the moment you were relatively healthy despite the bulge of bruises and constantly shell-shocked look behind your eyes.

But the trip—the trip. You supposed that was when it had fully started, and you didn’t even realize it before you saw those gray eyes again.

“Come,” Ivon orders, holding tightly to your arm and dragging you along from the corner shop without making a scene. Your hands loosely brush the wrack of clothes, fabric soft under your fingertips as it sways.

Fixing your shawl, you try to burrow your neck into it, gaining what little heat is available to you. It was cold out—you were shivering. People send looks, eyes tight as they shift up and down your form, but no one ever says anything. To be this bold, this cell had to have been at this for a long, long time. The realization didn’t make you feel any better.

That was when you first saw him.

You were standing outside a coffee shop, quivering like a newly hatched butterfly, Ivon making a call only a few feet away with fast motions of his arms. It was hard not to make a run for it right then and there; hard not to take those few seconds of open air and dash away—start screaming and yelling until the authorities came.

It would save yourself, but what about the others? They wouldn’t be so fortunate, you’d be sentencing them to death. None of this was simple—it needed to be thought out. Two games of chess being played at the same time.

The irony of it was that König had been off-duty that day. It had been a shot in the dark.

“Are you alright?” A thick Austrian accent makes you flinch as it appears beside your right ear, grating.

Your eyes snap to the side, moving one foot back as you blink wildly up at the blue-gray orbs that would become a staple. You liked to call it as everyone else did—the invisible string theory. A theory that stated that the universe connected people who were destined to meet one day. Through thick or thin waters, it was inevitable. He was inevitable.

“Yes,” you say quickly, holding your hands tightly around you. The man ahead of you was tall, almost startlingly so, with muscles more bulky than a boulder and his buzz-cut head open to the chilled breeze. He wore a surgical mask over his lower visage, his hoodie under the thick material of a canvas jacket. “Yes,” you say again, hearing Ivon’s voice behind you still on the phone. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Gray eyes furrow slightly, gaze darting over your head.

“Are you…sure, Ma’am?”

“Thank you for your concern,” you fake laugh, eyes pained, backing up farther. That invisible string snaps into place, pulling tight at only those few simple words.

His stature made you slightly nervous—large, intimidating; those hands could do quite the damage if given the chance. Your eyes had hit and bounced off the identity discs at his chest with little thought, too preoccupied to notice the fact that he was in the Service.

König’s eyes had narrowed softly, dark brows minutely moving in.

Ivon hangs up his phone.

“Can I help you?” He asks, coming up and sliding a hand around your waist. The man had stared at him for a long minute, and you had felt Ivon tense slowly at the unblinking eye contact.

This stranger had commented in German a long string of frim words, hands going to his jacket and grabbing at the arms—he slips out of it while still uttering.

Before you can react, the large coat swallows you whole and you snatch at the heat that’s still inside instinctually, now only realizing how much you were shivering. Your body sags into the weight of the fabric, the scent of sweat and coffee.

You don’t even pay attention to the growing tones, shocked. People look over to the two fast words being tossed.

Yet it could only last so long.

Ivon’s hand latches onto the side of your arm, beginning to drag you back and away from this kind stranger like a lap dog while throwing curses behind him. Gray eyes meet yours as old shoes skid and stumble.

König had taken a firm step towards you that day, his body tense and his hands clenched at his side—ready to do anything on a moment's notice should you ask for it. But all you do is stare, jaw loose, and the given coat still on your shoulders. You just couldn’t understand why he would do that.

The stranger gets swallowed by the crowd, and just like that, he’s gone.

That was all it had been; a moment—a few mere seconds in the large plot that was this almost impossible tale. You were glad it had been him, or else the events of the future could have been very different.

Of course, they hadn’t let you keep the jacket, but the memory was enough to warm you for days even as old pains faded and new ones took their place.

But those gray eyes would help you in the future, like a guardian; a protector in your dreams as you watched the snow fall from the sliver of outside light in your room with the others. Your mattress was on the floor like the rest, thin blankets and clouds of cold breath wafting up from sleeping forms.

This was the time it happened, and you’d just woken up to find the curtains shifting as one of the women near it moved in her sleep. Shadows slip past, the light interrupted as it shifts over your tired face with broken fractures.

You were always kept on the ground floor.

'CLEARANCE: APPROVED

TRANSLATING MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’…

STAND BY…

Operation Red Freedom took place on November twenty-fifth, 2021, at approximately 0230 in the neighborhood of [REDACTED], at the residence of [REDACTED], Berlin, Germany. A squad of ten highly trained [REDACTED] personnel covertly entered the residence in two teams of five. Fireteam One advanced from the back entrance while Fireteam Two entered the residence from the balcony at the top floor, accessed via ladder.

Squad Leader [REDACTED], part of Fireteam One, set foot in the residence of [REDACTED] at approximately 0238 and began sweeping the ground floor as Fireteam Two cleared three of twelve known individuals belonging to the terrorist organization, Al-Qatala, on the top floor….'

You shift and shiver, your body trying to warm itself as the world blurs at the sides of your vision. Fingers twitch as your hand goes to wrap your waist, curled into the fetal position, creaking emanates from above you. Blinking softly, you frown and take a quivering breath, head nuzzling the thin mattress.

“Cold,” you say, the following low exhale of air out of your lips only making it all worse as everything seems to drop another degree. The darkness didn’t help either, only that one line of light trying desperately to fill the room like a bucket descending into a dry well.

You’re only clothed in the dirty and tattered remains of a large shirt, your legs feeling like they don’t hold any blood in them as they quiver without your knowledge—shaking the blanket above you. A few of the girls had said it would be okay to share, but everyone was afraid of the lock on the door clicking open and the men coming back in and seeing them. In the end, you could only look after yourself.

A thump makes you startle, drooping eyes snapping back open as you gasp.

Head shifting, you blink rapidly upward to the ceiling, confused as to whether that had been a part of a failing mind or if you’d really just heard a muffled bump upstairs. Brows furrowing, you lightly sit up, hands still around yourself and legs limply outward; spine hunched.

Your fingers had lost feeling, just as your nose had gone numb, but moving helped a little. Your hands dig into your flesh and your ears twitch at every creak in the wood—every pass of silent feet that suddenly becomes all the clearer as the sheen of fatigue slowly leaves your brain.

Walking? Small pains move along your body like needles, poking and prodding, but you ignore them as easily as you do the vile hands that had touched you. Survival had forced you into a constant state of self-preservation—pain couldn’t bother you, because if you stopped, you wouldn’t get back going again.

Your head tilts so you can side-eye the door to the room, sleeping forms all around shifting, singular groaning of tired lungs. But there’s something inside of you that stiffens like a prey animal, and you don’t know why. Inside of your sockets, your eyes hone in, bones stiff and your chest stilling as the grain becomes the most interesting thing to you beyond breathing.

There was someone….out there.

Watching, the sides of your vision shadow over to focus harder, your muscles tight. Your mind goes to the thumps from upstairs, the moving feet that sounded far more careful and deliberate than the ones your jailors took care to walk with.

Inside your ribs, your heart patters a bit faster, adrenal glands sending a certain flight or flight through the few veins you hold that aren’t chilled over.

Something was happening. Something wasn’t right.

Only when you move to shake the shoulder of one of the women sleeping beside you does it happen.

A yell.

A scream.

The girls in the room all startle awake, sounds of concern and shock entering the air that you mirror; faces snapping to the ceiling and the door. The townhouse erupts into gunfire and the sound of slamming wood—a warzone that only is separated from all of you by the thin material of the four walls.

You feel yourself being grabbed and held in fear in the dark, as your open face holds the expression of a rabbit in an open field, looking along the long, hidden grass.

