#considering changing a notebook though this paper is out to kill me and my love for dramatic black backgrounds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aestheticanimegirl15 · 3 years

Note

Hi! Could you do the meeting their future s/o headcanons but with Izuku, Denki, and Shoto? Thank you if you do it!!

Meeting their future s/o

Paring: Izuku, Denki, Shoto

Tw: mentions of pregnancy and slight cursing.

OMG YESSS I love taking requests!! Thank you so much!!🥰Sorry this took so long. Anyway I really hope you like this. Sorry for bad grammar and/or spelling. Stay safe and beautiful 🦋🌸✌🏻

__________________________________

Izuku🌸

🌸Poor Izuku would be so flustered but concerned when you fell out of a portal (heavily pregnant) and into his lap. His face would be as red as Kirishimas' hair as he stuttered out questions and "I'm so sorry!!"

🌸 Would only get worse when he sees you wearing a shirt with a much older version of him on it in his hero costume striking a pose.

🌸 You find it adorable and mutter, behind the hand covering your smile, about how much he's changed since high school. Izuku hears this and internally crashes, like he physically freezes.

🌸 Did he know you? I mean you did kinda look like a girl he saw at the sports festival. He tried to figure out if you were or not but couldn't piece it together.

🌸 In the end you had to explain that you were from the future and that he didn't know you yet. But you knew him and that you were his wife.

🌸Poor baby almost fainted when he heard that tbh. Izuku never thought that he would get married, let alone have kids. He was always too caught up trying to become a hero that he really didn't have room to think about getting a girlfriend. Not to mention he had never even thought about having kids. It wasn't completely off the table for him though. He just thought he would end up alone.( poor baby)

🌸But as Izuku helped you sit down on his bed, he didn't mind the idea, especially since he sees how you carefully rub your stomach with your left hand that proudly showed off your engagement and wedding rings.

🌸He was going to ask some more questions (mostly because he never thought that a time manipulating quirk could exist.) But another portal opened and older Izuku came RUNNING in. Like full on sprint. Future Izuku checked you over multiple times even with you repeating that you were ok.

🌸 Future Izuku turned to his current self and smiled "Thank you for taking care of her. You don't know it yet but she will be the center of your entire universe." Current Izuku blushed again and managed to get out a "You're welcome." Before his future self and you disappeared.

🌸 Also turns out you were the girl from the festival!!

🌸He had written down something in his notebook about your quirk and when he went to ask you about it all the pieces clicked. (He never got to ask you about your quirk; he got flustered and ran off.)

Denki ⚡

⚡ He was just in his room gaming and then a girl falls in his lap, makes him drop his controller, and makes him lose his killing streak. To say the least he was kinda pissed but it quickly dissolved when he saw you with a ,just noticeable, baby bump.

⚡ He kinda freezes for a moment before freaking out a bit. Asking if you were ok and making sure he didn't accidentally shock you from the sudden wave of nervousness. ( He didn't which made him feel better.)

⚡ " I'm fine Denki but I made you lose your game." You said pouting but quickly realized that you weren't talking to you're Denki and you were talking to his younger self and you placed a hand over your mouth.

⚡Pikachu.exe has crashed and rebooted. How did you know his name? He definitely knows he hasn't seen you anywhere before. "How do you know my name?"

⚡ You blush lightly and try to explain without confusing the poor pokemon anymore. "Well I um...how do I explain this. Yea ok, so I'm from the future and I'm your fiancé."

⚡ Surprisingly he actually took it well (he didn't short circuit I mean). Denki actually got excited and was smiling so bright that it almost blinded you.

⚡He never thought he would be able to find a person who even liked him. He has tried to get girlfriends before but they all turned him down ( for the most part) but here you were standing in HIS room saying you were his FIANCE.

⚡ He was going to ask more questions but another portal appeared and an older ( and also in his eyes "cooler") version of Denki came out and he ran over to you and gave you such a big hug that you couldn't fit a piece of paper between you two.

⚡ Future Denki easily picked you up and wrapped his arms under your thighs to stabilize you. But before he walked back through the portal he turned to his current self and winked saying "Don't worry you'll find her. But little hint go to that convenience store you skate too at 4 am."

⚡ Denki was honestly so excited next time he skated to the convenience store and saw you working( you had a part time job there). He sneakily snuck his phone number to you on a small slip of paper in between some money he gave you ( he bought an energy drink).

⚡ He also accidently blew the lights out in his room when he saw you had texted him. To which had him yelled at by Iida saying he should have more control over his quirk.

Shoto 🧊🔥

🧊 He was actually at his home instead of the dorms when this happened.( They let the students go home for holidays if they wanted to but he was kinda forced) Shoto had just gotten in his room to cool down from almost starting a fight with his dad….again. He could practically feel his blood boil as he closed his door and flopped on his bed.

🔥 He closed his eyes for a second but quickly opened them once he felt a pressure suddenly hit his chest. Shoto quickly looked at what it was and it was you ( the portal had opened just above his bed).

🧊 His face quickly heated up some and helped you sit up and stood up. The heat didn't go away when he noticed you were pregnant ( about 5 months) and was wearing a shirt with him on it. Except that version of him had long hair that had been tied up in a bun to reveal an undercut.

🔥 Shoto snaps out of his small daze and starts to ask if you were ok and apologize (you don't know why though since you were the one who fell on him).

🧊 "Sho it's ok, me and the baby are fine." You said looking down at your stomach before looking at Shoto before noticing it wasn't your Shoto. It was his younger self, who right now looks about ready to pass out.

🔥 IcyHot has crashed literally. Shoto stumbled backward a little but managed to catch himself. At first he didn't believe you. I mean come on. For starters he never thought he would get with anyone, that doesn't mean he didn't get offers, no, he had plenty of offers but he never took any of them up, because well he just never thought of being in any sort of relationship.

🧊 Second him and kids? Completely out of the question in his mind. He actually planned on never having kids because he never wanted to turn out like….well you know who. The faint idea of having children made him terrified. But yet here you were sitting on his bed claiming you were his whatever and that you were carrying HIS kid.

🔥 Shoto ended up believing you for the sole purpose of the fact you were pregnant. He hesitantly sat beside you but gave you a fair amount of distance making you giggle.

🧊 "I don't bite you know. I know right now this seems crazy and I know what you're thinking but I'm real-" you placed a hand on your stomach for emphasis"We're real and you're the best dad in the whole multiverse." You smiled kindly and reached for his hand slowly. He flinched a little when you grabbed it but relaxed until you placed his hand on your stomach.

🔥 He was about to ask who you were considering the fact he is going to be dating you but another portal and an older version of him came rushing in. The older version had his two toned hair pulled up into a messy bun but there were some loose strands that framed his face. The older version of him rushed and hugged you tightly whispering almost incoherent words saying things like ( "Are you ok? Please tell me you're ok." And "I'll protect you I made a promise remember?")

🧊 He picked you up and looked down at his younger self (he had grown considerably taller since then) and smiled before rushing back through the portal. Shoto smiled back lightly before his phone started buzzing. He picked it up to see the class group chat talking about a transfer student named (y/n). He smiled more already knowing who you were.

166 notes · View notes

theseerasures · 3 years

Note

While you're doing reactions, if you're up for it, how are you feeling about all the finale predictions you made on March 23? By my count, you scored pretty well!

hooooooo boy (the alluded post, for those just catching up)

how i feel about my predictions is that...you’re right and i scored pretty well, but much like the characters doing right in the episode itself, it didn’t matter. part of the reason why the finale made me feel so much--why i loved it, despite still being emotionally hungover from ugly affect--is because i WAS right, but i was so often right but wrong on a smaller scale, or right but wrong because i completely misunderstood the overall thematic stakes, or in one case right but in such a phenomenally cruel and roundabout way that i’m still reeling from it.

more detailed breakdown under the cut (as in “let’s unpack this,” and as in “i have an emotional breakdown”):

WHERE I WAS MOSTLY RIGHT

Team Green, Yang, the non-Robyn Happy Huntresses, Klein and the non-combatant Schnees were gimmes from the beginning, even the ones of whom we didn’t have visual confirmation by the end of Worthy.

Pietro and Maria are still MIA so i’m putting them here, but...Winter’s gonna have to tell Pietro, when he shows up again.

Cinder and the Relics i was correct about, but even though i knew going in that she would win i didn’t imagine the scale of her victory. mostly because i thought she might have learned some self-discipline and just skedaddled with the Relics in an attempt to trap as many people as possible in superhell, but a) she didn’t, and b) she won without needing to.

Salem, Watts, and Ironwood are where i predicted, but i think part of me really bought into the fan theory that maybe Salem would want to keep Atlas around. both Watts and Ironwood lasted much longer through the episode than i expected because i was working from that assumption, but with the direction the episode actually took it makes perfect sense that they exited the stage as Atlas fell--they are, after all, twin architect-destroyers of Atlas. brains and brawn.

Nora ended up in Vacuo, but she’s...uh, not happy about it. not that i expected her to be happy, but this is much much worse. og JNPR is now JUST Renora, and much as i love freewheeling modular megazord JNPR, that’s gonna hit like a truck. last time they lost someone Renora were consciously trying to play supportive teammate to Jaune, who’d just lost his partner, and Nora especially also had to talk Ren off the edge with the Kuroyuri stuff. i expect they’ll swap the dynamic this time, especially since Nora was already planning to go all independent woman before this.

Qrow, Robyn, and the AceOps are stranded, but in transit and not in Mantle, because Mantle the place is no more. and Vine is dead. the reason i posited that the AceOps might be split up was so they could find their team dynamic after it’s been unsettled, and...well. having one of them do a heroic sacrifice should do a similar trick. because i didn’t think Atlas would fall on Mantle i thought Qrow and Robyn (particularly Robyn) would get more to do, but both of them are pretty much exactly in the same place they were in at the beginning of the season: trapped in a cramped environment, cut off from the people they love and uncertain what happened to them, and unable to contribute in a way that they would consider meaningful. i’m guessing we won’t check back in with this crew for a while, but if we do it’ll be interesting to see if the Qrow and Robyn dynamic changes--like, if he has to be the one to talk her down from cabin fever and despair. (before he finds out that he was the one who should have been despairing all along.)

WHERE I WAS MOSTLY WRONG

Neo is in superhell. i had put her in Atlas because i’d overestimated Cinder’s ability to play the long game, but what the show ultimately doubled down on was that Cinder remains at heart a petty and impatient opportunist, and that’s where she’s most effective. which i dig! i dig that she has not so much improved (in means or ends) so much as learned to hold the beneficial and detrimental parts of herself farther and farther apart, because in the end they’re all the same parts, and because presumably she’ll end up starfishing out so much (who knew the way she took care of Winter’s death pigeons was foreshadowing?) that she breaks in two. and i dig Neo in superhell without Cinder, because it’ll be our first chance to see Neo not working for anyone outside of that one time she fought Cinder. if superhell does end up being part afterlife, she might also get some closure with the Torchwick stuff.

Jaune being in superhell points to it being part afterlife, because the chance for HIM to get some closure is also right there. that was always the case, but the reason i made the prediction i did was because i assumed that Jaune would remain the person he has been this whole season--this stolid, clueless but incredibly effective supporting leader. having a Jaune who is at the top of his game meet up with Pyrrha again is obviously appealing, especially to me, a person who scribbles misshapen hearts labeled “Arkos = 5evr” on all my notebooks, but at the time i didn’t think it was necessary to his story...and then the story dramatically shifted his character and threw all my carefully hedged bets off (which is something we’ll also get to with...later).

having a Jaune who has just effectively EUTHANIZED someone meet up with Pyrrha again isn’t just appealing--it’s vital. and it’s vital because the exact parameters of how and why Jaune ended up having to kill Penny is a point-for-point echo and escalation of the way the Amber to Pyrrha transfer was supposed to go. last time Jaune Arc was party to a Maiden transfer process he had no idea what was going on, and he tried to intervene when he worked out that whatever Oz was doing was going to hurt Pyrrha, and that however minute thing contributed to Pyrrha’s death and the Fall of Beacon. this time it’s not just that he knows what’s going on and the stakes of it. it’s not even just that he is the Ozpin operating the Aura Transfer machine. it is that there is no machine--there is just him, holding the knife. he knows the Amber better than the Pyrrha this time, and this time the Amber is his friend, and still whole, and choosing. not just consenting, but asking him. trusting him. so he carries it out. the old Maiden dies, and like Ozpin he dies shortly after, but not before he watches the new Maiden fail.

but he does prevent history from repeating, because a new Maiden is created, and she gets to live. and Cinder Fall has made him a murderer on top of everything else, but she WILL remember him, now.

there are other people i was wrong about, but that’s...for later.

WHERE I WAS RIGHT AND IT DIDN’T MATTER

Ruby, Blake and Weiss are all in superhell, so on paper i was right, but...well. sing it if you know the words. the reason i’m putting them in their own section is because it’s not just that they fell and didn’t jump like i thought; it’s that they would not have jumped, and that changes everything. you know how i realized that we would lose everyone, and not by choice? it was Weiss. it was when Weiss said we have to do this for Yang. Jaune had reminded Nora of what was priority one minutes before, but the implications of that didn’t sink in for me until Weiss confirmed it. they PLANNED for this. not just the eventuality where they would have to die, but the one where they’d have to watch everyone else die and do nothing except keep going.

which...has implications. the best way to read this--and i think we’re all dying for some good news--is that even if it certainly does not feel that way, RWBY was able to snatch a partial victory from Salem’s claws. they lost the Relics, but they got the Maiden powers away, and most importantly: they saved Atlas and Mantle. by the time Jaune intervened Grand Central was empty. there was no one left to evacuate. they didn’t get everyone, but they got a lot. even before Cinder intervened so catastrophically they knew how many things could go wrong, so they made a plan, and largely stuck to it. on a purely material level they only lost one thing vital to the war effort--the Staff. but they got everyone else out, which was priority one. the show in general and this arc in particular has emphasized that our heroes don’t think they should be exceptionalized, that they’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure everyone is given the treatment and respect they deserve, and they’ve made good on that. they’re Huntresses, and Huntresses be thou for the people. they chose, and they won what mattered to THEM.

but on the flip side: they chose, and there’s no way to read this choice as anything but a compromise...and a very Atlesian one at that. when confronted with calculus similar to the one JYR faced after they lost Oscar in War, our heroes chose...the opposite. one, then three, then four, then five, then six for the many. what was that number compared to two entire cities’ worth of people, especially when they’re the ones who signed up for this? i’m not trying to take this down the slippery slope where our heroes are no better than the dictator they just dethroned, because when the time came for sacrifice they chose themselves first. but it remains a sacrifice, which means that when the time came to test the hard moral limit they set for themselves, they...moved. they decided ahead of time that some risks aren’t worth taking. that this is not a situation where everyone wins, so they had to go for the next best thing, then the next best thing after that, and so on. i’m honestly not sure where it points to yet, except my usual refrain that this show is a lot less didactic than it seems, but...yeah. this is going to lead to some invigorating discussions in-universe.

and maybe it’ll start with this: that Jaune and Weiss--the two who had to verbally advocate for leaving the fallen behind--fell last of all, which means they had to watch everyone else go first. and the last person they saw was the same person. Weiss, who executed the plan to brilliant perfection, saw the past--the first family she ever had--streaking after her in an endless void, forsaking the priorities they all agreed upon, for her. Jaune, who followed the plan to execution and broke a part of himself, saw the new Maiden he crowned, backlit and pulled away by the bright future that he ensured was possible, but can no longer access.

QUEENMAKER

i’m starting with Penny, because Penny came first. there has already been a ton of discussion on the ways that she’ll come back, and while i absolutely agree that she will, for now i am not so much interested in that as i am in eulogizing this Penny. the Penny we had just now, not identical but continuous with the Penny we had before that, in the same way that everyone is not identical but continuous with who they were in the past. the Penny who IS dead, her eventual resurrection notwithstanding.

because she DID die, and her death matters. that’s the thing about the deaths in this season, and it furthers my point re: RWBY’s presumed didacticism--the show’s treatment of death has changed as our heroes have changed. it is no longer (and never was) as simple as “death and sacrifice are always senseless waste,” and more something like...”death has to matter, and we will give it meaning.” Hazel and Vine sacrificed themselves, and the fact both resulted in a “positive” outcome (more lives saved) does not make the deaths any less tragic. but neither should the tragedy of it take away from the fact that they saved lives. what separates our heroes from a Salem or a James Ironwood even now is that they recognize the importance of grievable life even as they accept inevitable death, that what is worth it all about preserving life is not to make sure that lives go on forever, but that lives have meaning and are remembered, that when you’re gone the people who are still here respect you enough to carry that meaning with them. it’s a tenuous balance to walk, but all the more important for that reason.

Penny--though her death can and will be reversed--is much the same. in every arc there has been a Game of Three Maidens (which i guess would make shogi the better metaphor and not chess because--what AM i on about), and in every Game there has been sacrifice. and i thought that would encompass Winter, here. we’d get away with it not being literal death, since Fria already took care of that, but she would be trapped on the other side of the gate--in pretty much the exact same position James Ironwood ended up in the episode itself, actually. it just seemed obvious: she’s the decoy, the one who missed the call by inches, the last revealed defector when there still was an Atlas from which to defect. all of it pointed to Winter’s story ending with one last delay barring her from salvation, of her finally being too late...

and well. i WASN’T wrong in the broad strokes, but first there was Penny Polendina. Penny could have let Jaune try to save her and Weiss die for her, but she knew she had to make a different choice to save as many lives as possible. so she offered herself up as the sacrifice instead. last week i waxed prolonged poetic about how Winter defected so recently, how it has been just IronwoodandWinter for so long, how Winter doesn’t have a team and only the healing shreds of a family, how no one would think to look for her...and then Penny did. you were my friend. (given Winter’s rough age and the hazy creation dates for the PENNY Project, it’s possible that Winter is Penny’s OLDEST friend.) Penny thought of Winter as she was dying, thought about the good Winter could do if Winter had her powers, believed in Winter, and in doing so, saved Winter’s life before anyone else’s.

she ceded the spotlight to Winter in this last episode, but this season as a whole belongs to Penny Polendina--the myriad ways she creates herself, the ways she defends her self-creation, ultimately culminating in her new body, created by no one but herself. but for her final act the Maiden of Creation did something different and no less miraculous: i thought of you. a thought was all it took.

she created someone else.

KINGSLAYER | THE MAIDEN THAT WAS PROMISED

the thing about Winter is that she came first.

no, i’m serious. i checked the fairy tale and everything--Winter came first. as the Wizard’s first visitor she encouraged him to reflect and meditate, and when probed about why she was here at all, she answered: i am waiting for my sisters. Spring and Summer have to wait, too, of course, but. Winter was the first.

Jacques and Willow named their firstborn Winter. it is not the way this story begins, but it is certainly is one of them, because the story begins with Winter, and Winter begins the story--a new retelling, a new cycle of heroism. we’ve since been introduced to other characters in that indeterminate age group between RWBY and STRQ, but Winter--by virtue of being Weiss’ older sister--anchors herself to the new generation in a way those others (even Cinder, who comes closest) do not. she started things, in the mythical emblematic way that this show likes to move, and the way she started things--the way she MADE herself start things, thanks to the house she grew up in--was with love, and protection. she took care of Weiss and laid the groundwork for the person Weiss is today, and conversely: she took care of Weiss, and through Weiss, laid the groundwork for herself and how to take care of everyone. so eventually the steel thread she tied to Weiss she also linked to Whitley, to Penny, to Marrow, to all the people they love, and on and on it goes. Winter loved Weiss, so she made herself learn how to love Weiss, and so when i say she started things what i mean is she started family. a new home, for a new generation of the orphaned.

Winter came first. but as the show demonstrates time and again, especially with Winter: first does not mean best. because being first also means you’re the prototype, a volatile thing that must be tested and tempered and then discarded to make way for what comes after, what gets improved. and it is THIS part of being first that Winter has internalized most of all. Winter, the first Maiden, taught the Wizard peace and prepared the earth so that her sisters could grow and foster and harvest the life within it; Winter, the first Schnee, laid the groundwork in her siblings, but did not wait for them. and let herself fallow in the process. she left, and every time they tried to follow or stay with her she sent them away. (she keeps sending them away; even after defecting and taking down Ironwood, the first thing she says to JNPER is go.) Winter laid the first stone in the foundation, but she cannot take credit for the home her family turned it into, for all the ways it has flourished, because she willfully absented herself of that (birth)right.

and the reason she did this was very simple: she was afraid. she could not bear the thought that while she had to learn how to love she made mistakes, the idea that instead of preparing the earth she might have poisoned the well. so she ran. she turned her face away so she would not have to look, so they would not look to her. she left, and every time one of her siblings superseded her after that, every time she was made to be their Esau--passed over--it just seemed to confirm that she was right to leave. look how well they’ve all done without her.

in the stories, eldest siblings aren’t here to win. they’re here to be made an example of, and Winter...had resigned herself to that. she was prepared to be left behind for good by all the people who have outpaced her.

but then there was Penny Polendina. Penny didn’t follow her, or try to stay; Penny came back for her. Penny remembered Winter when all Winter wanted was to be forgotten, because she’d gotten it in her head that it was what she deserved for all the things she’d done or enabled or failed to do. why did Penny remember Winter? because you were my friend. there is no divine complexity to it, nothing for Winter to fall hopeless short of. there is only the fact that Winter gave Penny something, made something together with Penny, even as she was trying her hardest not to, for fear that she would create something terrible. and this does not take away from all the ways Winter did fall short, but it is still SOMETHING. and it is enough.

it was your power, after all. Penny means the Maiden powers, but she also means THIS Maiden’s power: the power to create. you made this home, Penny is saying to Winter, you should get to reap its fruit, even if you weren’t around for the labor. all you have to do is say yes.

this was a gift. she says yes. she accepts, because in the end Winter Schnee loves her family more than she hates herself.

but then--

(a gift for what? Winter will ask herself wretchedly later, after she has failed in the two tasks she thinks Penny set for her.)

the thing about Winter is that she came first. she taught Weiss everything she knows, and she was so busy doing that she never had the time to show Weiss everything she feels. so in the end what Weiss never predicted was that for all of her team’s painful planning, for all of her own pained enforcement of that plan...none of it was a match for her sister. that when the time came it was would be WINTER who defaults to the absolute ideal of “no one gets left behind,” of “every life” meaning every life, priority one be damned.

or that Winter, in trying to choose both, in finally and fiercely trying, with surely enough power to make a difference, would fail.

what are you doing? Winter heard as she watched Weiss fall into nothingness. my life doesn’t matter.

so here, then, is the story of Winter in The Final Word: a girl returns home after having left it, but in this version it is the home who has changed and the girl who has not. and from this both are unmade. but she gets to live, because she was invited back home. and she gets to go through the portal as its last passenger, into the Promised Land.

and she is still the Maiden of Creation. even after all this, THAT is still her task. to build a refuge for her people, to collect the broken strands of the family she began and her siblings continued and expanded and reinforced, and gather them up again into a new home. it will be impossible, but at the same time: she has done this before.

and this time, she will wait for her sisters.

(a gift for what? for nothing, would be the answer. gifts aren’t FOR anything. they’re gifts.)

#typeoneninja #rwby #helen writes meta #VERY LONG OBSCENELY LONG META CANNOT EMPHASIZE HOW LONG #at least it didn't take me a whole month this time

169 notes · View notes

lexosaurus · 3 years

Text

Pink Astronaut

This is my secret santa gift for Anectoplasm on discord! Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy!

Characters: Danny/Paulina Genre: Fluff Word Count: 4549 Summary: To Paulina's dismay, she and Danny Fenton must work together on their English final project.

Read on [ao3] [ffn]

---

It was Lancer’s fault, really.

He assigned the class a partner-project for their final presentation, but being the annoying teacher he was, he had decided it was imperative that the students were assigned to pairs of his choosing. Aka, no working with friends.

Paulina tried her best. Truly, she did. She batted her eyelashes and put on her most polite tone when she said, “Pretty please with extra whipped cream and a cherry on top, can I work with Star instead of Loser Fenton?”

But, to her utter dismay, Mr. Lancer was a brick wall. No amount of wit nor charm could change his rubric, and so Paulina relented in a very much not dramatic final sigh as she resigned herself to be Danny Fenton’s English partner for the coming weeks.

Fenton was...well, he was weird. His parents hunted ghosts, he always slept through class, he was clumsy, and Paulina knew that in middle school Fenton was just like all the other boys who saw her as nothing more than a pretty face.

And that annoyed her to her core. She was a human, damn it! She had her own wishes and dreams and goals in life. Although she wasn’t vocal about it, she wanted to be a journalist when she was older. The kind that made it to shows like 60 Minutes, reporting on amazing stories from all around the world. She wanted to travel, she wanted to meet people, and she wanted to be the best at it.

