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animeomegas · 3 years

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Imagine that Sasuke is having problems with his 'future alpha', he doesn't understand some dating methods and ends up 'reluctantly' going to ask Itachi's alpha.He just blushed saying 'I can't believe I'm doing this but I need some advice'.Itachi's alpha comes home late looking happy and Itachi holding his dog asking where he's been.

Anon: I think Sasuke would only start liking Itachi's alpha after they help him stand up to a bigger, stronger, more trained betas and/or Alphas. Because I don't see him as someone who might ask for help from anyone, and his brother's alpha somehow saw them bully him and push him around, so they tell him how to one up those annoying people. (Maybe buy him ice cream or something after). This young Sasuke vs Itachi's alpha thing should be a show, because I'd sell everything I own to watch it.

(Anon 1: This is a big brain idea, anon, thank you for your service 🤭 I changed it a little, how that's okay!)

(Anon 2: I think you're absolutely right that Itachi's alpha does something big for Sasuke when he's at a low point, and it ends up changing their relationship for the better in a lot of ways. I decided not to go with bullying though, because Sasuke seemed to fit this scenario moreso. Also, ahhh, I'm so happy you're liking this mini series!!!!! I'm having so much fun writing it and it fills me with joy that other people are enjoying it just as much!!!)

...

Okay, so, Sasuke has never been the most intuitive when it comes to emotions. And he’s also never been great at acknowledging or learning about culture surround a/b/o dynamics because he’s always been adamant that he doesn’t care for it or need it.

But now Sasuke is starting to think that may have been a mistake. Because things are going wrong with this whole courting situation (that Sasuke still can’t believe is happening to him.)

Things were fine! But now the alpha courting him is getting colder and not wanting to train as much, and Sasuke doesn’t know what’s changed! He’s angry and upset about it.

He’s been brooding for about a week about the whole situation, but now he’s decided to ask someone for advice.

His friends are useless. His mother just laughed and told him it would work out if it was supposed to. Shisui is on a mission. He’d rather die than ask Kakashi sensei. So, unfortunately, he had to ask his brother, even though he was sure to get some embarrassing and invasive questioning from him. The sadist.

So, he goes to see his brother.

Who isn’t there.

His brother’s alpha tells him that Itachi is out with their pup all day running errands and taking him for his bi yearly check-ups. But Sasuke needs to know what’s going wrong and how to fix this now! He doesn't have time to wait for Itachi to be done with his stupid errands!

His brother’s alpha notices how tense he is and asks if he would like to stay for some tea, and Sasuke accepts before he thinks about what he's doing. Their relationship is much better nowadays but Sasuke can’t help but feel a little awkward around them still.

…

“Here,” they say, sliding two teacups onto the table. “You like green tea, right? It’s the only type we have in, you know what Itachi’s like with tea.”

“Green tea is fine,” Sasuke says politely if a little stiff.

His brother’s alpha sits down at the other side of the couch with their own tea, and the two sit in silence for a bit, each sipping their own tea

“Sasuke,” they say, shooting him a concerned look. “If you need me to go and get Itachi, I can. You don’t look well, he’ll come back in an instant if you ask him to.”

“No,” Sasuke answers quickly. “It’s fine… I…”

Here goes nothing.

“I’m just having a bit of trouble at the moments, is all, and…”

Itachi’s alpha nods, obviously listening intently with a look of concern on his face that is making this both harder and easier for Sasuke at the same time.

“Go on, Sasuke, I’m listening.”

“I’m sure Itachi told you about my… my er situation,” Sasuke starts, wishing he could punch himself in the face for phrasing it like that.

“That someone’s courting you?” they ask gently.

Sasuke only nods, face burning. He can’t count the number of times he’s told Itachi’s alpha to their face that he’d rather die than enter a courtship. This is so awkward, why is he doing this?

“Did they do something to make you uncomfortable, Sasuke?” they ask immediately after seeing his hesitance. “Because if they did, we can sort it out together okay? It’s not your fault.”

“No!” Sasuke immediately protests far louder than he intended too. “They didn’t… They didn’t do anything, I just… I think I did something wrong…”

Sasuke pretends to drink his tea to avoid having to elaborate any more, despite the fact that it’s still too hot.

“What did you do that was wrong?” they ask, voice still quiet and soothing and Sasuke hates how comforting he finds it. Like it or not, his instincts had branded Itachi’s alpha as ‘safe’ many years ago.

“I don’t know,” Sasuke admits, fiddling with the rim of his cup. “They seemed sad one day and I just thought they had a bad day or something, but now they’re… cold.”

“They aren’t behaving how they were behaving before?”

Sasuke shakes his head.

“Is it possible they have an issue at home or with some of their friends? It might be something in their personal life that's upsetting them.”

Sasuke shakes his head again.

“They seem fine when they’re with everyone else…” he admits. “It’s just me.”

Sasuke forces back the burn of tears he can feel behind his eyes. He will not cry. He won’t do it.

His brother’s alpha hums sadly.

“And you want to figure out what happened?” Sasuke nods. “Okay, why don’t you walk me through what happened on the days leading up to the mood change.”

And so Sasuke does.

He tells them all about how they would meet for training every day and Sasuke would bring two bento boxes for lunch, and then they would sometimes go shopping or go out to eat. Things he hasn’t told anyone about yet. And as he's talking, he really can't see what the problem is, everything seems fine! But maybe Itachi’s alpha might know some alpha thing that he doesn't. Sasuke can easily admit that it’s not his forte.

“I see,” Itachi’s alpha says after Sasuke had finished his story. Sasuke’s tea sits cold on the table next to his brother’s mate’s empty cup. “I think I know what happened.”

Sasuke looks up immediately. No way they’ve already figured it out that easily!

“They thought you were rejecting them,” Itachi’s alpha says simply.

“Wha- But…we spent everyday together! How could that be a rejection?!”

“When an alpha is courting an omega,” they start to explain. “They’re trying as hard as they can to prove to that omega that they can be a good mate.”

“I know that,” Sasuke snaps.

“Listen to me for a second, Sasuke," they softly reprimand. "So, when an alpha, particularly a younger one, is courting an omega, they are very sensitive to rejection, they look for it everywhere.”

“Why?” Sasuke asks, dumbfounded.

“Well, when I was courting your brother, we weren’t that much older than you are now, and I remember thinking that he was the most perfect person in the whole world,” their eyes take on a faraway look as they reminisce. “I was so sure that he must have had hundreds of alphas clawing for his attention every day, and so I was desperate to prove to him that I could be a good mate.

“With every gift, on every date, I would watch his reaction to everything, overanalysing every laugh and smile and frown. I loved him so much, but I couldn’t help but think that he would reject me at any moment. He was too good for me, and I knew that. It always felt like he was humouring me, especially at first.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah,” they laugh, unoffended by Sasuke’s harsh tone. “Looking back, I guess it was, but what I’m trying to tell you, is that I can see how some of your actions could have been taken as rejection by a young alpha who was expecting to be rejected.”

“But…” Sasuke says, looking lost. “I didn’t want to reject them, I don’t understand.”

“Here,” they continue patiently. “Let me explain it to you like this. When you went out to eat, you paid for yourself even though they offered, right? Because you didn't want to burden them?"

“Yeah,” Sasuke trails off, unsure what that has to do with anything.

“But to a young, hormonal alpha, you’re basically telling them that you don’t trust them to provide for you, the one thing they are trying most to convince you."

“But I wasn’t-“ Sasuke protests.

“I know you weren’t,” they reassure him. “But that’s the sort of thing that will run through an alpha’s head at that age when courting. Also, you told them you wanted to train with them because you thought they were strong because you wanted to compliment them, right?”

Sasuke blushes but nods.

“And that’s great to start with, but eventually they would probably start to wonder why you wouldn’t want to train just to spend time with them. And you also told them that you had plenty of leftovers to make their lunch with so that they wouldn’t feel like they were burdening you, right? But that just made them feel like you weren’t going out of your way to do something special for them, even though you were. Do you see what I mean now?”

Sasuke blinks, rapidly trying to wrap his head around all this new information.

“And I also have a guess as to what pushed them over the edge into thinking you were rejecting them.”

“What is it?” Sasuke demands. “Tell me.”

“Did they make that scarf for you by hand, Sasuke?”

“Yes,” says Sasuke hesitantly.

“And they scented it?”

Sasuke nods affirmative.

“Did you give anything back?”

“I… Just said thank you… is that not right?”

Itachi’s alpha shakes their head with a patient smile.

“A handmade and scented gift is the most important and meaningful courting gift that there is, Sasuke,” they explain. “It’s what you give to someone to ask them if they want to move from courting to something more serious, to intended mates.”

Sasuke blushes and feels some panic rising in his chest.

“I didn’t know!” he blurts, feeling the need to explain himself.

“I know,” they rush to reassure him. “But the etiquette dictates that the omega, if they wish to move onto that stage, gives the alpha a handmade and scented gift in return, no later than a week after the original gift was given. They must have been very nervous waiting for you, and very upset when you didn’t even let them down softly.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Sasuke whispers, mortified that he had missed something he should have known. This makes so much sense. The sudden depression, the awkwardness at training, the nerves after they had given him the scarf. He’s such an idiot. Against his will, Sasuke starts to feel tears burning at his eyes again. He messed everything up!

“Oh, Sasuke,” they say, scooting closer to him. They hesitantly lay a hand on his leg, and Sasuke makes no move to push them off. “It’s alright, you can fix it.”

“How?” he sniffs, furiously wiping away any tears that manage to escape. “They probably hate me now.”

“Come here,” they say, pulling him into a hug. And for the first time ever, Sasuke accepts a hug from his brother’s alpha.

“It’s alright,” they soothe. “We can fix this, I’ll help you.”

“What can I do?” he questions, feeling miserable.

“You need to make them something and scent it. Then you can explain what happened afterwards, but the gift should go a long way in smoothing over any ruffled feathers. I can help you make something, what do you want to make?”

Sasuke shrugs, still resting his head on his brother’s alpha’s shoulder.

“How about some cupcakes? Itachi and I were planning on doing some baking with the pup tomorrow, so I have all the supplies. And I’m sure we have some ribbon lying around, you can scent the ribbon and use it to tie up the box, how does that sound?”

“But what will you use tomorrow?” Sasuke asks, feeling a little better, but still red in the face.

“I can buy more, Sasuke, don’t worry, but this is a courting emergency, so we have to do it now, okay?”

“Okay.”

…

Itachi comes back from his errands just in time to watch his mate helping his little brother tie a ribbon around a box of cupcakes. The kitchen is covered in baking supplies and empty bowls of batter.

Did they bake cupcakes together?

Itachi can’t believe it. He had been trying to get them to get along better for years.

When Sasuke sees him standing in the door, he blushes and, holding the box of cupcakes to his chest, pushes past him and out the door with a quick nothing more than a quick and murmured greeting.

His pup wiggles in his arms and demands to be put down. He obliges and they immediately run to his alpha for a hug.

“Hey there, buddy, have a good day?”

“It was boring,” they complain. “And the mednin had cold fingers.”

Itachi’s alpha laughs.

“Well, I know something that might make you feel better,” they tease.

“What?! What?!”

“Uncle Sasuke made you something very special,” they say, bringing down a spare cupcake from on top of the counter, iced in his pup's favourite colour. The way his pup’s eyes widen at the sight of it, makes Itachi smile. “You can have it after dinner, okay, and next time we see uncle Sasuke we have to remember to say thank you.”

Itachi watches in amusement as his pup nods furiously and immediately runs off to go wash up for dinner, despite the fact that Itachi hasn’t even started cooking it yet.

“Did you and Sasuke bake together?” Itachi asks, still unbelieving of what he had seen.

You smile, understanding how crazy that must have been for Itachi to walk in on.

“Yes, we… had a little bonding session,” they say. “I’ll tell you about it later, I promise.”

Itachi accepts the answer despite his curiosity and joins his alpha is cleaning the kitchen so that he can start cooking dinner.

And if both of them were smiling too much, well, neither of them brought it up.

#young!sasuke #itachi #uchiha #sasuke #itachi x reader #reader insert #a/b/o #omegaverse #naruto #omega!itachi #alpha!reader #headcanons #gn reader #gender neutral reader #alpha x omega #omega!sasuke

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msmarvelwrites · 4 years

Text

Season Of The Witch

Summary: Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much.

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, honestly i think that’s it. Just soft boy Bucky.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun writing this one. Little bit of a witchy- halloween vibe for ya guys… Honestly I’m really in love with this idea, so who knows- if you like it I might write a part 2!

Huge Thank you to @cutie1365 for editing this mess! Couldnt have done it without her!

“Okay, okay. What colour am I thinking of now.” Peter squealed, plopping himself down on your bed, staring at you like a kid on christmas.

Being the Avengers personal psychic has its benefits, but this was certainly not one of them. You thought your party-trick of a superpower would have grown old on your friends, and yet it always seemed to draw a crowd of non-believers. You weren't the toughest or the strongest by any means, but you sure knew your way around a person's thoughts, which proved to be an advantage to the team. Mostly you were in charge of recon, but that didn't stop Natasha from dragging you to the gym every weekend and torturing you with super hero level workouts.

“How many more times are we going to do this, Peter?” You sighed, but soon realised he wasnt caving. “Blue. Just like last time it was orange and the time before that thirteen. Can we please stop.”

Peter scanned you over for a moment, before relaxing back on your headboard.

Fine, but only because Mr. Stark said he was ordering Chinese and it's probably here by now. His voice echoed through your mind.

“Actually, I heard Wanda say he’s getting pizza.” You corrected.

“How did you-?” He paused, eyes agape as your words registered. “That is seriously cool, you know that? I mean, I hang from the walls but that- that is cool! I can see why they coined you The Witch now,” Peter playfully shouted. “Can you do that with anyone, at any time?”

You smiled sheepishly, remembering the times your wandering mind had gotten you in some pretty uncomfortable situations. You tried your very best to stay out of your friends heads, but sometimes that was easier said than done. Especially when it came to the former Hydra assassin. His thoughts seemed to creep into your mind, seeping through the cracks unbidden. Sometimes his mind would wander aimlessly, but that wasn't always the case. You knew about Bucky’s dark past, however hearing it in his own cruel words was something else entirely. Though he would never utter the words allowed they were seared into your mind. You had every sense to avoid the man and yet his voice, like gravel and smoke, drew you in, intoxicated on his every word as it clouded around your subconscious.