The sounds persist, loud German shouts going up over the house and echoing with heated fever. This continues for minutes, added in with the sound of doors breaking off hinges, bouncing off the ground, and shaking the foundation so hard that you can feel it reverberate. The women go silent. Stone-still.

But the gunfire—so much gunfire. The constant pop of assault weapons and a pound of multiple booted feet.

What was going on? You can't make sense of it, so you only freeze and listen; trying to understand the longer the fight goes on, heart hammering; mouth slack-jawed. And then it’s like it never happened.

Silence.

You share quick looks with the others, all gripping one another and heads angled to the door. The heavy feet start back up again, coming closer. Your mind slashes to the window across the room, but it’s hard to think beyond the sudden body that shakes the door that leads directly to you all—the women scream, some standing up and racing to the glass with the same idea as you.

'…Squad Leader [REDACTED], and both Fireteams successfully eliminated all targets inside of the [REDACTED] residence, leaving the room occupied by known hostages last to prevent casualties and/or the usage of bargaining chips. Squad Leader [REDACTED] made contact with hostages at approximately 0244 after the final sweep of the townhouse had been completed and all personnel accounted for.

Local authorities had been contacted by neighbors due to noise but were dismissed.'

The door busts off its hinges and the room devolves into panicked yells and hurled bits of mattress material. Loud pleas and curses stuck like gums to teeth as they were forced out in fear and bone-crushing terror. You remember pushing back into the wall, many others doing the same, as a beast of a man enters the room with his face covered with a loose fabric hood of some sort.

Large—brutish. Like a demon walking with the color of black printed over his entire body; gear hangs from a combat vest, hands holding an assault rifle as a sidearm is strapped to his bulging thigh. Forearms the side of your head stays near his chest, and in order to not hit his head on the doorframe, the individual has to bend slightly. Over that hood, the lenses and head-gear of a night-vision rig sit heavily before it’s moved back with a firm hand that is nearly double the size of yours.

A monster.

Your entire being is tight with quivering tension, eyes blinking away tears at the smell of blood that rolls in from the hallway. The women at the window duck down, hands to their heads as if expecting a bullet to carve its way between their skulls.

“Cat,” one of the ladies behind you mutters, voice quivering. You shush her on bitten lips and move her farther behind you.

“Don’t speak,” you mutter. “Don’t move.”

You don’t know what you expect, but nothing about this is correct.

The man raises his hands, the rifle slapping his chest as it hangs from a strap. He speaks in German, and the heavy and fast noise of it makes your already addled head spin. No one answers beyond the slide of their own feet over the hardwood floors.

“Ich heiße König,” his head swivels from one to another, “Sprichst du Deutsch? Irgendjemand?”

You stare blankly, panting.

After a moment, and a slow step forward from the stranger, he speaks again, though this time, it’s in English.

“My name is König.” His voice is familiar to you, and you blink in confusion quickly, hidden near the back of the shaking bodies. “I am with the German Military, yes? We have conducted a raid on this residence.”

Military? Raid?

“...I am not here to hurt you.” He nears one of the women, beginning to bend down slowly. She squeaks, balking back—making him tense and halt. It didn't matter what he said, König was the epitome of a man who was intimidating on body alone; the gear wasn’t helping. Neither was the hood.

A soldier appears in the doorway, calling out to him in his native language as you flinch at the noise.

König calls back calmly, trying to keep an air of gentle strength around him.

The second soldier comes inside, dressed similarly despite the lack of fabric over his visage which instantly puts many at ease again. He clears his throat as König steps back, gargantuan hands coming up to rest at his vest collar as his legs shift. He seems a bit put off at the fearful stares from everyone, rolling his shoulders for a moment as he turns his head to look out of the doorway.

Your eyes don’t move from him, though. A nagging feeling in the back of your skull.

“We have to leave this place,” the second soldier tells you all, kneeling and resting a hand over his knee. “We’ll get you medical attention. Food. Water. There’s no need to suffer here any longer, hm? We can see to it that all of you will get the best care that can be provided.” A pause. “We can get you back home.”

That certainly got the attention that was needed.

Meek questions started falling out, then louder ones before pandemonium was roused in that tiny room pushed to the very back of the townhouse. Home. It was a word that had almost lost all meaning but was still that constant shining light in the back of everyone’s mind.

Home.

Did you even have one of those left?

As the rest of your fellows all got to their feet, taking you with them, you had to think over that fact as the soldier guided them gently out of the room to join the others waiting—trying to answer their questions and get them away from the gore before they saw it.

You stayed behind, feet shifting over the floor and your lips thin. As the silence settles in, you hold yourself a bit tighter and glance at the mattress all mashed together and stained—those thin blankets as you shiver.

“Are you alright?” Your head snaps over.

You’d forgotten about König.

He still stands there, still and with his hands at his collar; he clears his throat softly, speaking up from his low utterance. “Please…do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you say tinily, your voice cracking in the lie.

You can’t see his eyes—not with the shadow from his hood or his head rig, but you can see the way his skull lightly tilts to the side, trying to see you better in the low light.

“That is good,” he answers, not convinced. “I’m glad. I did not wish to scare anyone.” He moves back and motions with a hand to the door from where they hang. “Please. It is best not to linger, yes?”

“Do I…” you hesitate, shivering. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

König’s face isn’t visible, but you can still sense the feeling of confusion leaking out of him. The man takes a small step closer, and you gaze up at him until his eyes are visible.

Blue-gray.

You stare, mouth parting in shock.

König blinks twice, quickly making a noise in the back of his throat at the sight of your eyes gazing into his—the same woman outside of the coffee shop from days ago.

That little invisible string pulls you closer, small millimeter by small millimeter.

“You?” You both say it at the same time, laced with surprise and shock.

It’s a long moment of gazing into each other, a battered body and another more strong than an ox. All fear of the man dissipates.

“You gave me your jacket,” you whisper, still torn up about it.

König’s hood shifts as he glances back to the door, German speech over the radio strapped to his chest which he takes in and processes in the back of his skull. But he always looks back at you, eyes crinkled with concern and perhaps even a bit of misplaced guilt.

A protective knife sides into his side.

“Come.” The man reaches out a hand, hovering it over your arm. You stare at the gloved limb for a moment before softly moving towards it with your breath caught in your throat, hesitant. König’s fingers delicately slide over the flesh, not closing around it until he feels your muscles loosen. “...Let’s get you warmer, Schatz, yes?”

You blink.

“It’s cold here,” you mutter, letting him guide you along, his gray orbs always keeping you in the side of his vision.

“Yes,” he agrees, nodding. “Very cold. Have you been to Germany during the winter before?”

Your head slightly shakes, bare feet padding along next to the pair of great boots—you lean closer unconsciously to the promise of warmth. König guides you away from the seeping blood on the floor and protects your eyes from the view of the bodies across the room with his own as a guard dog would.

“No.” He notices your leaning and brings you nearer to him, letting you use him as a brace. The man knows the effects of shock, and you wear it as plainly as any other. “I’ve never been here before.”

König hums and his free hand goes up to press into the radio, muttering in his native tongue. He releases the connection and asks as he blinks at you, “Do you require any immediate medical attention?”

Again, you shake your head.

“Where are the others?” You sink further into him, being guided to the front door, open to the soft snowfall and a chilled wind as your shoulder hunch.

“Just outside,” König glances at the bodies across the room—the ones he’d riddled with bullets that still twitch even as the minutes draw longer. Gray eyes going from one to another, the house is heavy with the weight of dead men. Twelve in total and all getting colder just like the temperature outside. König didn’t feel bad about it, and when he’d finally busted open that door to find you and the women, he was satisfied with the blood on his hands. If hell were to be his home, he would walk there with a golden-fanged smile.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

“I will bring you to them,” the soldier speaks, snow blowing in from the entrance. “Slowly, now, Schatz, watch the steps. Allow me to help.”