She was still a long way off from that now though. First, she needed to survive through this stupid English project with that weird nerd who had gone through a not-so-secret crush on her before.

Though, when she looked his way now, Fenton didn’t look all too thrilled to be partnered with her either.

She would have called it odd, but that had been their dynamic for a little over a year now. She guessed that Fenton finally got the hint and dropped his love struck puppy act. Maybe he and Sam had finally confessed their undying love to each other.

It was probably for the best.

Fenton made no move towards her, instead choosing to stare dully into his notebook.

Paulina rolled her eyes and slid from her chair. She strode over to his desk, throwing a hand on her waist and looking down at him with an expression she knew would yield no arguments. “Alright, my house or yours?”

“Huh?” Fenton said, recognizing a little too late that she was there.

“For the project? The one we were just assigned? Hello, Earth to Commander Fenton! My house or yours today?”

“Today?” Fenton blinked. “You wanna start today?”

Paulina narrowed her eyes. “Why, got something better to do?”

“Well—it’s just—”

“I’ll come over at four. I’ll be at cheer practice till then. If you want anything from Starbucks, just text me before then. I know Manson has my number, you can get it from her.”

She left him sitting dumbly in his chair. No one was getting in the way of her and that A, especially not some nerd who couldn’t even bother to care about school.

But, to Paulina’s surprise, Fenton actually opened the door for her when she showed up to his house that afternoon. Half of her expected him to blow her off, just ghost her and leave her to do all the work. And yet, he brought her into his kitchen, got out his notebook, and got right to work.

It was unnerving to see him so studious. She remembered Fenton as a nerd in middle school, but everyone knew about the absolute nose-dive his grades took once he got to high school. It wasn’t exactly a secret, what with him skipping class every other day.

The duo parted ways with a promise to meet up again over the weekend. Again, to Paulina’s pleasant surprise, he actually texted her to confirm their plans. And when Paulina stepped into the Starbucks that Saturday afternoon, Danny was already sitting at a table waiting for her, his notebook out and the project rubric between his fingers.

This much good luck was sure to run out, but Paulina just hoped that Fenton could last another few weeks before he inevitably dropped the ball.

Except, that never happened. Each time they set up plans to work on their presentation, Fenton would show up, he would focus on the work, and they’d part ways with plans to reconvene later. It was uncanny. It was so unlike everything Paulina had come to know of Fenton through these months.

And Paulina wondered if maybe, just maybe, this was who Fenton really was.

Under all those disciplinary actions, the dropped beakers, the tardies, the unfinished assignments and failed grades, if this was hidden underneath.

So then that begged the question: why didn’t he show this side of himself more? Why was he failing if he was clearly capable of doing the work?

And so Paulina sat there, just a week before they were set to give their presentation, scrutinizing Fenton’s features as he recited a passage from the book they were analyzing. She noted the bags under his eyes, the bruise on his cheek, the way his face seemed to tighten every time he coughed.

He had arrived a few minutes late that day, and she remembered how he entered the classroom, his gate just a little too stiff to be natural.

Someone had hurt Fenton, Paulina realized. Someone had beat him up.

For reasons she didn’t know, hot anger flashed over her. Someone beat up Danny, a kid who was clumsy and could be a bit slow on the uptake, but someone who Paulina had come to understand was a rather kind and gentle classmate.

Yet someone didn’t care.

So the next day, maybe she stormed up to Dash a little too aggressively to demand, “What the hell did you do to Fenton?”

There was Dash, right on queue with his cocky laugh and a, “That nerd had it coming to him!”

“Are you kidding me?” Paulina yelled. “A week before our English final presentation and you punch Fenton across the face? Are you stupid?”

Dash’s smile dropped instantly, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Paulina, I didn’t—”

“You know how much this class matters to me, Dash! You know I wanna move up to honors next year! I can’t do that if you’re giving my English partner a goddamn concussion while we’re preparing to present!”

“Paulina!” Dash grabbed her arm.

“No!” Paulina ripped her arm away. “Don’t touch me, and don’t fucking sabotage—”

“I didn’t beat Fenton up!” Dash shouted.

Paulina’s eyes narrowed.

Dash held his hands up in a surrender. “I swear I didn’t beat him up. Ask Kwan if you don’t believe me. Honestly, I haven’t touched him in months. The—the coach told me that if I did well in school this year, I’d probably get recruited to college. I didn’t want to risk Fenton messing that up. I swear!”

Paulina stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to crack. But Dash’s panicked face held.

“Whatever.” She whipped around. “Tell your stupid friends to keep their hands off my project partner.”

“Consider it done!”

Paulina stormed off, ignoring the wide stares from her peers and the whispers of, “Did she just defend Fenton?”

She tried to block them out. They weren’t important. Her grades were important, her future was important, but those idiots? No, they meant nothing to her.

That afternoon, Danny was early. He was sitting there in the empty classroom when Paulina walked in, his head down to his paper, and didn’t even look up when Paulina gave her cheerful, “Hello!”

Well...that was weird. Sure, a few weeks ago, Danny mostly ignored her cheerful greetings in favor of getting ahead on the project, but Paulina liked to think that a mutual respect, or—god forbid—a friendship had been forming between the duo.

“Oof, cold shoulder? So not your speed, Danny,” Paulina said, plopping down to her seat.

Danny tensed, “I...uh, sorry. I’m tired.”

“Sheesh, alright.” Paulina slid her notebook out. “So we were working on the symbolism slide of the powerpoint, right?”

“Yeah,” Danny passed his notebook over to her. “I started parsing through the book at lunch today and found some good passages. Take a look.”

Paulina went to study the paper, but something else caught her eye.

Something on his arm.

Something that looked like a burn.

“Danny?” Paulina stared wide-eyed at the space of molten skin between his sleeve and hand. “What the hell happened to your arm?”

“Oh, I—” Danny slipped his arm under the desk. “I, uh, sorry. You see—”

“Whoa!” Paulina only caught a glance of his face before he ducked down again, but that split-second was enough. “What the hell? What happened to you?”

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

Paulina saw red. “Oh, that idiot! I’m gonna kill him!”

Danny looked up, the multicolored patchwork of skin on his face finally fully visible to Paulina. “Kill who?”

“Oh, look at you! That asshole!”

Fenton winced. “Am I...am I missing something here?”

“I’m gonna kill Dash!”

“...Dash?”

“I told him this morning to keep his hands off you! I made that asshole promise to me, and I told him to pass the message along to his stupid friends too!”

Something in Danny’s expression softened. “You told off Dash?”

“Well of course I did!” Paulina said hotily. “You’re my project partner! What kind of person would I be if I let you get hurt?”

“Oh well…” A smile quirked on Danny’s lips. “Thanks for that, but it wasn’t Dash.”

“Well then who was it? I’ll kill them.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

“You’re right, death would be too generous. I’ll just destroy their reputation instead!”

A bemused look overtook Danny’s face. “Yeah, I have no doubt you would.”

“Tell me right now, Fenton. Tell me who did this and I’ll make them pay. You won’t have to worry about them ever again once I’m finished with them.”

“Oh, I…” The smile fell from Danny’s lips. “It wasn’t anyone. I just...fell.”

“You what?” Paulina’s voice rose in disbelief.

“Yeah, you know how clumsy I am.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He laughed awkwardly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I just—you know. I was walking in the hall, fell down some stairs, hit the stair rail at the bottom. Just typical weirdo Fenton stuff! Nothing you need to destroy anyone over.”

“Don’t play with me. You didn’t fall.”

“I did fall though! It was...yeah, you know how it is. I was walking and talking at the same time and just slipped and fell! Ah, stupid Fenton, am I right? Just always...falling.”

Paulina’s glare was hollow. “How dumb do you think I am, Danny?”

Danny froze, his rambling stuttering off into a tense silence. “What?”

“I said—” Paulina rose from her chair. “—just how dumb do you think I am?”

“Uh, sorry. I’m sorry. Look, I think we may have gotten on the wrong topic here.”

“No!” Paulina slammed her hand down on Fenton’s notebook. “This little tirade? This sham you’ve been pulling for the past two years? It’s bullshit, Danny, and you know it.”

“I don’t—I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do know! You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Paulina hissed. “We’ve been working together for weeks now, and you think you can just sit here and say you fell? To me?”

“Well, sue me, Paulina!” Danny snapped. “Why do you even care, anyways? We’re not exactly friends.”

“Because you’re my project partner! Your grade is my grade, idiot!”

“Gee, I’m glad you only care about people when it affects your grade.” Danny shoved his notebook into his bag. “What an amazing quality to have.”

Paulina stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “That’s not true!”

Danny ignored her reaction, instead choosing to angrily zip up his backpack. “In case you haven’t noticed, your boyfriend’s been beating me up since we were five. I’m not sure why you’ve decided to care now, but if you want something to be mad at, maybe try being mad at the years of shit I’ve taken from you and your friends.”

Paulina stood there seething as Danny pushed past her and stocked off into the hallway, slamming the classroom door shut behind him.

There was the Fenton she’d come to know in high school, this was the Fenton she remembered. The one who avoided questions, who put himself down to avoid suspicion, who left in the middle of class without saying anything, who no one could rely on.

But, perhaps more now than ever, Paulina could see just how much of a sham this whole act was.

Just how much he was using this face to protect himself.

But from what? From who?

Paulina tried not to dwell too much on the bruises, especially since they were gone the next day and didn’t reappear for the rest of the week. Of course, Dash swore up and down that he had nothing to do with Fenton’s appearance, and Paulina believed him. Dash could be a bit bullheaded, but he was still one of her closest friends.

For the remaining week they had to put their presentation together, Danny kept to himself, and so did Paulina. Whatever semblance of a friendship they’d built had disintegrated, and both parties seemed content to let it fall.

It made sense, logically speaking. Paulina was popular, Fenton wasn’t. Paulina was an extrovert, Fenton was an introvert. Paulina thrived in attention, Fenton shied away from it. They were like oil and water, a friendship just wasn’t possible.

The presentation day came, and the two spoke with confidence that could only have come from weeks of preparation. Paulina couldn’t help but glow under Mr. Lancer’s impressed nod. Their high marks from the project were enough to fulfill Paulina’s recommendation to the honors English course for the next fall.

And then the school year came to a close and finally, after months of hard work, they could finally relax.

But not before they celebrated first.

One of Dash’s good friends, Dale, had taken it upon himself to host the massive end of the school year party for the rising junior class at Casper High that year. His parents, being the weird sort of chill parents they were, offered up their lake house with the promise that there would be no drinking and driving.

The teens were ecstatic.

Everyone—everyone—went to the party. Jocks, nerds, band geeks, theatre kids, every clique was represented at the lake house. And why wouldn’t they come? It was the end of the school year celebration! A time to rejoice in having survived another round of homework, tests, quizzes, and essays.

It was also a time where Paulina was once again reminded that yes, the theatre kids could in fact go shot-to-shot with the football team.

Fenton was there with his little group, but Paulina paid them no mind. This wasn’t the time to be worried about him, nor was it the time to feel any sort of guilt at the way their budding friendship just collapsed. She had her friends, why add another?

And it was just preposterous to imply that she missed Fenton.

Because she didn’t.

And yet, when the night was drawing to a close, Paulina somehow managed to find herself down by the lake where a skinny, black haired teen was sitting alone.

She stood behind him, unsure if she wanted to initiate contact. He’d made it clear from their last argument that he still held years of resentment towards her and her friends, and Paulina knew from experience that all that resentment couldn’t go away in one alcohol-filled night.

She turned to walk away, but something stopped her. Before she could question what she was doing or why, she found herself sitting down on the damp grass next to him.

“What are you doing out here?” Paulina asked.

“Oh, uh, hey Paulina! Fancy seeing you here.” Danny gave her a small wave.

“You too.” Paulina stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back on her hands. “Some party, right?”

“Yeah, Dale was really nice to host this.”

“He’s a great guy. His parents too.”

“I bet.” Danny said. “How are your friends holding up?”

“Well, let’s see. Star just spent a half hour trying to convince me that aliens exist, and Dale’s currently comforting Kwan who saw a video of a puppy rescue on the side of the road and started crying, so I’d say they’re holding up pretty well.”

Danny guffawed. “No way!”

“I swear!” Paulina laughed. “This isn’t even the first time something like this has happened either. I swear, every other time we drink, Kwan always ends up in a corner somewhere watching animal videos on his phone and crying at how precious the animals are and ‘please, Paulina, can’t we just adopt one?’ He’s gonna be the death of me one of these days.”

Danny giggled, his laugh light and airy. Paulina watched him, amazed that they were able to just start talking again as if their fight had never happened.

“So what about you?” she asked. “What happened to your clan?”

“Sam had to drive Tucker home. He got too overconfident in pong.”

She snorted. “Dash is the same. He’s always like, ‘one more round, I’m gonna crush it this time’ and then twenty minutes later I find him asleep in a bathtub or something.”

“Dash drunk sleeping in a bathtub? Oh, that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

“I can assure you that photos exist.”

“The perfect blackmail.” Fenton shot her a grin. “Remind me to get one of Tucker next time he does something stupid.”

“And what makes you think you won’t be right there on the floor with him?” Paulina sassed.

“Hah! You’re probably right!” His smile fell, and he looked at her questioningly. “Hey, will your boyfriend be okay with you out here with me?”

“Oh, Dash? He’s...actually not my boyfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Danny jolted upright. He spun around to face her. “But I thought—”

“Yeah, everyone does. But we’re not dating.”

“Then why don’t you say something? Squash all the rumors?”

Paulina averted her gaze back onto the lake. It was a gorgeous night. Stars speckled the sky in a spectacular display, illuminating the Milky Way behind them. Amity Park was too industrious to see the galaxy, and Paulina couldn’t help but marvel at its sight.

It was gorgeous. Vast. It seemed to never end. She remembered reading somewhere that the Milky Way could only be seen if there was no moon out.

Luck must have been on her side that night.

“Unless...you don’t want to.” Danny’s voice dawned a tone of realization. “But why?”

“I got tired of it all,” she admitted, her honesty surprising herself. “Guys only wanted to talk to me because they thought if they were nice enough, I would get in their pants or something. I got accused of friendzoning more people than not. Honestly, it was so annoying. I felt everyone saw me as some stupid object. So when the rumors started going around this year that Dash and I were dating, and a lot of guys in our grade started backing off, I just...didn’t fight it. I thought maybe finally everyone would see me as a person. Maybe people would take me seriously.” Her gaze dropped. “I don’t know if it worked, but at least now people don’t see me as some sort of prize so much anymore.”

Danny was silent for a moment, and Paulina immediately regretted her admission. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening her lips, but she doubted Fenton of all people cared. They weren’t even friends.

One side of her wanted to get up and leave, go back to her friends inside the house, but the other side of her was too embarrassed to move.

“That makes sense, honestly,” Danny finally responded.

A wave of relief washed over her.

“And I’m sorry that there was a time where I couldn’t see past your looks too. I was young, but that’s still not an excuse.” He shifted. “I’ve had some...things happen the past year, and they’ve really taught me a lot about judging a book by its cover.”

“What kinds of things?” Paulina said, hoping her voice didn’t betray too much curiosity.

There went that hand behind his neck again. He was nervous, Paulina noted.

“Oh! Uh...it’s a long story, but I just wanted to say that I understand. I get what it feels like to be judged based on surface-level stuff. I mean, Paulina, you’re really smart. I don’t know if I told you this, but I’m really glad we ended up partners on that English project. I would have been so screwed with anyone else.”

“Thanks, Danny,” she said, trying to fight the blush that she knew was tinting her cheeks. “I’m sorry for being nosy at the end there. I didn’t mean to corner you like that. It was really stupid of me to pry when you obviously didn’t feel like talking.”

“No!” he exclaimed “No, don’t apologize! I was just being sensitive. Honestly, I knew I looked like shit.” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Look, I didn’t fall obviously. I wasn’t trying to play you, I just panicked. But...I’m okay now, really.”

He looked at her, and Paulina noted how his blue eyes seemed to dance under the light of the stars. How he sat up straighter, his shoulders rolled back and head held high. How yes he was thin, but not scrawny like he was back in freshman year of high school. He seemed toned, lithe, almost like a gymnast.

Danny had definitely grown up in the past two years, but then again, so had she.

“I’m glad you’re okay, and I’m also glad I got to be your English partner too,” she said.

They sat by the lake watching the stars until the chill of the crisp spring air began to set in Paulina’s bones. She left Danny in favor of the warm house, but not without saying, “I’ll text you sometime.”

The summer came, and the ever so slightly intoxicated promise to hang out slipped Paulina’s mind. After all, she had months of sleep to catch up on.

Fortunately for her, Danny remembered.

It was a silly text, a meme about Shakespear. Paulina responded with the appropriate emojis, and tried to convince herself that the smile she wore was due to the funny image, and had nothing to do with the boy who sent it.

And a week later, he sent another one. This time, Paulina asked to grab a coffee with him. Catch up.

To her surprise, Danny agreed. They met up at the Starbucks and what Paulina thought would only be a quick catch-up session turned into a three hour long hangout.

Despite his awkward demeanor, Danny was rather talkative. Especially when the topic revolved around space. Apparently, he wanted to work for NASA someday. He said it came from a childhood dream of becoming an astronaut, but overtime his interests shifted into rocket design and engineering. It helped that—according to Danny—his dad had built the equivalent of an ecto-rocket in his basement.

Paulina confessed that she wanted to work for 60 Minutes someday as a journalist. She dreamed of traveling around the world, collecting stories and meeting people. She explained that as a kid, she used to have to travel around the world for her dad’s work before he finally settled in Amity Park. And although she’d been living in Amity for years now, a part of her still missed those days where she was constantly exposed to new countries, languages, and cultures.

Danny listened attentively, reacting at the appropriate times and pressing for questions whenever she would trail off. Even though he had a reputation of never paying attention to teachers, he seemed to genuinely enjoy listening to her.

Eventually they parted ways, but they promised to hang out again.

And again they did.

And again.

Again.

There were some topics that Danny seemed to skirt around, such as why he sometimes would show up bruised, or why he seemed to struggle to stay in class despite his dreams of working for a prestigious agency like NASA.

But Paulina was willing to ignore those demons because she liked Danny, and she didn’t want to say anything that would push him away. And, despite their differences, he seemed to like her back.

Summer drifted to fall, the leaves started to turn, and soon it was too cold to hangout outside.

Which was how they found themselves here, in Danny’s room, laying on Danny’s floor watching Youtube videos, their math homework long since abandoned beside them.

It was a nerdy video, one about bizarre planets that existed in space. One that Paulina would never have watched on her own, but Danny seemed positively riveted at.

His eyes were bright and attentive, and every so often he’d point to the screen and go, “Look!” as if Paulina wasn’t watching the same video.

It was...adorable.

His excitement rivaled a child on Christmas. And as interesting as the video was to watch, Danny was even more so.

The video ended, but Paulina hardly noticed. All she could see was the grin on Danny’s lips, the freckles dotting his cheeks, the way his hair sat on his head like a soft cloud.

“So? What did you think?” Danny asked.

“Cute,” Paulina responded. “You’re cute.”

Danny blinked, his mouth turning to a little “o” shape as red tinged his cheeks. He started to stutter, to try to brush Paulina off, but she held onto his shoulder and said, “Danny, I think you’re cute.”

“Oh,” he said, his eyes wide. “I think you’re cute too.”

Paulina closed the gap between them, closing her eyes. His lips felt soft against hers, and her heart fluttered in her chest. Her hands trailed up to his hair, and she curled her fingers through his soft hair.

He was gentle, as if he were afraid to hurt her, and his skin felt cool against her own. Secretly, Paulina had always loved that about Danny, the fact that his body temperature seemed to run lower than normal. And now she could cherish this all to herself.

Danny’s hand wrapped around her back, gently pressing her closer. His touch was electric, and Paulina could have melted right there. She pressed further against him, deepening the kiss.

They stayed in each other’s arms, enjoying the moment for just a few moments longer before Danny pulled back. He looked at her, his eyes sparkling, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

There were some things Paulina didn’t understand about Danny. There were some things he was still closed off about, things he didn’t want to speak about. And eventually, Paulina would bring those things up, she would get answers. Eventually, she would uncover all the secrets, all the layers to the enigma that made up Danny Fenton.

But right now?

Right now she was just going to enjoy the moment.

#danny phantom #pink astronaut #fluff #romance #phicc #my writing #paulina #secret santa

187 notes · View notes

concerningwolves · 3 years

Note

Hej, I actually have three questions: How do you handle plotbunnies? I currently have 14 - more or less fleshed out. But they are mere notes. Secondly: I'm in a bind with some of my pieces. The introduction is more or less there and I have a cornerstone (an important scene) but I don't know how to get there. Thirdly: Is there a tag or so for beat readers and how much research is good? I can sink week into research a single detail. Thanks.

(A note before I begin: as of 02.04.21, asks like this violate my ask guidelines. This isn’t a personal scolding, @quamatoc, but I just want to make you and readers aware that I won’t take multiple unrelated topics in a single ask anymore. More on this AG update here.)

Handling Plot Bunnies

Honestly, the most helpful thing I've learned is that it's okay to just... let your plot bunnies be. Leave them grazing on your metaphorical mental lawn. You don't have to do something with them straight away – in fact, managing which projects you work on and when, instead of chasing down every plot bunny you see, is an important skill to learn.

I like to keep an Evernote notebook for each plot bunny, so I can update it whenever I get a new idea but don't feel like I'm abandoning the ideas or like I have to work on them Right Now. You could keep a physical notebook, a file, a digital folder full of word documents – it doesn’t matter what you use, so long as it’s something you can access easily and keep relatively organised. Sometimes fresh inspiration will strike and I'll realise that an apparently unrelated plot bunny is actually really useful for a current project, or I'll get struck with a full plot for a previously fragmented idea. Either way, it’s been really liberating to realise that I can just keep plot bunnies safe somewhere for later on.

Getting from Point A to Point B (Building the Plot)

► PLOT STRUCTURES & GENERAL NOTES

To get from place to place in a story, you need to think about what makes it tick. You don’t need to write scenes in order, though! For me, figuring out a plot is really just me asking myself a very, very long series of questions. If I know what the Big Scene is, I’ll work backwards, asking myself things and seeing how the answers could get me from point A to B.

You don’t have to figure out a plot freehand, either. If you’re struggling, you might find it useful to use a pre-made plot structure outline such as the. There are loads available online. Print out several different ones and see which fits best, put your important scene where you think it goes and work backwards, write all over them, use a giant whiteboard, write on the wall – if it helps, use it. Here’s a blog article on different types of plot structure.

I also think it's important to actually write. It's so easy to get caught up in plotting that you don't put your thoughts to paper. Make sure you don’t fall into that trap! I'm a plantser, meaning I like to do a mixture of pre-plotting and flying through drafts by the seat of my pants. Even if you’re a rigid planner, be sure to see how your ideas look in action by drafting out scenes.

► “WHAT IF?” QUESTIONS

“What if character A and B discover a secret? What if they have different opinions on what to do about the secret? What if this becomes a friends to enemies to friends to lovers plot?? – wait, no, what if they’re already enemies and this secret forces them to work together? What if—”

Brainstorm "what if...?" questions and explore various options. You don’t have to make any final decisions – that’s the beauty of drafting! The point is to put together subplots and main plots, and see which one works best in getting you to where you want to go.

► GOALS, WANTS & AMBITIONS

A character’s ambitions, wants and goals are very important to a story. They help hook the audience in by giving them something to root for. Knowing what a character wants and what lengths they would go to to get it is crucial to driving a plot forwards, especially if your story is character-driven.

What does a character want? → A character can have multiple desires, but it’s helpful to pick one key thing that undercuts most of their actions. Maybe they want to find out who killed their mother, or escape from somewhere. Perhaps they want to steal a pretty gem. Maybe they want to be king, or they want to escape from their responsibilities as a ruler.

What steps is a character willing to take? → Some characters are willing to do anything to achieve their goals. Maybe they commit a crime, end up in prison, get nudged towards more heinous actions, and find themself in a situation they never would have expected. Other characters are more cautious, but get pushed to breaking point – and then make a Bad Decision that bring about a major plot point. The steps a character makes are what puts them on the path of your plot.

Could anything change a character’s desires, or influence them to take different/more drastic measures? If so, what, and how would this change plot events? → Let’s say that your cornerstone scene is when character A steals from character B, but A starts the story unfailingly loyal to B and only wants to protect them. In order to get to that cornerstone, you’d need to work out what could happen to change A’s priorities. Change is invaluable in getting from plot point to plot point. If something happens that changes what a character wants – i.e., a betrayal, a sudden exile, or a change in fortunes – it can push them down paths they wouldn’t have otherwise considered.

► CONFLICT & OBSTACLES

Just as characters need to want something; plots need conflict and obstacles to make them interesting.