“Unfortunately” You sighed, easing back into the mattress and unconsciously biting at the corner of your mouth. Your gift didnt make you very popular when you were younger. You were honestly surprised it was so welcomed here. Most people consider you an invasion of privacy... But Peter was different from the highschool kids you grew up with. Maybe it was due to the fact he was different too, but something about the way his mind wandered made you believe that radio-active spider or not, Peter would always be Peter.

“What does Bucky think about?”

That knocked you out of your thoughts. You snapped your head up and looked at Peter, who only seemed to have a curious look in his eyes.

He’s so broody and mysterious. Guy gives me the creeps.

“Bucky is a sweetheart deep down.” You faked a smile, concerned as to why you felt the need to defend him. From an outside perspective, it was possible to fear the former Winter Soldier. However, knowing what you did haunted your nerves.

“I’m sure very, very deep down.” Peter chuckled. “I’m going to go grab some pizza before Sam eats it all. Are you coming?”

You smiled softly, preparing yourself for the dinner with your friends. Though you enjoyed having a sort of family, dinners together would often grow overwhelming in your mind, voices colliding though your head, brewing into a storm in your thoughts.

“I’ll be down in a few.” With that, Peter stumbled out of your room and down the hallway leaving you with your thoughts. You closed your eyes, concentrating on the many different voices faintly echoing around you. You could only make out bits and pieces as they vibrated through the walls and all around you. At first, it was hard to identify whose voice belonged to who, but soon after you moved into the compound it became easy.

Natasha thought in poems. Her brain was always working on the next solution- the next verse. Her mind wandered in and out of trains of thought like a dancer, drifting back and forth with ease. It was always relaxing listening in.

Tony was constantly listening to his music wherever he went. You had an inkling it was because he knew how powerful you were. ‘Like built-in surveillance,’ he’d often say. Though, you’d never deflate his ego in letting him know you could still hear his thoughts clear as day.

But then there was Bucky. It took you a while to understand his thoughts. They always seemed erratic and chased- never one thought all at once, but it soon became clear why. Bucky was constantly correcting himself. When his mind began to tiptoe into the darkest corners, he’d change the conversation, ushering it back to what he thought was right. Listening to his internal debates became a favourite pastime of yours. He often reminisced about his time in the forties. You liked how easy it was, listening to him think. Though you had never said more than five words to him allowed, you were content with this little part of him. Pieces only you both knew. Like the beautiful woman he would lose himself daydreaming about. The way he described her made you feel flush all over. He never thought her name, and yet it stung all the more knowing his heart was stolen. His beautiful ‘ведьма’. Not that you stood a fighting chance. Not to mention the impending age gape you both shared. Often he would find you staring and a string of curses would follow as he realised he’d be caught. You never meant to intrude, but then again, that wasn't entirely true.

With a huff, you swung your legs off the bed letting your feet hit the cold wooden floors, but before you could even open the door, you heard him. His voice was so loud you almost didn't know if he was speaking aloud or not.

Just do it, you punk. Walk up there and ask her. What’s the worst that could happen?.... She could plunge a knife into your back- no…. She wouldn't do that and you know it. If you ask her, she might say yes… Honestly that might he worse than-

You swing the door open, startling Bucky back a few paces as your eyes might his. Instantly his face blooms with pink as his mind races- his thoughts an incoherent mess.

“Hi Bucky.” You spoke only above a whisper.

“Oh jesus! I didn't know you were right there.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck trying to steady his breathing.

“Sorry…” You mumbled, breaking eye contact and suddenly finding the floor very interesting. “I didn mean to scare you-”

“You don’t- I mean, you didn't scare me.” He chuckled, his mind suddenly blank. “It doesn't matter right now because I, uh… I was wondering if you're coming for dinner.”

You nodded your head, “Yeah, on my way now.” You smiled softly.

“Great,” Bucky grinned, running his hand through his cropped hair and stepping aside. “I can walk with you.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you swung the door shut and began walking side by side with Bucky in heavy silence.

“Know what’s for dinner?” Bucky finally spoke.

“Pizza. Your favourite.” You affirmed, meeting his curious eyes. His strides slowed until he was at a full stop.

“I never told you that.” He pried, looking at your in question.

You froze, suddenly aware of what you had just said. There was nothing more you wanted than to sink into the floor and let the earth swallow you whole.

“Uh,” You nervously laughed, “You must have at some point. Yeah, I remember now, it was-”

“How often do you listen?” he interrupted, making your mouth clamp shut.

You thought about lying, though it didn't seem right. You knew all his secrets and all he asked was this one. Surely you could grant him that even if it cost a punch to the ego.

“All the time,” You started, your eyes never leaving the floor. “I don’t mean to. At least that’s the way it started. I really try to put you guys all on ‘mute’ when we're together, but your voice always comes through. I don't know what it is, but I like the way you think.” You admitted, feeling heat rising from your chest.

“You like the way I think?” He pried, taking a few steps closer to you. You could feel the tension buzzing around the hallway, ricocheting off the walls and exploding all around you.

“I’m sorry, I’m so embarrassed. It's such an invasion of privacy. You must hate me. I promise I won't tell anyone about the things I hear. Especially her.”

“Her?” He chuckled, taking another step toward you leaving only a few tiles between the two of you.

“Ведьма.” You choked out. “You think about her all the time. She sounds beautiful, by the way. I’m sorry, that's overstepping… I just, I’m sorry. Really I’ll just go-”

Before you could turn on your heel and run for the hills, Bucky's hands were around your wrists, holding you still. His eyes were pleading as he opened he opened and shut his mouth trying to find the right words to say.

“For a witch, you sure aren’t very intuitive.” Bucky signed, your eyes finally landing on his. “My beautiful witch, don’t know by now?”

You blinked at him, your mouth suddenly dry and words caught in your throat. Before you could speak, his thoughts broke through the air, tumbling around you.

Are you listening, doll? His voice echoed around you sending a shiver down your spine. You nodded your head, watching as his eyes crinkled up as he a lopsided grin formed on his pink lips.

It’s you. It’s always you. I've tried to stop, trust me. I just can’t seem to shake it.

You almost didn't notice the smile that began to pull at the corners of your mouth as you took in his words. They drifted in the air around you, echoing through your mind as Bucky’s thumbs rubbed circles into your skin.

“Ask me.” You spoke up, a sudden confidence serging through your core. Bucky raised a brow, scanning you over until your words resonated with him.

“Right, of course.” He cleared his throat, letting go of your hands and intertwining his own nervously. “Would you ever consider letting me take you out. To dinner, maybe?”

You bit down on your bottom lip to stop yourself from giggling as you listened to his internal monologue of nerves that followed his question.

“Took you long enough.” You chuckled, watching as his smile lit up the room around you. Before you could stop yourself you closed the distance between you, draping your arms around his shoulders and crashing your lips onto his. Bucky froze, but almost as instantly melted into you, his hands finding their home on your hips as he pulled you in. You wanted nothing more than to melt into him but his racing thoughts swirled around you, causing a giggle to fall from your lips.

Holy Shit. Kiss her back, you moron. Oh god she smells so good. What is that? Cinnamon? Citrus? Shit, she's so close to me. Don't panic. Don't panic. Fuck she feels good. Just relax, and- Oh shit. Can you hear me?

You couldn't help but throw your head back, laughter bubbling out of your chest as his thoughts raced through his head.

“I can tell you're going to be a lot of fun, Barnes” You mumbled against his lips.

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A/n: Nervous Bucky is my favourite can you tell? I loved this one, show some love if you felt the same!

@cutie1365 @whateveriwant

@projectcampbell @kalesrebellion

@calwitch @hpandmcu177a

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes reader

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inkribbon796 · 3 years

Text

Backstage Blues

Summary: Roman is determined to plan out the greatest wedding in history, if only he could get some help on that front.

A/N: I have decided that for the sake of the narrative that Tubbo and Ranboo’s marriage is a lot more common knowledge, Michael’s existence is still not, but whether Techno knows about that marriage is up in the air because he’s Techno. He focuses on weird stuff.

Things were strangely quiet in Egoton. Especially for the amount of people trying to actively kill each other these days.

The heroes had some of their usual problems to deal with: robberies, press talks, superhero activity; things that the heroes usually had to take care of.

The press wanted interviews with the heroes’ new “apprentices” and they were counting three of them, despite the fact that the Coalition had only two currently on record: Bomble Bee, Big Man . . . and Enderwalk, as Tubbo liked to introduce Ranboo.

With Tubbo’s husband almost acting like an apprentice, and the city absolutely loved the idea of a new trio of apprentices. Tommy loved being on TV, screaming and cursing when Ethan didn’t try to distract him from something else. And Tubbo who would ask overly invasive questions on camera about the most population-dense area of the city. Ranboo often helped Logan with Tubbo so that he didn’t accidentally give out bomb threats on live news feeds. Ranboo between his more demonic appearances and skittish nature the news could get close to him without putting themselves in harm’s way.

Despite Logan and the rest of the more senior heroes’ efforts, Ranboo was starting to become more and more an attachment onto the Sides. Mostly because Ranboo liked to come over and talk to Tubbo, and other times he liked to bring little snacks and trinkets. He wasn’t an apprentice yet, but with two of his little trio in the Coalition, a lot of people figured it was only a matter of time.

And occasionally he actually remembered to wear that identity-obscuring outfit Tubbo had made him a week ago.

Roman was really coming around to Tubbo, mostly because he and Tommy liked to listen to music and quote random musicals. Which was really all the requirement that Roman needed to like someone.

Today Logan, Tubbo, and Ranboo had accompanied Roman on a very important mission. Mostly because Roman was meeting with Illinois and Eric to help finalize some final touches on what Roman was sure was going to be the most glorious wedding in all of existence.

The couple met Roman in an outdoor café, taking advantage of the nice, warm summer weather. Roman was at one table with Eric and Illinois, while Logan was two tables over with Tubbo and Ranboo. Everyone except for Illinois were in superhero outfits, mostly because Illinois didn’t care about his own identity and he wasn’t a hero.

Any errant press that wanted a picture of “Egoton’s own Romeo and Juliet” because one was a hero and the other worked in Dark’s network — to which Illinois originally shouted when he first heard that “at least pick a couple with a chance” — and the sight of them always made Eric extremely jumpy. After Illinois caught sight of them it usually took a second or two for them to suddenly get pulled into a portal and dumped somewhere else to give the couple a little bit of privacy.

After another ameteur “reporter” had been dealt with, Roman looked over to the trio over in the other table. Tubbo and Logan were working on some equipment while “watching” Illinois. Ranboo’s lanky legs were pulled up in his chair and he was folded up in his seat.

Honestly Roman was pretty sure you could shove a bus under their noses and they wouldn’t notice. Which was a disappointment because he needed a third party to help give his ideas a little positive gratification because Illinois was letting Dark completely plan the entire affair with no consideration for what Roman suggested except for “paltry concessions”. Roman needed Patton to back him up, but Illinois drew the line at two Sides being part of his wedding planning at any one time.

“It’ll be a wonderful experience,” Roman promised, looking back from his failed check for Logan’s support. Then he looked over to Tubbo. “Bomble, you’re married, tell him.”

“Huh?” Tubbo snapped to look at him, clearly distracted by what he was working on. Ranboo put his feet down.

“You’re married,” Roman urged. “Explosion Boy needs a little bit of confidence for the wedding. How’d you and your husband get married? I’m sure it was beautiful.”

Tubbo snorted, “I got married fer[1] tax benefits.”

Roman blinked at him, “What?”

Tubbo chuckled to himself, looking positively pleased with himself. “Yeah, bonded pairs in the SMP get a bit of an aura break if yer linked with an empath. I got sick an’ tired ‘a havin’ ta pay that extremely pricey piper an’ Ranboo had just joined so when I saw him I went “that’s the one” an’ we were already kinda friends so BAM! We’ve been married fer almost six months now.”[2]

“What?” Roman repeated in complete, astonished confusion.

“Sides,”[3] Tubbo added, “yer older than I am, shouldn’t you have changed yer apprentice name ta somethin’ like, I don’t know? Concussion? Explosive Decompression. Or Combust-ION?”[4]

Tubbo paused, thinking, “That last one’s not half bad, I probably should have gone with that one.”

Another pause from the young arsonist passed, “Okay if you don’t take that one I want it after I stop bein’[5] an apprentice.”

“I, uh, I,” Eric stalled nervously.

“If he likes the name it stays,” Illinois dismissed. “If he wants to change it, he’ll get around to it.”

Tubbo shrugged, turning back to his projects with his usual dismissive but chipper demeanor.

“There must have been some romantic aspect of your engagement,” Roman demanded in exasperation.

“Nah, man,” Tubbo chuckled. “You are talkin’ ta the wrong person. You should talk ta my sister an’ her girlfriend. Or Karl’s fiancés. That would probably make yer argument work.”[6]

“So if you got married for taxes, which, okay, I get that, how did you two actually decide to get married to each other?” Illinois looked confused but intrigued at the same time.

“Well Tubbo was already making jokes that we were already married and divorced so I just proposed,” Ranboo answered. “I kinda looked online how to do it and Tubbo had been mentioning the thing so I gave him some jewelry and I said “do you wanna get married for tax benefits” and to my amazement he said yes.”

“I was smitten,” Tubbo joked. “Certainly helped that he was throwin’[7] necklaces an’[8] gemstones at me.”

“Man you two aren’t just a can of worms, you’re a whole boat of ‘em[9] aren’t you?” Illinois asked.

“Neat trick I didn’t realize until afterward is that tax benefits count in the human world too,” Tubbo grinned.

“You are an absolute menace,” Logan told Tubbo, and the teen just startled cackling in laughter.

“Isn’t it great?” Tubbo grinned before looking back at Eric. “I’m sure yer weddin’ will be nice an’ pretty an’ stuff. Yer in love an’ shit, it’ll be great.”[10]

“I’m,” Eric hummed, making the word sound more like a smushed “m” in his nervousness. “Nervous.”

He was gripping onto his knees, “I-I’ll trip over my . . . stupid legs or—”

Illinois slowly and gently placed his hand over one of Eric’s. “Dulcito,[11] if you’re worried about it we can get you a wheelchair or I can just carry you down to the altar.”