You stop at the doorway, bringing a hand to your mouth to cover a haggard cough as König makes his way down the first concrete step ahead of you—large armored vehicles had pulled up from a ways away. The women huddle around one another, the rest of the soldiers sticking by them and opening the doors to the vehicles as the night gets only more cold and stormy.

Gray eyes flicker for a moment down to your lack of proper protection, fingers twitching and tapping at his thigh as König remembers your expression the day he’d first met you.

“Do you want me to carry you?” He says slowly, cautious in his approach. The man wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch you unless you explicitly stated it was alright for him to do so. “I will be gentle, I promise. I do not wish for your feet to freeze, I...” He pauses as you blink, staring into his soul. “I…will not touch you if you do not tell me to do it. You have my word.”

You continue to stand there for a moment, face unreadable before your head slowly turns to the vehicles in the street.

The neighborhood was so normal it still caused you to wonder how no one had spoken up and seen something. Rows of connected houses now with their lights on—faces peeking from the windows like little children on Christmas morning; trying to get glimpses of Santa and the man’s reindeer.

Finally, your gaze moves back to the hooded visage of König, able to see it better under the moonlight and the glare of falling snowflakes—a few of those frozen pieces sitting in the folds of the fabric.

“The hood scared them,” you utter about the others. König stiffens a bit, blinking at you but not looking away. “They’re used to people trying to hide their faces, but yours…with how large you are…”

“I understand.” König doesn't tear away his eyes. “...Did I scare you, Schatz?”

You don’t know why, but for what seems like the first time in years, the question makes you giggle. The beast of a man goes still with his feet on the ground, usually jittery and moving body captivated by the sound as it echoes over the night’s air—the puff of your breath as it moves around his hood; rustling it like leaves on a tree.

Eyes widening only a sliver more, König’s breath is in his throat.

It was like listening to a bird’s song.

“Maybe only a little,” you whisper to him. “But it’s okay. I’m scared of most things.”

He licks his lips, but you’re unable to see the slight quirk of them afterward.

“Then I will make it up to you, yes?” He holds out a hand. “Let me? The car is warm and your friends are waiting for you. My men say they ask about your health.”

You softly nod, the shadow of the house trying to drag you back into it—its blackened arms reaching and latching onto old scars. When your hand connects with König's, the man takes his time putting one foot back to a step and scooping you up from behind your knees. With a tiny grunt, you settle at his chest, calming your heartbeat with the fact that you know he won’t hurt you.

“I’ve got you,” he says.

In his arms, your bare legs hang in the air, hand wrapping his neck, and with a slightly nervous look to you as your body hovers. König watches for a moment, hesitating before he begins walking to the same vehicle the other woman had been moved into out of the snowfall.

“Can you tell me your name,” he asks to distract you from his hold, to get you more comfortable with him as his boots crunch through the packed powder on the ground—making sure to watch his step so as to not jostle you.

“Everyone calls me Cat.” Gray eyes blink your way, visible skin painted black. König’s head tilts. You can’t help but find it endearing.

“Katze?” He hums, and you can imagine his lips moving slightly upwards from the innocent tone of his voice as if taken by the strange moniker. “That is…interesting.”

You huff tinily, shivering again as your body moves to curl a little more.

The soldier quickly reassures you. “Nearly there.”

The vehicle is in front of you, and a nearby man opens the door for König as he carries you over. Nodding in thanks, the large individual eases you into one of the seats as the blast of warm air makes you sag—the other woman in there mulls closer, grabbing onto you and laughing through tears.

Looking back at them, you smile and feel yourself get a bit teary-eyed as everything starts to slowly come into focus.

Glancing outward, you stare at the snow that hits the dark hood of König, sticking and hanging off until the tiny white dots melt from the heat of his body. With his legs shifting he moves back a step and nods to you, eyes moving to stare at the ground for a moment.

“We will take you to base. From there you will all be given dorms and fresh apparel to—”

“Thank you, König,” you interrupted him. He stares, lips parted with the half-tones of cut-off speech. “And please extend my thanks to your men as well.”

“...Of course, Katze.” König stands straighter, always twitching fingers moving to the car door as engines start with a grinding roar. He nods again, the loose fabric swaying as the lenses of his rig stay firm at the movement. “There is no need to thank us. Relax. Sleep, if you wish to do it. The ride will be long.” The man’s gray eyes linger for a moment on your own, studying the bumps and small marks on your face. His hand tightens over the door as your gaze is stuck with his own; warmth blooming in his chest. He was glad he had found you.

König slips out a soft, “There are blankets under the seats,” before he closes the door with a firm thump of metal.

You can’t help but smile.

'…Hostages were taken back to [REDACTED] and received minor medical attention on site. Housed in [REDACTED] and were admitted for needed treatments/medications - all details/names listed in File 3 Section 6 for future reference. DNA was placed into databases.

Next of kin were informed of their family members’ position and/or state of being via phone call to the corresponding government official that then traveled through the appropriate channels once identified.'

You sit as a nurse hands you heating pads for your hands, which you take with a small thanks and clenched tightly, sucking every ounce of warmth from them to stop the shaking. Your body was heavy with the weight of new clothes and heated blankets, the room utterly normal in a way you’d not known for years. A corner table with books and a chess board—a connected bathroom stocked with amenities you may need; even a rug on the tile floor. You don’t know why that was shocking to you, but even the simplest thing was awe-inspiring. Your eyes had even slipped over a tiny nightlight near the door.

It nearly made you cry.

Your nurse moves back a bit, smiling down at you kindly.

“Is there anything else you might need, Dear?” Her accent is prominent, though not as much as König’s had been. She waits for your answer diligently as the pitcher of water and a similar glass sit on your nightstand.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Your socked feet rub together like a grasshopper. “I think that’s all.” Your eyelids blink. “But…” you stop.

“What is it?” The lady asks gently, hands slack at her sides.

“The man—König,” you pause. “Is he here?”

Blinking at you, the nurse tilts her head to the side in curiosity. “Not currently, no. At least, not in this specific building. He and his men are being debriefed across base. They will be there for a long while.” At your blank look, her brows slightly move up in accommodating comfort. “Would…you like me to tell him something for you?”

Playing with the heating pads in your hands, your face gains a slightly embarrassed sheen. You liked the thought of being near König, truthfully. No one had made you feel safe like he did—him and his selfless action of a large coat given with no intention of getting anything in return.

“Just,” you breathe softly. “Just that I’m sorry for losing his coat, and that I hope it wasn’t expensive.”

The nurse stares, very much confused but not about to question you. Her feet shift over the floor, and a light nod is sent your way.

“Of course. I’ll tell him.” She motions to the bed with a hand and explains that whenever you wished to sleep, you were free to use the bed—and the TV was open to you as well, though you might not be able to understand the local stations. With that, she exited the room.

Left alone, your head moves around the room slowly, taking it all in once more as the small bandages under your clothes pull at your flesh. The tears start slipping down your cheeks with no warning.

Wrist coming up to your eyes, the limb presses in tightly, water staining the flesh as it dribbles down, and your lip quivers like a worm below it. You don’t know why you’re crying now and not when König had gotten you out of that townhouse. Why now, when there wasn’t anything prompting you to do so?

But something was prompting you—the knowledge that you would never be going back to anyone who would mistreat you again. You had your own room. Good food. All the water that your stomach could drink down. A nightlight that pushes back the darkness even if you’re so used to living in it.

Through your soft sniffles, chuckles move out, filling the space with a warm echo. You pull the blankets closer to you and collapse backward onto the mattress, smiling widely at the ceiling.

That little invisible string dances as your heart pulls at it.