What could go wrong? How would the character(s) try to solve the problem? → “How can I create problems?” is probably the most valuable question an author can ask when building the plot; asking yourself how the characters try and solve said problem just pushes it even further, like this:

Does the attempted solution work? Whether it succeeds or fails, does it have any unexpected consequences? → Say that your Important Scene takes place in a different location to where your characters start out. So, the thing that goes wrong means your characters need to flee (the solution), and it works! They’ve escaped! Only now, they don’t have anywhere safe to go, and so they end up going into the place where Important Scene happens. Or maybe they don’t escape, and their attempt means that they’re transported to a more secure location, which in turn gives them an opportunity to get to Important Scene Location.

Do A’s goals conflict with another character’s goals? What would the other character do to protect their own interests? → If your cornerstone scene involves a clash of two armies, you need to think about what could ramp up the tension between the two sides, and conflicting interests is a great way to do this. Maybe your protagonist is trying to save the world from impending doom, but the queen of a neighbouring land is blinded by hunger for more land and riches. Or, the protagonist is a queen-in-exile trying to wrestle the throne back from the tyrannical relative who usurped her. Think about how each characters’ moves against the other could drive the plot.

The key is to think of it as building a structure out of bricks or slabs. You have your cornerstone – great! – now you need to work out what parts go where.

Research and Beta Readers

Research is something I wholeheartedly and unironically love. I will actually give myself research days a treat for reaching certain writing goals! So, naturally, I'm going to say that there's no limit on how much research one should do to create a story. That said, there is one caution to keep in mind: research is good, so long as you don't let it stop you from actually writing OR let it turn your writing into something akin to an instruction manual. In early drafts, try replacing any specific information you need with a code such as [ELEPHANT] or [KX] – basically, something you can find easily with the search function later on when you’ve researched it.

To find beta-readers, I recommend using the writeblr tag. It's where the bulk of the community puts their stuff. Make a post like "call for beta readers" with information about your project and use the buzzword tags like "writeblr" "writers on tumblr" "writers of tumblr" "beta readers" and whatever genre is applicable. Avoid external links in the post, otherwise it won't show up in the tags.

[ASK GUIDELINES | KO-FI]

#quamatoc #research #plotting #writing advice #plot bunnies #writeblr

34 notes · View notes

reidetic · 4 years

Text

Letters

Summary: Spencer writes reader letters in prison. Loosely based off of Hey There Delilah.

A/N: The poem in this work belongs to Erin Hanson. Thank you so much to @sunlight-moonrise for beta reading this for me. This was a one day brain child and I hope you enjoy it.

She hadn’t written back. That’s all Spencer could think of, the only thought running through his head as his mattress sunk through the bars and pressed into his back. Two letters so far, two weeks between, save the first week. The letters kept her in his memory, the pen dipping into paper the only thing that kept her perfume wound around his soul. When the ink smeared across his too quick fingers, he cursed, closing his unfounded emotions within the confines of the cheap notebook paper.

She hadn’t written back. It’s not like the letters had been particularly interesting. Spencer had never been an interesting writer, never been the one to capture someone’s attention. That was, until her. Until y/n. He had met her at a writer’s circle, something his mom had suggested.

“You used to write so often, when you were a little boy.” Diana had mused on one of her infrequent good days.

“I was young then, Mom, nothing I wrote was well-written.” Spencer had laughed with her, both of them remembering the mother’s day haikus that should’ve never been sent home.

“I’m just saying that the life you’ve lived deserves to be written down.” And so he went, attending a small after hours circle at a local community college. He saw her first. Her hair slung up haphazardly, pens tucked into the tendrils, one shirt sleeve slipping off of her shoulder, and her tongue sticking slightly out her mouth in concentration. She was a girl who could steal your attention from the first glance. One pen slipped out of her hair then, and he had leaned forward, picking it up and extending it to her with a smile.

“Spencer.” He had offered, his name a gift to the girl who sat before him. He thought they probably looked like a painting, with the lanky boy kneeling in front of the ethereal girl, one hand extended with a pen obscured by his own spindly fingers.

“Y/n.” She gave her name right back, grabbing the pen from his hand. And that had been it. That one moment was all it took for Spencer to know he would follow where she went. They had become inseparable, no longer one without the other. They promised each other they’d come every single week, filled notebooks in hand. They stayed far too long after the circle had been dismissed, reading in hushed whispers and bodies so still the motion lights went dim.

Spencer had felt himself start to fall on one particular night, when they had slipped out to her car to read, their voices filling the cramped car and breath fogging the windows. She had written a poem, something soft and fiery, and he remembered thinking it felt like an autobiography and a love song all at once as her sweet and lilting voice filled the air.

I wish that I could hold your heart,

Cradle it gently in my hands,

But my arms just are not strong enough,

To hold what I don 't understand,

My eyes have seen a lot of

And I thought I'd seen them all,

But the way your smile ignites my own,

Makes me think there's so much more,

These walls around this heart of mine,

Have stood dust,

But it's as though you've found the gate,

That leads right to my trust,

I've never really liked my name,

But on your lips it sounds so sweet,

And your voice is my new favourite song,

That's forever on repeat,

But even though I feel all this,

I can never let you see,

Because your heart deserves a whole lot more,

Than a broken girl like me.

Her trembling breath paused as she finished on the word ‘me’. He felt as though she saw right through him, he turned to glass in her sight. But she was still as opaque as the day he met her. The car had felt awkward then. The air too still, the streetlights outside too bright. They sat in silence, breath held, before y/n had blurted out a quick, “I should get home.”

He still remembers the way her face fell in the moonlight as he agreed with her. He still regrets that, still regrets not pulling her in and kissing her right then and never letting her go. He dreams about that now, about the what ifs and what could have beens. He’s always been a coward.

He had written that night, pages upon pages of writings about her. Nothing but her. She filled his mind for weeks, and when he read his poetry on Thursday nights, she looked away. He could still feel the sting in his cheeks he felt that night when she called his work, “fantastical and unrealistic”. He could still feel the betrayal he felt that night as she ripped into him and left no trace. Despite her harshness, he felt her warmth, or so he thought.

She hadn’t written back. The letter he penned took days, but it wasn’t as if prison life was especially exciting. There weren’t enough words he could find to explain how he felt to her. He had never told her how he felt, not before his arrest. He had tried to write the letter in English, in French, in Latin. None of it made any sense, his cell filled with ruined and crumpled pieces of paper. He settled on an old song, the one he remembered playing softly in the car as she read her heart to him, changed to fit only her.

Hey there y/n,

What’s it like in DC? I’m a thousand miles away, but tonight you look so pretty. I know I can’t see you right now, but it doesn’t matter. I know. Forgive me for the song, it keeps me sane. I don’t know quite what to do with myself right now. It’s not often I get arrested for murders I didn’t commit, but when I do, it’s you I miss. Thursday was strange without your words there to comfort the mass in my head. I find that when you’re speaking it’s the only time I hear silence. Silence is something beautiful rarely created that I don’t experience often enough, but with you, it finds its way to my ears regularly. I know if you were here you’d chastise me about the concept of hearing silence, but you’ll just have to read it in this letter. I don’t have many updates, but know that I am not enjoying myself. Suffice to say, it is hard to enjoy one’s predicament when you aren’t sure when it will be over. I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you, so I won’t. Please be safe. You matter to me more than you know.

Regards,

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He had sent the letter within his second week behind bars. His life continued, slowly but surely, days passing and hopes of a response every day. And every day, nothing. It kills him, but he can’t blame her. He doesn’t know that he would write himself back if he was in her shoes. Still, he sent another letter. He put just a bit more of his soul into the second, still not quite ready to confess anything he might have considered confessing that night in her car.

Hey there y/n,

Don’t you worry about the distance, I’m right here if you get lonely. Not literally, you know that, of course. But you can always give this letter another read. Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side. I’ll always be by your side, whether or not you need me. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. But until then, I’ll stay by your side. Everyone needs a loyal friend, right? I know I could use one right now. I don’t blame you for not responding. You have no proof that I am not a guilty man. But I will swear to you every day until the day that I die, I am innocent. I am innocent. I am innocent. You don’t have to believe a word I say but I will write it, scream it, sing it until you do. Prison isn’t easy. I just want to hear your voice. The eidetic memory may help, but nothing is as good as the real thing. You don’t have to write back. I wish I could tell you everything I think. I love you. Be safe.

Sincerely,

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Y/n, her smile, her voice, her face. Her smell was burned into his psyche like a brand. He couldn’t forget her if he tried. And oh, he tried. Menial tasks and thumbing through books he’d already read, folding the laundry three separate times, and yet she still infiltrated his brain. No matter how fast his fingers moved, her voice lilted in his head, ‘Spencer, Spencer.’ She helped him escape, helped him remain who he is through and through. She still hadn’t responded. A month and a half after his arrest, three weeks after his last letter. He figured he had one last try. He knew his walls were closing in, his mind delving away into itself for protection. He knew he couldn’t be himself much longer, but she was the last thing keeping his feet on the ground.

Hey there y/n,

I’ve got so much left to say, if every letter I wrote to you would take your breath away, I’d write them all. I’d write you every letter in the world if it meant I got to hear your voice again. If it meant you didn’t hate me for what I’ve become. Prison life isn’t easy and I’ve had to do things to survive that make me unrecognizable. I don’t know that I am the person you knew. But I know you are. You get me through all of this. I think about us, what we could’ve been if I had been who you needed, who you wanted. I love you, you know. I can see you walking down the aisle, I can see you holding our children. I can see the house we buy, the cars we fight over. I can see the quilts lining our bed in stolen kisses in the morning, and I can see the light in your eyes. I love you. I am yours. If you want me, if you don’t, I am yours.

Yours truly

Yours, truly

Spencer Reid

Truth be told, Spencer had assumed they’d never prove his innocence. He had grown accustomed to being in prison, protecting himself and others in ways he never thought he’d do. So when JJ showed up, simply stating they were here to take him home, he couldn’t believe it. His disbelief paralyzed him, shock bounding through his body as he froze to the spot he was in. The only thing that got him moving again was her. Y/n. He’d see her. Her.

His second shock of the day was his greeting as he exited the prison, not bound or confined for the first time in three months. The sun felt better out here, somehow.. Garcia was there, taking him in her arms, and he breathes in the scent of her perfume, of lilies and coffee. That’s not what shocks him though, but what lies behind Garcia. Her. She’s here. Y/n.

“Y/n.” He takes a step towards her, tentative, watching the tears fall from her eyes and feeling his own dash across his cheeks.

“Spencer Reid.” And there is not another word but her arms are thrown around his neck, and for the first time Spencer understands that home is not a place, but a person.

taglist: @imagining-in-the-margins @httpnxtt @dontkissthewriter @vivanadium @samanddeanstolethetardis221b @spencer-reid-in-a-pool @blazinvixen @fanficlibrary82

you can message me or respond to this if you'd like to be added to my taglist!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

319 notes · View notes

scenarioslovers · 4 years

Text

Our Sin >> Jungkook, You (Part 4)

PLEASE READ ME FIRST : PART 1| PART 2 |PART 3

Once upon a time, three friends loved each other very much, people thought they could pass as siblings. They promised to always stay loyal and never hurt each other no matter what. They promised to stay friends and never let anything ruin what they had for each other. Jungkook, Minju, and Y/N.

Two girls and one boy.

They swore that they wouldn’t fight over love because being together the three of them was the perfect calculation to have existed. Y/N fought her demons and hide her feelings for the boy who brightened up her life and gave her hope to keep going and face life. She couldn’t betray her friend’s trust and let such unwanted feelings to ruin everything.

That was until the last year of high school. When Jungkook and Minju came while holding hands.

Y/N tried so hard to deny all the signs. They could never betray her like this. They all swore on their friendship. However, Minju was blushing and wouldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. Jungkook was braver but he was shy to admit the truth. That they were already in love, leaving her alone, and totally ignoring her feelings.

Their hands will not break free.

Jungkook stuttering trying to form words. It was Minju who broke the silence and awkward moment. “Y/N, sorry. we can’t keep that from you for so long... we are dating.”

Y/N smiled faintly, trying so hard to hide the pain and tears from her eyes. Her efforts to keep the promised gone to air but she had to work harder for the friendship to never go away.

She couldn’t lose two of her friends, just because she is foolishly in love with someone who was in love with someone else.

“I knew it.” A forced chuckle skipped her mouth. “I already knew you would do that eventually. Congratulations, my friends.”

“Aren’t you mad?” Jungkook asked. A hint of surprise rose in his voice.

“I am happy for you.” Y/N nodded at her friends. “Our friendship is stronger than this. I know it is.”

At that time, the three friends didn’t know that their trip of sins would start.

They didn’t know that breaking that promise back then when they were just young and wild would bring them all the unfortunate events and bad feelings. Lies and breaking promised were a cycle that the three friends didn’t stop doing.

_____________

Two weeks after Y/N left.

Jungkook couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened.

Minju wouldn’t answer his calls and Y/N left for a new start even though he wondered if you would be able to get it. He couldn’t stop thinking about you ever since you Left. He wished he could turn back time and make different decisions.

Like how he shouldn’t have hide after hearing about your pregnancy. He shouldn’t have asked for time to think about it. He knew that he loved you and he was so ready to have a life with you. However, Minju always appeared in his mind like a haunting ghost. Blaming him for stopping loving her when she was ready to fully love him. He thought he loved Minju too.

God, he loved Minju but when he saw your tears his heart ached as if thousands of knives decided to stab him in the heart at the same time with no mercy.

His heart ached for you and only you.

He was just too stupid to realize how important you were in his life before. He thought Minju was the answer.

When he first asked Minju out, Y/N popped in his mind smiling brightly at his silly jokes. He pushed that memory away, back in the days he thought he felt sorry for you, for breaking that silly promise they made for each other. He didn’t want to hurt his childhood friend because he fell in love with her best friend.

Your reaction at that time surprised him, yet put him at ease. Maybe he shouldn’t have thought about it too much. That’s what friends are for.

Nevertheless, he was wrong.

You indeed were hurt considering that now he knew how you felt about him. He hated himself more than anything.

Looking at the ceiling of his room, his eyes fell on the stars you had helped him in decorating his room with before. A small smile formed on his lips as tears blurring his vision. He couldn’t believe he let himself be a coward and lose you in the thin air like this.

A vibration coming from his phone made him threw his body in a sitting position. He caught himself hoping it was from you. However, disappointment yet fear washed over him when he saw the name in capital letters and a heart beside it. MINJU.

--Let’s talk! I don’t like to leave things unfinished.

He knew what she meant from her text. She was breaking up with him. However, the Minju he knows wouldn’t let be unless she heard it from him.

-Meet you in 20 minutes. Our regular place.

Jungkook texted back

--Tsk, I wish you didn’t reply so fast. See you there.

First thing, first, Jungkook was determined to confess all of his sins, but he wasn’t going to ask for forgiveness. As the person who should hear it could no longer receive it.

__________________

Everyone deserves a chance to start a new life that was meant to change from them. And that was your decision when you left your best friend; who now hate to hear your name and the one whom you truly love.

They say if you have a guy friend you should never ever fall in love with them. Now, you knew why. Simply you didn’t just lose your long time crush, you lost your secret keeper and the one who tried his best to be a good friend.

A part of you didn’t want to take the whole blame, however you decided to be the bad one when you decided to get rid of the baby.

You wanted to erase everything. It pained you so much to look in the mirror and think of the possibility that you could have been a mother.

You wrote the bad things you did for the past year in a white thin paper. Wanting to let them go and you wrote each one of them, thinking of the mess you cause because of it.

You looked at the list one more time:

1- Slept with my best friend’s ex who is my close friend

2- lied to Minju

3- lied to jungkook

4- got pregnant

5- Took advantage of Jungkook in the loneliest moment in his life.

6- truly loved Jungkook knowing he didn’t love me and cared for Minju

7- I killed the baby

Whipping away the tears that started running down your cheeks, you crumbled the paper with your fist and threw it into the sea.

Today, after this moment, you will live only for yourself. You didn’t deserve to be a girlfriend to anyone or even a mom ever again.

You looked at the paper as it sank slowly into the deep blue water and disappeared. As you no longer could see it, you took a deep breath and promised yourself never to cry again or think about your sins ever. You were going to start a life that was only for yourself.

___________________

Three years later

“Teacher! Can you help me?”

One of your students approached you with a notebook as you were looking through the windows to the sea view beside the school. The cute little girl was more than four years old. You couldn’t help but think that your baby would have been as old as she was or a little younger. The girl was wearing a yellow dress that was filled with flowers everywhere. It made her look like an angel with her hair tied up into two ponies on each side. She was smiling at you excitedly as she pushed her notebook toward you. She was only four years old yet she cared so much about her art and classwork.

“Let me see, Hana.” You kneeled beside her as you opened her notebook. Her handwriting was huge and messy. You found them cute. Sometimes you secretly took pictures of your students' handwriting as a memory for you to keep. However, what Hana showed you, wasn’t an art or classwork. You looked at her handwriting in awe as you smiled so widely from ear to ear. She wrote you a letter.

I love you, teacher Y/N. You are the best teacher and I want to be like you when I grow up. You are cool and pretty. You are the best.

“Are you crying, Teacher?” Hana looked concerned as tears started to form in her eyes too.

You whipped the tears with the back of your hands so quickly as you shook your head, and laughed so that Hana stop making that sad face. “I am happy. Very happy, thank you, Hana.”

“You can take the paper. It is yours.” Hana said as she ripped the paper with the letter out of her notebook before running back to her class.

Working with kids, changed you a lot. After you decided to start all over again a new life, you moved to Jeju island and applied to be a kindergarten teacher. Fortunately, you got the job and you have been living a calm life ever since.

You folded the letter and put it in your bag. You had a box filled with love letters from your students. They were all so cute and loved to show love everywhere they go. These small letters like a cheer up treat to your lonely nights. Whenever thoughts and bad memories haunt your dreams, you would wake up to read all of them without getting tired.

When all the kids went home, you decided to go to the market instead of going home right away. You needed to shop for groceries as your fridge started to be empty.

Since Jeju island is so small, people knew each other. And living for three years in this small island made it easier for people to know you. Every shop vendor greeted you happily as the offered to show you their new products and goods. Everyone was kind to you and made you feel welcomed.

“Good afternoon, Y/N.” The fruit shop grandpa greeted you as you approached his shop.

“Grandpa, do you have apples?” You asked as you looked around for it. “I can’t see them.”

“They are inside, I changed their place as they keeping falling around everywhere.” He laughed as he explained how old he was for him to run after a rolling apple.

“You are still young, grandpa.” You complimented him and he cheered in confidence.

“You, young children, know what to say.” He handed you your apples and you paid him before turning around.

At that moment, the world started to tie up around you. Your lungs forgot how to breathe as you caught sight of the thing you wanted to avoid for as long as you were alive. Why are they here? Questions filled your mind and only one answered popped in your head.

RUN.

You turned so fast the other way around. It was so fast that you didn’t notice someone was behind you. You bumped into the fruit shop grandson, who had a crush on you. However, his strong arms held you in place, protecting you for accidents. “Y/N!” He exclaimed happily. He was so loud that blood went cold into your veins. When he noticed the horror in your eyes he looked at you worriedly. “Is something wrong?”

“I have to go. Talk to you later, Dojoon-shi” and started to walk as fast as you could. Dojoon called after you as you fastened your pace and started to run.

Why are they here out of all the places? What are they doing? They seemed like they are still together. Your chest tightened and your vision blurred as your legs wouldn’t stop.

Jungkook and Minju were in Jeju island. Minju was holding into Jungkook’s arm as he was looking at a necklace from the accessory lady.

The burning in your chest wouldn’t stop. When you reached home, you kicked your shoes away and walked straight to your room. Hands in hair, you pulled into it as you couldn’t stop thinking. Finally, after three years you learned how to move on. Did they come here looking for you? Is it coincident? How did they make up?

A part of you was happy that they could manage to stay together. Another part of you was broken over the fact that you had become the one who couldn’t be forgiven.

“Good for them.” You murmured to yourself. “At least now you can live without feeling guilty. You didn’t ruin their relationship at least.”

__________

“Jungkook, look at this beautiful necklace,” Minju said as she grabbed Jungkook’s arm as she stopped by a lady who was selling jewelry. The necklace charm took a heart shape with a moon and a star inside of it. Jungkook looked at it and couldn’t help but think of Y/N. A moon and a star. Two things that matched well with Y/N’s personality. She was the moon and the star that guided him during his darkest days. He felt her absence when she was gone. Technically she was around him as long as he could ever remember.

“It would look good on, Y/N,” Minju said, reading Jungkook’s expression.

Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise. Was he thinking out loud?

“It would look good on you too.”

“Eh, stop lying. It also reminded me of her the moment I saw it.” Minju sighed as she looked away from Jungkook. “Did you use to have the same expression while thinking of me?”

Jungkook groaned and Minju laughed. “Minju!”

“You didn’t have to protest like this. I am hurt.”

“Do you think we will find her?” Jungkook’s eyes were full of worry and anxiety.

“Emma said she saw her multiple times while she was on vacation here,” Minju said, shaking her head. “That only means one thing. She moved in her and lied to you.”

“Would she be happy to see me?”

“I—”

“Y/N!!!”

Before Minju could answer, a man shouted a name too familiar and unique to ignore. Minju and Jungkook snapped their head towards the voice. Only to find a man standing in the middle of the street, looking annoyed and sad and no one was in front of him.

Jungkook looked at Minju whose eyes grew in excitement. At least this could be the confirmation they need to know that their search wasn't a waste of time.

Jungkook walked over to the man, he looked around the same age as him. A small burn feeling rose in his chest. “Excuse me, do you know Y/N?”

“Teacher Y/N?” He looked behind him then back at Jungkook. “Yes, and who are you?”

“Her best friend,” Minju answered instead as she reached out for a handshake. “We are looking for Y/N. Can you help us?”

_____________

You couldn’t sleep last night, those dark circles were more visible than ever. Your skin was pale and dehydrated. You reached for a bottle of water as you gulped it down in one sip. You no longer wanted to go out of your house. Jeju Island was so small that there was a huge chance to run into them again. However, you still had a job and a life to live. Until when were you going to keep running away?

With a determined mind, you walked into your bedroom to get ready for a new day. It didn’t matter if you run into them. If that happened you would greet them with a smile, congrats them for being together again, and go on with your life that you choose to live. Or maybe...

Keep avoiding them.

The school you worked in was a few minutes away from your house. You liked to walk there every day as a form of daily exercise. People greeted you as you walked the streets. Elders, children, and young people, everyone was smiling at you, throwing random questions in your direction.

“How is your day, Teacher Y/N?”

“Have a nice day, Y/N”

“You will visit our shop today right?”

After a few seconds, the school gate started to appear. Two figures were standing by the gate. As you walked closer, the figures started to come clearer, colors became more vibrant, and the facial feature was stronger. You stopped in your place as you looked at your old friends. Jungkook was leaning on the wall, he seemed to be in deep thoughts while Minju stood in front of him, talking nonstop. They were standing in front of your school, probably waiting for you. Or why would they be here out of all places?

“Teacher. Y/N, why are you hiding behind a tree?” You looked down at the voice, to find Hana. Her small hands holding the strips of her back bag tightly as she looked at you with curious eyes.

“SHUSH!” You put an index to your mouth as you gestured for her to leave.

“Aren’t you going inside, Teacher Y/N?” She was unnecessarily too loud.

Glancing at Jungkook and Minju’s direction, your breath caught in your chest. They were looking at your direction. You took a deep breath before sighing slowly.

“Hana, darling, go inside or you will miss school.” You said to Hana as Jungkook and Minju walked towards you. “Please, Hana. I will follow you shortly.”

Hana huffed before walking to the school gate. Minju waved to her but Hana ignored her and kept walking to her destination.

“Are all your student brats?” Minju exclaimed as she stopped in front of you, beside her was jungkook who wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Why are you here?” You asked and it sounded like you were annoyed.

“Someone kept crying every night missing you. It started to annoy me.” Minju sighed as she glanced at Jungkook at thew corner of her eyes. "Plus, that should be our question. What about the UK?"

“Look! I do not know why you are here guys. But I am trying to move on with my life here. Can you please just---?” You sounded harsher than you meant as you gestured for them to leave.

As you started to walk away, a hand reached for your wrist stopping you. You glanced up, to find Jungkook in front of you. Electric waves ran through your arms, reviving all your sensations. That what Jungkook’s touch could always do to you.

“Can we talk?” It was Jungkook’s first words to you. “Please.” The pleading voice and eyes filled with something glittering made you sigh deeply.

“After work. Okay? Wait for me by the cafe around the corner of this street.” You said as you pulled away from his grip. The sensation of his warm hand, still there. Reminding you that this is more real than you thought. “Can you leave now?”

“Let’s go,” Minju said as she locked Jungkook’s arms with hers. You watched as they walked away, bit your lower lip. Why did they come all the way here just to show me how good your relationship became?