Eric’s face went red, he started twitching a bit, “But . . . I’m supposed to walk down the aisle.”

“Fuck that,” Illinois told him, leaning in. “You’ll look lovely whatever you do, even impossibly lovelier if you’re happy. I don’t want you to hurt yourself over this, or be so worried you’re not enjoying it. It’s our day. Your day. We’re doing a huge ceremony because a bunch of people want to be there. But I could grab Host and my dad and we could go down today to the closest courthouse and be out in an hour flat.”

Roman twitched uncomfortably.

“We did that,” Ranboo cut in, looking back at Tubbo. “We had what? Six people?”

Tubbo started quickly counting on his fingers, “Puffy, Foolish, FJ, me, you, Niki, Eret, Michael . . . Yeah six, not includin’[12] us. Eight, if you do.”

“It was a nice little ceremony.” Ranboo reminisced with a smile on his face. “Eret married us, your sister walked me down the aisle.”

“You tripped on the stairs,” Tubbo chuckled, before turning to the engaged couple, “do yourselves a favor an’[8] make a ramp. Boo here is all legs like a mad giraffe an’[8] he ripped his dress when he tripped. Almost knockin’[13] Puffy over and you can’t do much worse than that, let me tell you.”

That didn’t seem to calm Eric’s nerves.

“Already been planned,” Illinois reassured.

“We’ll get back to that, just excuse me,” Roman cut in, “so your best friend didn’t even show up to your wedding?”

“No, he couldn’t have, he . . .” Tubbo paused, clearly thinking about something. “Big Man couldn’t be there, talk ta[14] him about it, it’s really not my place ta[14] bring it up. It wasn’t his fault, Dream just . . . like I said, it’s not my place ta[14] talk about it.”

“I,” Logan stalled, something in Logan’s brain didn’t like how that had been worded. “I see.”

“Yeah so Big Man wasn’t there,” Tubbo shrugged, a distant look hidden behind his domed helmet. “He’s around now an’ it is nice ta kinda have him back ta normal again. Wish he didn’t try ta set Boo on fire, but no one’s perfect.”[15]

“That is very concerning,” Logan commented. “When was the last time he tried that?”

“Tried or just threatened it?” Ranboo asked.

“Both,” Logan’s tone was as dry as a bone.

“Attempted, it’s been a couple months,” Ranboo admitted, “ he threatens it once every couple of weeks though.”

“We need to have a conversation about constructive behavior then,” Logan decided. “We’ll talk with him when we get back because death threats are unacceptable.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s joking,” Ranboo tried to deny. “The furthest he’s ever gone is pull out a knife on me. It’s alright, he’s just like that.”

“You know the more I see you heroes, the more I’m sure that if you’d ever actually met the Author, he would have cut through all of you like wet tissue paper.” Illinois spoke up, looking at Ranboo like a particularly accident-prone toddler. “You all really lucked out, didn’t you?”

Ranboo nervously ducked his head so he didn’t accidentally look Illinois in the eyes.

“Yoo-hoo! We have the world’s perfect wedding to plan.” Roman reminded, trying to refocus the attention. Inadvertently saving Ranboo from the stand-off. “Hey, while I have both of you here: what’s on the menu, what’s the number of chairs, seems like it should be higher.”

“Max of fifty,” Illinois reported. “None of Dark’s business contacts are invited, we figured you guys might arrest them.”

“Depends on the person,” Logan admitted.

Roman rolled his eyes, cutting back into the conversation, “I just wanted to know how we should just group people, is there any extended family we need to separate from each other?”

“My . . . siblings were all I had,” Eric whispered quietly.

“Well let’s see, Yan’s parents were part of a demon murder cult, they’re dead. Yancy’s folks are dead and he’s still not on speaking terms with his uncle for obvious reasons. King’s parents are dead. We literally all live with Bim’s dads. Fuck if the Host ever talks about Artie’s folks. And all we’ve got are shitty foster parents, who if they show up are getting exorcised back to hell and then killed again.” Illinois scoffed dismissively. “And even if I wanted someone who threw me away the instant they saw me, I would have gone looking for ‘em[9] years ago.”

“Didn’t you,” Eric started timidly before looking away, his mouth still open but not sound was coming out anymore. “Uh, get a, uhm . . .”

“Some asshat might have tried calling me at assfuck O’clock in the morning, but I blocked him,” Illinois sounded like he wanted to punch his mystery caller, Eric nervously looked away. “Dark’s my dad and I don’t care about anyone trying to get money or use me to cozy up close to Dark.”

The other two were quiet for a bit as Illinois mentally calmed down. He did reach out and lightly stroke the side of Eric’s face. Which helped Eric relax and by extension calm Illinois down.

“You could have just said no,” Roman finally commented in a tone that might as well have been saying: “I think you need therapy” and went back to his planner. “So we make a safe plan for sixty people?”

“Sounds good to me,” Illinois agreed, his tone brisk and forced.

He did take Eric’s hand in his own and smiled, “Don’t worry, my dear, I will make sure everything’s perfect for you. It’ll be the most amazing day of your life. I promised that I’d make sure you never regret saying yes to me. I meant it, it’ll be the most beautiful day of our lives and you will look amazing.”

That got Eric to tear up a little and after some minor note taking on Roman’s part, the couple left. Eric left with Roman, Logan, and the two apprentices, while the adventurer returned to Dark to run a couple “errands”.

Roman for his part was in a better mood, he’d gotten a couple more “concessions” and the wedding planning was coming along smoothly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Post A/N: Also I would like to draw to everyone’s attention to the canon fact that Tubbo and Ranboo got married at an emotionally turbulent time for Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t handle those moments well. Impulsive marriage to escape how he felt about what happened to Tommy? . . . It’s more likely than you might think.

Accessibility Translations:

1. for

2. Yeah, bonded pairs in the SMP get a bit of an aura break if you’re linked with an empath. I got sick and tired of having to pay that extremely pricey piper and Ranboo had just joined so when I saw him I went “that’s the one” and we were already kinda friends so BAM! We’ve been married for almost six months now.

3. Besides

4. you’re older than I am, shouldn’t you have changed your apprentice name to something like, I don’t know? Concussion? Explosive Decompression. Or Combust-ION?

5. being

6. You are talking to the wrong person. You should talk to my sister and her girlfriend. Or Karl’s fiancés. That would probably make your argument work.

7. throwing

8. and

9. them

10. I’m sure your wedding will be nice and pretty and stuff. You’re in love and shit, it’ll be great.

11. Sweetheart

12. including

13. knocking

14. to

15. He’s around now and it is nice to kind of have him back to normal again. Wish he didn’t try to set Boo on fire, but no one’s perfect.

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maxdark158 · 4 years

Text

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

hi. it’s been a while. let’s get into the actual chapter then.

oooOOOooo

Marinette wasn’t used to houses as large as the Wayne Manor – that much was clear. Her eyes were wide when she first took everything in. He didn’t take her on a tour, he knew Todd and Drake were somewhere in the mansion and he didn’t want her meeting them until she was ready.

Her jaw did drop when Alfred showed her their kitchen though. Her expression almost made him regret his decision to not give her a tour. The faces she would have possibly made looking at the grand halls and rooms or would have been- not worth Todd and Drake.

Hence the almost.

Marinette seemed to adjust to her surroundings quickly enough. Perhaps the food Alfred managed to make quickly helped with that. She seemed delighted by the taste.

“My parents don’t make these often,” she mumbled, munching on her blondie. “White chocolate is usually used for decoration.”

“I’m glad the daughter of bakers can enjoy my desserts,” Alfred seemed to like her, which was good. He wouldn’t do anything to keep the other two away from her though. Alfred did little to mitigate possible damage done by siblings.

He left after that, though Marinette kept asking if he wanted to eat with them. Damian wasn’t sure why Alfred was so hell-bent on leaving them alone. Unlike Marinette, he didn’t buy that, “I already ate,” bullshit.

However his glare didn’t exactly work through walls, so he instead talked to his an- Marinette.

They talked about a lot of things. What she was planning to do with the fabrics she bought while they were out, she had designs based off Gotham’s superheroes, based off him and his family too but they aren’t as important, then how much free time she would have given where her field trip would be taking her over the course of the rest of her days here, he took a mental note of locations and times she mentioned so he could possibly spend more ti- spring her from spending time with that awful class, which led into what she liked about Gotham so far and what she wanted to see before leaving, which he also made note of. For other reasons- not those reasons though, just other reasons in general. To make sure they were safe.

She seemed happy.

It was a good look for her.

Wait, what the fu-

“Can you help me clean up?” she asked, startling Damian out of his own mental interrogation. He’ll return to it later, it seems.

“Sure,” he picked up his empty plate. Alfred happened to choose that moment to return and help clean up, so the mother fucker was clearly fucking listening in. Bitch.

They cleaned for a few wordless moments before Marinette spoke again.

“Do your brothers know we’re here?” she asked Damian while she took the glasses to the kitchen. Damian trailed after her with the plates.

“No, and we can leave before they find out if we’re quick about it,” maybe she changed her mind about meeting them. He wouldn’t blame her.

“What if I’d like to meet them?” she teased. “They sound fun!”

Fucking fuck fuck.

“Alright Angel, if you’re sure,” he pursed his lips, “but if you want to leave for any reason, just tell me.”

“Master Damian, I do believe that Miss Marinette is capable of taking care of herself,” Alfred almost seemed to be chiding him.

This just in, Alfred is fucking dead to him now.

He began putting the plates in the dishwasher, because unlike fucking Todd, he doesn’t just drop them in the fucking sink and walk away like a heathen.

“What he said, Damian,” Marinette giggled. “I’ll be fine. They can’t be worse than the Riddler or Hawkmoth, and I survived those two.”

Is that how she approaches every situation? Well, it can’t be worse than the fucking Butterfly Terrorist in Paris or the Green Guy with Deadly Riddles! He realized he was gripping the plate in his hands too hard and forced himself to relax.

Then he saw who was behind hi- Marinette.

“Todd,” he didn’t growl, which is a point to him. Todd fucking smirked too, and Damian didn’t murder him. Another point.

“Demon Spawn! I thought you went somewhere else!” He glanced down at Marinette. “Timmy! The Riddler girl is here!”

Of fucking course Drake wanted to talk to Marinette. Of fucking course.

Drake ran in like a fucking lunatic. He is a fucking lunatic but that doesn’t mean he has to run like one. He can run like a normal person just fucking fine. Damian heard him break something on his way to the kitchen, adding to the needlessness of his theatrics. He fought back a sigh and put the last plate away.

“Holy sh-

“Language,” Alfred tutted. Like he fucking cared about fucking language after the Swear Jar Incident.

“You’re actually here! I didn’t think Damian would let you near us!” Damian almost grabbed the dirty plate out of the dishwasher and smashed it against Drake’s head. “I’m Tim Drake-Wayne!”

“Jason Todd-Wayne,” Damian’s least favorite brother said.

No, that wasn’t fair to Drake. They were both his least favorite family member.

Marinette seemed to hesitate for a moment. Her eyes widened briefly, like she had come to a realization. Damian mentally screamed when he found the expression cute. She isn’t cute she’s just his friend who is attractive but he isn’t attracted to her he can just acknowledge the fucking fact-

Then, she smiled. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng! A pleasure to meet you!”

Drake practically fell over himself trying to get the words out. “So you solved The Riddler’s riddle, right?” Tim asked. “Like, knew what the answer was?”

Marinette nodded. “He probably googled it. A toddler could do better.”

Damian frowned. Did… did she not consider the Riddler a serious villain? Did she not realize that his riddles were meant to be difficult…

Did she not realize how impressive it was that she solved it, especially since it was a play on a language that isn’t her first?

Drake lit up at her nonchalance, likely excited that she considered an intelligent adversary easy to defeat. Fuck that shit.

“Drake, don’t harass her with your questions!” he snapped. Because what the fuck. She was his friend first anyway she doesn’t have to be interrogated.

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“She isn’t uncomfortable-”

“You’re asking about her first and only encounter with a villain of course she is-”

“Are you even looking at her she isn’t-”

“So fucking what if she doesn’t look uncomfortable? You can’t demand the details of something like that for no good god damn reason-”

“You know I have a good reason, you motherfucking asshole-”

“Sure!” he heard Marinette practically shout and-

Wait what?

“What?” Damian asked, interrupting Tim during their argument.

Marinette turned toward him while Todd slung an arm over her shoulder like they were best fucking friends or something. No they fuck they’re not. “Freckles here just agreed to spar with me!”

What.

She turned her head to look at him. “Freckles?”

What.

“It’s your nickname. ’Cause you’ve got Freckles.”

What the fuck is this fuckery?

Damian heard Drake stifle a laugh behind him. The bitch. Damian opened his mouth to argue or say something or stop this because what the fuck Todd but Drake beat him to it.

“Do you seriously want to duel her because she beat The Riddler?” Drake scoffed.

Damian wasn’t sure what he expected but that was disappointing regardless. What the fuck, Drake? Argue better than that!

“You wanted to question her because she solved his riddles!” Todd continued to try and defend the indefensible. “Plus-”

“Todd,” Damian hissed, because they needed to have a talk about not hurting hi- Marinette, it seemed.

“Yeah demon spawn?” Todd sounded fucking bored of all things.

Damian opened his mouth to start his argument when he was interrupted again – was it shit on Damian day today? – wait Marinette is talking-

“-I agreed to it,” she told him, her own beautiful eyes meeting his. “Plus, akuma are typically much larger than me anyway. It’s not like I’m going to break from someone as small as Jason!”

Damian blinked. His brothers laughed but he blinked and tensed a bit. What the hell does she mean akuma are typically bigger than- what are they? He assumed it was some type of gang and while it isn’t that hard to be bigger than his an- Marinette are they all as large as Jason? Larger? How many akuma are there? How much bigger are they? He forced his body to relax. He needed to focus on the now, research this akuma gang headed by a butterfly loving lunatic later.

“We have a gym down the hall,” Drake helpfully said. Todd was still giggling because he thought it was so fucking funny haha bitch. Damian continued to glare. It wouldn’t technically be murder if Todd were killed by a glare, right? Damian didn’t even have powers, so clearly it couldn’t have been him…

“Do you know your IQ?” Tim asked. Like a fucking creep with no concept of personal space or privacy Drake what the ever-loving fuck.