—

König’s leg lightly jumps from under his table, signing off his name at the bottom of a report before he stands and rubs a hand over the top of his un-hooded head. He grabs the paper and slips it into a manila folder, hands pale with deep scars running the length of them like fissures in the earth. Deftly taking the item, he walks out of his office and begins moving down the length of the building, fingers tapping over the yellowish material with a small connection of flesh and thick envelope.

Tap-tap, tappity-tap.

His fingers were always fidgeting—moving, tensing, twitching. It was one of the reasons they never let him become a recon sniper; the more obvious being the blatant size of his body. Both of which had been the cause of much teasing throughout his childhood.

But König’s mind was on something other than the report in his hands, and it was starting to become a very strong distraction. You. The women. Al-Qatala.

He was angry he hadn’t acted outside of that coffee shop—angry he hadn't noticed the signs right in front of him even if he had been powerless to stop it then. The soldier’s jaw clenched, the strong muscles of his jaw roving.

“Verdammt,” he hisses under his breath, glaring at the tile. “Should have done something.”

König gets to his commanding officer’s office and knocks, only staying long enough to hand him the folder with his finished report and leave once more. His mind wouldn’t stay silent tonight. There’s no doubt that he won’t be able to sleep unless he reassures himself that you and the others are okay.

The man’s head shifts back to the email he had gotten from your assigned nurse, whom he’d taken it upon himself to know the name of when he carried you into the base’s hospital—Eva.

‘...She says she wants to apologize for losing your coat…”

König’s heart had twisted at that—that was what you were concerned about? He had to tell you that it was alright, or else he would never know peace. Perhaps even ask how you’ve been treated so far, just to make sure that everything was comfortable for you.

The man’s eyelids move slightly downward in thought, a pull at his heart to walk outside. He passes a few other soldiers in the hallway, nodding to them with a tiny greeting but unwilling to stop and talk. In only fatigues, König exits the main doors quickly, lightly moving into a jog as his body shivers at the sudden chill touching his arms under the black compression shirt. Under him the snow has grown deeper, the large lights illuminating the almost greenish reflections of the winter landscape of open roads and large buildings.

Curfew was long past—this had to be quick.

Just a check-in, König tells himself as he nears the hospital, his breath puffing in the air. Then I can wipe my hands of it.

He slows as he nears the doors, huffing a breath as he pushes on the barrier, opening it with a squawk of hinges and metal. Entering, the front desk staff looked up at him in surprise, muttering his name in question.

“Katze?” He responds, pushing a hand over his head and feeling the melting snowflakes. His cheeks are a light shade of exposure-red, and inquisitive eyes shift over the two individuals slowly. “What room?”

The pair share a glance and tell him in the same breath. Room ten.

It’s no sooner after that König finds himself there, hand hovering over the handle as the hallway clock ticks beside his right ear. His gray eyes blink at the door, feet shuffling from under him before he clears his throat under his breath, glancing away for a second in hesitation.

Was this appropriate?

König didn’t have an answer, but the pull in his chest was tight and firm—he just needed to see you. A glimpse, nothing more. He raises his fist and raps his knuckles over the wood delicately, three tiny knocks that hit his ears like bullets from a gun; the bullets he’s put into pathetic Al-Qatala bodies and watched burst like sacks of fluid.

He waits, hands going to grasp at his shirt collar, pushing out a low breath to calm himself.

After a long moment, his foot taps the floor, blinking. Again he knocks—a bit louder.

“She is sleeping, you evolutionsbremse,” he utters, accent low and grating. “Leave her alone.” But even if you are, his nerves peek their head over the brimstone wall of his brain.

With his fingers caressing the handle, slowly moved to clutch it fully, swallowing the metal in his grip. König takes a deep breath into his lungs, letting it fill them up. Again, he tells himself, just a check-in.

He twists the doorknob and sets his forearm on the wood, pushing the barrier open.

König moves so that his body makes no noise, even with how large it is as he angles the side of his head through the opening. He finds a large mound of blankets atop the bed—stacked and layered so heavily that he has to blink in surprise at how you can breathe under them; because you were under them.

Gray eyes make out the small sliver of skin peaking out from the side of the bed—fingers—and the top of your forehead near the pillows formed around your skull. Unconsciously, a soft smile works its way over König’s lips until he finds himself chuckling.

“Niedlich,” he mutters, scars over his face shifting as he speaks.

Sighing lowly, König pulls back his head, beginning to close the door once more.

“König…?” Your tiny voice makes him halt like he had in the townhouse.

Eyes wide and lips parted at being caught, the door remains open, only a sliver visible to your vision as your furrowed brows are stuck at the barrier. A red sheen moves across the soldier’s face in a slow sweep of embarrassment that goes bone deep.

With a lick of his lips, König re-opens the door slightly.

“I did not mean to wake you, Katze.” He finds your eyes and nods to you. “I apologize. Go back to sleep—you must be tired.”

“Wait,” you utter, moving your head fully out from under the blankets. König pauses, eyes staring as his other hand comes up to itch at the back of his neck.

“What is it,” the man asks, opening the door fully and moving inside. “Do you need anything?”

The question had hit you in your thin slumber, interrupted only partially by the opening of your door to the familiar pull of gray eyes and a strong build. A buzz-cut head. You take a slow breath to wake yourself up more, watching him from your bed. “...Did you know that I would be in that house?”

König tilts his head at the question, sighing slightly and glancing at the clock inside of the room on your nightstand. He frowns.

“No,” he explains gently, coming closer. “No, I did not. I do not get told such things—only where to shoot and where not to.” The man tries a small smile, kneeling on one leg down by the bed and staring into your sleepy eyes. “But I am glad I found you again, yes? You had me worried.”

“You were worried?” You can’t quite grasp it.

“Ja,” he nods. “Your eyes—they have stuck with me, Schatz, you understand?”

Your eyebrows pull up your face, blinking in shock.

“...Yours, too,” you confess. König’s heart flutters, listening until your lips have fallen still. “They’re very nice, König.”

He goes sheepish, lips flicking up into a smile and his eyes daring away for a moment. “You can thank my mother for them, then.” He chuckles. “I have stolen the family's eyes, I was told.”

You chuckle with him, hand coming to rub at your cheek. A silence falls between the two of you.

“I don’t sleep well,” you tell him in the relative darkness, light from the hallway and your night light illuminating the dips and bone structure of his face. “I was awake when you opened the door.”

He nods after a moment. “Ja.” A pause. “I don’t either…Nightmares?”

You watch him before nodding tinily.

“Ah,” he mutters. “They are not pleasant, I’m sorry that they have been plaguing you. Do you…” König wonders if he should leave—this was far more than he had anticipated. “Do you wish for me to stay?”

Why had he said that?

The string between the two of you tightens evermore, gaining another thread just as it would for the years to come until it became as unbreakable as steel.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” you begin but are quickly interrupted with a shake of a square head and a huff of a sharp nose.

“You are not. Do not call yourself such.” His accent deepens with emotion, eyes narrowing as the dark brows on his face pull in. “If you want me to stay, I will stay. Wake you if you become shaky, yes? Keep the bad dreams at bay.”

“But what about you?” Your voice moves around the room as König stands and goes to the table in the back, shifting one of the chairs so that it’s angled your way. You shift so you can watch him sit back, grunting as his legs move out in front of him, opening so he can be more comfortable. He needed a bigger chair, but he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“I’m not tired, Schatz.” A lie. His muscles are heavy, and he longs for his bed in the barracks. He pushes out, “Please, go back to sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

You stare for a long while, studying him and how he fidgets in his seat of choice. A small laugh meets the man’s ears as he crosses his arms over his chest. König pauses, blinking over in confusion. His lips move upwards slowly.

“What are you laughing at, then, hm?”

“You look like you’re about to break it,” you mutter, head nuzzling the pillow under you as fatigue claws its way under your skin.