This was your chance for a real goodbye. A chance to forgive the sins you all did. A real closure to a friendship that was left hanging on bad terms.

to be continued...

___________________________

IT’S BEEN A WHILE! Hope you liked this part.

#jungkook #bts #kpop scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #kpop #bangtan boys #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #angst scenario #angst #angst scenarios #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #kpop imagines #the rose dojoon #bts angst #jungkook angst #kpop angst

154 notes · View notes

ketchup-monthly · 3 years

Text

Night Talks - Chapter 3

Loceit (pre-relationship)

TW’s- minor self deprecation, knitting needles

Like he did almost every night, especially whenever Remus had late night experiments to run, Janus was seated in the chair in the corner of the joint common room, under the lamp. This night in particular, he had taken off his hat, gloves, and capelet, and had pushed his sleeves up to his elbows to cope with the warmth of the space, leaving the scales on his left hand and forearm on display while he knitted. Sighing, he carefully placed the half-finished project on his lap and reached over to the side table to pick up his teacup and saucer. Janus took a large sip of the tea, at the perfect temperature, and smiled to himself.

As he resumed knitting, the door to the Light Side was thrown open, enough so it smacked back against the wall. His head shot up, startled, but not too surprised to see that it was Logan, as the only one other than Janus in the common room at night tended to be him.

He stood in the doorway, one hand on the open door and the other on the doorframe, glasses and tie askew and his hair mussed. It wasn’t a bad look for him, per se, seeing his usually slicked back hair falling into his eyes, and his usually pristinely tied tie loosened, but the frantic expression on his face tainted the look.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Logan.”

He stumbled into the room, the door closing behind him, and flopped into the chair opposite Janus. “I beg of you. Please take Virgil back.” Logan leaned towards him, clutching the arm of the chair in both hands, knuckles turning white.

Janus turned back to his knitting. “You must know he won’t be any better if he’s stuck with Remus and I.”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t be threatening to rip books in my presence if he was with you, though.”

He looked up, into Logan’s wide blue eyes, framed by his glasses and his dark hair. As nice as it was up, having it down made Janus want to push it back out of his eyes. He wondered what it felt like. Logan was smart, surely he would know enough to take good care of his hair. Did he forget to wash it when he was focused on his projects? Janus wasn’t sure, but his fingers itched to find out.

He shook his head and clenched his hands into fists around the needles. “Fine.”

“Fine?” Raising an eyebrow, the other leaned back.

“I will take Virgil on one condition.”

Logan’s eyes lit up, but his voice still sounded desperate. “Anything.”

Janus flicked his tongue out quickly, pretending to lick his lips, but really tasting the air to see if Logan really meant it. The air remained the slightly sweet flavor that it almost always had around the logical side because of how earnest and honest he was, so he was surely telling the truth.

“Not desperate at all, are you.” He smirked and took a sip of his tea.

“Janus.”

“Fine.” He set one of the knitting needles down and held his right hand up, palm facing Logan. “I’ll take Virgil for a time if you take Remus.”

Not relishing in it at all, Janus watched as his face fell, going from hopeful to resigned. “Anything but that.”

“That’s the only condition I will consider.” It was a lie, Janus would love to have taken Virgil back, and would hate to have lost Remus as well, and were Logan in the right state of mind, he surely would have known that Janus didn’t mean that statement. As it was, Logan did not seem to be in that right frame of mind, and took it at face value.

“Absolutely not. Do you know how bad it would be with both of the twins? They work each other up, and as is, they’re already extremely excitable.” He put his head into his hands, pushing his glasses up his face, groaning.

“Then I suppose your books remain in jeopardy.” Janus hid his smile in his mug, watching the other carefully.

“You’re awful.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Logan peeked out the side of his hand over to him, scowling, glasses still not covering his eyes. “I do.”

Stunned for a second, Janus felt a slightly sour lie in the air that hit his tongue when he breathed in. His eyes really were breathtaking. Placing his tea back on the table, he smiled at Logan, for real. “Of course.”

“I really mean it. You’re the worst.”

The sour taste got worse, and his smile turned self-deprecating. “I know.”

Logan groaned again, wiping his hands down his face as he straightened in the chair and fixed his glasses. “There’s nothing else you could do?”

“I suppose you could come up with another solution in that brilliant mind of yours, and I may be amenable.”

He summoned a notepad and a pen out of thin air and began scribbling on it, seemingly making a list, crossing things out every so often and writing down amendments in other places. Smiling faintly, Janus turned back to his knitting, the sounds of clacking knitting needles joining the noise from Logan’s pen scratching against the paper and the occasional clicking of the ballpoint pen as he looked over something. They fell into a peaceful quiet, until Logan placed his notepad into his lap.

“What are you making?”

“As someone who is cold-blooded, there is no way that I would need a sweater at any point.” He held up his half finished gray and gold sweater.

Logan leaned towards him and flipped the notebook to a new page. “You’re coldblooded?”

“No.”

“Fascinating.” He wrote that down, and seemingly continued writing, quickly filling a page.

Janus was sure he would have continued, but as it was getting late, and he did want to sleep that night, he cleared his throat and placed one hand over Logans, stopping his pen. Logan looked over at him, eyes wide and cheeks seemingly darker, but that may have just been a trick of the light. It was very dark in the room.

“Since you’ve decided this is a better topic of thought, I will take that to mean that you haven’t yet found a solution to my previous query?”

He swallowed and flipped the page back to the other one he had written on earlier, hand slipping back out from under Janus’. Settling back into his seat, Janus retracted his hand and picked up the knitting needle again softly.

“I do have one solution, that would not involve the twins being in the same place.”

“Oh? Pray tell, the suspense is killing me.”

Logan cleared his throat. “We do need to go shopping for groceries soon, and I’m certain Remus has some spare time on his hands for a new experiment.” He glanced at Janus for confirmation.

“I’m sure. But if he didn’t I’m positive he couldn’t make time to participate in an experiment with another side.”

A small smile danced across his lips. “I propose that you take Virgil, Roman, and Patton to the store, and I would assist Remus with his experiment.”

“I’m not sure…”

“It won’t be bad. I’ve done this with them several times, and I’m still in one piece and so are the rest of them. In addition, I will make sure Remus stays safe and that we clean up after the experiment.”

“Fine.”

Logan’s smile grew. “Later this week, then?”

“Why not.”

“Thank you so much, Janus.” He stood, touching Janus’ left forearm gently before quickly leaving back through the door he took to get into the common area, cheeks definitely darker than they were before.

Not that Janus could talk, his face must have been furiously red, and likely had been since Logan had touched his scales, which were still tingling slightly from the soft brush. In a daze, Janus packed up his half finished sweater, cleaned his tea set, and walked back to his room to change into his silk pajamas and get into his bed. He laid there for a few minutes, just thinking. He didn’t dislike Logan, but surely he didn’t like him like that? No, that was a lie. He did. Just a little bit. It had to have been the fact that Logan had touched the scales on his arm, the ones that were usually covered and were rarely touched directly by anything, even himself. Though, rarely anyone ever touched him. He must be touch starved, which he was fine with. He didn’t like people touching him anyway, except Remus, who he had grown up with, Virgil, who did it so seldom that it was special, and it seems Logan.

Finally, too emotionally done to deal with feelings, Janus drifted off, thinking of the excited look in Logan’s unobscured eyes, hair a mess and tie askew, as he leaned forward to ask him a question.

#sanders sides #logan sanders #ts logan #loceit #ts loceit #janus sanders #ts janus #ts patton #ts roman #ts virgil #ts remus #tw self deprecation #tw needles mention #but its vague i guess #s.s. loceit #ketchup writes

7 notes · View notes

evebrennan · 3 years

Text

not nothing

TIMING: circa two weeks ago LOCATION: The Artesian PARTIES: @deathisanartmetzli & @evebrennan SUMMARY: Metzli and Caoimhe aren’t just two people having drinks, but they both enjoy art, and maybe that’s better. CONTAINS: Alcohol, parental death, emotional abuse, domestic abuse

It was a bad idea. Caoimhe knew it the moment she’d read Artesian and piano player and Arvo Pärt. Any lingering doubts about how completely awful of an idea it was were chased away as she pushed her way through the doors, picking up the soft piano drifting from the back. She considered the initial offer of a karaoke bar, the tossup between beyond-drunk humans singing their hearts out for no other reason than because they loved to sing and no talent whatsoever was still a far better bet than whoever was plucking at keys one room over. At least at a karaoke bar her chances were fifty-fifty.

Her chances were none. But she wasn’t in the habit of denying herself entirely (she’d been there, she’d done that, it did nothing for the strings trailing down the road behind her), and she let herself step fully into the bar. The door clicked shut behind her and Caoimhe tried not to think about it.

Metzli was exactly the kind of hard to find Caoimhe expected of an internet-initiated meet-up, but she managed to catch their eye before too long. “This was a good choice.” She started, because it was. It was, with the piano filling the spaces between conversation. It was, despite the way her stomach twisted in on itself and she thought about it, thought about the way the pianist fumbled only barely on occasion, but she could– “And it’s Kee-va, by the way.”

“Yeah, I would’ve never gotten that right,” Metzli smiled and chuckled warmly at Caoimhe, settling into their seat and enjoying the table the two received. Far enough from the stage to hear each other easily, and close enough to let silence fall between them to listen to the pianist. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Caoimhe. You’re much more beautiful than I could’ve imagined.” Their smile continued, pulling out their charm.

Metzli wore a navy suit, leaving the jacket unbuttoned for a more relaxed look. Accompanied by a black dress shirt and no tie. It gave off a casual energy. Because that’s what this was—a casual meet up with a woman. “My name is pretty straight forward, just mets-lee. Aztec in origin. And yours?” Getting in the VIP lounge was easy, throw in some money and it speaks for you. Thus, the saying, cash is king.

The wine arrived promptly, and the waiter filled their glasses as the two kept their focus on each other.

“Easy, charmer. Just drinks.” Caoimhe reminded, but it was hard to ignore how nice the bar was. She had half a mind to question how they’d gotten them in VIP at all, let alone on such short notice, but the world was full of people with hidden talents. Instead she wrapped a hand around the stem of the wine glass, eyes finding the pianist across the room. The music had shifted to something jazzy and fun and there were no fumbles to be heard. There was an experience to it Caoimhe wondered over for half a second before letting it go.

“It’s Irish.” She finally pulled her eyes away to find Metzli, fingers curling tighter around the glass. The accent was enough of a giveaway, but Caoimhe knew it could be hard to place. There was an edge to it she’d had spent many years trying to iron out, something a little closer to the old forest path leading up to her family’s too-grand home than the home itself. “If the accent doesn’t give it away, all the letters should.”

But she didn’t want to talk about Kenmare, or where her name came from, or how she could practically see her mother’s patient, knowing grin. “You know, I’ve been here for a couple of months now, and hadn’t even considered trying to get in here, yet you’ve managed it in a night.” She wasn’t going to ask them about their origins, but there was a question somewhere in there, regardless. Instead, she twisted the glass between her fingers and grinned, “You sure you’re not wasting it on just drinks?”

Metzli smiled knowingly and teased, “Ah, so you do think I’m charming?” Years of existence had molded them to be confident in their approach with women. With so long to live, striking out wasn’t intimidating. “You know what they say, cash is king,” They began, sipping on their wine and leaning back in their chair. “I don’t normally bribe, but when I came across someone who actually knew who Pärt was, I had to jump at the opportunity.” The answer was blunt and honest, though they did leave out how they needed a distraction from the pain they were feeling. Stuff like that had a way of killing the mood.

“This isn’t a wasted opportunity by any means. Not when someone of your taste is keeping me company,” Metzli’s smile could be heard in their words, nothing masked but completely unveiled. Recent events had crumbled the structure they had built to hide behind, allowing the true effects of loneliness to set into wounds way past simply festering. “Not to mention, the great selection of wine they have. I do have a sort of affinity to the more luxurious things. Coming from nothing can do that to you, I suppose.” An air of surprise took their face for a moment before falling neutral again. Their ramblings took them off guard and it made them a little uneasy.

Shifting in their seat, they hoped to change the focus. “And you? What are you doing accepting dates from total strangers on the internet?”

“Drinks. Drinks with total strangers.” Caoimhe lifted the drink in question, but her smile belied her amusement. They were confident, she could give them that. Getting to know people beyond first names and passing interests hadn’t been something on Caoimhe’s agenda for some time. Connections didn’t lead to anything good. Connections led to anger, clenched fists outside of coffee shops, reasons for Caoimhe to look in her rearview mirror. She didn’t like connections, because connections had to be broken, they always had to be broken, and doing so never felt good.

But Metzli liked Pärt, and they were charming, and they knew a place where someone could actually play the piano.

“There’s a story there, isn’t there?” She set the drink down and leaned on her elbows, ignoring the soft piano in the background in favor of her company. Ignoring her better instincts to run, like she always did (she’d shown up in the first place, and she didn’t want to think about why). She hadn’t ruined White Crest quite yet, and they liked Pärt. “Came from nothing, and now you’re here. You don’t have to tell, but color me curious.”

Metzli scoffed, playfully and a little dramatically. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not afraid to call this what it is. A date. I’ll say it for the both of us.” They said into their glass, smiling. Caoimhe wasn’t one to get too close to people. That’s what Metzli began to gather. They could relate, uncomfortably so. They had spent their vampiric life alone, not bothering to let anyone behind the several barriers they had built between them and would-be connections. Some could be read like novels, while others like short stories. And nine times out of ten, Metzli chose to be read like the latter. But tonight was possibly the tenth shot and after this Caoimhe may never see them again. So really, what did they have to lose?

“Actually, yes. There is.” Metzli pulled out a small, worn out sketchbook from their pocket, and retrieved the pencil inside of it. Holding it up in a way so that Caoimhe couldn’t see the pages, they began. “I’ll give you the condensed version, and if you want to hear more, you can ask questions.” The pencil glided over the page, a practiced hand moving quickly. “I was born and raised in Jalisco, Mexico. To two parents who fell madly in love and accidentally had me. We were dirt poor, but my parents seemed to make it work for them. Began working when I was about eight years old or so. And by the time I was in my twenties, I had mastered carpentry and was a pretty good ranch hand.” They smiled, looking back and forth from the page and Caoimhe.

“Unfortunately, parents weren’t the kindest, so I took to sketching in the woods on my lowest days. And on one special day, I found myself returning home to find my parents dead.” Brows creased together, but the pencil never stopped moving. “After that, I traveled and traveled until I managed to find myself here, owning my own art gallery, having an actual roof over my head with a cat, and arranging dates with beautiful women that have taste.” With the final detail made, Metzli turned the sketchbook to reveal a portrait of Caoimhe, of a moment of her now frozen in time on paper. “What do you think?”

Shit.

It was so unfortunate the ones to whom Caoimhe found herself most drawn had stories. Her life would be half as complicated, if she wasn’t so damn fascinated. They wrapped themselves in pencil lines or oils or paints, or notes drawn on staff paper. They smiled around songs sung like stories from ages ago, or danced to something they made up on the spot. They had feelings and hopes and dreams. They held a history, some not unlike her own. Their lives had meaning, full of so much creativity, futures stretched endlessly before them where they could choose to pick themselves up or let themselves fail or do both, because no one had sought to come along and take that future from them.

Caoimhe always sought to take it from them.

She watched Metzli with their notebook, their hands hidden behind the cover, but she could imagine the way they moved. She could muse over whether each line meant something, or if it was something that came so naturally to them they didn’t have to think about it. They had an art gallery, and she wondered at how good it was, how much better it could be, if she just–

Metzli was one of those with a story, a past they’d picked themselves up from. Caoimhe listened as she tried not to think too hard about whatever they were sketching. She tried to imagine them, in the woods with a sketchbook, turning an escape into a future. It was admirable. Humans were always so damn admirable. And Caoimhe liked to think she picked her battles well, but the truth was she didn’t pick them at all. She ran, or she gave in.

“That’s beautiful.” It was. Caoimhe hadn’t realized she’d been looking, sitting still and focused long enough for Metzli to capture the moment. And they’d captured it perfectly, somehow, lines confident despite laying their history out on the table for Caoimhe to do with what she wished. “It’s incredible how people can take things that hurt and make something beautiful out of them, despite everything. I’m glad you were able to get something beautiful out of all of it.” She moved closer, tracing a bit around the eyes. This time, she gave in. “How do you do this, the shading?”

The way Caoimhe watched and even seemed to fawn over the sketch brought a smile to Metzli’s face that reached their eyes. White Crest was full of people they were willing to discuss the hardest of memories, even if they were being extremely vague about some pretty crucial details. “Ah, the shading there has to be delicate. You see,” Their hand moved to graze Caoimhe’s cheek softly before pointing back at the drawing. “The shading there is light, so there can’t be as many crosshatches, while here,” This time they pointed at her neck and jawline. “Here, the crosshatches are more in number and closer together because of the definition and starkness of the shadow.” Discussing art was very much Metzli’s element, and teaching it had become second nature due to the classes they held at the gallery.

Caoimhe was a lover of the arts in general, and not just music. It enraptured them, beckoned them toward her to delve into her other interests in the arts. Maybe experience them with her and discover new works of art together. As friends or otherwise. “It’s not that beautiful though. The story—Not the sketch. The sketch is only a fraction as beautiful as the subject. I’m referring to the story. Had to do some dastardly things to get here. But what about you?” Metzli gestured to Caoimhe and then tore the sketch out of their sketchpad to hand over to her. “Do you have an interesting story you can indulge me with?”

Caoimhe knew what touch could do. She spent her life measuring it, calculating who and where and when. Whether it was something casual, or something purposeful. Metzli reached out and Caoimhe reached up, putting her hand between her cheek and theirs, and the brush was light but it meant something. Because they were talking about where to etch and when, about a life spent using art as a way to escape or express themselves or simply be happy, and Caoimhe wanted it. She wanted to know more, to help, to stop the gnawing in her stomach that–

That didn’t stop. It was like a jolt. She’d been expecting another stair and there wasn’t one. Her hand dropped in a movement that was almost too quick to be casual and she pulled in a breath and there was so much to process, she didn’t know where to start. Metzli was more than what they seemed, and Caoimhe let something like disappointment ease into something that felt a little more like excitement. They loved art, and she could watch them love art.

Caoimhe accepted the sketch and swallowed thickly, despite all the questions vying for attention on the tip of her tongue (who were they, what were they), despite the way her stomach still clenched but her lips ticked up in something close to a smile. Despite the fear they’d know. “My story isn’t quite so interesting.”

Eyes moved up and down, analyzing Caoimhe. She had been quick to protect her personal space, and even quicker to pretend like she hadn’t behaved anxiously. Something was at the tip of her tongue. A question, one of many. “You’ve got questions, don’t you?” Metzli asked, smiling and taking the bottle from the table to pour more in each glass. She must’ve felt it, their cold skin. Maybe that was it. Or maybe she didn’t like the attention on her. Or she quite possibly was intrigued by the vampire before her. Only, she didn’t know they were a monster.

TW PARENTAL DEATH “That just makes me think it is interesting.” Metzli sipped on their wine and hummed thoughtfully. Fingers tapped on the table, organizing words into sentences that were coherent and strategic. “But if this is your way of keeping the attention off of you, I’m game. I mean, no one knows more about me, than me. So ask away.” Taking one more drink, they raised a finger, hoping to get another moment. “I will say though, you may just want to hug me by the end of it. It’s quite sad. I mean, not only were my parents murdered, but my whole…town was. There were very few survivors. War can be tough. Especially for the impoverished.” A look akin to despair, a longing painted onto their face, but it was quickly washed away with wine.

“But, if you’re gonna ask me more questions, you have to tell me at least three facts about you. How does that sound?”

Caoimhe hummed, brow furrowing. For the first time since she’d pushed her way through the door, she couldn’t hear the piano. It was Metzli, and a story, and all the questions that still rattled around in her head. They had already volunteered so much (what war, are you okay, why can’t I– ), and despite their offer to ask as many questions as she would like, Caoimhe hesitated. She knew what it felt like to lay herself bare. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t something one did simply because.

“Only if it’s a hug you want.” She spun her glass on the table idly, picking through her words before she let them out. They’d been very upfront about their cynicism, and while Caoimhe had felt she’d understood some measure of it before, it was nothing compared to understanding the reasoning behind it. It was years too late to apologize for things that had happened long before they met; if it were her, she wouldn’t want pity. She wondered how much emotion Metzli kept hidden behind wine and the thick veneer of charm they’d had in place since she’d slid into the booth next to them. She wondered if they were waiting for the next war. “You don’t owe me your story, but...I’m here if you want to tell it.

“You don’t even have to volunteer it in exchange for mine. My mother is still in Ireland, but I haven’t seen her in years. I’m a runaway who never stopped running.” One, two, and “My family could provide for me anything I needed, they were hardly anything tragic, I just...had a difference in opinion.”

“Are you saying you want to hug me? How cute.” They teased through the longing they felt. Letting this mask, sewn perfectly together and with only a few cracks, slip on. “If I’m being honest though, I don’t know how I’d react. I’ve only ever gotten a handful of hugs. They’re nice. Maybe I’ll be a good hugger someday.” A breathy laugh tickled their lips and the smile continued to brighten toward Caoimhe. Being physical was easy, but the intimacy of a hug peppered their thoughts with unease. Sex was simple. Primal. But hugging was an animal that they had never really had an intention of tackling.

A wry smile pulled at Metzli’s lips, listening intently and doing their best to mock sympathy. Even without a soul, they knew what conversations like these meant, and how to behave through them. They wore many masks, and all they had to do was pick the one that fit the scenario best. “I know a thing or two about running away,” Their finger traced along the rim as each word in their head was selected carefully. “And I know a lot about differences in opinion. That’s why I’m here. So far away from…home.” The word was bitter from a lifetime of pain felt. From miles upon miles ran in order to flee, to find a new life with a new meaning. “That’s why I’ve built my gallery and decided to make a name for myself. Metzli Bernal: Art Curator, not Metzli Bernal: uh—well, actually just, Nothing.”

Lips replaced the finger that played at the rim of the glass, taking a steady drink. The warmth of the incoming buzz helped. Metzli relaxed further into their seat and locked eyes with Caoimhe, “I assume you have more questions? You looked both curious and concerned. What was that about? Never met an artist with such a fun backstory?”

“I’m not. But you know what they say about practice.” Caoimhe teased, working her way around telling them she likely wasn’t the person with whom they should practice. Besides, it was a useless saying. No amount of practice had ever left Caoimhe with any less strings, and she’d been trying since a boy with a French horn had decided she was everything before she’d reached the age of twenty. But Metzli looked so bright for a moment. They looked like the concept wasn’t unwelcome, and Caoimhe swallowed down whatever else she was going to say about it. If the brief touch of their hands was anything to go off of, it wasn’t as though she was going to have anything to worry about, anyway.

“Strangers in a bar we may be, but I can already say you’re not nothing, Metzli Bernal.” She was surprised to find she meant it. There were some people she met for a moment, bar bathrooms and alleys and music rooms long after everyone had gone home for the night. Encounters for her to brush off, or spend the rest of her life trying to escape. There were some people who stuck, but ultimately found themselves as shapes in her rearview mirror. Bridges burned, and Caoimhe made a point not to get to know anyone who lay on the other side well enough to get burned along with them. She didn’t know Metzli, and she wasn’t within any kind of blast range, but she knew they’d be a shape she’d remember.

“You know, there’s another saying, something like art is suffering.” Rather than linger on all the things she’d left in her rearview mirror, or how much she always cared, even when she knew she shouldn’t, Caoimhe grinned and leaned back in her chair, eyes bright. “I met a guitarist once who told me she could only write when her heart was broken. Pretty sure she spent half her life trying to find someone to break it for her. Her ballads were to die for, though. Never been a huge fan of country, but she had me sold. Have you ever considered spurs?”

“That only perfect practice makes perfect.” Metzli responded with a grin as lips met their glass. Piano notes danced in the air, providing a lovely ambience that allured them further towards Caoimhe. “Hugs are more of a third date kind of thing, and you were the one who said this wasn’t a date, so…” A suppressed chuckle broke through and they propped themselves on their elbows to turn their body in their seat. The way her presence met theirs with both subtly and boldness was as refreshing as lemonade on a hot summer’s day. Caoimhe had depth as vast as the ocean and Metzli’s curiosity urged them to swim deeper.

And then she uttered words that struck them harder than anticipated. Not nothing. Metzli bit their lip. Harsh teeth dug into mauve lips, deepening the color. The confidence washed away and let vulnerability show through in the form of softening eyes and creased brows. Blinking quickly, they mustered together as much composure as they could and cleared their throat. “Apologies. I think something got stuck in my throat.”

It was with sheer dumb luck that Caoimhe said something that they could cling to. A new subject, a new distraction. “Actually, I used to use spurs. I was a ranch hand for…for my relatives.” Metzli paused, letting the wave of despair pass through their chest before continuing. “Was pretty good at it too. I especially took care of a horse named Mariposa. Means butterfly in Spanish.”