His a- Marinette was rightfully confused by the invasive question but instead of telling Drake to fuck off she was nicer and answered his question. “No, I don’t think I ever took the test.”

Damian was walking ahead of them with Todd to make sure he didn’t pull any funny business but seriously, bitch, mind your own business- “Do you have any measurement of your problem-solving skills?”

Damian didn’t murder anymore. Especially his brothers. Especially especially in front of his- an ang- Marinette. He was tense though, Todd gave him a *look* and he just glared more.

“My parents don’t like playing strategy games with me,” she seemed to be reminiscing something.

“You always win?” Drake asked. She nodded.

“Hey Timmy, stop holding Freckles up!” Todd called from where they were at the gym door.

“Alright, alright,” Drake grumbled. The other two sped up and soon entered the gym.

It was standard, smaller than the one he grew up using. The sparring mat was in the center, which was what Damian assumed Todd planned to use for this unnecessary battle.

Todd took off his jacket and took a position on the mat. Hi- Marinette followed suit, setting her purse near his jacket. When she took a position, it was off slightly.

Todd lunged, Marinette ducked his punch and maneuvered behind him, driving an elbow into his back. He dodged, barely, and went for a swipe under her feet.

She tripped, but he saw her maneuvering her fall so she wasn’t hurt.

Seems she wanted to end this early too.

“Well, that was fu-”

“You can do better than that!” Drake cried. “There’s no way that’s it.”

“Drake,” Damian grumbled. He should just let her lose if she wants! He knows Jason isn’t really trying either, none of them would really try on a civilian. He was still wor- god damn it.

Todd seemed to pause as if his brain needed to process the information like a slow computer. “Wait, you weren’t really trying?”

“I-” she hesitated, “What makes you think that wasn’t my best?”

“The Riddler is bad at combat,” Drake leaned against the wall acting like a fucking know it all bitch and seriously? “But he’s better than that. Why are you holding back?”

“She can hold back if she wants to,” Damian would really appreciate someone not being an idiot here.

“Jason wanted to see how good she is,” Drake retorted. “If she’s holding back, it’s like purposefully failing a test or losing a game!”

“No, it’s not!” Marinette responded hotly, almost… competitive?

“Why are you not trying to win, Freckles?” Todd asked. “This is sort of a competition.”

Damian saw something shift in his Angel’s demeanor… Seems she’s competitive too. He filed that information away.

She got up and assumed a better position. “Fine then,” she huffed.

Todd got into position and this time, she attacked first.

She went for a fake punch to the throat. He grabbed her fist to block and she grabbed onto his other hand to swing onto his shoulders. He attempted to pull her down with the hand she grabbed but she managed to remove it from his grip and grab it with her own.

“What the hell!”

Todd’s wrists were held by her. He didn’t shake her grip off him, though he could if he were trying. He was attempted to buck her off his shoulders, but Marinette’s legs wrapped around him too tight to be shaken off. As he struggled to get her to let go, she began to swing around to make him lose balance.

He didn’t have his arms to stabilize him or catch his fall. His bucking made his lack of balance worse, and with several curses, he began falling backward. Marinette let go of his trapped hands mid-fall flipped off him, somehow dodging his head.

When Todd landed face-first on the mat looking incredibly pathetic even if he could still win, she was there quick as lightning, pinning his arms behind him and his legs with her weight.

“I win,” she grinned.

Todd responded with more muffled curses.

She got off of him and helped him up. After he was standing, she glanced at him and Drake.

Drake’s mouth was open, being overdramatic again for no fucking reason, really it was cool to see a civilian do that though but that doesn’t mean Drake gets to be impressed!

“Holy hell what are they teaching you in Paris?” Todd grumbled, pupping his back.

Marinette bit her lip. “I’m sorry-”

“Why?” Todd asked. “I asked for you to fight me. This was fun even if I got a mouthful of matt.”

“Do you work out?” Drake asked, again with the questions!

“Not regularly,” she responded. “But my parents own a bakery and the flour bags are heavy. Plus, sometimes someone orders a huge cake, and those can get heavy too!”

Drake nodded, likely filing that information away to write some fucking biography on her because she’s oh so impressive for a civilian- she *is* but Drake can fucking leave her alone!

Todd spoke up because since he died he had a death wish. “Hey Demon Spawn, are you rebooting or something?”

Damian scrambled for an excuse, as I’m mentally murdering you and Drake is typically an unacceptable answer. No it wasn’t but he wouldn’t say that around his Ang- Marinette. “Apologies. I’m a bit surprised, as I didn’t see Marinette actually fight The Riddler, I didn’t know what she was capable of.”

“What?” Marinette seemed to snap out of a train of thought suddenly, “I’m sorry I zoned out.”

“You-“ are really impressive.

“He said you did a good job, Freckles,” Todd fucking interrupted him how dare he. But also thank you- god, this was all because of that fucking worry wasn’t it? Fucking god damn worry was poisoning his every thought and action.

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled.

“Okay since that’s over now,” Drake rubbed his hands together. “Marinette-”

“Please tell me none of you died,” Father walked in, surveying the room. “Huh. I’m surprised there isn’t any blood. Alfred told me you were sparring.”

“Jason decided to spar Damian’s girl-”

“Marinette,” Damian interrupted, she’s not his *girl* what the fuck, she’s his friend- “My friend Marinette.”

Bruce Wayne sees her for the first time and Marinette has to shake off the feeling of being analyzed.

“She’s the girl that punched Riddler in the throat,” Drake says unhelpfully.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” she goes to shake his hand. He takes it and shakes. Good, his father isn’t dead to him then. Alfred still has to make up for some shit.

“She won against Todd by the way,” Damian decided to add. Father stiffened a bit. They both knew Todd was going easy on her, but it was still interesting.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Father says. “Alfred wanted to invite you to stay for dinner.”

Since when was that a fucking thing? And *why*? What was Alfred’s fucking angle? Damian’s eyes narrowed. If he thought this would make it up to hi- shit she’s talking.

“-ze, but I must be returned to my class by five-thirty pm.”

“Uh, it’s four forty now,” Todd points out, “How long is the drive, Freckles?”

Marinette pales. “I should probably head back-”

“I’ll go with you,” Damian didn’t want to be around his brothers, he knew they’d find something to tease him about regarding Marinette. “Alfred can drive us if that is alright with you.” He was still the most trusted driver even if he’s currently dead to him right now.

“Thanks for inviting me over,” she smiled and Damian felt… oddly warm. Was he sick?. She turned to his brothers and father, “It was wonderful to meet you guys!”

“I’ll win the sparring match next time, Freckles,” Todd told her. Was he going to hold back less or something? He better fucking not.

Drake said something about another invasive idea for a test that Damian would deal with later, when he could use his sword. “You better come back,” he said out loud. Why the hell would he demand things of her?

“I’d love to return if I’m invited.”

“When,” he told her.

She managed to smile again. “When.”

At this rate, there wouldn’t be a fucking when if this shit happens every time.

They left the room and Alfred led them to the car. He allowed the silence as she didn’t appear to want to talk. Maybe she wanted to relax? He wasn’t sure, so he didn’t start a conversation. Was he overthinking things? Weedkiller, he’d get the fucking weedkiller soon...

“The brothers I met were nice,” she began to talk suddenly, she must want a conversation. “They seem annoying-”

“You can say that again,” he grumbled automatically.

“-but they seem like decent brothers,” she finished. “They’re fun people too.”

Damian shrugged. “Sometimes.” Like when he’s using them for target practice.

There was more silence. But now he’s thinking, well wondering? He’s thinking and wondering and-

“Do you have secrets?” he asked suddenly and Fucking fuck fuck he shouldn’t ask that what the fuck he was mad at Drake for the invasive questions real fucking hypocritical of him huh- “You don’t have to tell me, obviously, but you’re aware that there are things I’m not comfortable telling you yet and-”

“I have secrets,” she interrupted his fucking worried rambling he would kill the worry he swears. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

Oh. That… To earn enough of her trust like that… Damian smiled slightly, even if it felt foreign on his face. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to, Angel. It’s only fair that I give you what you’re giving me.”

Marinette grinned wide. “Thank you.”

Maybe he could get a bit more used to smiling, seeing a smile like that…

“We have arrived,” Alfred said from the front seat. Damian was shocked, glanced out the window and- oh, they have arrived… he was disappointed, but only in his inability to realize himself. Nothing else. Nothing. At all. Nothing.

He got out with her, and a moment of clumsiness seemed to overtake her. She tripped over Damian’s feet.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry,” her accent was heavier, she must be struggling to speak a second language while… embarrassed?

“It’s alright Angel,” he should try to soothe the embarrassment, right? Is that how that worked? She seemed tense as he helped her up, and she turned to face him and- is she alright?

“Is something wrong?” he was worried.

“I’m okay,” she said, brushing off her knees. “I used to fall like that all the time, but I’m okay, I promise.”

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I won’t.”

After some hesitation, she left. She walked back into the building, safe and unharmed. He got back into the car and Alfred drove them back to the manor.

oooOOOooo

It was easy to slip into the building unnoticed. Well, not unnoticed, the jester did kill the man behind the desk and leave him there. But he died with a smile on his face. They’d all die with a smile on their faces. And this would be fun for the jester too. the jester would have a lot of fun, so much fun, so much fun, a lot of so much fun you see…

The jester waited behind the desk with the lights off. Another girl was there. Not the one the jester wanted, no no not yet. But perhaps she’d join her little friend. The jester would get two. Have even more fun.

The jester grinned, hidden by the dark. But soon the jester wouldn’t be. And it would be so, so much fun.

#Damian Wayne #daminette #Damian al Ghul #Marinette #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #maribat #fic #fanfic #writing #my writing

106 notes · View notes

cautious-creation · 3 years

Text

“Ensign.” “Commander.”

Fandom & Character: Star Trek:Voyager, Commander Chakotay

Pairing(s): Chakotay x 1st person female y/n

Word/page count: 3300ish words, 3.5 pages

CW/TW: fluff, superior officer x subordinate relationship, past loss of a grandparent, discussion of grief, power dynamic

Summary: an ensign and her commander fall in love in the Delta quadrant

“Ensign.” he walked into the lab, holding what I assumed was the information I needed,

”Commander?” it didn’t make much sense for him to come down to the lab to deliver it. He looked up from the data and gave me a smile in greeting, which put me at ease; at least there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. I returned the smile.

“I’ve got that data from Seven.” he handed me the data.

“Thank you, sir,” I turned in my seat back to my work station, “you really didn’t need to come down here, I was about to head to astrometrics.” he leaned against the work station beside me, looking at another information pad he’d brought with him.

“Captain’s in command and I needed a break from the bridge. I’ve heard about how quiet it is down here this time of day.” he dismissed.

“That’s why I prefer this shift, sir.” he paused from his work, looking at me.

“You don’t need to be so formal, ensign. After two years stuck in the delta quadrant together I’d think we could all benefit from being a little more casual.” I chuckled.

“I’ll try. It’s become a bit of a habit. Early in my starfleet career I was told I had a tendency to speak a little too casually, particularly with senior officers. I had to… re-train… myself. I seemed to have unintentionally made a few officers feel disrespected.” I smiled, reminiscing.

He nodded in agreement, “I’ve always found it a little problematic, some senior officers seem to use it to stroke their egos.” I laughed,

“That was part of my problem.” he laughed with me. “I understand why it’s necessary, but some people take it too far and it gets in the way of strong relationships being formed by the crew.” he smiled, seeming to admire my perspective.

“I’m glad I came down here. I think we could have some very interesting conversations.”

I nodded “I think so too.”

He pushed off of the work bench, “I need to head back to the bridge, good luck with that assessment, ensign.” he headed for the door, giving a nod for farewell.

“Thank you… commander.” he gave me a smirk as he walked out the door. I grinned, turned back to my console to put that luck to use.

“Well, my professor for xenosociology seemed to have a burning hatred for students like me, who actually question things, so I decided to move to xenobiology and that ended up expanding out to botany, neurology, anatomy, I almost took a psychology course. That professor made me never want to take a sociology course again, and yet, I still keep on looking into it myself.” Chakotay and I both smiled fondly at the memories of our respective experiences at Starfleet academy.

“Considering the horror stories I’ve heard from some of my Maquis friends, I had smooth sailing through my days at the academy. Sociology is fascinating, but I’ve always loved anthropology.”

“Anything else for you two?” Neelix came past our table, gathering our used dishes. It was something he tends to do when he’s trying to ‘subtly’ listen in on people’s conversations. He’d been doing it a lot when Chakotay and I had meals together.

“I’m alright thanks.” I looked at Chakotay, he shook his head,

“Thank you, Neelix.” Neelix gave a small nod and left the table.

I waited for Neelix to leave earshot before I spoke again.

“I think he might be spying on us.” I leaned forward and spoke in a playful whisper.

He chuckled “I’ve been told that our… association has become a subject of gossip among the crew.”

We smiled at each other.

“Well, aren’t they presumptuous.” he shook his head in amusement looking down at the table.

When he looked up, our gazes locked on one another. Everything around us seemed to go quiet. I tilted my head to the side, a furrowed brow and slight smile on my face. He’s a handsome man, charming too. So kind and gentle, righteous, patient. A good man.

Subconsciously, my hand dragged along the table until the backs of my fingers touched the back of his hand. He hooked his index finger over mine. It was practically a ‘pinky swear’. Just that little bit of physical contact felt like so much. It was a good feeling. I looked down at our hands and sighed.

“Are you alright?” his question drew my gaze back to his now concerned expression. I gave a lazy smile and slowly nodded.

“I just… “ I decided to take a risk, “Why don’t we have dinner in my quarters this evening? There’s a family recipe I’ve been meaning to try and I could use the excuse to finally do it.” a small, thoughtful frown crossed his face as he looked at our hands.

“No obligation, commander. Just an option. I’ve put it off this long, and the recipe isn’t going anywhere.” I spoke softly.

“Actually, I was just thinking about timing. My shift ends at twenty hundred hours, yours starts at… oh three hundred?” I nodded, “That doesn’t give you much time to sleep.” his concern was sweet.

“I can manage with four to five hours.”

He beamed at me “Then, ensign, I accept your invitation.”