König huffs, fingers twitching over the meat of his biceps as he slouches. He nods jokingly. “Perhaps,” he shrugs, the window behind him letting a slight tinge of cold air in from outside. “It would not be the first, I’m afraid, though it would be quite the embarrassment to do it in front of you, Katze.” He smirks. “But I’ll say, hitting my head on door frames hurts more than letting my arsch kiss the ground.”

You laugh under your heap, your body jerking to the movement of your lungs.

“I bet,” you say, fingers grasping one of your blankets and pulling it closer. “It’s a funny image.”

“You can laugh all you want,” König jokes, eyes soft as they gaze at you. “It does not bother me.”

Your sweet sounds of amusement waft out from under the crack in the door, where a small group of curious nurses mull and listen with glances to one another. A doctor moves past the hallway where they stand, and all scatter on quick feet.

'…Signed,

[REDACTED]

SUBMITTED: 0517, 25, November 2021

END OF MISSION REPORT ‘RED FREEDOM’

RETURNING TO SELECTION MENU…

STAND BY…'

It’s only after most of the other women leave—sent home to awaiting families or loved ones—that you know your time is coming to a close here in Berlin, Germany. While you’re excited to put this behind you, you can’t help but feel a bit…lost.

There’s something that keeps you here, on this base, until you’re the last out of all of them, waiting. And then you’re given the green light to go—go home—and suddenly you have a backpack full of necessities and you’re closing the door to your room with the little nightlight’s plastic body pushing against your spine. Yet, you stand in the hallway for a long minute, fingers interlocked.

You take a long, deep, breath.

Over the weeks of recovery, König had been a constant companion when he wasn’t needed. He had eased you back into a comfortable state, letting you somewhat lose the black-and-white view you had gained of the world. But there was only so much he could do, even if his soft eyes were still stuck in your dreams—the good ones, of course.

You needed to go home, and, today, the C-17 was whirring on the tarmac, waiting for you to be transported to a military base far from here where you would be processed and, ultimately, let go.

Let go. It was jarring to think about, all of that freedom. What would you do with it? Right now, you don’t have the faintest clue. It was the best feeling you can remember having.

Smiling, you take one last look at the room behind you and walk on.

At the entrance, you say a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to the nurses and doctors in broken German, shaking their hands as Eva kisses your forehead and whispers how happy she is to have had you here for such little time—you know what she means and you chuckle with her at the double-edged sword.

König waits by the door, holding it open with…you blink at the item in his hands as well as his sudden appearance. Canvas fabric. A coat.

The coat.

“I had to have it processed,” he says, smiling as you gape at him. “Very long process. It was found in the closet in the townhouse.”

“Then why are you handing it to me,” you ask, tilting your head and walking closer.

“I gave it to you, did I not?” The man hums, head tilting as he motions with it again. “It’s a good coat, Katze. Winters get cold.” Gray eyes crinkle gently. “I would hate for you to shiver, wherever it is that you end up, yes?”

You shake your head, cheeks hot. But your hands don’t hesitate to grasp the item, König’s hold on it remains fast, though, and you blink at him as you both keep it gently clasped like it’s worth its weight in gold.

König stares at you, the door still kept open behind him. He opens and closes his mouth for a moment as you tilt your head.

“Keep it safe for me,” is what he ends with, but his expression tells you he’s not talking about the coat.

It makes your arms tingle—your heart skips a beat.

“I’ll be sure it never gets lost,” you smile warmly, eyes malleable as the make of their color glints. There is a connection to this man that transcends words, and it is tied to you just as heavily as it is to him; unexplainable, incomprehensible, non-describable.

Enigmatic.

König’s reverential face is soft with care.

“Good,” he mutters, unable to look away. “Very good.”

Clearing his throat, his grays dart to the floor, shifting his feet to move backward. He pushes open the door wider for you, and you hold your backpack in one hand as you shift past him and slip into his coat.

It was exactly how you remembered it, and you sank into the fabric with a thankful sigh and a fluttering of your lashes. You shift the bag back over your shoulders, letting the straps fall into the bulk of the extra material.

The snow wasn’t falling today, and the ground was shoveled of any white powder too. On the air, you can hear the whir of the C-17.

König comes up beside you, a hand hovering over the small of your back as he guides you along. For the most part, the walk to the tarmac is silent with the weight of the future. You had no phone. No socials. You didn’t even know if you wanted any, to be honest. Your mind had convinced you that a good bout of soul-searching was exactly what you needed. And you had to do that alone.

Your lips are thin as your legs take you closer to the plane, König’s scent stuck into the stitches of the coat and covered your senses.

At the ramp, he stops as your feet take you onto the metal. Closing your eyes for a moment, you turn and lock gazes with him—gray hiding away what other, more human, emotions to be found. It was a slate of carefully crafted acceptance, and your own followed soon after.

It had to be this. The string wouldn’t break, no, but it had to be stretched to such a point to come back stronger.

“Thank—”

“Don’t,” he says, not blinking, looking up at you.

You smile. “What do you want me to say, then?”

“You don’t have to say anything to me.” You hadn't known it then, but the both of you had truly thought that this would be the last of your meetings. It produced a pulse in both of your hearts that would never be told aloud. “....Live well,” König utters. “Heal, Mein Schatz.”

The soldier wasn't one to give his chances to hope.

Your eyes follow as he backs up, moving away as you stare. In his head, König pleads with you to stop and give him a reprieve from the hypnosis of your gaze, the addictive movement of your head as it tilts to the side.

Live well.

You send him a smile, a delicate thing, and then you back up a step and turn, disappearing into the darkness.

The string follows, and it continues to do so even as your hands slip into your pockets hours later, bumping into the small form of a black flip phone. The note hidden inside of it.

‘For whenever you find what you’re looking for.’

'REQUEST FOR ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE

REQUESTED BY: [REDACTED]

ENTERED: DECEMBER 15, 2021

TIME: 1422

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED….

RETURNING TO FILE SELECT MENU…

FILE SELECTED….

TRANSLATING…

STAND BY…

REQUEST OF HONORABLE ADMINISTRATIVE DISCHARGE OF [REDACTED] APPROVED ON JANUARY 2, 2022

OPEN FILE?...

REQUEST CANCELED…

SYSTEM SHUTTING DOWN'

You sit in a coffee shop in Berlin, Germany, by the window. It wasn’t just any coffee shop, but you try not to think about all of that. It was all in the past—three years, now. You like to think you’d learned something in that time.

“Danke schön,” you say to the woman who brings you your drink, nodding kindly. You take a small sip, humming and winking at her teasingly. “Perfekt.”

She chuckles, wiping her hands on her apron. “Möchten Sie noch etwas anderes dazu?”

“Nein, nein,” you shake your head, waving a hand that soft bumps the flip phone on the table. “Danke.”

The lady walks away, and you take another sip of the hot beverage, never put off by the heat.

It was winter again, and your eyes followed the flakes as they fell from a cloudy sky, finding the beauty in it easily as you sat inside. The scarf around your neck is loose—your gifted coat open. You smile to yourself and hum, watching people walk past outside, thinking about their lives and how they live them.

A large form travels out from a shop across the street, a plastic bag in his loose grip. He was not small, no, this man was a beast of height and strength alike. The loping, canid-like, walk was accented by the twitch of his fingers over his quarry.

Your wide eyes stay stuck to him for a long moment as he moves to the crosswalk, people shifting out of his way as he ignores them. Familiarity strikes like lighting—a buzz down your spine that leaves you straightening.

After a long moment, a breathless laugh sneaks out of you.

There were just some things that people were never meant to understand.

Your hand places your cup back on the table, picking up the old flip phone and pushing it open. Your thumb runs the keypad, moving to the only contact that had ever been entered into the device.