“Hm, I did say that.” Caoimhe hummed around a smile, spinning her glass slowly against the table top. Her hands were always carefully towards the bottom of the stem. For as much as she’d been playing with it, she’d yet to drink any. It wasn’t a date. If she wouldn’t actually drink the wine, if she never said it, it wouldn’t matter that Metzli had offered up so much of their story to her; their earlier insistence upon it wouldn’t mean a thing. She still meant it, but she wondered how they felt. She wondered how it would feel to say it again.

She wondered how it would feel to lie. To do it so easily, so casually, without it catching in her throat and her stomach twisting in on itself. Caoimhe had always been good at twisting half-truths until someone believed a lie she hadn’t told, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as Metzli’s eyes softening, the way they cleared their throat and moved on like Caoimhe hadn’t actually hit on something. She pursed her lips and absorbed their diversion without comment. It was a lie, she wondered about it, but wondering over lies wasn’t for her.

They’d already given her enough truths.

“A ranch hand? An artist, an entrepreneur. Is there anything you haven’t done?”

Caoimhe did well to take whatever was said and turn it around. No words were needed when she did so. Her knack for navigating a conversation was enough. Choosing the right moments to speak, choosing the correct things to respond to. She’d been at this a lot longer than Metzli could have anticipated. It made them worry a little. Worry that they had bit off way more than they could chew by going out with a woman who obviously knew a thing or two about dancing around a subject. But there definitely was no going back now. If they were going to say the truth, they were going to use it to their advantage.

“Live.” A true, and brutally honest answer. Metzli had yet to truly live, and they thought it best to not sugarcoat anything. After all, it seemed to be the one thing that Caoimhe couldn’t fully navigate around. It was like her kryptonite. And the question on the tip of her tongue was something she was holding back. Like she was keeping a secret. A secret similar to the one they kept. A secret of feeding on blood and living forever.

“I have a feeling you relate. But you’re exceptionally good at keeping that side of you undisclosed. Which is fair. That information is reserved for loved ones to hear. But loved ones are dangerous. So better yet, it’s reserved for late nights on your own. For a little punishment when you think you’ve reached too far out.” A pause for a sip and they locked eyes with Caoimhe, smiling softly. “And right now, even just entertaining this date, you’ve reached too far.”

The piano seemed to grow distant, straying deeper into the background as their focus hardened. “I’ve lived a very long time, Caoimhe. I know you’ve got a story, and you don’t have to tell it. But can you do me the courtesy of giving me the biggest question you have? It’s at the top of your tongue.” She felt something different about them, that they were almost sure of. If it was the question they were anticipating, that could only mean one thing: she was otherworldly too.

Caoimhe knew there was more to them. They were stories and a life lived and so, so much more. She’d known the moment her hand had brushed theirs and she didn’t even have to try to practice restraint. A moment of weakness had turned into a knowing Caoimhe wasn’t sure what to do with, yet. She was still toying with letting the knowledge go when they shifted the tone.

The chatter around them fell away to nothing. Her fingers tightened against the stem of the glass until she had to consciously tell herself to let go. It was as though they flipped in a moment, the casual request for a quid pro quo abandoned in favor of a demand, and Caoimhe had never been good at evading direct. Not when her game had been discovered, and the questions posed left little room for movement. Metzli was leaving her very little room for movement.

It made it marginally better that it wasn’t about her. Concern for themselves, Caoimhe could understand. They’d figured out she knew something, somehow, and there was an inherent danger in not knowing exactly what it was Caoimhe thought she knew. They didn’t live in a world forgiving of other, whatever that perceived other might be. “My loved ones are few and far away, and they know what they think my story should be. My punishment is tied to me like strings I already have pulled as far and as taught as I can get them.” She leaned forward, brave even as she considered she shouldn’t be. “And I believe you, that you’ve lived a long life. I’m curious as to how, and for how long. But that was your story, to tell as you wanted.”

Metzli couldn’t help the smile that curved their lips. Their new approach had given them better results than they could have imagined. Caoimhe hid her secrets well. Years upon years of experience taught her well. But Metzli’s curiosity, mixed with their ability to shift conversations, was going to make her say something. She had already said more than she would have obviously liked. Body language be damned, she was nervous. And for once, Metzli wasn’t causing anxiety out of imminent danger, but of pursuit of knowledge and connection.

“I’m much more interested in what your story actually is. Considering you know something about me that everyone overlooks or can’t see,” As they spoke, their hand, a little absentmindedly, slid towards Caoimhe's hand on the table. A part of them craved that touch, to feel that solid connection of someone similar to them in the evasion and artistic regard. But they stopped themselves and let out a shuddered and unnecessary breath. Instead of reaching out fully, they opened their palm towards her, giving her the option.

“Of course, you don’t have to tell me. But…I’ve lived long past a century thanks to that little war that eradicated my people. Thanks to teeth and blood.” Metzli averted their gaze from Caoimhe as they spoke, not only wanting to cover their despair, but to wait for her reaction. “Take that as you wish.”

Thanks to teeth and blood.

It was all the answer Caoimhe needed. She wasn’t surprised, if anything she wondered at their bravery, admitting it in so many words while in a fairly crowded bar. But their booth afforded them a fair amount of privacy, and Metzli didn’t seem like the type to be shy. Their confidence spoke more to their possible centuries of living than anything else had. No, Caoimhe wasn’t shocked.

“Okay.” She absorbed the information with a small nod and a half-smile. Her mother was beyond beautiful by all standards, simply by nature of who and what they were, but Caoimhe knew where to look for the signs of aging. She knew what tired looked like, how centuries of experience could be belied in the tone of her voice. Metzli had been through wars, had been forged in blood, and Caoimhe wondered at long lives and the cost of them. Perhaps they were expecting her to be scared, but Caoimhe found she was only curious, and sad just around the edges. “I’m sorry, for all the life you haven’t been able to live.”

They held out their hand, an obvious invitation, and Caoimhe considered it a moment. There was something to be said for connection. She spoke of her strings like punishment, but she hadn’t said for what, and how. She didn’t talk about what it felt like to stare adoration in the eyes and know none of it was real, not really. They shambled along the roads behind her like marionettes to her puppet master, and not a single one actually wanted to be with her. They wanted their art, they wanted that feeling of absolute inspiration. They were blind to what it cost because she had made them blind to it, and it was that knowledge which each string tugged raw.

Metzli couldn’t be strung up. They couldn’t become another ghost of her past, pressing their faces against her windows and begging for entry. Caoimhe reached out, always so aware of touch and what it could mean, and let the tips of her fingers play across their palm. And nothing. Nothing at all. She rejoiced for the parts of her that were relieved, and wondered at the parts that were just hungry. “You’re a great artist, Metzli. I meant it, when I said you weren’t nothing. You can trust that.” A beat, “I’m a really bad liar.”

“It’s all right. I’ve got plenty of life to live now.” Metzli had spent so long denying themselves connection, while Caoimhe avoided them like a plague. And in a way, the connections probably were just as bad as a virus. Because that virus was her own, and she could do nothing to stop it. Of course, they didn’t know exactly why, but they could see the effects it had on her as a whole. Her personality though, was untouched. It was still there despite all of the barriers it took to get to it. Caoimhe was kind, honest, and even a little playful. She was an artist with a past, just like everyone else.

When her fingers touched their palm, Metzli jumped a little and moved their gaze back to their companion. Eyes glistened with the threat of tears from the topic. The effect of the emotions they were feeling a lot more often. And then Caoihme admitted they could trust what she said. That she was a really bad liar. “Fae?” They asked, already knowing their first answer was correct. “That’s why you didn’t want to touch. I understand now. But you don’t have to worry. You have no effect on me in that regard.” A small smile curved onto their lips and that same hand she had touched, moved towards her cheek. Another attempt, but this time, it was a tender approach. Their thumb caressed her cheek and let it linger for a moment. “That must bring some relief, hm? No te preocupes. Um, don’t worry.” They translated, moving their hand back to their glass.

“Does this mean it’s a date now?” Charm returned to Metzli’s voice and they let out a breathy chuckle. “I’ll keep trying until you tell me to stop. Can’t help wanting to be around someone with an artistic mind.”

“Have some experience with fae, do you?” It wasn’t an answer, but it was as close to one as she was willing to get. There would be time for talk some other time, when they weren’t huddled into a quiet booth in an otherwise crowded bar. Caoimhe thought of art galleries, and spending time with someone who truly enjoyed it, for no other reason than their own genuine love of art. Someone inspired by their own rites, and not because Caoimhe pulled some string inside of them. She thought about Metzli, and how they’d probably only scratched the surface of their own story. Not many wars took centuries; they both had so many blank spaces to fill. They both had so much time to fill them.

Then Metzli touched her cheek, and Caoimhe could see how it would all play out. She’d call it a date, and there would be the expectation of another. They’d spend a late night in an art gallery, or perhaps Caoimhe would take them to Dell’s, she hadn’t been yet. They’d have fun, they’d spill their stories to each other one piece at a time, and the strings would be different this time. They’d be less like anchors and more like balloons, and Caoimhe would think them beautiful (she thought all of them were beautiful). And then she’d leave. And Metzli would look like empty art galleries and quiet bars and another ghost, but this one with frayed strings where they were effectively cut.

But then, that would be true whether she called it a date or not.

“Hm, it’s not just drinks.” It wasn’t, that much was true. “Is there an in between? A ‘this was a lot more than I’d bargained for.’ Or a ‘I’d like to see your gallery, but I’m not going to say second date?’”

“Yeah, I do.” Metzli answered, a little passively. They nodded and finished the rest of their glass before making eye contact with Caoimhe once again. “How about a fun-friend meeting?” Metzli couldn’t help but chuckle and raised their hand once more to her cheek and laid out all the honesty they could. “I don’t get serious about people. It’s safer that way, you know? But that’s not to say I wouldn’t enjoy a little fun with an artistic approach.” Their smile reached their words and soft eyes met with Caoimhe’s.

“We don’t have to call it a date. We don’t have to be anything. Just two ambitious artists that came together and found each other attractive. I’ll show you my gallery and you can show me your music. And in between, we can find some fun to have.” Metzli leaned forward, slowly and carefully. The night would be fun, the night would consist of new experiences. All of them with Caoimhe with them. And with a kiss to Caoimhe’s cheek, they begun a new relationship based on mutual interests, and not definite ties.

#paras #para: deathisanartmetzli #para: not nothing #alcohol tw #parental death tw #emotional abuse tw #domestic abuse tw

5 notes · View notes

himooonlight · 4 years

Text

who are you? pt. 3 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader

word count: 4.7k

plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him

warnings: sad stuff?

A/N: hello again! i'm super excited about this chapter, so hope you all like it :) two things though: 1. this story takes place after the season finale and i'm trying to keep everything accurate and 2. the dream is in italics. NOW ENJOY!!

oh and just in case you missed, here's chapter 1 and chapter 2

- You know, I was thinking. - Reggie says as I wave my sister goodbye. She did talk to Julie's dad about having me for dinner, making sure he was okay with it, just like I knew she would do. Mr. Molina seems like a very nice person. - “I’ll always find you” sounded a bit creepy. How about “we’ll always find each other”? That way I’m not the only creepy stalker in the relationship. We can be weird together.

Reggie knows I can't reply, but I can't help but smile. He's too cute.

- Y/N, come in! - Mr. Molina screams from the door.

Daisy goes back to her car and when I can't see her anymore due to all the plants and trees in their front yard, I walk inside. The first thing I notice is a large wooden straight staircase and a lot of different carpets on the floor. Everything is neat and in brown tones. A lot of frames are decorating the yellow walls; some are pictures and some are paintings. Everything is elegant and cool, detailed even.

- Julie, Y/N's here! - He screams at the bottom of the sairs. He's looking up, so I'm assuming Julie's room is upstairs. Soon enough, his daughter appears and smiles at me. I like how her front teeth are separated and she doesn't wear much makeup; it makes me feel more accepted and understood somehow. - Girls, I'll be in my room working on some editing, so behave, ok? Oh, and there's some fresh strawberries in the fridge. Maybe you can make Y/N that smoothie.

He winks at Julie and goes upstairs. Meanwhile, I'm frozen, inebriated with a memory.

Fresh strawberries. That house. The open kitchen.

I've seen that place before in my dreams. With Reggie. When I was a man.

The cabinets were light blue and the orange chairs gave the kitchen some sort of happy vibe even though I wasn't comfortable there. A few people were sitting on the counter, close to the big fridge, holding cups. The strangers were flirting, kissing and singing with the loud music that was playing. Overwhelmed, I looked for Reggie.

It was the same house. The floor was covered in white porcelain tiles and there was a big leather couch where Julie's dinner table was, but I knew it was the same place.

- Are you ok? - Julie asks me.

Her dad is gone and suddenly I feel inadequate. I have to focus on breathing normally while trying to remember more details. Everybody is connected somehow, I know, and maybe recalling a conversation or recognizing something could help Reggie and the boys.

- I need to explain my connection with Reggie. - I whisper. My voice is shaky and she looks worried. Reggie tries to hold my hand and fails, making me smile softly at him. It's nice to know he is around, somehow. - I've been here before, in my dreams. It's… are the boys here as well?

I look around just for a moment, taking in more details. The curtains in the dream house were beige. There were a lot of plants around and a few picture frames in the living room. I can't quite see the faces in the photos, but it's a family of three in front of a Christmas tree. There's too many people around me and it's overwhelming.

I sit on the floor and Julie follows me. Closing my eyes, I try getting back to that dream just in time to recall Reggie touching my shoulder and saying "there's some fresh strawberries in the fridge; you said you like it so I bought you some".

He looks shy for a moment and I can't help but stare at his eyes in awe. I don't feel very relaxed at the party and Reggie picks up on the way I play with my fingers in agitation and look away, trying to see if we can go out. He takes my hand and soon we're at the back of the house, in a big garage with a lot of instruments.

- Thanks for coming. I know you're not a huge fan of parties, but I'm glad you're here. It wouldn't be the same without you.

His stare is too much for me to handle, so I walk around the place, looking attentively at the instruments. The drums and a guitar are inviting to the touch, but I hold back. Even though we are alone, it's like being with him is wrong so I act like I'm walking on eggshells. Feels right liking him, but it's wrong; it's a fight that I know my head will win and my heart will be devastated.

- I came here to say that I… - I start, not looking at him. He's too pure and I'm too weak. The music is still playing in the background and we can hear a lot of screams and laughs coming from the house. - that we can't do this.

Reggie looks offended.

- Do what?

- This. You and I. - I replied, turning to face him. He looks perplexed. Did I misread the signs? - My parents would kill me.

I can cut the tension with a knife. However, I don't have to try because Reginald is doing that for us by putting a mask on and looking frustrated. He opens his mouth a few times, as if trying to justify or explain himself.

- Ethan, what are you talking about? - He asks, with a scoff. I don't recognize that reaction on his face. It's like he's trying too hard to play a part he doesn't even want to. - We're friends. I like girls. I flirt a lot, sure, but it's all a joke.

He bought me strawberries as a joke.

He held my hand and called me pet names for the laugh.

He was pretending when I thought he felt something more.

- I'm sorry. - I said, staring at some papers on the floor. Probably unfinished lyrics. A notebook is open with the name Emily on the top of the page and then it hits me: he could never love me the way I loved him. I was the weird one; I was wrong. - I have to go.

- Y/N. - Julie touches my arm, making me open my eyes. - Tell me what is going on.

She's fairly calm. Reggie, however, looks like he's about to scream.

- They are here, right? - I inquire and Julie nods in response. - I've been having dreams about Reggie for a year now. The first five dreams or so were different. I was a man and he was… himself. But things were different somehow, not just me. The world was not the same. The last dream I had before meeting him as me, a girl, I was at this house. Again: this was not your place. The decoration was totally different and people were dressed like they were in the 90's. He said his bandmate was throwing a party since his parents weren't home and that I should come. I actually did and he said he didn't like me because I was a guy. So I left and the next thing I know I'm me and he's asking for help, saying he needs me. At first I thought he changed his mind, cause we were going on dates, talking about the future, laughing and just enjoying everything together. In my dreams, of course. Now I just... it felt like different lifetimes, to be honest. And I liked him in both.

- Alex is asking when was the first time you two met. - Julie says.

- I don't know the date, but it was at a book club. He said they were going to play there, but they mostly ate. And one of his friends was super engaged with the people there, listening to them talk about literature and life. I can't remember their faces very well. I just remember one was brunette and the other was blond, just like your band, Julie.

- Luke asked when was the last time you had a dream about me. - It's Reginald's turn to be his friends' messenger.

- Thursday night. Reggie said something about having to go, not knowing how to stay. It was very emotional. - I answer. - But a friend of mine sent me a video of your concert on Friday night. She was at the Orpheum and she said you were great. I just couldn't stop looking at you and wondering if I'm insane. Am I crazy, Reggie?

- If you are crazy, so am I. - Julie declares when the boy next to me doesn't say anything. It's too much to take in. The three of us are still sitting on the floor and the silence is loud. Loud because it means a lot; that we're all confused. - Alex, wait.

- What? - I ask.

- Alex stormed off. He asked us to come to the garage.

Reggie beams, looking ashamed, and we go to the place I've seen before in my dreams. The garage/studio has chairs in the ceiling and a lot of plants, along with a beautiful piano and a bigger window. Beside me, Julie seems nervous and suddenly two good-looking boys appear in front of me, playing the guitar and the drums.

The brunette and the blond that I didn't recognize before are playing loudly, staring at me with indecipherable expressions and furrowed eyebrows.

- This is the only way you can see us, when we're playing. - The drummer screams. - I'm Alex and this is Luke. - In cue, Luke smiles a little. He is definitely the one that enjoyed metaphors in my dream. - Do you remember anything else about the book club?

- Why? - Luke inquires.

- Just sush. - He says.

- Anything like what?

- Like the address.

Luke looks at Alex like he just said the biggest nonsense he has ever heard. Reggie is standing next to me, speechless. I can tell he's conflicted, so I don't push. I'm confused as well, trying to focus on the first dream, realizing that the details are not very clear anymore; all I can recall is Reggie being adorable and my feelings all over the place. I remember walking around the house unpretentiously with him, thinking about his features and his personality.

- I don't know. - I state.

- Do you think this is about your unfinished business too? - It's Julie's turn to make questions. - The book club? Y/N? What is going on? After Friday I figured we would stay together, but now you're actually considering going back out there?

I have no idea what she is talking about. I just feel like I'm intruding and should just let go, pretending that Reggie is just imaginary. I don't think I'll dream about him again, so I could always just do like the night I said "I have to go" and leave again.

Nobody really talks about leaving. Songs are written about being left, books tell the story of the ones who leave, movies focus on the girl moving on after getting dumped. It's never about the villain, the person who decides to leave because it's too overwhelming, too much to handle. Nobody talks about how hard it is to live with the weight of the decision to go away - it's always focussed on the consequences, not the responsibility of leaving.

- I wanna know. - Reginald says. - I think I need to know.

- And I think I remember the address. - Luke sounds serious. He is still playing just like Alex (who looks tired), but keeps trying his best to continue. - Do you think your dad can take you to Echo Park right now?

The car ride is a bit awkward. Julie is sitting in the front with her dad, that doesn't question when she asks to go to the park. She justifies with a simple "we want to see this house for our drawing class, so we can get some inspiration" that he answers with a smile and a "let's go". Luke and Alex teleport, while Reggie stays behind to accompany me.

- I'm trying to remember that day, I promise. The day we met. - His voice is low and I feel an urge to hug him. - There's something here - He points at his head. - about the party, but I just remember feeling bad for lying about something, then Luke said we should play and that's pretty much it. What does it even mean? How can you dream about that? Are you a ghost too? Ok, just ignore that last question. But how? Why? What is happening?

- You know, Y/N, I really think that friend of ours should just learn how to teleport, right? - Julie says, turning her head around and looking at Reggie. He apologies and disappears.

The rest of the way is basically Mr. Molina asking about school and making me feel at ease. He is kind and bright, which makes me wonder about Julie's mom. Was she as bright? Or maybe more quiet and calm? Collected maybe? The way her dad talks about Carlos, Julie's brother, makes me think that they're doing alright, that they are healing. Julie engages a little more when he talks about the concert and when the cars slows down close the address Luke gave us, my heart is going wild.

- This is the house, right? - Mr. Molina asks.

It is. Luke is right; that's the friendly two-story white house that works as a cultural center. Big windows, big porch. There's a few flowers and a swig, but the rest is just like I remember. Looks like there's a small gathering going on and I can see some people in the front yard, talking and drinking what looks like orange juice. A "Hope Cultural Center" sign greets people with a smiley face and blue letters close to the door too.

- Yep, that's it.

- Dad, do you wanna go park somewhere? We'll take some pictures and wait for you here. Maybe go inside a little? Our friend said they have book clubs, so maybe there's some expositions and stuff like that too.

- Sure! I'll be right back.

Julie and I get out of the car and find Reggie sitting on the sidewalk, observing the house attentively. I assume the boys are with him as well.

- Should we go inside? Just to check it out? - I can't recognize my own voice. It doesn't sound like the same person that was contemplating running away. I sound excited. - What do you think?

Both of them nod and we take the few steps that separates us from the gates. It's open and everybody looks very friendly, so we go on, holding onto the "Hope" sign. Hoping we can discover something important, any information that can help us. I wouldn't say out loud, but I could add "life changing" to that list as well.

- Oh, hello there! - An old lady says. Her voice is almost like summer days and cotton candy. - I've never seen your faces around here.

- Yeah, we were just passing by and…

- Welcome then, my dears. We're happy to have you with us today. - Her smile melts my heart. It could be her fluffy hair or the wrinkles in her eyes; perhaps everything about her screams "I'm a nice person". - We're celebrating our 30th anniversary! There's some expositions on the second floor, food in the kitchen area, back there, - She points somewhere like we know the place already and that makes me feel warm. - and music in the backyard too. Help yourself and if you need anything, let me know, ok?

- She is so nice. - Reggie says, smiling too. - So, what are we looking for? - When everybody stays quiet, I feel panic rising in my chest.

- Y/N, I'll stay here to wait for my dad. You go ahead and look around, see if you remember anything. The boys will do the same. - She looks around and I assume she is making sure they know what to do. - I'll text you when my dad gets here.

As I take the first step further away from her, the panic intensifies. I have to put it aside so I can focus and try to find anything that's remotely relevant.

I find myself going to the backyard, amused that everything looks so similar to my dream. The grass is greener, the fence is now brown, yet I can almost see Reggie and his friends standing at the same place.

There's only one girl out there sitting with a guitar in a small stage made with wood pallets, seeming nervous. I take one last look around before heading upstairs. Reggie is by the kitchen and Julie is probably still at the door, so I find the stairs and take in all the frames by the wall. Some are poems, some are drawings and everything is beautiful, soulfull.

When I get to the actual exposition, I find a photo that grabs my attention.

It's a group picture with at least 6 people. The date says it's 1995 and everybody has a book in their hand and a silly look on their face, apparently happy to be there. Probably the old lady knows who they are, but I don't see her around, so I just continue my quest for the unknown.

That is until I recognize Alex in another frame that also dates 1995.

He is holding a paper that says "best poem" and I feel goosebumps all over my arms. My throat closes.

They are really dead. Reggie is really dead.

Death took him away from me and I feel so selfish for feeling sad about it: I feel sad because I can't be with him anymore. My first thought is that it's disappointing loving someone so impossible like him. The second is "he was so young and had so many dreams… why?". Questioning death and all its mystery is probably normal, still I hate the feeling of not knowing more. Why is he a ghost? Why so early? Why him? Would I ever forget him completely?

Life really is just a competition to see how long we can stay alive and well, tricking death. Death really is just about the living grieving because their love has no place to go.

These people probably don't even know about Reggie, Alex and Luke. When they see the picture, they might think Alex is probably old, married and maybe doing something boring. Maybe they don't even suppose anything about him like it's not relevant, not worth it.

It's impossible not to notice the bitter sensation in my mouth. I guess it's something like frustration or the weight of everything coming back to me after the insane day I had.

- That's Alex. - Reggie's voice scares me and I jump a little. He's examining the picture carefully. - I don't remember being here, to be honest. No matter how hard I try.

- Alex and his friends were the living proof that you can always try harder. - I hear someone's voice. When I look around, the old lady is standing next to me.

I can't bring myself to say anything. My whole body is tired and my thoughts are not clear anymore. All I can do is keep all my attention on that picture and hope I can go home soon.

- They were great. - She continues, not minding Reggie. The lady can't see him. - They were in a band called Sunset Curve. My best friend is this guy's mom. - She points at the cheerful Alex immortalized in the photo. - Alex and his friends died that year and she was devastated. Everybody was. I've heard that one of the boys' parents searched the whole town for him before knowing about his death. Apparently they weren't on good terms.