I smiled. I couldn’t deny I was excited for this dinner. All our meals so far had been in the mess hall. I’d started to get uncomfortable with all the glances we’d get. Perhaps it’s a bit odd for an ensign and a ship’s first officer to spend so much time together, or to be so close with one another; but it’s not as if we’d been doing anything unsavoury and definitely nothing that would go against regulations. Little goes unnoticed on a ship like this and whatever gossip may be circulating is milked dry very quickly; any new material is quickly scavenged upon. I didn’t want to risk Chakotay’s reputation or even his position. Nothing unbecoming a Starfleet officer.

It would be nice to spend some off duty time together away from prying eyes. We’d come to enjoy each other’s company, and Chakotay was right, our conversations were quite interesting.

He was taking a sip of his coffee when Tuvok called him to the bridge. He excused himself, saying he’d see me later, I wished him luck on the bridge and went back to the novel I’d been reading. Neelix came by soon after Chakotay left, not-so-subtly prying into the nature of our relationship. I played dumb, not falling for any of his sneaky questions. It was amusing to watch him getting progressively more frustrated, my form of justice for his intrusion.

I spent that afternoon napping and cooking. At nineteen hundred hours I showered and changed out of my uniform. I couldn’t decide what to wear so I ended up putting on a fresh uniform, sans jacket. I spent probably more energy than I ought to on decisions like what tablecloth to use, candles or no candles, wine or no wine and I decided to only dim the lights slightly. I didn’t want to push it, we hadn’t defined the nature of our relationship, I’d prefer to go too platonic than too romantic.

Five minutes after twenty hundred hours my doorbell chimed and Chakotay presented me with a bottle of wine.

“Oh, fantastic. I couldn’t decide if I should open a bottle.” he smiled and I stepped aside to let him in. He’d clearly just come from the bridge. His uniform made him look quite dapper, but I could tell he was fatigued from his duty shift.

“So, what’s this family recipe you’ve been so excited about? It smells amazing.” he approached the dishes of food on the table.

“How about you sort out the wine while I dish up?” I handed him the bottle and a corkscrew, then moved to the table to give him the story.

“My great aunt gave me instructions for green beans, creamed spinach and butternut puree. The bread is my paternal grandfather’s sourdough recipe; a lot of research and development went into that one; and my uncle taught us the trick of dipping bread in a shallow bowl of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. There’s a tradition that I think my dad started, to fry or grill sticks of halloumi cheese and season them with lemon.” Chakotay had poured the wine and sat in the chair opposite me. I placed a plate in front of him and sat down to mine.

“It might not be the most cohesive meal but together it reminds me of home.” there was a pause, an unprompted moment of silence for those we were so far away from.

He lifted his glass, “To… our families back home, and the one we have right here on Voyager.” I smiled. The crisp sound of the glasses touching split the hum of the ship for a moment. Such a beautifully wholesome sentiment.

“How’s the bridge, commander?” I tore some bread and dipped it into the oil vinegar mix.

“The bridge is just fine, ensign. No alien contact, no helm challenges, refreshingly quiet. How about the lab?” he took a forkful of butternut.

“We’ve been getting some momentum on that analysis. Surprisingly, there’s been a lot of data to sift through. The sample turned out to be far more interesting than we thought it would be.” he nodded,

“That’s good news.” I took a sip of my wine, “Now, enough about work. How’s life?”

I chuckled, “Life is work and work is life here on Voyager, commander.” he shook his head, amused.

‘Ensign’ and ‘commander’ had become our pet names for each other, an inside joke that he and I shared. With all the prying ears and eyes it was fun to have something they didn't understand, and it helped us to seem more professional with each other for the sake of those concerned or bothered by the relationship Chakotay and I had developed.

“I’m glad we could have dinner without spectators for once.” I nodded, agreeing. It had started to feel invasive.

“It’s kind of unsettling to have everyone watching and listening to us. I get that it’s a small ship but surely that doesn’t mean we’re no longer allowed at least a little bit of privacy.”

“You’d think a crew of Starfleet officers would have a little more discretion than this.”

I scoffed playfully, “at least we haven’t been getting much commentary from our colleagues.”

“The captain said something this morning,” I frowned

“She did?” he nodded

“It wasn’t about us specifically, but the implication was there.”

“What did she say?”

“Something along the lines of being sensitive to the consequences of specific relationships within the crew, considering that we’ll all be stuck with each other on Voyager for a long time to come.”

“I’m impressed, an approach like that to a situation like this takes a lot of finesse on the captain’s part. But I’m not surprised, we’re ‘stuck’ out here with one of the wisest Starfleet captains I know.” He nodded. I could see how he admired her.

“I can’t think of another captain who would’ve been able to keep Voyager going this long out here in the Delta quadrant.” I agreed.

“You know who else’s work out here has been exemplary?” I decided to lighten the mood, “Harry Kim. If it was up to me he’d be a full fledged lieutenant by now.” Chakotay seemed amused,

“His work has been exemplary.” The sentiment was sincere.

“You haven’t done too badly yourself, commander.” His smile was small and bashful.

There was a moment or two of silence and we continued eating.

“You must’ve used a week of replicator rations on this.” he sat on the couch, taking the mug of tea I handed him.

“Only two days, actually. The beans and spinach were from the airponics bay. I used some of a weird bulbous vegetable Neelix had in storage to stretch the butternut I replicated and he had some Talaxian spices close enough to imitate cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg. I replicated the flour for the bread but yeast was a bit more difficult to get my hands on. The halloumi I had to replicate.”

“What about the lemon juice?” I chuckled.

“Six months into Neelix’s cooking I decided we needed some citrus so I grafted cuttings of about five different plants. We’ve ended up with limes, lemons, grapefruit, blood orange and an oddly bitter variety of Bolian tangerine. Neelix seems to get quite excited whenever I tell him the franken-tree has yielded another fruit. Which is rare because of how small it still is. Fortunately, citrus keeps well. The lemon I used tonight was in storage for about a month and a half.” Chakotay smiled.

“I think that citrus franken-tree is one of your greatest achievements yet in terms of crew morale.” I chuckled,

“It’s definitely been one of the more challenging undertakings I’ve had while on Voyager.”

“You put a lot of effort into this meal.” I shrugged,

“I couldn’t have done it without Neelix’s help.” I frowned, “And it’s something I’d been needing to do for myself, a little bit of self-care. I’m glad I could share it with someone.” I looked up at him. I was glad that I had him to share the experience with.

“I’m honoured to have been allowed to share this meal with you.” His sincere smile put me at ease. I placed my mug of tea on the coffee table in front of me and leaned back into the couch.

“I’ve been missing home a lot recently. I guess the anniversary of my grandmother’s death hit me harder than I expected.” he took my hand in his,

“You could have said something.” I responded to his concerned expression with a sad smile and looked down at our joined hands.

“I wanted to try working through it myself. I thought it would last a couple of days and I’d be back to normal.” my gaze became distant as I thought back

“Her leg of lamb stew was legendary. Not even my aunt could recreate it. She’d been cooking it on the day she died.” a small forlorn crease grazed my brow, “Two months after she died, I think it was on her birthday, it was taken out of cold storage and we all sat down to eat the last meal she ever made. It was… almost like a last goodbye. There was such a finality to that meal. I was only nine years old.” a single tear ran down my cheek, Chakotay gave my hand a comforting squeeze, “Her death changed my whole world view.”

“In what way?” His gentle question refocused my gaze. I shook my head slightly.

“I don’t remember.” It was true, but I knew for certain that I wouldn’t have grown into the person I had become if it wasn’t for her influence on my life, as well as the influence of her death.

“She meant a lot to you. I’m not surprised things didn’t just go back to normal for you after two days.” I smiled fondly and sighed, looking up and seeing his caring expression,

“Thank you for having this dinner with me.” he smiled softly,

“Of course. I’m glad I did.”

We sat for a while, my thoughts starting to gather again.

“A while back I programmed a traditional malva pudding recipe into the replicator data banks, well, our family recipe. Would you care for a piece?”

“I have no idea what it is, but I’m willing to try it.” I chuckled, getting up and heading to the replicator.

“It’s a traditional South African dish. My version is a bit different from what you’d find described in an historical database,” I sat back down with two plates of the syrup laced pound cake type dessert.

“Usually it’s served with custard or ice cream, but I think that just dulls the flavour.” one bite and a smile spread onto my face.

“I haven’t ever had anything like this. You’ll have to give me the recipe.” I shook my head.

“Sorry, commander, that’s a family secret.” he chuckled.

“I might just have to order you to, ensign.” I laughed at him.

“Good luck with that, Chakotay.” it was a little startling to both of us to hear me call him by name, before that, I never had. That sounds bizarre, but it’s true.

“Chakotay,” it still sounded odd, my plate made a thud against the coffee table “I think we need to talk about some things.” he nodded, placing his plate down beside mine.

I took a deep breath. My chest tightened in anxiety. I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I knew we needed to address some things about our relationship but I feel like I couldn’t quite describe them.

“I… “ I looked down trying to find the words, “we need to discuss… ‘us’, the nature of our relationship. What we… want out of this relationship, where we see it progressing. How we respond to the crew and commanding officers about… this.” he held my fidgeting hands in his and flashed me a soft, concerned smile.

“Well, I believe we’ve come to be close friends.” the smile that responded tried to hide my slight disappointment, “But, as for what I see in the future of our relationship… “ he looked down at our hands, “That’s a little more… sensitive.”

I gave an empathetic smile and chuckled, “I know the feeling.”

He sighed. “I care about you, a lot.”

“And I you.” I gave a small smile.

“I’d absolutely be happy to continue as friends,” he locked eye contact, searching for my thoughts, “but I’d hoped we could work towards a romantic relationship.” I grinned. I couldn’t describe the relief that I felt.

“Me too.” he beamed back at me and almost seemed to blush.

One of his hands released mine and came to the side of my face, my now free hand lay on his chest, beside his neck, against the undershirt exposed by his unfastened jacket. The warmth of his body against my skin brought a slight flush to my face. His thumb padded over my cheek. My fingers fiddled with the pips on his collar.

I looked up at his handsome face, his gentle, calming eyes focused on mine. My fingers itched to trace along the lines gracing the skin around his left brow bone, cheek bone and temple. He was frustratingly close to me. I so badly wanted to reach out and touch those dimples that smiled at me. His eyes enthralled me.

I took another risk, letting my other hand rise to meet his face, the tips of my fingers lightly dragged along his tattoo. He seemed to sigh into my touch, which made a contented smile cross my face. My heart fluttered, I felt so peaceful.

“I don’t think you’ve told me, why the tattoo?” he smiled.

“My father. He wore it to honour our culture, I wear it to honour him.” my heart swelled.

“That’s so pure.” he chuckled bashfully. I gave him a thoughtful smile.

“You’re a good guy, Chakotay.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard you say my name before today. I like the way it sounds when you do.” it was my turn to blush.

“Chakotay, what are we gonna do about this?” I chuckled. My palm settled against his cheek.

“Well, what I would like to do about it, is to kiss you.” how suave, I’d been smiling every few seconds that evening, now was no exception.

“I’m not quite there yet, Chakotay.” I liked the way it sounded too, “I hope this can tide you over for now.” I leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll hold out for you.” he took my face in his hands and gave an equally gentle kiss to my forehead. My hands rested on his shoulders. A gleeful smile spread across my lips.

#Star Trek #Star Trek:Voyager #Chakotay #commander chakotay #fanfiction #fanfic

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

A Memory Without You

➜ Words: 10.4k

➜ Genres: 50% Fluff, 50% Angst, Superpower!AU

➜ Summary: Jung Hoseok is your saviour. Sure, he might just be a government worker tasked to investigate your life and ask a bunch of intrusive questions with his little clipboard, but he’s also the key to solving your troubles. You just hope he still remembers you when it’s all over.

➜ Warnings: Mentions to mental illnesses and discussions on issues related to memory loss.

Cr.