Pressing, you move it to your ear as you watch with a soft expression, heart pattering.

Across the way, the man tenses, hand patting his leg before the other hand moves inside his pocket and shifts the item out. People walk away, moving to the other side of the crosswalk as he stares at the contact.

A minute passes, and all the while you hold your breath.

He presses and moves the phone to his ear, staying as still as stone. As still as a man afraid his hood might scare a group of terrified women.

His voice graces your ear.

“...Katze?” You beam, trapped in the warmth of the coat around your shoulders.

“How do you feel about coffee, König?”

Blue-gray eyes had never been more beautiful than when they snapped up to meet yours.

TAGS:

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jokeroutsubs · 11 months

Text

Interview with Joker Out's member Nace Jordan, from Slovenian magazine Kranjčanka!

"Enriched by a special experience"

We caught up with Nace Jordan, bassist of Joker Out, a week or so after the Eurovision show in Liverpool, a few days after the show in Zagreb, and just before they left for the show in Dublin, where they sold out their first show in twenty minutes… On stage, they kept company to the Irish performers.

The fact that this guy, who is otherwise from Mlaka (T.N: small village near Kranj), is fully booked, can be confirmed by telling you that he moved into a new flat in March of this year - he has been living in Ljubljana for some time now - but he has spent less than 14 days there until it was time for the Eurovision Song Contest. He still returns to Kranj at least twice a week to visit his mother and to stay true to himself: he decided to get a personal trainer a while ago, so now he also goes to Kranj to train there.

Nace Jordan came into contact with music in primary school. He first played the guitar, which he soon replaced with the bass guitar. "Around the fifth grade of primary school (T.N: 10-11 years old), I became interested in instruments and a classmate and I decided to start a music group. He bought a drum set and I bought an electric guitar. Then we quickly saw that there were no bass players. So I sold the guitar and bought a bass guitar," he explains. He has no formal musical training, but says he has been lucky that wherever he has gone in life, there has always been a good mentor who has been able to guide him.

I: How long did this primary school group last?

N: In those days it was a well-known Kranj band called Success. We did a lot of gigs. It's interesting that all the band members from that time are now living off music. They are, for example, the guitarist Nejc Ušlakar, Tajda Jovanović - also from Mlaka - who is a top classical singer and used to sing at the famous Scala in Milan; if I am not mistaken, she is now teaching classical singing in Dubai. We just created an environment for ourselves and stayed in music. The drummer and keyboard player, Aljaž Bernik and Miha Petrovič, have, for example, a very successful wedding band, called Pop Deluxe.

I: What came after primary school? (* (T.N: In Slovenia, primary school lasts for 9 years, from ages 6-15)

N: I enrolled at the then Iskra University, majoring in mechatronics, but just before graduation I started working - actually playing on a cruiser. By some chance I found myself at a jam session open mind in Kranj, where the Kranj drummer Rok Rozman was looking for someone to go on the boat with him. He was impressed with me, I auditioned and of course they weren't very happy at home when I confronted them with the fact that I was going to take my final exams the following year. I was just 18 years old.

I: Was that a cruise ship?

N: Yes. We were travelling in the Baltic Ocean. I remember that we started in Germany, in a port north of Hamburg, then continued on to Gdansk, St Petersburg and to the Scandinavian countries.

l: That was probably the only time you've been on a cruise ship of that kind, a tourist cruise ship?

I've had a lot of people ask me if I would ever go on holiday on a cruise ship. Probably not. But I would go and have another look at the one I played on.

I: When you came back to Slovenia, did you graduate from high school? N: I didn't and I still regret it a little bit. When I came back from the ship, I started working with the singer Katarina Malo. During that time, I was also taken under the wing of two musicians from Primorska (T.N.: a region in the South-Western part of Slovenia) - that's what I mentioned: I found myself somewhere and then a mentor came along. I learned a lot from them. They were David Morgan and Denis Beganovic - Kiki. The first one is a top jazz drummer from the coastal area, he organises a lot of stuff, and he also plays with Avtomobili (T.N. slovenian band), I think he even played with Plestenjak (T.N. Jan Plestenjak, a famous Slovenian pop singer) at one point. Whereas Kiki is a multi-instrumentalist. He's an extraordinary talent. He has worked with Kanzyani and other famous DJs and musicians from abroad. He has made a lot of music, and he also led the Big Band from the coastal region. That was a really nice period for me. I even moved to the coastal region for a short period.

I: Why music, why not football?

N: Certainly not football (laughs). It's the sport I'm least talented in, or rather, all ball sports fall into that context - be it table tennis or football; and, even though my surname is Jordan, I'm the worst basketball player in the world (laughs). Just two days ago, I met my first grade teacher, and of course the topic of music and Eurovision came up. She told me that she knew even back then that school was not for me, but that I would definitely do something creative in my life. It brought back memories of how bored I was at school and how I would rather draw under my desk than listen, even though I was not a bad student.

I: You haven't been a member of Joker Out for long.

N: Since last year. Martin Jurkovič, the original bass player, felt at some point that music was not his main path. He is also an extremely talented programmer and is studying in that direction. He wants to study abroad and decided to finish that chapter. I knew the lead singer of the band, Bojan, from some mutual friend groups before, and the guys were looking for someone who was around their age, professional, good at what they do, and they thought of me. And Martin was in favour of me coming into the group instead of him.

I: And did you imagine that the band would continue the way it did?

N: From the beginning I went into the band with a bit of hesitation. I even suggested a test period. I had learnt that there has to be chemistry between the members. And if we didn't get along with each other the way we do, we wouldn't have performed on the Eurovision stage. We would have had a fight otherwise.

I: Do you spend a lot of time together?

N: First there were the Eurovision showcase concerts, and now there is the summer concert tour in Slovenia. We also have quite a few problems, because we get a lot of calls from abroad. It's logistically difficult, so we're looking for a solution to link some of the concerts to the tour. After the Eurovision Song Contest, we really started to get noticed abroad.

I: Was this your first Eurovision Song Contest?

N: Yes. But I have been to EMA (slovenian national selection for ESC) several times before.

I: Was it as you imagined it would be?

N: Even better. I can say that everyone who has been through this kind of experience has told us that it will be really tough: there will be a lot of work, but that we should also expect crazy parties. But in the end, it was much less exhausting than we expected. In fact, we had such a busy schedule beforehand that Eurovision itself was almost easier for us afterwards. We were practically in the Arena for five days, the rest was socialising, interviews and other commitments. In principle, we like that.

I: You seemed to be well received.

N: We were lucky enough to have connected with practically all the performers. We were always in a good mood, which was seen and felt both in the performances and in the interviews, during the statements. We came home really enriched by a special experience. And it was really nice to see how the people at home supported us. After the first semi-final, we got some footage of how they were watching us and we were just amazed how behind Bežigrad (Ljubljana district), let's say, they watched the first semi-final show in an organised way. The energy was crazy, like at a match.

I: What about Liverpool? Was there any time to "play tourists"?

N: During Eurovision, not really. We were in Liverpool before, because we were shooting a video. I think it was after Barcelona, and we did a lot of walking around the city then. For those who like the Beatles, Liverpool is great.

I : How did it come about that you went to Eurovision in the first place?

N : When I came into the group, the guys and I immediately started talking about whether we would go to this year's EMAs. We decided to go. We knew we would definitely be one of the favourites because we have a really big and extremely loyal audience. Well, then the EMA didn't happen. The jury decided to make their own choice, from the five entries who had the most songs of the week during that year. And I think only two of us ended up applying. There was no EMA, and they sent us to Liverpool.

I: You mostly use Slovenian in your songs.