She is talking about Luke, making me feel like an intruder. Again.

- Do you still talk to his mom? - I continue my way through the expositions while she follows me around. It's a timeline with different occasions, different people. Everybody is joyful and in bright colors, always doing something in a group, sustaining the idea that everything is better when you're surrounded by nice people. - Is she alright?

- Oh, yes, darling, she is. His parents opened a coffee shop downtown. They've been involved in a lot of projects, volunteering to help the community. A few years back they decided to focus on kids and I think they found their purpose in life again with that. Let me show you something.

Her hand flies to meet mine and I feel positive energy running through us. She is very vivid, which is a great match with her colorful clothes. She's wearing green pants, a pink shirt and orange shoes. Her smile is decorated with red lipstick, contrasting with a few missed teeth. It's inevitable to like her and her unique way of dressing and expressing herself.

- Here. - We stop in 2018. The walls are white so the colors scream, begging for attention. - This was two years ago. Lisa and her husband, Jarred, Alex's parents, made a project to help kids and teenagers with music. They had workshops, competitions, small concerts at their cafe. It was amazing. They actually found...

She is pointing at a few pictures where kids are playing instruments, wearing wigs and a lot of glitter. They all look delighted and excited and I can almost see the spark in their eyes. At the top, on the left side, I see something that makes me stop in my tracks, feeling dizzy. She shouldn't be wearing nice shoes, considering I might throw up at any moment.

- Y/N. - Reggie calls. He probably sees the same thing I'm seeing.

It can't be. I wanna go home.

I can't be there anymore.

- There you are. - Julie screams. My body is so stiff I can't turn around. - Y/N? What are you guys doing?

- I was just showing her this picture. - She doesn't notice the way my mind is about to explode and continues. - It was back in 2018. These two boys were awesome and even covered Sunset Curve a few times. I think their names were Luke and Reggie, if I'm not mistaken. They haven't been around in a while. Jarred said they look just like Alex's bandmates, but this one - She points at Luke. - was an orphan and was kind of a troublemaker. And this one - It's Reggie's turn. - was having problems at school. They just assumed they didn't want to come to the workshops anymore. But my point is: his parents found their peace with their son's death. They managed to make something beautiful and honor Alex's name. It's all that matters, right? We can't change the fact that they died. All we can do is decide how we're going to use their influence in your lives.

Julie is probably just as confused as I am. I hear an "excuse me for a second" and suddenly she is gone. I miss her colors and being oblivious to that information. That Reggie and Luke were alive two years ago.

- What is going on?

I can clearly see Reggie and Luke playing at a small stage, sharing a microphone. They look so connected and carefree. The quality of the picture is so good that I can't even question the date; there's no way that was taken before 1995.

Alex is nowhere to be seen in that photo.

- We need to find them, Y/N. We need to know who they are, why they're pretending to be Reggie and Luke and... what is going on?

- Guys. - Reggie is still staring at the picture like his life depended on it. - Guys. I… I think I remember this. This place. Luke, you remember too right?

It's the first time I see Reggie so unstable. He's not making jokes to hide his feelings; he is genuinely confused and afraid, like all of us. I feel like this is the first time I see him and it's scary. Not being able to help, frustrated that I can't stop the wave of uncertainty and fear that he's experiencing.

Luke's answer is not audible to me. Reggie is saying something yet I can't hear him because I'm busy engulfed in hesitation. Should I give them privacy and go home? Should I ask around about the coffee shop? Should I stay quiet?

- I'm confused too. Maybe we should call it a day and just go home for now. We can come back another time. - Julie speaks. - Come on, Y/N. My dad is waiting outside.

I ask Mr. Molina to take me home, with the excuse that I don't feel good. It's not really a lie. He is very polite and says I should come back another time so we can all have hot dogs together. Julie agrees and I wonder if we'll be friends. I hope so.

When I get to my room, my mind runs to the picture. It's so clear, so confusing and so aggravating. We're getting played by faith, destiny or the universe; some unknown force with strong powers to make people sick to their stomach. Their goal might be to drive people crazy. Who knows? Surely not me.

I eat dinner with my family, finish my homework, take a shower and read a little while listening to some music. When it's almost nine, I hear a knock on my door.

- Come in.

My eyes are playing tricks on me. Reggie is standing there, with his hands in his pockets and red eyes.

I stand up, not minding my bunny pajamas. He doesn't seem to mind either.

- Nice candles. - There he is, the same flirty Reggie. I relax and he steps closer to me. His gaze is so intense and I want to cry. - Look at you being romantic.

- This was actually me trying to summon you, but alright. - I reply and he laughs. It's not genuine. - How are you?

It's ironic how my playlist is called "slow dancing in my room". Soon enough, Reggie shows me his palms, as if inviting me for a dance. Not going all the way and trying to touch him, I smile weakly and almost wince with the urge to hold his hand. We sway and keep our eyes on each other.

- I'm sad. - That's new. He's never this transparent. - I don't understand what is going on. I remember that day with Luke. At least I think I do. I don't know what's real and what's just my mind desperate to be alive again. I thought just playing with Julie was enough, but…

He doesn't finish. The song ends and we keep dancing slowly, letting our eyes talk for a moment. I can notice the pain, the sadness and the urge in his face. It breaks my heart.

- What do you wanna do now?

He tries touching my hand and misses it. His eyes scan my room, probably running away from me and my questioning eyes.

- I wanna know everything, but Alex is not taking it well. He's not very good with changes.

I nod and turn my head a little, demanding his attention on me again.

- Take your time, ok? Talk to them about it, make a list on why you should and shouldn't go to that cafe and... I don't know, - We're still dancing and I'm still crushed, but at least being with him calms my heart. - breathe. Just breathe. Everything will be alright.

- How can you be so positive right now?

- Well, if people can be negative for no reason, I can be positive for no reason too. - I shrug and he sighs. - Scratch that. I do have a reason.

Reggie gets closer and I can almost feel his nose touching mine.

- What is it? - His voice is just above a whisper.

- I want that to be true. I want you to be happy and well. I want you to feel loved too. That's exactly what you deserve, Reggie. Happiness. Love.

Before I can say anything else, he steps back and says goodnight. My chest hurts and when I wake up in the morning with a text from Julie saying "let's go to that cafe today", I don't feel happy. Or loved.

I'm just scared.

74 notes · View notes

prettyyoungandbored · 4 years

Text

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight]

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. ( I am trash at summaries. )

Author’s Note: If you want to be tagged in this, let me know.

_____________________________________________________________________

“By now you already know Bruce Wayne is officially off the market. Wayne is engaged to his girlfriend, now identified as Demetria Gallagher. Ms. Gallagher was an employee with us here at GCN, however, we weren’t aware of the relationship between her and Mr. Wayne. Ms. Gallagher is no longer with GCN and has parted with the network on the most amicable of terms. On behalf of everyone here at GCN, we wish her and Mr. Wayne the best and she will be missed in the newsroom.”

Demetria shut off the television and leaned back in bed.

Amicable. What a lie. It was more of a dismissal, a “hey, congrats on the engagement but we have to fire you because it’s a conflict of interest.”

In truth, she’s expected it to happen. Bruce was a fixture of the media, considering his family company Wayne Enterprises practically ran the city. She knew the second she’d accepted his proposal, she’d have to quit. The plan was to give two weeks notice and then let it be known to the world they were engaged.

But the person who tipped off the Gotham Times had other plans.

The newspaper ran the day she went to resign, the engagement making front page news. A picture of her and Bruce holding hands, leaving the back of a restaurant from two nights prior.

She was mortified as all eyes fixated on her as she walked in and out of the newsroom. The whispers, the side eyes, simple actions weighed heavily on her and made her beyond vulnerable.

There was one that killed her.

“Why her though?”

Throughout the year they’d been together, she’d wondered why Bruce had chosen her when he had his pick of any woman he wanted. She wasn’t unattractive but she’d seen the women he had been seen with prior. Yet she never asked, afraid to step into such a territory.

Now here she was, in Bruce’s bed, jobless and unsure of what she was to do. Granted, it wasn’t the worst position in the world to be in. She still had money she’d saved from working and was about to get her security deposit back from her apartment in Gotham. So really, who was she to complain?

She eyed her notebook on the nightstand and figured if she couldn’t go back to her job, she could make a list of what needed to be done to clear out her apartment and move into Bruce’s place.

Unbeknownst to her, Bruce stepped into their bedroom a towel wrapped around his waist. His eyes fell to the sparkling pear-shaped diamond, with tiny diamonds around the band. He smiled to himself as he sat on the edge of her side of the bed.

Demetria could feel his hand on her legs and smiled to herself as she continued to write.

“What are you writing?” he asked.

“Just what I need to get done today,” she sighed. “Mainly breaking down the moving process for today.”

“I told you, I could hire people for that.”

“And I told you that while I appreciate it, I want to do it myself.”

Bruce sighed, catching the underlying tone in her response. In truth, he’d felt guilty for what happened. He knew how desperately she wanted control on how she left, and for someone to take that away from her angered him. He loved her need for independence, never once in their relationship asking for luxurious jewelry or fancy trips or expensive dinners, just asking for him and his time and his commitment. While it was difficult considering his Batman schedule, it would be worth it when she would look at him and tell him she loved him and appreciated him.

She eyed Bruce and put her pen and notebook down. She scooted toward him and ran her hands through his hair.

“I love that you want to help me, but you know how I am,” she told him.

He grabbed her hand, kissing it. “I know.”

“I will, however, need your help with this whole ‘being Mrs. Wayne’ thing so you’ll have that to look forward to,” she chuckled.

He laughed. “I can assure you, it’s not that difficult.”

“But you always told me how involved your mom was with the charities here and I want to do that.”

She eyed his left forearm where a freshly stitched wound was. She leaned up.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asked reaching for his arm.

He looked down on it and waved his hand. “Training accident. Alfred stitched me up in no time.”

He’d kept his Batman secret from her by saying he was training to do extreme hiking and athletics for when he traveled to different countries. She bought it, thankfully, and her lack of interest in major athletics made it easy for her not to ask to tag along with him.

“I’m fine,” he reassured, kissing her hand.

“Please be careful next time. If not for you, but for me?”

Bruce smiled. “For you, anything.”

_____________________________________________________________

She and Bruce entered the kitchen as Alfred read the paper on the kitchen island.

“Master Wayne, Miss Gallagher,” Alfred greeted, giving them a nod.

“Well I’m headed off to a meeting, but I’ll see you two later,” Bruce sighed. He gave Demetria a quick kiss goodbye before he walked out of the room.

Demetria smiled at Alfred, taking a seat beside him. “Have time for a break?”

Alfred slid over an empty mug he had beside his own mug. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Alfred and Demetria had become good friends. The old man had taken a liking to her, often times bonding with her over crossword puzzles and talking about old movies they both liked. Whenever she’d stay the night, which later into hers and Bruce’s relationship became frequent, she’d spend the morning bonding with the old man over a cup of coffee.

He grabbed the pot and poured some coffee into her cup. “So I take it you’re going back to the apartment to finish the packing?”

“Yep!” she exclaimed, popping the “p”. “Thankfully I only have one more day left of it and then some of my stuff goes here while the rest of it goes into storage at Wayne Manor.”

Alfred chuckled. “Have you hired helpers for that process?”

She took a sip of coffee. “Some old college friends of Harvey and mine run a moving company in the city so they’re going to help me drop some of the stuff in the storage area. Initially, he told me I could move into the mansion but it’s just so far away .” She stopped and chuckled. “Mansion. Jesus Christ, who’ve I become?”

“You’ll get used to it,” he laughed.

“I don’t think I will, Alfred.”

Alfred tilted his head to the side. “What do you mean by that?”

Demetria pulled her lips back. “I’ve seen first-hand how the media treats people like Bruce. Everywhere he goes, there’s someone with a camera just waiting to capture something they can create a story out of. Soon, I won’t be able to go out for a walk, run errands, go out with friends, or do anything without a camera following me closely, watching my every move. Even if I can’t see it, I’ll know it’s there.”

She paused and leaned forward. “Don’t tell Bruce this, but...the day I was fired from GCN, one of the reporters saw a photographer they knew who worked at the Gotham Times waiting out the door, waiting for me. Our boss had tipped off to their boss I was getting fired and they could catch me walking out with a box of my stuff in my hands in exchange for information for another story. The reporter told me about it and had gotten me out through the back door. She and the photographer snuck me into the news car and dropped me off at my apartment and I spent the next hour trying to ease myself off a panic attack.”

She swallowed hard. “Bruce grew up like this. He knows how to handle it. I don’t and I’m scared that one false move and I...I could embarrass him or the image of the Wayne family and become some kind of joke.”

Alfred’s heart sank for the poor girl. Most of the women Bruce had been out with in the past reveled in having their picture taken with him, smiling at the flashing cameras. He knew Bruce knew and, quite frankly, didn’t care. But when it came to Demetria, Bruce went the extra mile to ensure total privacy was given to him and Demetria, even going as far as paying the restaurant manager extra and waiter for their discretion and for the private dining room. Alfred initially thought it was ridiculous until Bruce gave him an explanation.

Demetria eyed Alfred, an embarrassed smile on her lips. “I guess it’s not like I don’t come with my own baggage though. I mean, no one said dating someone with severe anxiety and panic attacks was a breeze.”

Alfred set down his cup. “When Master Wayne was a child, he would get nervous around photographers so Martha told him that as long as she held his hand, he had nothing to be afraid of. So whenever they went out, he would reach for her hand and she would take it and he wouldn’t feel so scared. When she died, he learned to manage on his own, but he never held another woman’s hand until you came along. You are the only other woman whose hand he’s held.”

Demetria could feel her cheeks warm up. Whenever they were out or he noticed her anxiety kicking in, he’d take her hand. His hand became her security blanket, her lifejacket to save her drowning. What seemed like a natural thing for a boyfriend to do, had completely different meaning for both her and him.

“Do you think Martha would’ve liked me?” Demetria asked.

A small smile crept on the old man’s smile. “Without a doubt.”

__________________________________________________________________

It was around 1:30 p.m. when she heard a knock on the door at her apartment.

“Who is it?” she called out from across the room.

“Your favorite lunch date is here.”

Her lips curved into a huge, childish smile. “What’s the password?”

“Demetria...”

“Can’t you let you in without it.”

“I have hot food.”

“You know the rules.”

A heavy sigh was heard from the other side of the door. “Demetria rules, Harvey drools.”

She opened the door. Harvey stood there, a brown bag in each hand.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, taking the bags from him.

“Interesting. I get a gun pulled on me during trial and put the guy in prison, yet I bring you Chinese food and then I’m called a ‘hero’.”

She set the bags on the table, her eyes not leaving Harvey. “Someone pulled a gun on you?”

He shrugged. “One of Maroni’s guys. It was cheap and wouldn’t even go off.”

“Well, I almost pulled my back from lifting one of the boxes so it looks like we’re both having quite the day.”

Harvey chuckled. “Always keeping me humble, Dem.”

She pat his shoulder. “Someone’s got to.”

They sat at her little table. Harvey reached into his briefcase and pulled out a section of the newspaper with the headline “10 Things to Know About Future Mrs. Wayne Demetria Gallagher”.

Demetria rolled her eyes. “Jesus Christ, Harvey. Why’d you bring that bullshit into my apartment?”

Harvey grabbed the paper and began reading. Demetria groaned. “Oh god, I’m gonna be sick.”

“Number one, Demetria is from Pennsylvania.”

“Because that’s an absolute must know.”

“Number two, she attended Gotham University.”

She scoffed. “I’ll be impressed if they know what my GPA was.”

“Number three, she was a junior talent booker for GCN.”

“Guarantee you they reached out to James for confirmation and he made sure they wrote ‘junior’.”

“Number four, she’s reportedly close friends with District Attorney Harvey Dent.”

“Close is a strong word.”

“Number five, she was-.”

She grabbed the paper from his hands, crumbled it into a ball, and tossed it across the room.

Harvey started at her, dumbfounded. “The crossword was in there.”

“Oh please, you probably finished it.”

“Almost finished it.”

She pointed her chopsticks at him. “Eat your lo mein, Dent.”

“So I saw GCN’s statement about you,” Harvey continued. “First of all, it’s all cliché bullshit and you should release a statement back, especially after they tried to sell you out for a story afterward.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not worth it, Harvey. Look, I get where they’re coming from. It’s dangerous for a network employee to be seen hanging out with a public figure because it could promote bias and the network could lose credibility. Remember how I almost lost my job because you sent me flowers on my first day?”

“And then I had an hour long phone call with your news director...” He sighed heavily at the memory. He shook his head. “I still think you should take action for them selling you out to the Gotham Times after firing you.”

“Harvey-.”

He leaned over the table. “I know a great lawyer who could-.”

“Harvey.” Her voice was sharp. “I told you, I’m not doing it.”

She dipped the piece of steamed dumpling into the soy sauce. “What does piss me off is their little ‘she’ll be missed’ bullshit. Half the people there didn’t like me and the other half barely knew I existed.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. You had friends.”

“I had two friends.”

“Better than nothing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You get my point. Anyway, it’s over. It’s done with.”

Harvey smiled as his eyes fell to her engagement ring. “Wayne really went all out on the ring.”

Demetria looked down at it, grinning. “Hm, he did. I don’t mind it though. It’s like having a little piece of him everywhere I go.” She then sighed and sunk back into her chair. “What am I gonna do, Harvey?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I have no single fucking clue what I’m gonna do and it scares me.”

“Do about what?”

She leaned forward. “People are going to be expect to do what any rich wife does. You know, spend my life living going to galas or attending luncheons for charities none of the women give a single shit about. That’s not me, but it’s also not me to just be a housewife who sits at home doing nothing all day.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that.” He set down his food. “Look, Dem, you’re overthinking all of this. You can still work. I mean, doesn’t Wayne fund a bunch of charities?”

“I was thinking about doing work for the orphanage,” Demetria said. “From what I’ve seen every time GCN has covered something there, the inside could use a massive makeover. I was thinking of re-doing it, maybe get my mom do the interior work.”

“She would love that,” he agreed as he bit into his fried rice.

“But I also want to help the kids,” she went on. “I just...I don’t know how yet.”

“You’ll figure out.”

She sighed. “What if the kids hate me?”

He chuckled. “Then I guess you’re shit out of luck.”

“Now I see why that guy pulled a gun on you today.”

He shook his head as he tossed a fortune cookie at her as she laughed.

Just then, she heard her Blackberry ring. She smiled as she saw Bruce’s name come up on the caller ID.

“Hey you,” she greeted, putting her phone to her ear.

“Hey. Everything going ok with moving?”

“Yep. Just taking break and having lunch with Harvey. How’s your day going?”

“It will be even better if you let me take you out to a nice dinner tonight.”

“Ooh, where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Hmm...well you’re lucky I haven’t packed my nice dresses yet.”

“Is that a yes?”

“It is.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at 7 PM.”

“You know where to find me.”

“I do. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She hung up and put her phone on the table. She noticed Harvey smirking at her. “What?”

“ ‘Hmmm, I love you,’” he repeated in a high pitched voice. “ ‘I love you, Bruce.’”

“Keep it up and I’ll tell Rachel the secret to your coin trick,” Demetria challenged.

Harvey made a face. “Threatening the DA, not a good look, Mrs. Wayne.”

Demetria rolled her eyes and tossed a crumbled up napkin at him. “Eat your food, dipshit.”

“District Attorney.”

“Ok, District Attorney Dipshit.”

_____________________________________________________________________

As the sun set and the night sky rolled in, Demetria finished the final touches of her makeup when she heard a knock at the door.

She quickly glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothing out the bottom half of her form-fitting black cocktail dress. She adjusted the shoulder straps and the sweetheart neckline that gave her boobs a nice, but not overly obvious lift.

She opened the door and was greeted by Bruce leaning on the door frame.

“Well hello there,” he greeted, his eyes fixated on her.

“Hello,” she said, pursing back her lips.

She had those first date butterflies her stomach every time he looked at her. It was a miracle she’d gone this long without melting. She held out her arms. “Is this ok or...?”

He stepped closer to her and cupped her face gently as he pulled her in for a kiss. Her hands wrapped around his neck as he moved them into her apartment.

She pulled back, her lips close to him. “As much as I want to continue this, I am really starving.”

He chuckled as he moved his hands down to her waist. He rest his forehead on hers. “You kill me, Gallagher.”

“My sincerest apologies.”

He moved his head up, eying the one bedroom apartment. “I’m sorry I only spent one night here.”

“Are you though?” she asked, cocking her head back.

He motioned to the bed. “I remember that being very comfortable.”

“Not that comfortable considering you never spent another night here.”

“Because you said you loved my bed.”

“I’ll give you that.” She pat his chest. “Let’s get going.”

She threw on her cream colored trench coat and grabbed her clutch as the two.

Bruce opened the passenger door of his Lamborghini Murciélago LP 640 and closed it as she settled in the passenger seat. He climbed into driver’s seat and sped off.

Throughout the drive, he kept one hand on the wheel, the other on her leg.

“So are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” she asked.

He turned to her. “And ruin the surprise?”

“Can I at least get a hint?”

“You’ll like it.”

“That’s not a hint.”

“Ok, it’s new.”

She shook her head. “Is this how it’s always going to be?”

He smirked at her. “I’ve gotta keep things interesting, don’t I?”

As they were pulling up to the valet area, Demetria and Bruce couldn’t help but notice the flock of photographers outside, flashing the cameras at the car.

“Fuck,” she mumbled under her breath. She could feel her chest tighten and stomach drop.

Bruce turned her head to her. “It’s going to be ok.” He grabbed a hold of her hand. “I’ve got you.”

She nodded her head. Bruce opened the car door quickly, handing the keys to the valet attendant before rushing over to Demetria’s side. He opened the door, the screams of the paparazzi causing Demetria to jump. She took Bruce’s hand and kept her eyes in the street ahead, avoiding the flashing lights.

She tried to ignore the voices that were screaming around her.

“Bruce, Demetria, look over here!”

“Demetria, how does it feel to be engaged to Bruce?!”

“Demetria, Demetria, look up here!”

“Give us a smile, Demetria!

Bruce looked at her and tightened his grip, his thumb stroking his hand. Demetria looked up at him and gave him a small smile, mouthing “thank you”.

As long as he held her hand, she’d be ok.

#bruce wayne x oc #bruce wayne imagine #batman #batman imagine #batman fanfic #the dark knight #the dark knight fanfiction #the joker #christian bale

322 notes · View notes

imjustthemechanic · 3 years

Photo

The Price of a Soul

Part 1/? - Agent Russel Part 2/? - The Letter Part 3/? - Miss Lake Part 4/? - The Stewardess Part 5/? - An Assassination Part 6/? - Fallout Part 7/? - Face to Face Part 8/? - Deals, Details, and Other Devils Part 9/? - Baggage Part 10/? - Private Funding Part 11/? - Just Passing Through Part 12/? - Party of Four Part 13/? - Resolute Part 14/? - The Wreck Part 15/? - Body Snatchers Part 16/? - Out of the Frying Pan Part 17/? - A Miracle Part 18/? - A Matter of Circumstance Part 19/? - Nome Part 20/? - The Future Part 21/? - A Hero’s Welcome Part 22/? - Up to Speed Part 23/? - Expect Further Delays Part 24/? - The Welcome Wagon Part 25/? - Fugitives Part 26/? - A Reluctant Accomplice

Agent Russel probably doesn’t deserve this. Probably.

The next day, when Agent Russel showed up for his tuna melt, it was served to him by a woman in the same uniform any of the other waitresses wore. As she set the plate in front of him, another came to refill his coffee cup.

“Thanks, ladies,” he murmured, raising the cup to his lips.

“Don’t mention it,” said Peggy.

Agent Russel looked up with a start. His brown eyes darted from Peggy to Kay and then back again, and his expression suggested he was seriously considering screaming. Peggy sat down across from him at his booth, and Kay took the seat next to him, blocking his escape.

“Not a sound,” said Peggy.

Something under the table went click, sounding suspiciously like a gun being cocked. Kay, her hands invisible, gave Agent Russel a dazzling smile.

“So you two are working together,” Russel said.

“Don’t look so nervous, Ned,” said Kay. “You’re flirting with two waitresses at once. You should be a happy man.”

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Your help,” Peggy replied.

“Why would I want to help you?”

“Because we’re the ones who found Captain America,” said Peggy. “Doesn’t that suggest we’re the good guys?”

“I don’t know who are the good guys in this,” Russel admitted. “Last time I saw you,” he pointed at Peggy, “you were going home in protest because Thompson was working with her,” his finger moved to Kay, “and she drugged and robbed me.”

“I apologized,” said Kay.

“Now suddenly you’re on the same side?”