You step forward. The office is small and it makes you afraid that the ceiling will close in on you, suffocating you to death. But your attention is stolen by the individual standing behind the desk, wearing a small smile. He’s a handsome man, casual suit, dark hair with surprisingly warm eyes. You don’t dwell in case he is a mind reader. “Hello. It’s nice to finally meet you.” “Likewise.” You shake his hand, nervousness beginning to chew at your bones. He motions for you to take a seat and there’s some more small talk made, introductions exchanged. He is seemingly friendly, but you can never trust your judgment when it comes to people like him. “I’ve been personally assigned to your case,” the man, Jung Hoseok, tells you. He shuffles his paper, taking the pen from his blazer breast pocket. “Today, I’ll just ask some questions and clarify some things, okay? And then we’ll discuss the next steps. Sound good?” “Yes.” He nods and begins to flip through your file, hundreds of reports and claims, tests and health evaluations that are somehow supposed to summarize your existence. “It says here that you’ve only recently identified your ability?” His eyes flicker up and you recognize the curiosity since it’s been presented in so many before. You’ve just found it and now you wanted to remove it so soon. It is an odd situation. “Yes.” Your hands are shaking in your lap and you grip the hem of your pencil skirt to get a grip. “I’ve-uh….actually discovered it when I was sixteen, but it’s only been five years since doctors have diagnosed it officially.” “That’s a long time,” he muses, scribbling something down and it adds to your anxiousness. You know you’re an unusual case — it’s supposed to take professionals minutes or seconds to identify abilities. Never days, weeks, months. Or in your case, years. You nod in confirmation. “They….they didn’t really believe me. There was a lot of testing I had to do.” “That’s unfortunate,” he sympathizes politely. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” “It’s alright. I’m just happy they identified it.” Even if you belong to no real category. You’re labeled as miscellaneous and it always garners strange looks at city hall or when you have to travel for work. The government worker continues, “How has your health been lately, Y/N?” “It’s been...better.” Hoseok lifts his chin, connecting his eyes with yours. “On the fourth health examination, you’ve been diagnosed with mild depression and generalized anxiety disorder?” “Y-yes.” “Is that affecting your life drastically these days?” “Ummmmm……” You’re not sure what kind of question that is or how you should answer, but it’s protocol and you manage, “There’s been a lot of improvement in my life. I feel better. I’ve been going to work consistently. There hasn’t been much of a problem….” “That’s good,” he nods and writes it down, taking note of it. It feels like an interrogation, a spot light shined on you, someone firing question after question. You shift uncomfortably and Hoseok notices, reading the expression on your face. He sets his pen down. “I’m sorry for putting you through this. I don’t mean to be so intrusive.” “No, it’s okay. It’s your job, I understand.” You’ve been through worse in these past five years. The moment your ability was officially documented, you worked towards this. There are tens of steps, process slow and painful but it’s understandable. Even if this is a government service, they don’t want to be held accountable. The practice is already looked down upon. They have to ensure there are substantial grounds for doing this. Everything must be careful and calculated. Jung Hoseok asks a few more questions and once satisfied, he claps his hands together. “Okay, I think that’s all I need to fill out the report.” “Then you’ll contact me next week?” you ask, unsure. “Yes,” he reassures and then goes on to explain, “In the coming weeks, I’ll give you a call and for several days, I’ll be observing you. The length varies depending on the case, but it’s typically really short term. I’m going to see how this ability affects your day to day life and if it’s detrimental or not to your health or general well-being. You don’t need to do anything differently. As normal as possible is actually better. Just go on about your day and I’ll shadow you.” The observation week doesn’t sound too bad when he explains it like that. At least, it can’t be any worse than the week you had to spend at the psychiatry department of the hospital. He’s a professional. A good judge. He won’t criticize your life or look down on you, you know that much. Still, with all these facts you comfort yourself with, it doesn’t make you any less nervous. The thought of a stranger intruding in your routine makes it hard to cope. There’s no way you can control what he thinks. And whatever decision he comes up with at the end of his investigation will drastically affect you…. But you’ll do this at any cost. “Okay, t-that sounds good.” “Great.” He slides over several documents. “Here are some forms to sign. It’s just a disclosure that says you want to go through with this investigation and so the government won’t be held responsible if you decide to sue or press any kind of privacy invasion charges. Take your time reading it and when you’re ready, sign here and here. Feel free to ask any questions if you have them too.” “Alright.” You take the pages into your hands, having a difficult time reading when you’re this nervous. The words almost scramble on the paper, lines too close to one another, font too small. But you manage a long glance and you take the pen, signing it, staining the white with ink swirling the loops of your name. He takes it after you’ve set it down. “There we go.” Hoseok stands and shakes your hand with a reserved smile. His skin is warm, and you notice that his palm is larger as it clasps yours. “I look forward to working with you, Miss. Y/N.” You meet his warm eyes, swallowing hard. “Thank you for all of this.” “It’s no problem.” // The wait is slow and excruciating. It’s drawn out with days and nights you spend staring at your phone, waiting for that call or maybe a text message, any indication at all that might signal his arrival. It’s difficult to remain calm and patient when you’ve been counting down the days, hours, minutes, seconds. But finally it arrives. Three weeks after the first meeting, your phone rings and it’s him on the other line, smooth voice, undertones of chirpiness that you wish you had. “Good morning.” Jung Hoseok is wearing a bright smile as you open the door. He’s dressed more casually than before, no suit and tie but plaid shirt and cargo shorts. He would look like a tourist if not for how he carries the clipboard in his arms — it makes him more reminiscent to a summer camp counselor. “Good morning,” you greet him with a polite smile as well, widening the door for him to step inside. “Nice weather, isn’t it?” “Yes, it’s really nice.” You’ve never been more awkward in your home before. “H-have you ate breakfast yet?” “I’ve had some coffee.” “That’s not a real breakfast,” you say with a smile, joking around a bit to ease the tension. “I’m fine, really,” Hoseok insists and you nod. “Just don’t mind me. Go about your day normally and I’ll follow you.” “Okay.” You shuffle backwards, body turning slightly. “I’m just having some cereal right now.” “Alright.” The man is like a house inspector as he scans the premise of your home. “Is it alright if I take a look around?” “Sure, go ahead.” Everything is organized and in neat condition. It wasn’t too difficult to clean the place when you live alone and just have to pick up after yourself. You leave to the kitchen, finishing your food before you’re late for work. A glance over your shoulder, you find him peeking at the knick-knacks on your shelves, staring at the pictures of yourself from childhood that you put on display. He scribbles something down on the clipboard and you would feel severely scrutinized if not for the smile he has. As you wash your dishes, Hoseok comes strolling in. “I really like your home. It’s cozy.” “Thanks.” You smile. “Um...I usually leave in five minutes if that’s okay with you.” “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Just go on about your day.” Your life is rather normal and mundane. Plain. It’s probably less dramatic than some other cases he’s investigated — you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s deathly bored. You also know that it doesn’t look good for your situation. It’s not like you’re suffering immensely or directly inhibited due to your abilities, but there’s no way for you to dramatize your circumstances. You can’t show your pain. There’s no physical evidence. It doesn’t come through direct actions or shown through horrible crying sprouts. It’s the little things in your life that aren’t visible — and you’re not sure that’s enough cause for them to help you in the way you want them to. Nonetheless, you push the thoughts aside as you drive with him sitting beside you. “Can you tell me a little more on what you do for work?” Hoseok inquires to fill the silence, drawing up a conversation. “It’s just a customer service job at a marketing firm. I...uh..pick up calls mostly, answer people’s questions, schedule appointments, write up order forms and get payments. It’s not much, but it's honest work and it pays the bills.” “No, that sounds great. Do you enjoy it?” “Sometimes,” you answer. “It’s alright on most days.” By the time you get to work, the cubicle next to yours is empty. You settle down and he trudges over with his bag full of his own belongings, setting up to do his own work while you do yours. Your boss was already given a notice and understands that he would be shadowing you for a short period of time. Your coworkers, on the other hand, are curious. They glance over, murmuring amongst themselves who the man is. Yet, no one asks you any questions. You do your own work as normal, answering calls and filling out reports. Every once in a while, Hoseok looks over and it feels like he’s a colleague of yours more than someone investigating your lifestyle. By lunch, you eat by yourself at your cubicle, Hoseok mimicking you, and one more bathroom break is taken before you work straight until five o’clock. People clock out and you finish as well, waiting for him to pack up and stuff things back into his bag. Hoseok follows you out. “Where to next?” he asks with a small smile. You’re sleepy, but made awake by his question. “Umm...just home. Is there anything you’d like to eat for dinner?” “Oh. I’m fine with anything,” he chirps and it feels better when there’s someone more full of life beside you. The energy is almost infectious. “Don’t mind me.” “D-do you have a preference though?” The elevator reaches the ground floor and you walk off. “Between macaroni and lasagna.” Hoseok hums a low note. “Lasagna sounds good.” You smile. “Okay. I’ll have macaroni then.” Sadly, the food you offer him isn’t freshly cooked or bought from a restaurant. You stand in front of the machine in your pajamas, listening to the whirring, watching the yellow light and how your dinner spins on the dish slowly. Hoseok doesn’t mind eating frozen food as much as you thought he would. He says it makes him nostalgic on his childhood and he sits down across the table to you. It’s nice to have someone here that you can make small talk with. You ask about his job and he tells you he works from nine to five much like you, partly in the office and the other part out on the field investigating cases. He seems to enjoy his line of work and his enthusiasm is inspiring. But in the middle of the conversation, it strays off from him to you. Hoseok calls your name and you look up. “Can I ask you something?” “Of course.” You offer a reserved smile. “You’re allowed to ask any question, right?” “I guess.” A tiny laugh comes from his mouth. “But I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” “It’s fine,” you reassure. “Is there something the matter?” “No. I’m just wondering if you’re always this isolated,” he’s blunt and his sharp eyes narrow in on you, assessing each of your movements. You swallow hard, perspiration from your hairline and he continues, “You don’t seem to speak a lot throughout the day. No pets, family, or friends at work?” “I...umm….” There’s no lie to conjure up when the evidence is so obvious. “N-not really.” “I’m not trying to insult you or anything.” Hoseok brows furrow and he tips his head to the side, staring like you have something on your face. “I’m genuinely curious.” “I can’t…..really...get close to anyone.” The food is stale and you can’t swallow it down your gullet anymore. Your mouth is too dry. “I’m not that close to my friends anymore.” “Is there a reason…?” he pries not for his own knowledge but to fill the report, figure out if you’re suffering enough. As if suffering could be definitely measured. “I..umm…” You brace yourself with a deep breath, diverting your vision elsewhere. “I can’t really. If I ever love someone or someone loves me...they forget.” His brows lift. “They….forget?” The information is only known to few. All he knows is that you’ve been categorized into miscellaneous, the details of your ability are protected for your own privacy. But you nod anyhow, confirming his disbelief with hope for his aid. “They lose their memories about me. Everything that links me to them disappears. Pictures. Belongings...so I-uh can’t really um-...love anyone….” “Oh.” He processes the gravity of the situation, grasping an understanding of why you’re trying so desperately to get rid of it, why you’re willing to go through this excruciating process. “I’m sorry.” As inappropriate and even insulting as it is, it’s instinctual to apologize. He hasn’t seen a case like yours before. You smile, understanding his sympathy. “No, it’s okay. It’s no one’s fault really and it’s out of my control. It’s not….as terrible as you might think.” The only way you can cope is through optimism. “It’s unique and I like to think I’m kind of like cupid.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “Cupid? What do you mean?” “Sometimes, they don't just forget. They end up meeting their soulmate.” Those who forget you often meet the person they’re supposed to be with, the person that isn’t you. You’re a matchmaker to those that you love. “At least I can help people, right?” Hoseok stares. He watches you shrug, playing with your food before trying to take a bite. It’s quiet and he exhales. “That’s one way to look at it. It’s definitely unique.” He tries to match your chirpiness, but it comes up grimmer than intended. You recognize the pity and look away. “I’ll do my best to help you, Y/N,” Hoseok murmurs, finishing up. Tears cloud your vision and you nod, grateful for his sincerity, grateful that he’s recognized your hardships. “Thank you.” // It continues for the next few days — Hoseok shadows your quiet life, but he now knows your downlow existence isn’t purposeful. You were forced to live this way. Gradually, you begin to enjoy his company. You become more comfortable with one another. It’s not so strange or nerve wracking anymore to be in his presence or have him accompanying you from place to place. If anything, it’s less lonely when he comes around breakfast, leaving after dinner. You share your meals with him, small talk becoming deeper and more interesting, and you don’t even see his clipboard anymore. It almost feels normal. It’s a Saturday morning with Hoseok helps you run some errands. He escorts you to the grocery store, picking up his own things as the two of you weave through the many aisles. He insists on carrying your bags and you eventually relent. But as he pays for his own things, you decide to leave first, wanting to stop by the thrift store next door. Though your steps come to a halt when you find an older lady struggling with her bags in the middle of the parking lot. She’s an old woman, hunched over, frail hands and shaking arms. It takes less than a second for her to drop her groceries and for fruit of all sorts to go tumbling out. You step forward. “Oh my goodness— oh, thank you so much for helping.” “No, it’s...fine…” You reach down, collecting her produce and stuffing them back in the bag. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” “I can bring it to your car if you’d like.” “Would you? My back is feeling awful these days.” “It’s not a problem.” You assist her with her bags, relieving the tension in her arms and shouldering the weight. By the time Hoseok exits the store and goes looking for you, confused at how you’ve disappeared, you’re finished loading her things in the back of her car. He soon spots you and approaches. “Y/N?” “Hey…” The lady gently closes the truck of her small car. “Thank you so much for helping. I really appreciate it.” She looks over Hoseok and smiles softly. “Your wife is so kind. You’re very lucky to have someone so compassionate.” “Oh...we’re…” “Umm…” There’s no use in clearing up the misunderstanding, so you settle for, “You’re welcome.” “Have a good day now.” You’re left standing there, watching her smile and get into her vehicle. Hoseok walks towards the direction of your parked car with you, holding onto all the groceries. “What happened?” You stop momentarily, looking over your shoulder to observe the way the car drives off. “I was just helping her with her groceries.” But as your eyes are strayed off, Hoseok’s own are pinpointed on your face. There’s an expression that he can’t decipher, that seems conflicted and sad all at once. He’s not sure what spurs the next question, though it tumbles from his lips anyhow, “Did you know her?” Your head turns, gaze meeting Hoseok’s. “She’s...my mom…” And she didn’t recognize you whatsoever. Your own mother gave birth to you and raised you. There’s not even a single inkling or sign of awareness. The realization slams into Hoseok and while you smile, walking off to the car, he can’t help but let his eyes bore into your backside, brows knitted together. His heart aches. It squeezes in his chest, making him uncomfortable. His words clog into his throat, creating a lump that hurts. He can’t imagine — you, a sixteen year old, who believed you’re one of the few unfortunate who are powerless, only to have your abilities activated unexpectedly. And have your own family love you enough to forget about your entire existence. For no one to believe you when you went to the hospital, city hall, the police. For you to be lost without anyone to love. For it to take this long for someone to recognize this terrible ability. For it to be this painful for you to try to get rid of it. “You don’t have to feel bad,” you pipe up in the middle of the highway, breaking him from his thoughts. “It is what it is. I’m used to it. And my parents are doing well. That’s all that matters to me.” “I’m not pitying you,” he clarifies, staring at the profile of your face. “I just….want to put myself in your shoes to get a better understanding.” The corner of your mouth tugs and you glance at him. “I thought you weren’t supposed to become emotionally attached to your cases. Isn’t it bad to get too personal?” Hoseok scoffs, leaning back. He admires your bravery to continue persevering so long in this kind of condition. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to do it. “I’m human. It’s natural to be compassionate.” “You’re kind.” It’s a comment out of the blue but you mean it. A part of you was scared he wouldn’t care and it wouldn’t be a surprise considering the amount of people who saw you more as a case study than a human. “You’re very kind, Hoseok.” “I try.” A soft laugh bubbles from his lips. “I think empaths do a better job than I do.” “Empaths are forced to feel. They have no choice,” you muse. “Even when you don’t have that ability, what counts if that you’re trying. That’s admirable.” A gentle smile pulls onto his features. “Are you curious on my actual ability?” “A little.” You steal a peek at him before gripping the steering wheel tighter. “But I wouldn’t force you to share.” “I want to. I feel like I know so much about you and your ability, but you don’t know that much about mine.” It’s a personal detail after all and you’re moved that he wants to treat you as an equal, not someone of higher authority. Hoseok’s smile grows. “It’s only fair, right?” “Can I try guessing?” You offer and he tells you to go for it. “I don’t think you have a mental-based power. You can’t seem to read my mind and you’re not an empath either. I don’t think it’s strength-based. You don’t look like you have super strength.” He scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?” At his pout, laughter squeezes out of you. “Can I guess…..emission category. Your smile makes the room warmer.” “That’s….really beautiful.” He wonders why you would say something like that. But it’s meaningful, one of the highest compliments he’s received. “I wish. Unfortunately, my actual power’s a lot lamer. I’m a divine creationer. I can fabricate memories.” “That’s not lame at all.” The blinker flickers on and you merge onto the street, getting closer to your apartment. Once you stop at a red light, you turn to look at him. “That’s amazing. It has to be better than labeled as miscellaneous, right?” Hoseok grins. “I guess, but it’s not like I can make my own memories and at the end of the day, they’re fake.” “I don’t think so,” you lightly refute. “I feel like it’s one thing to experience something for yourself in the moment, but the memory is what lasts. If you can make your own memories without experiencing it, then that’s limitless. You can feel like you’ve lived through anything. There would be no such thing as missed opportunities.” “You’re right,” he softly murmurs. “I don’t use my ability a lot, but it doesn’t inhibit anything I do which I’m thankful for. I don’t think I’m in any place to complain. But I used to be really jealous of mind-readers and teleporters or people who can fly.” “Same here.” You laugh, finding something in common with Hoseok. Your childhood was full of envy, watching other classmates discover and play with their abilities as you remained powerless. “I knew someone who could fly actually. They took me up to the sky once…” You wistfully sigh and he grins, curious. “Really? Isn’t that illegal?” “Don’t arrest me,” you tease. “This was a good decade ago and it wasn’t that dangerous. His name was Jungkook. We...uh...dated for a while...but I remember he carried me in his arms and yeah...it was fascinating. Really quiet up there actually. Would not recommend if you were scared of heights.” You brush it off, but Hoseok can’t help asking, “What happened to him?” “He ended up forgetting about me.” You’re nonchalant, looking straight ahead, but your voice is strained and your hands grip the steering wheel tighter. “And he met his soulmate. I think he’s married and has a kid now. Haven’t heard of him much after that.” There’s silence and you break it with a small laugh before it suffocates you. “I’m glad he’s with someone who’s meant to be with him. In a sense, I bring people together.” You turn, parking the car in the lot. But as the engine dies out and you remove the keys, he doesn’t get out. No one moves. “You know, I don’t believe in soulmates,” Hoseok tells you quietly. “If everything was left to destiny, then no one needs to try, right? And if everything was predetermined, that means there’s no such thing as mistakes. I don’t believe in that.” Your eyes are glossy, stirred from within. Fate. Destiny. Soulmates. All those that you’ve spoken with wished to some degree or another that such thing existed. That way, no one would have to be alone. That way, they could be comforted that someone out there was meant for them. But that also meant you were terribly alone and it would be out of your control. “You don’t believe in soulmates?” “I don’t.” He shakes his head, gaze locked into yours. “I think we get to choose the people who we want to be with. We all have a choice.” It’s moving. These are words you wished to hear. From anyone. Someone. They are comforting more than you ever thought was possible. It gives you a sense of hope that you hang onto, like a lone raft in the middle of the ocean. His voice is soothing, a lullaby. It’s reassuring. // It’s late at night when Hoseok’s tapping away at his keyboard relentlessly without a moment’s break. It’s near midnight, no one else on the floor of his office. The fluorescent lights are flickering above his head and it burns his eyes, giving him a throbbing headache. He takes a second to rest before downing the coffee in his thermostat. It’s still not enough. None of it is. No matter how much effort he pours into your application, he doesn’t know if it’s