N: Of course. We have a few songs in English, but we mostly sing in Slovenian. We were talking about how we would work going forwards, and we agreed not to bother with the language. We are proud of our Slovenian language. It's really something beautiful when you see an adult Peruvian man or a five-year-old Spanish girl singing our song in Slovenian. In that moment you understand the athletes and you are proud to be Slovenian.

I: How is it on the street? Do people recognise you? You often hear: is that the bass player of Joker Out?

N: Yes, quite. Most of the time it's people who say something nice to you, or want a selfie. Of course, there are also some "admirers" who stick gum all over my car or leave messages. There's a good side and a bad side to being a public personality. Sometimes it requires of you to spend three hours taking photos - but if you enjoy doing something, that's not a problem either.

I: Do you think that it is actually the fact that you get along well in a group that "pulls" in the audience?

N: The energy between us is definitely something that is contagious. I don't know if it's what makes the audience really like us, but it's something that puts even someone who is in a bad mood in a good mood.

Translation by @kurooscoffee (jokeroutsubs). DO NOT REPOST!

#nace jordan #joker out

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hannahmanderr · 8 months

Text

DP Shiptember Day 1 - Catching Feelings... Again ~ "Quick, kiss me!" ~ Gray Ghost

Summary: She didn’t even bother to look up from her work. “Who’d you tick off this time?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” He pressed his back flush against the counter. “She started it!”

Her eyebrow hitched upward. “Who started it?” (takes place after my oneshot Glow)

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

If there was ever one benefit of working a grimy minimum wage job in a town like Amity Park, it definitely had to be the opportunity to see some wild situations. At a place like the Nasty Burger, these situations seemed even more prevalent.

Kat would swear up and down that a portal had decided to open itself smack dab in the middle of the grill one night during the dinner rush, resulting in half a dozen hamburger patties falling into the void of the Ghost Zone, a backup in the drive-through, and one strongly worded Yelp review from a visiting tourist.

Irving Burns allegedly had to pull Nasty Sauce from the public after rumors began to swirl around town that Phantom had blown up a ghost with a single packet and teenagers came in droves to take handfuls of sauce packets for the so-called “Nasty Sauce challenge” (Mr. Lancer himself had confiscated dozens of packets on school grounds).

One day, the Nasty Ned mascot costume simply got up and walked itself out the door and into Lake Eerie. That story had made headlines on Channels 4, 6, and 7. The costume was never recovered.

And of course, the family of blob ghosts living in the dumpsters out back loved to cause problems of their own, namely swooping in and stealing customers’ fries like swarms of seagulls.

Valerie became used to these strange events long before her coworkers did. She probably ended up stopping a fair number of shenanigans before the public became aware of them. Even after her father forbade her from bringing her trackers to work, even after she learned the true identity of her number one target and stopped hunting him, the drive to keep the city from devolving into too much chaos was strong.

Still though, if she had to learn to accept one thing, it was that chaos loved Amity Park and Amity Park loved chaos. No one could go long without encountering at least a little bit. That had been a lesson she’d learned a few days ago, when Danny Fenton, her rival turned crush turned ex turned enemy turned crush again, took her behind the Nasty Burger itself (because where else would it be?) and shown her something wild enough only for Amity Park. Something strange. Something beautiful.

In just those past few days, she began to expect the unexpected. She’d nearly expected the horde of ghost squirrels raiding the cafeteria storage the other day to turn rabid on her, but then memories of the soft, cool touch that blob ghosts had left on her fingers and arms crossed her mind. And she, Valerie Gray, the self-proclaimed huntress of Amity Park, retracted her guns and set to help the squirrels find the industrial size canister of peanut butter they’d been looking for.

The squirrels had shown up outside her window the next day offering a trash-covered everything bagel from the bakery a couple roads down. It had been such an endearing display that she made a show of “eating” it in front of them. They’d enjoyed it.

And the day after that, she’d been chasing down the Box Ghost when they passed over an intersection and a tiny boy escaped his mother’s hand-hold and toddled into the street to follow them. She hadn’t been fast enough to get there before the next speeding car got there, but the Box Ghost had dropped the stack of boxes he’d insisted on maintaining throughout the chase to grab the little boy and turned them both intangible before depositing the boy safely back on the sidewalk.

Valerie had stopped short of sucking him into her thermos to ask him why abandon the boxes. Why go against everything he was supposed to be?

“My kid is about his age,” he’d told her shyly. “I just did what any other parent would do.” That answer had been so stunning she’d simply lowered the thermos and told him to get the boxes home to his kid. But in retrospect, it made sense, didn’t it? Ignoring the complexities of how ghosts had kids in the first place, who was to say parental instincts didn’t transcend the line between life and death?

So no, perhaps she couldn’t put a stop to all the chaos that plagued Amity Park. Perhaps some of it still made no sense. But maybe, just maybe, if she could keep her eyes peeled and watch for the unexpected…

Maybe the chaos could begin to form itself into a wild, beautifully intricate harmony.

Apparently, not even all the anticipation in the world could prepare her for Danny Fenton to come barreling into the Nasty Burger during the afternoon lull and launch himself through the counter to cower by her feet.

To her credit, she barely reacted. She didn’t even bother to look up from her work. “Who’d you tick off this time?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” He pressed his back flush against the counter. “She started it!”

Her eyebrow hitched upward. “Who started it?”

Before he could answer, the front doors exploded inward.

Instincts kicked in, and Valerie dropped behind the counter beside Danny to avoid the flying shrapnel. A gust of hot wind blew over them. Despite the heat, a chill crept up her spine. She didn’t need her tracker or to see Danny’s breath fog to know a ghost had decided to make itself known.

“ Where is he? ” a shrill voice screeched. Valerie glanced over at Danny, who had gone pale at the sound of the voice.

With a glare, she silently jerked her head towards the front. Seriously?

He responded with a helpless shrug and a shake of his head. I swear it’s not my fault!

“I know you’re in here, my darling!” the voice called in an angry sing-song. “You can’t run from love!”

This time, both of Valerie’s eyebrows hitched upward. “ My darling? ” she hissed as quietly as she could.

Danny flailed his arms wildly. He at least had the sense to keep them from flailing past the edge of the counter. “ She’s crazy! ” he hissed back.

By that point, the few other employees on shift had emerged from the kitchen to see the commotion. Out of the corner of her eye, Valerie could see Tatiana, the sweetheart dishwasher, peering from around the corner, whispering furiously into her cell phone. No doubt to the city’s emergency ghost line.

Taylor, the shift supervisor, wasn’t anywhere near as timid. “Can I help you with something?” they drawled with a voice Valerie knew they only reserved for the most frustrating of customers.

“Where are you hiding him?” the ghost said, her voice sickeningly sweet. “I know he’s in here, I can smell him!”

If possible, Danny turned paler.

“I have no clue who you’re talking about, ma’am,” Taylor said. “If you wanna buy something, that’s fine, otherwise I’m gonna have to ask you to leave. You’re disturbing other customers.”

Valerie nearly snorted. Not that there were other customers at the moment, but if there had been, “disturbing” probably would have been an understatement.

She stole another glance at Danny, who had screwed his eyes shut and seemed to be concentrating on… something. She couldn’t tell. Still though, seeing him so oddly terrified…

Without thinking, she laid a hand over one of his clenched fists. One of his eyes popped open, first flicking down to look at their hands then back up to peer at her. She offered a tiny smile, and his shoulders relaxed marginally.

“All I want is my sweetheart!” the ghost was saying, her voice still dripping with a faux sweetness. “He thinks he can hide from me, but he’s mine !”

Taylor frowned and rolled their eyes. “Of course. Of course . The one time I get the afternoon shift I ask for, and some crazy ghost decides to show up.”

Another gust of hot, dry air blew over Valerie’s head. She and Danny cringed in sync. Taylor was a perfectly chill person and all, but they had a habit of being a little too blunt. And bluntness did not exactly work well when ghosts were involved.