“Kay persuaded me that we always have been,” Peggy said, though that still wasn’t totally true. “Remember those numbers I mentioned she gave me? Those were the key to the Captain’s location. Kay is not a spy, she’s a defector. She has information for us, and she thinks she knows how to get more out of Olga Barynova.”

Russel nodded slowly, although his expression remained skeptical. “And where does she come into this? Because she says you let her out of prison and flew her to Los Angeles yourself.”

“Did she say why?” asked Peggy.

“We haven’t been able to get that out of her,” Russel said.

Peggy laced her fingers together in front of her. “I’m afraid it’s true that I let Miss Underwood out of her cell,” she said, “but I did so with every intention of returning her to it, and because I needed a service I felt only she could provide. I’m sure you’ve heard of Whitney Frost?”

“Yes…” said Russel slowly. “She’s that actress who went nuts and murdered her husband, right?”

“There’s a bit more to the story than that.” Peggy leaned in a bit closer. “Let me explain. You can check what I say with Daniel Sousa and Edwin Jarvis, and they will tell you the same.”

Russel looked around, and then opened his briefcase to get a notebook. “All right. Let’s hear it.”

Peggy tried to be as quick as she could in describing the situation, but it was not a simple one and it took a while. They probably went on significantly beyond the break two waitresses would have gotten, but it was essential that Russel get details he could confirm if he liked. In particular she described how they’d dressed Dottie for the mission, how Mr. Jarvis had observed that she was an excellent dancer, and what they’d been able to learn as a result.

“Unfortunately, Miss Underwood is better than you are from escaping the trunks of cars,” Peggy finished, “and we haven’t seen her since.”

“Uh-huh,” said Russel. “If any of that is true… well, freeing her was still a stupid thing to do.”

“Yes, it was,” Peggy said, “and I regret it every time I hear she’s committed another robbery or ended another life. However,” she gestured to her companion. “Kay thinks she knows what Dottie’s trying to accomplish, and if she’s correct we can get good information from her. We obviously can’t get in to talk to her because, as you already noted, we’re supposed to be in jail with her. But you can.”

Russel frowned, thinking. “What are you two up to?” he asked. “What are you trying to do?”

“Make the future a little better than it’s stacking up to be,” said Kay.

“If we can find out where Dottie and her ilk came from, we can shut them down and make sure we don’t see any more like her,” Peggy said. “And possibly free American prisoners of war, as well.”

“What would you need me to do?” Russel asked.

“For now just deliver a message and bring back her reply,” said Peggy. “Kay has a page written up. She’ll give you a translation if you want it.”

Kay took the paper out. “If you do this for us, not only will you be potentially saving lives, but I will personally go see your wife and tell her you were supposed to be investigating me and that’s the only reason you had a drink with me, and try to convince her to take you back. I can’t promise miracles,” she added, “but I’ll do my best and my best is pretty damned good.” She offered him the page.

He made no move to take it. Instead he just sat there, apparently lost in thought.

“Agent Russel,” Peggy said, “what was your first impression of me?”

“Of you?” He looked her over. “That you were very, very… devoted… to getting your job done. But my first impression of her,” Russel looked at Kay, “was that she was harmless and flighty, so I’m not sure I trust those anymore. Can I have twenty-four hours to think it over?”

Peggy didn’t want to give it to him. Twenty-four hours was time to think, but it was also time to tell Thompson and Masters they’d been here. Could they afford that? Twenty-four hours from now, Steve would have left New York on the beginning of the publicity tour Masters had put together. If he still wanted to rescue his friend from captivity in Russia, were they going to have to chase him across the country in order to give him their information?

“Can I have your word you won’t go straight to the police?” she asked.

“I am the police,” Russel reminded her, “but yes. I think there’s more going on here than you can see on the surface, but I don’t know which side of it you two are on… especially when you’re pointing a gun at me under the table.”

Kay smiled at him and brought her other hand up to show him a bolt mechanism from a disassembled doorknob, which she’d used to make the metallic click.

“Well,” Peggy said in an American accent. “We’d better get back to our shift. See you tomorrow, Mr. Russel. Same time, same place.”

They spent a second restless night in the Pine Barrens. Kay busied herself with some knitting needles and yarn she’d bought in the town, producing some intricate-looking lacy thing Peggy couldn’t begin to identify. Her thoughts were a mystery.

Peggy herself spent the time thinking about what they were going to do if this didn’t work. It seemed to her that they’d have to find Steve, but she really didn’t want him to get involved in this mess. Daniel was in it with her whether she liked it or not, as was Mr. Jarvis, but she would have liked to keep Steve safe.

That was a strange thought, wasn’t it? Steve had always been able to take care of himself, even when he’d been only five foot four, yet Peggy’s urge was to protect him. Was that one of those ‘motherly instincts’ men insisted all women had, or was it just that Peggy wanted to keep everybody she loved safe? She’d failed with Michael. There was a part of her that still thought, no matter how irrational she knew it was, that if she’d only joined the spy corps earlier he would still be alive. Was she trying to make up for that?

What would happen if she just disappeared?

She’d wondered that from time to time, like when Anna Jarvis had been shot… wouldn’t the people she loved be safer if Peggy weren’t around? Without her, Daniel and Mr. Jarvis wouldn’t be in trouble right now. She was the one who’d involved them in the situation with Dottie. The problem with that thought was that the trouble had already come to them. If she were to vanish, they would still end up in prison or worse on the strength of Dottie’s testimony, or perhaps have their fates dangled like carrots to encourage Peggy to return. She couldn’t stand for that. She’d gotten them in trouble, she had to get them out of it.

Which meant she’d better come up with a backup plan in case Russel wouldn’t help.

They scoped out the Automat very carefully before returning the next day, making sure there were no suspicious fellows hanging around watching who came and went. Peggy saw none, and Kay agreed with her. They went inside and changed into Angie’s spare uniforms, Kay putting a few safety pins in hers so it would look like it fit. When Agent Russel arrived, they took him his usual and sat down across from him. This time, they did not bother with sound effects.

“I didn’t talk to the police,” he said. “But I felt like I had to talk to somebody… so I talked to Captain America.”

Peggy’s heart started beating a little faster. “How on Earth did you manage that?” she asked. Steve and Masters had left New York early that morning. They’d heard it on their car radio.

“I told Jack I wanted to meet him in person because he’s always been a hero of mine, Jack talked to Masters, and Masters let me in,” Russel explained.

“Wow. I’m momentarily glad I didn’t kill him yet,” said Kay.

“Please stop that,” Peggy told her.

“If you want something fun to do on your weekends,” Kay said to Russel, “take a look at what Vernon Masters was up to around… oh, 1943-ish.”

“Do you know something I don’t?” Peggy asked her. A foolish question, really… Kay always knew something nobody else did, or at least, she acted that way.

“In this case, no,” Kay replied, “but I have strong suspicions.”

Peggy shook her head and brought things back to Russel. “What did he say? Steve, I mean.”

“Well, he told me to call him Steve,” Russel said, “which was a little like meeting one of your schoolteachers as an adult and having him tell you to call him by his name. I told him what you were asking me to do, and… he said he doesn’t know about Miss Lake, himself, but he trusts Peggy Carter with his life and I should do what she asks. He seemed pretty sure you know what you’re doing.”

Peggy had to chuckle at that. “He has such faith in me,” she said. Of course, she had faith in Steve, too… he’d always done the most recklessly foolish things imaginable, but he’d always managed to make them work in spite of everything. “Thank you, Agent Russel.”

“I still don’t know what’s going on here,” Russel admitted, “but I don’t think Captain America would involve himself with traitors. I read the file the FBI gave me about you, and I remember thinking there must have been some kind of mistake. That was my instinct from the beginning.” He glanced at Kay… the woman who’d given him cause to doubt his instincts. “What’s this message?”

Kay unfolded it and handed it over – a page of pseudo-Cyrillic accomplished with an ordinary English typewriter and going over some of the letters two or three times. “I think I know what she wants. She’s amassing money and blackmail material. She’s going after the mob now because she wants to force a diplomat with criminal connections to smuggle her back into the USSR. If she tries to go there legitimately, or even secretly but without protection, she’ll be shot. She needs to enter the country unnoticed, and then she’s going after the people who made her.”

“For what? Revenge?” asked Russel.

“Exactly.”

“And you’re going to let her do it?” he guessed.

“On her own she can’t,” said Kay. “She’ll never get that far, or she’ll be caught, and she’ll just disappear from history. But if I’m right, it gives us a bargaining chip.”

“I see.” Russel tucked the message inside his jacket. “I’ll deliver it this afternoon, and if she gives me a reply, I’ll pass it on tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Agent Russel,” Peggy repeated.

They left him to his lunch then, and returned to their stolen car to go back into hiding. Kay still hadn’t broken her habit of checking for seat belts when she got in.

Halfway through New Jersey, she suddenly asked Peggy, “have you see Frankenstein? That was made in the thirties, wasn’t it? Or read the book?”

“I haven’t,” Peggy replied. “I’m not one for the cinema, and the very idea of the book put me off.” As a child she simply hadn’t liked horror stories, and as an adult she’d seen far too many of them in real life to enjoy them in fiction.

“I have,” said Kay. “Several more versions, too, and most of them miss the point. The creature couldn’t help being what he was. The monster was the man who created him.” She sighed. “Everyone treated the creature as a monster, until he decided that was the only thing he could be.”

“Do you believe that of yourself?” Peggy asked.

“I think Barynova might,” Kay replied.

#fanfic #agent carter #captain america #peggy carter #steve rogers #steggy #fix it fic

10 notes · View notes

seungminotes · 4 years

Text

Necessary | Kim Seungmin

Warnings: 1.7k highschool au

A/N: I consider this to be the best thing I have ever written. I love Kim Seungmin, thank you.

Kim Seungmin was the last person you expected to be taking a lower level math class. Him being one of, if not the smartest student in your year, the only word you could possibly use to describe him was big brain. Yet there he was being seated next to your mathematically-disabled self, bright and early on a Monday morning, in a remedial math class.

Somehow you felt out of place now, as if you’d taken the wrong class, maybe there was some sort of even lower remedial math class where you actually belonged.

Seungmin had that effect on people. Though he wasn’t one to properly notice it. He made others feel inferior, but wasn’t one to take notice. He didn’t care about those around him anyway. A true tsundere, you often hear others call him. But you couldn’t tell if he was cold or just plain arrogant.

The way he sat next to you, with his perfect posture and head held high, and the way he didn’t even bid you a morning greeting, left quite a bad taste in your mouth.

How does one sit so properly and mannerly, yet doesn’t have the manners to acknowledge another’s existence?

Whatever, you decided, this wasn’t going to bother you, or get in the way of you getting better at math. This class wasn’t exactly the place you were used to either, but last year for whatever reason the numbers in your head jumbled around and you couldn’t pass a test to save your life. Now you were here, and you were determined to ace every test this year.

As if he had read your mind, Seungmin turned to you.

“You’re bad with numbers,” he said, no emotions displayed in his voice.

“Why else would I be here?”

He didn’t answer you, he just turned back towards the board, opening his notes and laying his head down on them.

You scoffed, there was no way you were going to fail a test in this class, your pride was going to make sure of it.

As time went on, you noticed Seungmin was not exactly happy about being in a lower math class that was obviously much too easy for him. You really wondered why he was here in the first place.

He never took notes, paid any attention, or even turned in the homework. You’d assume these bad habits were what landed him in this class in the first place.

The workload wasn’t even that bad, would it kill him to spare thirty minutes of his day to solve a few problems?

Despite this lazy lifestyle, Seungmin never received anything below a 100 on any test. Now that you envied.

Because even though you had made a promise to yourself and so far had kept it very well, you struggled to keep it that way. Studying until the wee hours of the night to make sure you could understand the subject with no problems at all, you lost sleep and just a bit of your sanity every time an exam was coming up.

This time was no different, only the restlessness was quite unbearable as you tried to stay awake in class. Your teacher’s droning voice did nothing to help and eventually your head slumped a little heavier on your arm, you had fallen asleep.

Falling asleep in this class was always a nightmare for you. Missing the information you desperately needed to make by in the course, you couldn’t understand how some students didn’t take notes, how did all the information possibly stay in their head.

When you had woken up, your teacher was just wiping down the board full of equations from the period. You looked down at your blank page of notes, regret and anxiety soon sinking in.

You could easily ask a friend for notes, it wasn’t that of a big deal to be honest. But taking in your own made sure you had everything, you couldn’t think of anyone who made sure to do the same.

The bell rang and it was time to go to your next class and you hurried to get your stuff packed up in time. As the boy next to you got up, you noticed he wasn’t sitting in his usual lecture position, head down and eyes closed. Today he had sat straight for whatever reason, and as he stood he pushed a stack of papers onto your side of the desk.

You hadn’t noticed at first, still wondering about his sitting position, but once he walked out of class, you looked down onto your table and inspected the overturned pages.

Considering you were most likely to be late soon, you just shoved the papers into your notebook and ran out of class.

It wasn’t until when you got home that you remembered the odd papers Seungmin had slid you after class and got your notebook out to examine them.

Turning them over you realized the boy you had once considered lazy and arrogant, took such detailed notes on today’s lesson that you could consider it a textbook guide.

His neat handwriting sprawled the paper elegantly and the pink highlighted titles accentuated the already sophisticated aesthetics of his notes. This was the type of organization you’d see on a study blog you only wished to emulate. On the margins he’d put a star next to things considered more complicated, and a happy face at the end of a concept, there were even slightly adorable doodles of a puppy’s face at the corner of one of the pages.

Seungmin never took notes. It was common knowledge. You’d never even seen the boy’s handwriting. Were these even his?

Deciding not to question further, you silently thanked the lord for such a gift. You’d have to thank Seungmin too, you thought.

That night you placed Seungmin’s aesthetic notes in a protective plastic and placed them in your binder. You studied them extensively and even rewrote them. He worded things much better than your teacher ever could. Everything was so simple. That night you could sleep peacefully.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin had taken a liking to you and your rather determined nature, something he wished he had when it came to studies, yet didn’t exactly need. Seeing you work so hard for a measly math class seemed pointless to him at first, but when he realized it was quite important to you, enough for you to lose sleep over, he discovered how much of a strong trait it was in you. It low-key made his heart squirm when he walked in to you reviewing notes before a test, or when you had set up your colored pens and highlighters in front of you before a lecture, or when you raised your hand when you genuinely didn’t understand something. Seungmin was deeply infatuated with you, but simply chose to ignore that. Seungmin never wasted his time on things he thought unnecessary. Yet that night he laid in bed, wondering for hours if you were awake and if you were, if you may have been looking at his words.

The next morning you woke up refreshed from a good night’s sleep and ready for school.

In class you placed the extra hot bun and a pink carton of strawberry milk on your seatmate’s desk as a small thank you, you had to repay him somehow. No matter what you had previously thought of him, he had in a way saved you.

You don’t think you had ever seen Seungmin smile. It was a slight and shy smile, but a smile nonetheless when he saw the cute little snack awaiting him on his side of the table. He knew it must have been you and it tugged his heartstrings quite hard, no one had ever really done this for him.

Still he didn’t look at you as he sat down, and he most likely wasn’t going to. You had to make the first move.

“Thank you,” you turned to him, holding out your hand in hopes of a friendly handshake.

Seungmin didn’t respond, though he did turn to face you wide-eyed with a straw stick in his mouth. His hand gently held the carton of strawberry milk and he didn’t make a move to reciprocate your friendly greeting.

You slowly pull your hand away.

“You can have them back, I don’t need them anymore,” you reach towards your binder to pull out the protected notes, but Seungmin finally does move, stopping your hand.

You eye him blankly, confused at his actions. He looks at you nervously before looking down.

“You can keep them,” his voice is firm yet soft and gentle.

Kim Seungmin is not cold or arrogant, you decide, he’s adorable.

You simply nod, absolutely dumbstruck by his change in nature.

Class starts and ends and though you promptly take your notes, you are considerably distracted by the actions of the quiet boy beside you. Today he placed his head down as usual, but his eyes were not closed, instead they traveled around the room, ever so often landing on you and halting.

As you and your classmates begin to put away their materials before the bell, you notice Seungmin softly spring up.

He takes out a pad of unused sticky notes from his bag and quickly scribbles his phone number and a puppy doodle on the pastel pink paper, hurriedly handing it your way as the bell rings.

Once again you look at the boy, eyes blank of emotion, only now his shy smile returns for a second time and he confidently reaches for your hand to put the sticky note in it himself.

“I think you’ll like these numbers more,” he slyly flirts.

“That was horrible,” you laugh at his rather unexpected words, making him flush a pleasant shade of pink.

Seungmin had never been one to flirt, heck he never even really spoke to girls, but he was definitely willing to make an exception. Because Seungmin never wasted his time on things he deemed unnecessary, but now it seemed that you were necessary in his eyes.

“Call me sometime?” His voice was smaller, much more reserved than his confidence outburst from before.

“My pleasure.” You beamed up at him.

And with that smile Seungmin could now guarantee that you were absolutely necessary.

#stray kids #seungmin #skz #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #seungmin imagines #seungmin fluff #seungmin blurbs #stray kids fluff #stray kids blurbs #skz fluff #skz scenarios #skz seungmin #kim seungmin

214 notes · View notes

imnotcameraready · 4 years

Text

don’t tread on me

A/N: wow, i’m updating ANOTHER story? that’s not chivalry? amazing!!!

anyway, this has been a very, very long time coming! i’m procrastinating on packing, but i’m super excited that you guys finally get to meet janus and remus in this au! they’re a real pair!

WARNINGS: death/murder mention, alcohol mention, blackmailing, swearing/cursing, panicking, Logan Is A Serial Killer, blood mention (in a more medical sense) — if i forgot any, please let me know!

Pairings: Logince, Demus/Dukeceit | mentions of: Moxiety, past Analogical

Words: 3366

AO3 link!

masterpost to the serial killer logan au!

here we go! (fitting that the next side to get his own actual readmore cut off photo is logan, i love the nerd)

This couldn’t be real.

Logan’s hands nursed the mug in front of him, watching the steam roll off in plentitudes. He had the offending letter in his breast pocket, inside his coat, and he could feel the sleekly folded pages press against his chest when he inhaled.

It was a curious situation he’d found himself in. The first person to catch on to what he’s been doing wasn’t his boyfriend, wasn’t his ex-boyfriend detective, wasn’t even his ex-boyfriend detective’s new semi-boyfriend partner. And he could tell because, instead of being taken out in handcuffs, Logan had just received a personalized letter to his place of work with details about the latest killing, the statement that the sender knew that Logan was the culprit, and a meeting time and location. The letter was typewritten and then scanned again, to make it nigh impossible to find fingerprints or individualities in the writing, but he could definitely read it. Signed off by someone who called themselves “Deceit.”

And they were blackmailing him.

Logan took a sip of his coffee. No one he knew personally had the lack of morality to blackmail. Heck, even he didn’t, and he was a murderer. Talk about rudeness.

At least the meeting was to be quick. He checked his watch again — he’d arrived about half an hour before his meeting with the blackmailer for another meeting, with some journalist interviewing him about a research award. Roman’s brother was moving into town, was throwing a house warming party that they’d been invited to, and Logan didn’t want to miss getting to finally meet Roman’s only other living relative.

He always had quite the weirdest of stories to tell about this brother, Remus, and Roman seemed so ecstatic about him moving closer that Logan didn’t want to let him down. They had been going fairly steady for the past year and a half, with Roman somehow still unaware that Logan had committed ten murders.

It would do well to continue laying low, after the most recent murder. Logan was a little sloppier, in a rush, trying to dispose of the body in a manner almost too crass for him. That was about four weeks ago. Of course, in Logan’s mind it was a messy endeavour, but even that would be too detailed for Virgil or Patton to trace. He was safe from them.

Perhaps Roman would question the blood on his shirt, but he could always write it off with a story of how things broke in the lab. Those are some of Roman’s favorite stories. He was so interested in Logan’s work that it was easy enough to distract him from Logan’s other extracurriculars.

“Excuse me,” he overhears someone talking to the barista, while he sips his coffee, “Have you seen Doctor Logan Webster?”

“Janus Daniels?” he calls out to the man at the register.

They spin around, and grin upon locking eyes with Logan. This must be the journalist, then. They slink forward, a thick mustard scarf wrapped around their shoulders and atop their black trenchcoat. They’re wearing a bowler hat, too, which may fit with the weather, though not with the decade.

Logan also notices the skin discoloration around this person’s left eye. Vitiligo, by the looks of it, all along the left side of their face. It’s juxtaposed by their dark hair and punctuated by the difference in color between their two eyes, one amber and one near white.

They offer out a yellow-gloved hand, which Logan takes, both shaking firmly and heartily. When they pull their hand back, they’re smiling. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Dr. Webster,” they say, taking out a recorder from their jacket, “Hope the coffee’s not too cold.”

“It hasn’t been very long. And I’ve been examining notes, grading papers,” Logan tries to dissuade the journalist’s concerns, smiling back himself, maintaining a perfect, unreadable composure. He shouldn’t let his two worlds bleed into each other, after all.

Janus smiles back, and taps a pen into their notebook. They flip to another page, glance over something written, and then nod to the recorder. “May I record this interview?” they ask.

Logan waves his hand. Standard procedure for a dual-consent state. “Yes.”

They press a button on the little box, and ask again. “Once more, on recording, may I record this interview?”

“Yes.”

It goes fairly quick after that. Logan had recently been part of a team of eight researchers, sending information back and forth regarding the clotting abilities of platelets. The end result had included information on how to use certain enzymes to signal to the platelets to clot over certain wounds. If these enzymes could be delivered outside of the bloodstream, then it may lead to a faster and cheaper way to produce certain medical products, even close wounds that would bleed out into fatalities. This would also have a higher success rate, considering the process relied heavily on the natural healing process.

The interview lasts roughly forty minutes. It’s a perfect length, too, since Logan has to run from this immediately to wherever the blackmailer says to meet him. In the letter, he’d been told to await further instructions, but this journalist couldn’t have met him another time in the day. Of course, he could have turned Janus away, but there was no one else on the team that they’d gotten the chance to speak to. Ignoring them would have been setting them up for failure.

“Blood clotting,” Janus murmurs, “Can you think of any other practical applications to that?”

Logan shrugs. It’s a mundane question, too trivial for someone who had so narrowly missed a Nobel prize, but almost too large for an article meant for the general public. He knew the drill; he’d spoken to many reporters before. “Oh, if something like this were to be commercialized, then military-grade medical supplies could begin entering the consumer market. That would drastically change the household medical landscape as we know it.”

He checks his watch again, and sighs. If he leaves now, he might be able to make it back to his office to await further instructions. Janus must notice his discomfort, because they sign off on the recording, and then stow the device away.

Logan gives them a grateful look while he packs his notes back into his bag. “This has been a lovely interview, but I have a prior engagement for 2 p.m.,” he tries to explain.

Janus just watches him with a wry smile. They shrug, taking a sip of their coffee silently.

That’s when Logan’s blood begins to, no pun intended, run cold. What kind of expression is that?

“I don’t think you have to go anywhere, Doctor,” Janus’s voice is light as they take out a piece of paper from their other pocket, “We can have our little meeting here.”

They open the paper up before Logan, only to show the same letter he’d gotten in the mail days ago, only the original form.

Logan scans it for a few seconds before slumping back into the chair. He’d been had.

“....So. Janus. How did you figure it out?” he’s moved beyond these theatrics. So Janus, Deceit, had set up this whole interview. Was the article even real? Logan had indeed vetted the reporter, was sure that they were a journalist. That’s all any of their social medias focused on, anyway.

Janus shrugs, still smiling a little. “I can’t speak for all of my sources, but once I got the details, it wasn’t too hard,” they say, “Roman’s far too dramatic to be committing such a quiet act and the similarities are far too uncanny to be him. But someone with access to the equipment necessary to drain a body of blood, someone with experience in the field, well….”

This was infuriating. Logan hadn’t even assessed Janus thoroughly during the interview. They were just so unassuming.

Was that how this a success? Logan had simply underestimated them? What else was he possibly overlooking, then.

What was the purpose of all of this, too? Logan hadn’t done anything to Janus, not to his knowledge. Maybe they had a relation to one of Logan’s victims? That would be an incredible oversight on his part. But that still wouldn’t explain why they were resorting to blackmail above letting the authorities know.

“Don’t worry too hard. I’m certain your ex hasn’t figured out heads nor tails of the case yet,” Janus leans back and sets their gloved hands on the table, “And I don’t intend on letting him know. Virgil’s not stupid but he doesn’t have the evidence that I do.”

“How do you know about Virgil?” Logan’s mouth runs dry.

No one knew about Virgil. It had been so long since they’d broken up—that was all old news.

But Janus just laughs, a soft, tinkling sound. “He’s the head detective on the case, anyone in the police department could have told you,” they wave their hand, as though this were a simple matter, something not worth scrutinizing.