good, if it’s sufficient. Your diagnosed depression and anxiety disorder is understandable — if he were in your circumstances, he’d be in constant devastation. Frankly, Hoseok’s surprised you’re still up with a job, living in society despite your ability. But it doesn’t matter how he feels. He knows the facts. They’ve rejected people with less cause before, and he has no doubt others would be scared that your mental state would inhibit your decision making. After all, the guidelines are tough for a reason, tough for protection when they’re not protecting who they should be. Still, Jung Hoseok tries his best to draft up a personal attached letter — strongly recommending that this case receive the request they have submitted, that the quality of life for this person would drastically improve if their ability is made obsolete. In his professional opinion and of all the cases he’s investigated, he’s never seen a case where the risk of the surgery has been more worth it. Hoseok finishes the final draft after hours and stamps it with a special request emblem, red so that it’s seen. But he still doesn’t know if it’s enough. If any of this is enough. “Hoseok?” “Huh?” “Are you alright?” He’s stopped eating, mouth hanging open to collect flies. As he catches himself, he seals his lips and sets his spoon down. “Is everything okay?” “Sorry...I was just lost in thought.” “Yeah, you looked like it,” you laugh. Yet, Hoseok isn’t as bubbly as before. He’s resorted to playing with his food and after a moment, his eyes flicker up to you. “Y/N, I want to offer something to you.” “What is it?” “I think I can help you. And I want to.” He swallows hard, hands falling into his lap. “Let me fabricate memories for your parents.” You sputter, choking on your food. It’s trapped in your throat and you grab your glass of water, downing half of it and then pounding your chest. “P-pardon?” It’s too personal. Out of the scope of his job. Hoseok is becoming too emotionally invested in this case, too close, but if there’s any use for his ability, he wholeheartedly believes it’s now. “I want to try fabricating memories for your parents. They would remember that you’re their daughter and I’m sure those memories wouldn’t change or be removed by your own power.” “I-….why?” You don’t understand why he wants to go this far to help you. “I don’t know if your application will be received,” he delivers the news bluntly. “Your….circumstances are difficult to write on paper. And your diagnosis might work against you. I don’t know if it’ll go through.” “Oh.” “I’m trying my best, but I want to help you if I can. In any way possible.” “I...I’ve already accepted this.” As much as you appreciate the gesture, you’re uncertain, unsure. “A-and….their memories would be fake.” “But their love for you wouldn’t be. I can’t create emotions,” he tells you sincerely and it makes you nervous beyond belief. “You deserve better than this. You deserve to feel loved. It’s okay.” The small home is silent, pins able to be heard if they were dropped on the floorboards. Hoseok wonders why himself — why he wants to help so badly when he’s never gone this far before. He just knows it’s not because of sympathy or pity. Maybe because you remind him of himself. The constant acceptance, taking the path of least resistance, living a quiet life to not disturb others. Placating others, never fighting for yourself, for what you want, for what you believe in. He wants to do something meaningful. He wants to fight for you. “And if it doesn’t work?” He smiles gently. “Then we’ll think of something else.” It’s an old address that you barely remember. But once you’re standing in front of it, the house, the lawn, the mailbox, you realize nothing’s changed. It takes hard work and mental persuasion for you not to burst out crying. Hoseok must realize your turmoil, so he gives you a pat on the back, reassuring you before he approaches the path to the door. The man ahead of you rings the bell and together, you listen to the parade of footsteps on the other side. The door swings open. “Hi.” Your mom is aged, wrinkles decorated around her eyes, not recognizing you from a week ago when you helped her in the parking lot. “Can I help you?” “Oh, we’re just wondering if you’d like to install a new air conditioning system in your house.” Hoseok makes up the lie on the spot and he’s bad — never a destined deceit manipulator. “Is your husband home?” “Well, he is, but I don’t think we’re interested. I don’t even know if we ever use our air conditioning.” She still shouts for your father’s name over her shoulder. Hoseok hums. “Oh, well, please contact us when you’re interested then.” The man’s arms extend, palm open for a polite handshake. It doesn’t mean much. And your mother reaches out, shaking it without hesitation. The moment she touches him, you watch as his eyes cloud over. Her grip becomes limp. Tension releases from her shoulders. You don’t know what’s happening, if it will work. Your breath is held in your throat but Hoseok isn’t nervous, staring at the woman before shutting his eyes in concentration. He conjures up the fake memories — envisioning a happy day when she announced the pregnancy to her husband, a younger version of herself carrying you for nine months. Hoseok imagines how she would’ve felt like holding you for the first time, soothing you in the middle of the night as you cried, the times when you first walked, when you babbled her name. He passes on as many childhood memories that he can possibly convey through his touch, recalling his own memories so they’re not completely groundless and baseless. Hoseok stitches together images of the first time you held her hands, the first time you entered school, when you graduated, when you got your first job, endless, endless memories…. And then he lets go. There’s a pause. Your mother’s eyes zone back into reality, crashing down from her trance. Her head falls to the side and her brows furrow. Most of all, her gaze is filled with recognition. “....Y/N?” It’s the first time she’s called your name in a decade. “M-mom?” She scoffs, looking between you and Hoseok. “What are you standing out here for? Who’s this?” “Ummm….he-he’s a friend….selling air conditioning.” You laugh, bubbling out of you unintentionally and tears cloud your vision, clinging to your lashes as you blink. You wipe your face quickly before the tears can shed down your cheeks. It hurts that the repair of your life was so simply found but the pain was drawn out for so long. You’re relieved, overwhelmed, upset. “Honey, who’s at the door?” Your father approaches and glances at both you and Hoseok. “Who’s this?” “It’s nice to meet you.” Again, the man beside you extends his hand and your father shakes it out of courtesy. The same thing occurs, strength lost, grip limp, eyes glossed over. It puts a strain on Hoseok to use his ability to such an extent, but he pushes through and tries his best through breaths staggering past gritted teeth. It’s a strain as he imagines the big events of your life, the little ones, allowing the other man to fill the spaces in between. Hoseok fabricates the memories, drawing them out inside his own head, painting them and filling them with colour, bringing them to life. In ten seconds, he’s created a whole lifetime and he lets go. “This is Y/N’s friend,” your mom introduces, pleasantly surprised. “It’s a boy,” your father comments, eyes sweeping at his figure up and down, sizing the man up. They act as if it’s always been like this — you, their precious daughter, a constant in the lives that they feel the need to protect. You’re emotional, hands shaking, knees weak. And you push past Hoseok, running up to the pair of them and engulfing them in an embrace. You hold them as close as you can, nearly sobbing into their shoulder. “W-what’s going on?” Your mother laughs awkwardly while your father is as stiff as a stick. “What are you doing?” “I love you,” you repeat in a broken whisper. It’s been years since they’ve last recognized you as their daughter. You’re no longer ostracized from your family, an outsider against your own will. They know who you are and they love you — your love is no longer a weapon used against yourself. Your father calls you by your name seconds later, confused, and you let go. They don’t know what’s going on, befuddlement etched on their expressions, wondering if you did something wrong and now you’re trying to butter them up, but it’s nothing of that sort. “Well….I’ll go get refreshments for your friend.” Your mother brushes off your odd behaviour when she finds Hoseok still awkwardly lingering at the front door step. She returns his kind smile and goes off into the kitchen. Your father, on the other hand, steps away from you and grunts, remembering the stranger in his presence. “You have a job, boy?” “It’s um….a government job.” “Good pay?” “Dad,” you whisper, but you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. “C-can you give us a moment?” His eyes narrow onto Hoseok, but he reluctantly walks away and you wait until you hear your parents talking in the kitchen, mother chiding him for being so stern. Your mind is still unable to wrap around it. It’s surreal and you’re about to have an emotional breakdown, overwhelmed that the people who saw you as a stranger finally recognized who you really were. You can still remember the morning where the tide turned and you woke up with them shaking you, not knowing who you were, throwing you out and believing you were sick when you said they were your parents. “I...I don’t know h-how to thank….I….” “Don’t.” He smiles. “You don’t need to. I’m supposed to help, right? Just doing my job.” “No. This is….way more than that….” He knows it too. “I should go.” Hoseok turns reluctantly, hitching a thumb over to the road. It’s not what he particularly wants, but what he knows he should do. “Let you have some time to catch up. I’ll see you soon….the application is almost done...so….” “You should stay,” you insist, not wanting him to go so soon. “F-for dinner, I mean….d-do you want to have some dinner?” “No, I’m okay.” He grins and quips, “I’ll go have some lasagna instead.” Hoseok ends up bidding you farewell, giving a wave when he’s standing by his car and you watch as he drives off. But when he’s gone, you’re not left in quietness on your lonesome. The warm laughter of your family fills the space behind you. It was Hoseok that had given that back to you. // While the night is still young and you’re off surrounded by family in the warmth of your home, Hoseok sits alone at the desk inside his apartment. He spins around in his swivel chair, staring at the ceiling, reliving the moments of today inside his mind — playing back the memories like they’re tapes, recalling the way you looked at him, the way you smiled as he stood at the doorstep. He sharply inhales, forcibly wrenching himself from remembering and he shakes off the emotion that’s been placed at his feet. Instead, the man composes himself and reaches for papers in his drawer, taking a pen inside the cup he has in the corner. And Hoseok begins to write. Journal entries, scribbles, anything that comes to mind. He writes all he can remember, the first time he ever had an encounter with you to the little quirks he’s noticed in his days of observation. He writes papers upon papers, afraid that he’ll forget. Afraid that one day, he won’t remember this anymore. // “I’ve sent the paperwork off. Everything looks good.” He tells you the news over coffee instead of being in the quietness of his office. This is one of the last times Hoseok might ever see you again — his job is finished. He can’t go any further than he already has and knowing such, he savours the moment. “I’m glad.” “It was nice to meet you.” The man tries his best to remain professional, but he slips, showing his faults when he becomes too sincere, “I...hope things work out for you, Y/N. You deserve it.” “Thank you...for everything that you’ve done for me. Helping me with these documents, trying to understand where I’m coming from...um...and helping with my parents. I don’t...I just don’t know how I can ever repay you.” “Don’t.” Hoseok grins, coffee cup warm in his hand as he stares at you. “I don’t do things to be repaid.” “Let me at least take you out for dinner,” you offer after spending nights brewing over it. You don’t know how you could ever express your gratitude or pay back this debt you owe, but this is the only thing you thought of. “It’s the least I can do. I haven’t offered you a real meal when you stayed with me, and I want to thank you.” “I...ummm...don’t really go out with any of my clients.” It’s definitely strange, but deep down a part of him wants it too. Hoseok reminds himself that it’s over — his part is done. It’s okay to see you again. “But I’ll make an exception this time.” You smile. “I promise I’ll make your time worthwhile.” He scoffs, leaning forward over the table, closer to you with mischief glimmering in his eyes. “You better or I’ll charge you for my time.” It’s a simple dinner, a place he picked that’s rather modest and intimate. You order a soup and he orders noodles and you chat while waiting, while eating. For the first time, his questions aren’t asked to answer forms he has to fill out later. Conversations aren’t about his work or your ability. Nothing like that at all. The two of you speak about childhood memories, where you grew up, where he grew up, exchanging similar school stories before ranting about kid shows you used to watch and celebrity scandals that those actors ended up getting in. It’s fairly mundane, ridiculous even, but easy. It’s easy to talk to him, comfortable, and you aren’t nervous like the first time when you sat across from his desk. The food ends up being cold, but none of you mind over some heated conversations on the topic of how plausible Spider-Man's abilities are in real life. The debate aside, the outing goes well. Before you know it, it’s ended and he’s walking you down the street, hands deep in his pants pocket, steps synced to yours. “I..uh parked here.” “I parked over there.” “Oh.” You laugh, the coldness nipping at your nose and making spoken words into clouds of condensation. “What a coincidence. I..um...guess this is goodbye then.” “Yeah.” For a few seconds, Hoseok’s eyes flicker down to your lips. His skin is glowing underneath the lamppost’s yellow light and you notice how the pink of his tongue peeks out to wet the chapped corners of his mouth. But instinctively, you step back, refusing to kiss him — for his sake, more than yours. Hoseok must notice your apprehension since he quickly focuses back onto your eyes again, swallowing hard as apologies clog his throat, never coming out. He takes a deep breath to compose himself and says, “I-I’d love to see you again.” “What?” “I don’t know about you, but I had a really good time tonight.” His fists curl and he desperately wishes he had some liquid courage. But he grabs at the chance anyhow before it passes through his fingertips. In the past two weeks, he’s gotten to know you well and he likes you a lot. “And...and I’d love to see you again some time. If you want to.” “I….” You’d like that, very much. Except— “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m not in a position where I can have a relationship.” Your abilities prevent you from getting close to anyone and it’s the responsible thing to distance yourself from others before you end up getting hurt. But you’re beginning to feel particularly reckless and you don’t want him to leave. You want to see him again. “As friends,” Hoseok adds on quickly. “We can see each other as friends, right?” It’s a lie. He’s not a destined deceit manipulator and he knows for a fact he can’t just be your friend, but Hoseok doesn’t want to fabricate memories with you. He doesn’t want to daydream and wonder ‘what if’ tomorrow or in the next ten years. He wants things to be real with you. He wants to have the experience, to be in the present, even if the memories don’t last. You’re conflicted. The man who stands in front of you on this cold night is dangerous. You don’t know if you can take the leap, bear to be hurt again, muster up enough courage. But as he gazes at you in a way you’ve never known before, you step forward. “Okay.” It’s a soft whisper that means everything and a smile tickles its way onto your face. “But you better make my time worthwhile, Hoseok. Or I’ll charge you for my time.” A grin spreads into his cheeks and he has to resist the urge of cheering. “I promise I’ll make it worthwhile.” // Accepting Hoseok’s one request turns to two, three, four. A simple dinner and movie becomes long walks in the parks and afternoon picnics, conversations shared between glasses of wine or in the car driving to somewhere. You end up sharing breakfast, brunch, dinner with him, holding hands while window shopping, going out for ice-cream before ending up at your house again, this time with him laying on your bed. It’s wrong. Guilt, fear, terror boils in the pit of your stomach, but he somehow makes them silent in his presence. You can’t bear to end things, so you hope for the best, that the application will go through quicker and someone out there can help remove this ability from you before it’s too late. Before Hoseok succumbs to your curse. But your wish takes its time, just like all the years before. And in the meanwhile, time spent with Hoseok makes days fly, years short. He squirms his way closer to you without warrant, flashing grins and smiles, telling you not to worry. He knows what you’re afraid of and he assures you nothing will happen. It doesn’t work. He doesn’t have the gift of persuasion or of speaking honey words that could hypnotize you. The more comfortable you become with him, the more terrified you are. What begins as casual starts to become too serious. You try to not let him close, but the effort proves futile. It’s wrong. Wrong to be with him. Wrong that you could ever be with someone. Wrong that to let this happen when you knew better. All of it is wrong and goes against what you’re allowed. And the fear eventually boils over. Only, it happens on a Tuesday evening. During the first argument. “—I mean, would it kill you to at least rinse the plates?” you’re muttering at the sink, scrubbing furiously at the dishes and a sauce stain that won’t come off for some ungodly reason. Hoseok scoffs. “I did.” “Obviously not well enough.” “Why don’t you just move over and let me wash.” He joins your side and the way he offers to do it isn’t because of a good heart, but made from annoyance at how you’re irritated. It’s a cycle that both refuse to break because of stubbornness. “You don’t wash them right.” You’re done anyways, piling the dishes on top of the rack to let them dry. He’s unimpressed. “There’s a right way to wash them?” “Yes.” Your tone is curt and it’s humiliating how childish and dumb this fight is. You can’t back down for the sake of your embarrassment. “You just have to make them clean. Just cause they’re my dishes doesn’t mean you can just half-ass it.” “I don’t half-ass it,” he defends, pitch lifting. “Then why are your dishes at your place always cleaner than mine?” The tap is turned off and you turn to him with hands on your hips. This was definitely the stupidest thing the two of you have gotten mad about. “Then maybe we should just share the same dishes!” “How are we supposed to share the same dishes, Jung Hoseok?!” “Move in with me!” He shouts it suddenly, but not exactly impulsively. It’s as if he’s been thinking about it for a while now, considering it carefully and looking for a time to say it to you. The time isn’t perfect now — not at all close to how he imagined bringing it up, but the pair of you have never had time on your side after all. Hoseok’s heaving his breaths, catching up on breathing and you’re reeling, brows lifted, confused. Your voice is soft like he just personally attacked you, and in a way he did. You’re not hurt or damaged, just….caught off guard. “W-why would I do that?” He realized it now, standing in the kitchen with you, at both your ugliest, fighting about dishwashing. He doesn’t walk away. Neither do you. And Hoseok realizes he wouldn’t want to be with anyone else doing this, that if the rest of his life is filled with this stupid shit, he wouldn’t mind at all. As long as he’s here with you. “Because I—” “No!” You rush in urgency, pettiness escaping you. The dumb fight is forgotten in an instant and you can’t bear it. The words have caught in your throat, stuck and causing a thick lump that makes it hard to swallow. You know what he’s about to say and you don’t want to hear it. “Don’t fucking say it, Jung Hoseok. Don’t you dare.” He whispers your name, pleading with you and trying to get your attention. He has to. You step forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, head slumped. “Please, Hoseok,” you beg him. “Don’t say it. Don’t tell me.” A secure hand curls around your wrist, an arm wrapping around your waist. His head falls onto your shoulder. “Nothing will happen.” “It’ll happen,” you sob out. “It’ll happen, so don’t. Please. I don’t want to hear it.” “I have to.” He holds you tighter, grip full of unspoken apologies. “No, no, you don’t.” You’re crying pathetically, voice cracking unpleasantly, tears shedding down your face and falling onto the floor as if it’s raining. “I can’t change how I feel about you,” he whispers with a ghost of a smile on his lips, pressing it right on the juncture of your neck. “I can’t hide it, so I might as well say it out loud, right?” “N-no...please…” “I want to tell you before it’s too late.” “Hoseok—” “I love you.” He declares it boldly and without hesitation, wearing a soft smile tinged with sadness. Sobs break out of your throat and you tremble in his grasps. Hoseok holds your face in his hands, making you look at him past your blurry vision and he repeats it with conviction, “I’m in love with you.” You hug him, holding on like you’re an anchor, afraid he’s going to float away. You’re unable to say anything or choke out a coherent syllable, so he leans in to kiss you, dying to do so after the first date. Hoseok tilts his head and when his mouth meets yours, it’s soft, though not entirely sweet. Your salty tears linger, his touch bitter to you, but he remains gentle, gingerly kissing your lips over and over again with staggering exhales of regret stolen from the seam of his mouth. Hoseok soaks in your expression with half-lidded eyes before he shuts them, relishing in the feeling alone. This is what you were so apprehensive about. It’s your worst nightmare. And when it’s over, you’re left with heartache. Hoseok leans his forehead against yours and he promises something he can’t, “I’ll remember you again and I’ll fall in love with you again. Over and over. As many times as we need.” You embrace him close, but it doesn’t matter if he’s an arm’s length away or pressed against your body. He’s leaving, body here but mind not. He’s confident that he won’t forget, blindly so, believing in the letters he’s written about you, journal entries, pictures, that you’re here with him. He’s wrong. Once he’s fallen asleep against his will, giving in to the heavy seduction of slumber, you slip away from his grasps, grabbing clothes to cover your naked skin and you leave your own home. You can’t bear to stay and watch as confusion takes over his face, wondering who you are, why he’s in a stranger’s home. Once he takes the traces of himself out of your place in the morning, you’ll be left solely with his scent clinging to the bed sheets and your own quiet mind. And as you had imagined, when Hoseok awakes hours later, he is bewildered. The home is empty and he picks himself up slowly off the bed, clothing himself, calling out to no one. He is utterly confused and glances at the picture frames on shelves, photographs of a woman he doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand, clutching his own head and deducts that this was a one night stand. Whoever you are, it was a one night stand, a reckless mistake he made while drunk. His memory is void. All the dark ink of the letters and entries he’s written about fades into the paper, becoming invisible. The pictures snapped of you and him together erases you until he’s alone in the frame. Every effort made vanishes. It’s wiped away from his brain. He doesn’t know your name. While Hoseok can fabricate memories, his own are ripped away from him. But he cannot even mourn for such a tragic irony. He simply digs his feet in his shoes that are placed near the entrance in a neat fashion. He digs his hands into his pants pocket. He leaves. And just like that, Jung Hoseok is gone from your life.