“He’s mine !” the ghost screeched. “If you won’t tell me where he is, then maybe I should persuade you through… other means . I’ll gladly rip you apart limb by limb until you talk.”

Taylor’s frown melted into concern. “Wait, wait, I didn’t -”

Several things seemed to happen at once.

Valerie caught sight of Danny’s other eye popping open, and she instantly recognized the determined twinkle in his eye - the same one that Phantom got when he was about to dive headfirst into a situation he probably shouldn’t. Under her hand, she felt his muscles tense, ready to spring into action.

At the same time, Taylor’s eyes widened until they nearly popped out of their head. Valerie felt it as the ghost surged forward, her fury following her in a cloud of heat and debris from the destroyed entrance.

In that moment, Valerie had a number of thoughts. The first of which was simply that Danny Fenton needed to stop getting himself into these situations.

The second of which was that none of them, Danny included, probably got paid enough to deal with these sorts of things.

The third of which was that there was no way she was about to let some possessive ghost steal away the boy who had single handedly changed her world more than once, the boy who had waited for her with such patience and such kindness, the boy who had kissed her a few nights ago and shown just how much he cared for her through the golden light of a dozen blob ghosts.

And so before Danny could jump up on his own, she seized his wrist and pulled him up herself.

“Ex-cuse me?” she shouted, jamming her free hand onto her hip.

And just like that, Valerie Gray found herself staring down a cheerleader.

The sheer surprise from the ghost being a cheerleader of all things nearly caused her to falter, but she managed to catch herself in the nick of time. Granted, it was truly a ghostly cheerleader, with pom-poms and hair of fire, fangs protruding from her perfectly red lips, and arms almost twice the normal length, but it was still a cheerleader nonetheless.

The ghost did not do as well at hiding her surprise. She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned her fiery red eyes towards the pair. Her eyes landed on Valerie first, then…

“There you are!” she exclaimed, and Danny squeaked, gripping onto Valerie’s hand for his half-life. “Why did you run, my love? I was only going to make our relationship official . Just a little bite! It wouldn’t even hurt!”

Something snapped in Valerie, and she pulled Danny closer to her. “What are you talking about, your relationship? He’s already taken, thank you very much.” Even as she spoke the words, her heart pounded.

This was so not how she would’ve liked to go about this.

Danny whipped around, his blue eyes boring into hers and his mouth gaping wordlessly. “I’m what ?”

“Who’s this now?” the cheerleader asked. She bared her fangs and narrowed her eyes in Valerie’s direction.

Despite the new wave of intense heat that blasted her, Valerie remained resolute. “I’m the girl who’s about to kick your sorry butt if you don’t leave my Danny alone!”

Her words hit her a second too late. She could only pray her blush would be written away as redness from the heat and not embarrassment.

“ Your Danny?” the ghost hissed, her voice an ominous growl. “Some pitiful, silly human thinks she can take my love away from me? From me ?” She began to laugh hysterically. “You have no idea who you’re messing with, girlie. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all.”

“Come any closer and I’ll show you the fury of a woman scorned.”

The cheerleader’s face melted into a sinister grin. “I was gonna tear this one’s arms off and use them for toothpicks,” she said, nodding towards a terrified Taylor, “but I’ll gladly start with you instead!”

Valerie had no idea what possessed her the moment the ghost lunged towards her and Danny. Maybe it was the sheer mental exhaustion from having her world turned upside down over the past few days. Maybe it was little more than a moment of panic. Maybe it was the burning drive to prove herself to this she-demon and show that no one would come between her and the people she loved.

(She’d dwell on that last bit later.)

She turned to Danny. “Quick, kiss me!”

Danny tore his eyes away from the cheerleader. “Wait, what ?”

And because she didn’t have time to try and convince him or tell him her plan (not that she had one), Valerie flung her arms around his neck and pulled him in close.

The moment their lips touched, something akin to a spark erupted between them, creating an audible crackle in the air.

Or maybe that was just the ghostly edge to the cheerleader’s shriek of pure rage.

Valerie liked to believe it was the former.

Whatever it was, the effects were instantaneous. She had her eyes closed tightly as she kissed Danny, but she could feel as the heat that had been flooding the two of them stopped abruptly, almost as if Danny’s naturally cool presence had been amplified to create a barrier around them. The change in temperature was soothing against her irritated skin. Judging by the way Danny relaxed into her embrace, the change felt just as nice to him.

“Whoa, whoa!” Taylor shouted from behind them. “Keep it PG, jeez .”

Behind her closed eyelids, Valerie rolled her eyes. Overdramatic much?

At some point, the cheerleader’s incessant shriek became too much for her ears to handle, and she broke the kiss. Still leaned in close, she put her lips next to Danny’s ear. “Thermos?” she whispered.

For a moment, Danny just wavered in place, staring with a dreamy, unfocused look in his eyes. “Huh?”

She thwacked him on the shoulder. “Focus, Fenton!”

“Oh!” He shook his head. “Right! Uh, thermos! Yes! Not, uh… I’m just - um…” He peered past Valerie’s shoulder to where Taylor stood. “Just… don’t let them see, I - er…”

She watched in amusement as he clumsily patted his pockets, then reached beside him. His hand disappeared into thin air for a moment before reappearing with a Fenton Thermos.

“A literal pocket dimension,” he whispered with a goofy grin. The thermos nearly slipped from his grip, and he flailed to catch it.

Valerie was faster. She snatched the thermos out of his loose hold. “Yeah, no pocket dimension can make you any less of a dork.”

“Maybe, but I’m still your dork.”

Her face burned red, but she still managed to point the thermos at the still-shrieking cheerleader and suck her in. “A dork who let one kiss distract him that badly,” she threw back, handing the full thermos to him. “And put that back in your ‘pocket’ before you drop it.”

“I’m not gonna drop it!” In spite of his protest, he slipped the thermos back into the empty space. “See?”

“Wow, congratulations on doing something your average toddler can do and not drop something.”

“Aw, you noticed?” He flashed her a wide, impish smile. “Do I get another kiss for that?” he asked with a wink.

Valerie hummed and turned back to the cash register. “I don’t know. Do you have a decent explanation as to why there’s some ghost girl chasing after you?”

Danny opened his mouth and froze with a finger in midair. “Uh… Okay, wait, listen! There’s a perfectly good explanation for this. I didn’t start it, I swear! She saw me fly- er, walking around and just pounced on me!”

“Mhmm.” She struggled to hide her laugh as she put on her best disinterested face. How was it that Danny Phantom, who had managed to elude her for years and fend off powerful ghost after powerful ghost, could end up struggling this much?

And how on earth did it manage to be the cutest thing ever?

“Valeriieee,” he whined, tugging at her shirt sleeve. “Please! I promise! I’m not cheating on you!”

“I didn’t know you two were together.”

Both of their heads whipped around to see Taylor leaning against the counter and shaking their head. “Or that a ghost that hot could be that terrifying.”

Valerie paused. “Wait, hot like, hot ? Or, like…”

Taylor shot her a glare. “Not. Another. Word. You do you, and I’ll do me. I could say plenty about your choice in partner.”

“My…?” She turned to Danny, matching blushes painting their faces. His endless blue eyes stared back at her helplessly. Something in her chest throbbed faster and faster, and she couldn’t help the smile that grew on her face.

“Yeah,” she said. She took his hand and squeezed it. “He’s definitely mine.”

The look on his face shone even brighter than it had a few nights ago under the light of the blob ghosts.

Taylor’s eyes bounced between the two of them. “Good for you, then, I guess. He can’t stay behind the counter, though.”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #valerie gray #gray ghost #dp shiptember 2023 #shiptember #shiptember 2023 #anyway have i mentioned i love these two

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