They don’t seem to think that them knowing Virgil is Logan’s ex is weird. That’s not on Logan’s social media, nor is it on Virgil’s, as few as he has. How the fuck did Janus figure that out?

For the first time in a long while, Logan has no idea what to do. His chest was clutching his heart so tight that it was difficult to breathe.

There were so many questions. And Janus’s gaze, once amicable, now seemed to look deeper into Logan than any of his microscopes at his lab. What did Janus know? How much did he know? The letter was so vague, just a time and place and knowledge that Logan was the killer. This probably wasn’t even a confrontation, they probably just wanted to confirm that Logan was afraid, and he’d walked right into their trap.

How stupid! He needed to be much more careful if individuals like this Deceit were figuring out who he was and what he was doing.

But time to cut to the chase. “Well, you know the facts. When are you planning to tell him?” Logan asks, prepared for the worst.

At that notion, though, Janus’s face scrunches up. “Me? Tell Virgil? God, no, you misunderstand,” Janus waves their hand, “Let me explain myself. I have a personal stake in your activities, Logan, and I simply wanted some reassurance that I and those around me will stay safe.”

That was. Very.

Once again, Logan was thrown for another loop. What the hell? Janus just wanted protection? “I assure you, I won’t target you or anyone you present to me,” Logan says, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice, “That’s an incredibly petty reason to be going to these lengths, though. If you know this much about me, as much as you’ve been alluding to, then you would know that I likely wouldn’t target you in the first place.”

Janus shrugs once again and that blank smile. This was a thick mystery.

Logan leans forward, to ask another question, when someone’s loud voice entering the cafe makes him jump. Agh, he’s getting so paranoid now. He had to take a step back.

“AYO!” the person shouts, “SNAKEY!”

And then the person bodyslams Janus. Logan jumps back in surprise, but Janus laughs warmly, reaching up and hugging the newcomer with one arm.

“Hello, sweetheart,” they purr.

“What’s up, babe dot net,” the newcomer kisses Janus’s temple before pulling a chair from the empty table beside them and sitting right between Janus and Logan.

And then he looks at Logan, finally. He had shaggy brown hair with a few grey streaks through the front. His eyes were a glittering green, just like Roman. In fact, the person’s entire demeanor seemed uncannily like Roman’s, despite how he was clothed in a patched leather jacket and a green fishnet shirt. He also had a nose piercing, a lip piercing, an eyebrow piercing, and, from what Logan could see, six earrings. There was a curled mustache across his face, too, which added to Logan’s assessment that this man was, well. What was the best word. Weird?

He holds out a hand to Logan, grinning ear to ear. “Heya, Specs. You must be the Doc’. How’s the blood?”

Oh my God. Logan blinks, biting his tongue for a second as he takes the person’s hand and shakes. “Yes. My name is Logan. Nice to meet you.”

“Remus! A pleasure,” Remus sticks his tongue out and winks as they shake hands, “So you’re my lil’ brother’s bitch, eh?”

Holy fuck. There was absolutely no way. This wasn’t on any of Janus’s social medias, either. Logan had done as much of a background check as he could on the reporter, there weren’t—there wasn’t any indication—Roman hadn’t mentioned that his brother had a partner—

The cogs in Logan’s head were stopping. This was a ridiculous series of events, there was no way that this was happening. “Remus...Del Sol?” Logan asks.

Remus giggles. Janus reaches an arm around his waist, pulling him closer to them, and Remus abides by snuggling his face into Janus’s neck and literally licking him.

“Remus is my partner,” Janus says, and Logan can see, is absolutely infuriated by the level of shit-eating that Janus’s grin holds, “He was too excited to meet you, so he wanted to drop in on our interview.”

Oh my god, they had interviewed earlier. Yes. That was correct. Logan nods, though he can’t find his voice to say anything. Interview. Remus doesn’t know, then?

It seems that Remus doesn’t mind or doesn’t notice, which is good, at least. “I was just so excited to get to know my baby brother’s boytoy, you know? Though you’re definitely the braincell he’s missing, sheesh!” Remus cackles, and Janus chuckles warmly along with the joke, “You’re coming to tonight’s party, right? I’m buyin’ extra tequila for the drama queen.”

Logan nods. And that’s enough for Remus, it seems, because he laughs heartily and slaps Logan’s shoulder.

But Logan still can’t get over the fact that his boyfriend’s twin brother’s partner is blackmailing him. I’m sorry, he really can’t.

“Remus, darling, I’m going to leave you here for a second so I can take this,” Janus stares at their wrist, seemingly infatuated with their Apple watch.

Remus patted Janus’ ass as they stand up and step out of the cafe. And then it’s just Remus and Logan.

That’s more acceptable. Janus is such a wildcard, Logan doesn’t know what to do. Is he worried that Logan would kill Remus? What for?

“So,” Logan blinks, focusing back on Remus, who watches him with a much harsher look, “You’re Logan.”

“....Yes,” is all he can say. There’s only so much Logan can take in a day.

“You think you’re good enough for my little baby prince.”

Ah. Was he getting the big brother talk? He thought they were twins. “Aren’t you and Roman the same age?” he asks.

Remus leans forward, placing both of his hands on the table, squinting at Logan’s face. Up close, Logan can definitely smell the sweat wafting off of Remus. Good lord, did he bathe? His mustache was held up by some sort of grease, so it was clear that the man kept his appearance in check. His face, too, up close, was populated by a multitude of small scars. Remus points up at Logan with one finger, only a few inches from his actual face.

“You hurt my little brother and I’ll have to kill you,” he says.

Now that was laughable. Remus didn’t seem to be joking, considering how rigid his facial expression was, but Logan couldn’t really think about the possibility of someone killing him. He wasn’t worth killing, in any case. Up front, he was doing good by the world, researching ways to make life easier for those who needed it. And behind the scenes, he was keeping the city ever more clear of those who would break the safety of others. It wasn’t like he murdered just anyone, you know.

Remus didn’t seem to be targeting him, too, over the whole murderer thing. He squints more at Logan—likely awaiting a response.

“I don’t intend on hurting him,” Logan keeps his voice as level as possible, “In fact, I love your brother very much. This past year and a half has been the best in my life.”

Remus squints even more. There’s no way that wasn’t an acceptable answer, though. Maybe he’s off-put by the rigidity that Logan himself is holding his person. He’s a little shaken still, but he manages a smile.

At that, Remus raises an eyebrow, but he slowly sinks back down into his chair, slouching his back and throwing one arm over Janus’ vacant seat. He drums one hand’s fingers against the table, slow, in some sort of thought.

“It better be. My brother’s a catch. The best boyfriend life coulda thrown at you,” he declares, and then he slaps his hand on the table, “I guess I’ll see how good of a boyfriend you are tonight then.”

Logan chuckles. “If you would like to gauge my abilities as a partner, then tonight is likely the best time,” he says.

Going home will be nice. Roman has likely picked out an outfit already, maybe had moved on to an acceptable make up routine.

“We’re gonna have to get you a keg stand, Doc Oc,” Remus snickers, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

Logan doesn’t necessarily drink that much. He definitely doesn’t drink beer. A keg stand sounds quite out of the ordinary, too, for a house party. “Oh?”

“I gotta see how well you can suck!” Remus lets out a laugh, harsh and biting, and Logan deflates just a little.

Ah. Roman had warned that Remus was a little more outlandish. Perhaps this was simply an exposé. Good to be shocked now than in front of an audience, he supposed.

Logan was saved from having to respond by Janus, who returned quickly. Remus lifts his arm for Janus to sit, but instead, Janus grabs him by the shoulder and tugs him up.

“Logan,” they say, and Logan’s taken aback by how serious their tone is, in contrast to how controlled they sounded earlier. You know, during the blackmail.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t seen the university’s campus yet today, right?”

What an odd question. Logan shakes his head; no reason to lie about something so easily provable. “No. Roman and I were together all day before I arrived here for our appointment,” buying housewarming gifts. Roman’s quite excited about the throw pillows and framed photos he arranged.

Janus gives him a hard look, motioning for all of them to leave, and Logan doesn’t think twice. He picks up his bag, sets down some cash as a tip, and follows Remus out. The sudden movement and the urgency of such felt like it deserved explanation, though. “Why?”

Janus looks back at him, over their shoulder, and sets their hat back atop their head. “You should go home and check in with the university’s administration,” they say, and Logan notes how that doesn’t answer the question in the fucking slightest.

“Work?” Remus asks.

It sounds like he might know a little more than Logan. Remus wraps an arm around Janus’ waist and kisses their cheek quickly. “I’ll see you later tonight, babe, you be safe! There’s a killer on the loose!” he shoots Logan and Janus both finger guns, and then flips them both off.

While Remus grabs a motorcycle—of course he rides a motorcycle, he seems the type, how are he and Roman related?!—Janus turns back to Logan. Their jaw is set and, for the first time during this whole visit, Logan can sense a bit of fear.

“You weren’t at the university. Right?” they ask.

Logan shakes his head. “I wasn’t. The last time I was on campus was yesterday,” he says.

The repetition of the question is worrying. He doesn’t know what might have happened. Was there an accident?

Janus exhales, looking around to make sure no one’s near them, before leaning in just a little more. “A body was found in the chemistry building. Poisoned.”

taglists!

General: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

Serial Killer Logan AU: @theunoriginaldaisy

62 notes · View notes

obsidianfr3sk · 4 years

Text

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 8)

Summary: Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 Link

Hi!! I honestly didn’t expected to update today, but here we are:’) I hope you enjoy this chapter!! If someone wants to be added or remove from the tag list, tell me haha.

Tag list: @nodrianbcyes @dawniebb @healing-winston-pratt @cerenoya @ marissagustrerbenson

Getting cold hands?

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,

and how you suffered for your sanity,

and how you tried to set them free.

They would not listen, they did not know how;

perhaps they'll listen now.

Simon

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Hugh put his hand over his mouth to shut him up and Simon felt his cheeks turn red when he realized a couple of older boys had turned to see why the hell he was yelling. Their faces contorted in disgust and continued with their chat.

Because prodigies were disgusting.

He immediately regretted his decision to come back to school.

Hugh removed his hand from his mouth. “Don't be mad at me,” he whispered.

“I'm not mad at you,” he replied in a lower voice, “it's just that I'm surprised you did something so impulsive and so, so… so stupid.”

Hugh bit his lip but couldn't hide his laugh. “Wow, Simon, watch your language.”

He kicked him to silence him. “I am serious,” he replied. “You gave my address to a complete stranger—"

“Georgia.”

“—To make a plan for which we have no ideas—"

“I do have many ideas.”

“—and who will bring a friend we don't know.”

Simon went silent, waiting for Hugh to answer with the friend's name. But he did not.

That only further proved his point. “From the beginning, your plan was very wrong.”

And I should have been there to warn you.

“No, my plan was golden from the beginning,” Hugh argued, “because Georgia is not a stranger. I met her at Joe’s Basket and she turned out to be a really nice girl. She likes mystery novels, wears white pajamas to sleep, and can fly. I consider that a very specific profile.”

“I consider her a stranger. You don’t even know her last name.”

“Rawles.”

“Does she has a middle name?”

Hugh ignored him completely. “If you just had heard her speak, Simon. She was absolutely right about everything,” he continued. “Georgia is a good person. She returned my notebook even though she didn't have to. And look what she did.”

Discreetly, he took a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. It was the drawing he had been working on a couple of days ago. Propaganda. “She repaired my drawing with washi-tape. It’s… kind of pretty, isn’t it?”

It was the most adorable washi-tape Simon had ever seen. “Too girly,” he growled.

“Girly? The— the washi-tape?”

“Yes,” Simon answered. “It’s too girly. I don’t like it.”

“Oh, no, I don’t like it either,” Hugh answered. “I just thought the contrast was… funny.”

Simon said nothing more. Hugh put the drawing back before anyone else saw it. “Look, that’s what would make us a great team. We all have different strengths. And also… she’s a girl. An older girl. And she likes Wonder Man.”

Simon decided to draw the line there. To hell with her pretty washi-tape. “Why does it matter she’s an older girl who likes Wonder Man? I like Wonder Man too.”

Hugh adjusted his glasses, confused. “But… you don’t like it,” he reminded him. “You say Wonder Man is an idiot.”

I do say that.

“What I mean is,” he said evasively, “like ... I mean, what does strengths does she has? Because being a girl is not one of them.”

“Her vision,” she replied. “She has a way of seeing things that are surely different from ours. Not just because she's a girl, but also because I bet she has experienced the world in a way we haven't and has more experience with certain things that could help us. How many times have we talked to someone who isn’t part of the school?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “We don't talk to anyone at school,” he muttered.

They hate us. They really hate us.

Or do they fear us?

Is there a difference?

“Well, when have we talked to someone... other than the two of us? Or your dad, or your sister—” and he smiled playfully “—or my aunt.”

He immediately realized he was trying to make him laugh. But at that point in the conversation, Simon was fed up with the entire female gender and he wasn’t even willing to smile at him.

Hugh hugged himself. For some reason, he was not wearing a jacket that day... “Where’s your jacket?” he asked in a soft voice.

“I gave it to Georgia,” he replied. “The one she had didn't protect her from the cold.”

Then Simon remembered that they were arguing and that Hugh was an idiot who gave his address to strangers and did not deserve his compassion. “Well, it's her fault. Why does she wear a jacket that looks cools but doesn't protect you from the cold?”

“Maybe she’s… passionate about fashion?” he said, half-joking.

Simon didn't find it funny. “Maybe she puts fashion above basic needs.”

Hugh realized that it was useless to keep trying to make him laugh. He put his hands in his pants pockets. “Simon…” He glanced at him. “You... that someone you mentioned last time—“

“What’s with that someone?” he asked sharply.

“That someone still wants me to believe in him, right?”

At that moment, Simon realized that throughout the entire conversation, he had had his arms crossed as if he were throwing a tantrum.

Stars. How childish Simon looked. And how worried Hugh looked.

The last thing he wanted to do was worry him.

Simon wasn't even quite sure why he was reacting like that. Like, of course, he had been annoyed that Hugh had made a move without first consulting him, especially one involving his home.

However, it didn't take long for him to realize that that other emotion he felt, in addition to the obvious annoyance, was fear. Fear that he was going to leave him for that new friend he had made. Which he knew didn't make sense because Hugh wasn't the one who abandoned others.

That one was Simon. Simon had abandoned him the other day.

Simon was the bad person here.

He leaned against the wall. “Yes...” he acknowledged. “That someone still needs you to believe in him.”

Because that someone needs you maybe a little too much.

Hugh seemed suddenly calmer. “Good,” he sighed. “I was starting to get a little worried.”

“Sorry.”

“You don't need to apologize.”

“Sorry,” he repeated.

“Simon, stop.”

But he couldn't. “Sorry.”

Hugh just laughed and leaned against the wall too. “Well, you know, since we're on the apology thing… I'm sorry I didn't consult you before giving the address to someone who is a stranger. For you,” he added quickly. Simon kicked him. I told you that she is a stranger. “It's just that… I got excited. I have never met someone like Georgia.”

Simon nodded and felt a lump in his throat. He knew what Hugh was talking about.

He had never met someone who believed in themselves because the only person Hugh hung out with was Simon, and Simon…

Simon didn't believe in anything. Not even himself.

“Are you sure we can trust her?” he asked in a small voice.

“She promised me he would be there,” he replied. “And I had to promise her that I would be there too. Simon… can you promise me that too?”

Simon scoffed. “You will be at my house.”

“You know what I mean—“ he tapped his hand with two fingers. “Can you promise me you'll be there?” he repeated.

Simon ignored the feelings that light touch gave him.

He had always been good at ignoring.

So he nodded.

The bell rang and the few students in the courtyard began to enter. Hugh chattered his teeth and hugged himself again.

“You are cold, right?” Simon asked him.

Simon didn't want to go to class yet. He wished he could stay out a while longer. Simon loved cold days because he could put on a lot of layers of clothing and people saw less of him.

But the truth was that he didn't want to go to class yet because he wanted to stay talking with his friend a bit longer.

Even if he made him angry.

“I’m freezing,” he answered. “Look, feel my hands.”

He put a hand on his cheek. Simon could feel his face turning all red again.

Ignore it, ignore it.

“Yes. They’re cold,” he answered.

“Told you. Cold can’t kill me, but is surely a pain in the ass.”

Simon gave him a lopsided smile, trying not to look like he was doing his best not to imagine… that.

Don’t think about his ass.

In a desperate attempt to distract his mind, he searched his pockets for the gloves his father told him last night to wear when leaving the house. He stood up and handed them to Hugh. “Put them on. I don't like wearing gloves anyway.”

They headed for the school entrance while Hugh struggled to put them on. They were a little too small for him, but if he didn't move his hands a lot they would surely cover them well. “Thank you,” he mumbled with a smile.

Simon shrugged. It was the least he could do.

The rest of the day, he was the one whose hands were freezing because his school had no heating since always. Yet the thought that Hugh was wearing them and that his hands were warm made him better able to ignore the cold.

That and the fact his cheeks were still red.

I'm not abandoning you again, Hugh.

I’d rather be dead.

Georgia

When she arrived, she did not make her classic introduction. She didn't say "Honey, I'm home!" nor did she hold Molly in her arms and ask her how school went. She only greeted Tamaya, gave her the bag with the few provisions that she could offer her, and dropped onto her mattress.

It was more comfortable than one would expect to. She didn't understand why Tamaya said it was uncomfortable.

Tamaya didn't seem to notice that change. And if she did, she said nothing. Georgia would dare to say that she was just as quiet as her.

She lay down beside Georgia. They were shoulder to shoulder, staring at the old roof of the abandoned store. Tamaya fiddled with her broken locket.

“Who goes first?” Georgia asked leaning on her shoulder.

“Huh?”

“Who tells her problem first,” she clarified.

“Oh.” Tamaya dropped her locket. “You. You go first.”

Georgia wanted to refuse. She knew that if she started talking, there would probably be no one able to stop her. And it was already difficult to get Tamaya to open up…

But she had to tell someone. She couldn't hold that secret inside her for another second.

She turned to see her. “I met someone.”

Tamaya did the same. “Someone?”

“A boy.”

“A boy,” she repeated. Sharply.

“Not like that,” she clarified quickly. “He's a literal boy. So yeah. It would be kinda gross, to be honest.”

Tamaya relaxed her expression. Only a little. “What did he do to you?” she asked.

“Stars, Tamaya,” Georgia laughed. “He did nothing to me. But he gave me this.”

She reached into the pocket of her jeans. Georgia hated wearing jeans because her legs were too wide and she could never find jeans that actually fit her. However, that day all her skirts were too dirty to wear. And she also had to keep that paper in a safe place.

They both straightened up as Georgia unfolded the paper with her fingers.

It's made of glass, Georgia. Like your hopes. Like the future of the world.

Be very careful.

She opened it without breaking it and passed it to Tamaya.

To a very confused Tamaya.

It's made of glass, Tam. Please don't break it.

“Is this his address?” she asked, confused.

“No, it's his friend's address.”

Tamaya crumpled the piece of paper rolling her eyes. “What the hell do you want to tell me, Georgia?”

“Be careful!” she screeched, snatching it away.

She put it on her leg and began to try to flatten it with all the strength of her hand. Luckily she had rescued it in time...

It’s made of glass! It’s made of glass!

Tamaya hid between her wings. Immediately, Georgia could recognize what he was trying to tell her by that.

She was afraid. Altered. She didn't like being yelled at.

And Georgia knew it. “Sorry...” she mumbled.

Tamaya nodded.

Why did she have to be so loud?

“Tamaya... who are you?” she asked.

Tamaya rolled her eyes. “I think you just answered your own question,” she mumbled, annoyed.

“No, I mean ... what are we?” she asked. “Look where we are—” she pointed around her “—look where we ended up.”

“I don't know if it's time for you to make me feel bad about where I live.”

“No! It's not that, Tamaya, it's just that…”

And she stopped.

“Is it just what?”

The same question was in her head.

What's your excuse now, Georgia?

She fought the urge to cry that suddenly washed over her. “It's just that I haven't stopped wondering if we've been on the right side of history,” she replied, standing up. “And it's something that I hadn't really asked myself until yesterday, you know? Until they gave me this address.”

Tamaya's shoulders hunched more. She was still hidden behind its wings.

Jeez, Georgia, can't you lower your voice a bit?

Georgia knelt beside her friend and put a hand on her shoulder. She did not reject her or bite her. Good. “Tamaya, what are we?” she insisted. “Are we women?”

“Well... yes,” she replied with a frown. “Or at least you are.”

“No, Tamaya, I am not a woman. I'm a girl,” Georgia said. “I am a girl who continues to live in the fantasy world that she designed to survive all the trauma she went through. It doesn't matter I have grown physically, on the inside… on the inside all I have done is hide my head between my books and my dolls and your friendship, because I am too much of a coward to do anything for the outside world.”

She covered her mouth with her hands as she turned her back to her. Don't cry, don't you dare cry.

Georgia did not cry.

Tamaya stood up. “Are you... are you okay?”

“Yes,” she replied with a sigh. “All good. You? Are you okay? Do you forgive me for yelling at you?”

She did not reply. For a second, Georgia thought she was going to hug her. How childish of her to think that. Tamaya never hugged people. She didn't know how to do it.

So Georgia hugged herself.

She always hugged herself. There was no one left to do it.

“I still do not understand—”

“These kids—” she showed her the slip of paper “—these kids are not cowards. And they are children. How are they braver than us? What has happened in their lives that have made them so brave?”

Tamaya pushed her fist away from her face. Georgia had accidentally put the paper on her to just below his nose.

She looked into Tamaya's eyes and realized that many things had happened to her in her life that had made her brave. Because yes, Tamaya was brave for the sole fact of her existence.

Tamaya was born with wings, which although Georgia found them wonderful, for her they were the constant reminder of everything that was “wrong” with her. Her parents despised her, she lived locked in a cage, like...

Like a bird.

But Tamaya was not a bird. Or a monster, as she called herself. She was none of those things. She was a woman.

And a brave one. Georgia wished she could see herself the way she saw her.

No, there was nothing wrong with Tamaya. Who was wrong was the rest of the world.

And that world was so different from the one Georgia had created when she was little. One that writhed in pain and hurt whoever dared to help it. Georgia was so scared of pain.

But she was more afraid of continuing being the coward in the story.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

Last night, intoxicated by the smell of vanilla and the taste of freedom, it had seemed easy. As if giving the notebook back to a child was going to make the difference the world needed at that moment.

However, as the effects of adrenaline left her body and Hugh began to speak more and more, she realized that things were more complicated than she had initially imagined. That a simple act of kindness was not going to take away the suffering from the world in which she lived. She wished it did though. I want to help you, but I'm not sure how.

Was she going to have to take the pain for the world?

Coward. Coward. Coward.

She turned to see her friend again. “Tamaya, I want to stop being a girl,” she whispered, taking her by the shoulders. “I want to stop being a coward that hides in her own imaginary world.”

Tamaya grabbed her wrists. “And what do you want to be then?”

“I want to be a woman,” she replied. “One that goes out into the real world and does something to save it.”

She nodded. Georgia decided to venture out to ask her a new question. “What do you want to be, Tamaya?”

Tamaya held on tighter to her.

Although she wasn't hurting her Georgia wondered if she was holding her tighter so she wouldn't hurt herself. “I just know I want to stop being a monster, Georgia.”

Georgia wrapped her in a hug. Tamaya reciprocated by surrounding her with her wings.

Yes. This is better than a hug.

Then a putrid smell suddenly hit her. She discreetly sniffed Tamaya's body. It wasn't her.

Good. She wasn't quite sure where she could have found a soap that could remove that.

"What’s that smell?" she asked.

There was a foam plate right behind her friend. Georgia broke away from the hug and took the foam plate in her hands. She opened it, and the retching she felt was enough to make her realize that it had been a horrible decision.

The smell was of rotten fried rice. “Tamaya!” she screamed “Why do you have this here? It's disgusting.”

Tamaya came up behind her and closed the foam plate. The scent lingered in her nostrils still, but Tamaya seemed unaffected. “It is my reminder.”

She sounded so distant, so empty...

Had she sounded like that?

She put the foam plate at the other end of the room quickly. When she returned, Tamaya was sitting on the mattress, hugging her legs. Georgia took Molly and held her out. Tamaya took her doll and put it on her lap.

Georgia sat next to her.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Tamaya shook her head. She undid one of Molly's braids and started doing it again. “Give me ideas.”

“Ideas for what?”

“Ideas for what I could be. I don't know anything else.”

Georgia undid Molly's other braid. “How about... being a superhero?”

#renegades #archenemies #supernova #renegades trilogy #simon westwood #hugh everhart #georgia rawles #tamaya rae #OG renegades #rise of the renegades #ao3 #fic #i promise they all are going to meet up soon:(#i just need to organize a couple of things #thanks for being patience u.u

13 notes · View notes