[Epilogue] There’s something important on his mind that he can’t quite pinpoint. Hoseok feels like he’s forgetting something very important. It’s one of those things that he recalls his past self told his future self that he definitely needs to remember. But it isn’t an errand he needs to run or something he has to pick up from the grocery store, he knows that much. Still, it’s on the tip of his tongue, the edge of his mind and it drives him crazy. Hoseok doesn’t know what it is and he can’t dispel this discomfort from his chest. “Umm...excuse me.” There’s a tap on his shoulder and he turns to find a pretty girl with sparkling, brown eyes smiling brightly at him. “I think it’s your turn.” “O-oh…” He follows to where she’s pointing and rushes forward to the counter where the worker is waiting patiently. Hoseok makes his coffee order and walks over to the other station while his drink is being made. The girl from behind him also makes her own order and then comes over. He burns in embarrassment and for some reasons out of instinct, he strikes up a conversation instead of brushing it off. “S-sorry about that.” The female giggles. “It’s no problem.” She looks away and then steals a glance at him. “I don’t blame you. Monday mornings can be tiring and sometimes I forget where I am.” “Yeah.” He releases a long exhale, smiling. “I was just really lost in thought. Hopefully the coffee will help.” “It probably will. It always does.” He nods and before the conversation can die off, he asks, “Do you come here a lot?” “Sometimes.” She fiddles with the fabric of her floral dress that hugs her frame. Hoseok feels nervous in her presence and he’s certain he’s never felt this way before, but the emotion isn’t foreign to him. He’s not sure why. “Actually, I don’t know why I went to this one today. I just got a feeling that I should. Usually, I go to the one on fifth avenue.” “Oh. Is fifth avenue’s coffee shop better?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think it depends on the person.” Hoseok swallows hard and goes in for the kill. “I should check it out then. I’ve never been. But I wouldn’t really know what’s good to order. I think I would need someone...to join me…” The girl blinks and laughter bubbles up her throat — it’s pleasant to the ears. “Are you suggesting that I be the one to join you?” He shrugs, playing it casual. “If you want, I’d love to take you out for coffee some time.” She lightly scoffs, smile still spread into her rosy cheeks. “Just because you’re so smooth, I’ll agree. But I don’t even know your name.” “Jung Hoseok.” He extends his hand and she shakes it. “Seo Soojin.” The woman grins and his chest feels a flutter. “It’s nice to meet you.” His smile expands. “Likewise.” // Jung Hoseok’s met his soulmate. He’s confident in it. While he doesn’t even believe in the concept of a kindred soul, his mind is consistently boggled over this girl. How easily she fits into his life. How much she matches him, compliments his personality, makes up for what he lacks. She is a puzzle piece, fitting right into his life like she was always meant to be there. She loves to help people as much as he does. She gardens in her spare time, a hobby that she adores and she eventually teaches him how to keep flower bushes alive. Soojin is bright and beautiful, chirpy and cute, reminding him of sunshine itself. She is everything he could want. A date turns to two, three, four. He’s happy and he thinks he’s never felt like this before. Yet, something feels missing. “Hoseok?” “Hmmm?” “Are you okay?” she asks over a candle light dinner, restaurant filled with murmurs from patrons around them. Hoseok lifts his face to find her frowning in concern, having gone quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Was just thinking about something else.” He’s holding himself back. It doesn’t feel right. It feels— It feels wrong. Hoseok’s uncomfortable and his instincts make him lean away from her touch, makes him keep her at a distance. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, why he’s acting like this when the perfect girl is in front of him. “Jung, you there?” His boss is at the door, leaning on the frame, interrupting his stream of thoughts. “Boy, you look tired.” “Yeah, I’m sorry.” He leans back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose to get a grip of himself before he gets fired. “Well, just wanted to tell you that case number six four three seven is moving ahead. They were going to throw out the application, but your special request letter ended up changing some minds up there. It’s usually not your style to be anything other than professional. But even I gotta admit it was pretty touching. You’ve never personally vouched for anyone so that was a surprise.” The older man shrugs. “I know it was a special case to you, so I thought I’d let you know.” “W-what?” Hoseok is more confused than before. He has no idea what the man is talking about. He searches through his computer. Nothing. There aren’t any files on this case number. He’s baffled and ends up dropping his knees, fingertips running through the files in his file cabinet. There’s no paperwork whatsoever in his belongings. Hoseok becomes fixated on the issue, obsessed. It’s like he’s an inch away from scratching an itch on his back that’s been driving him to the brink of insanity. And he is compelled by a sixth sense to spend a late night at the office, skipping dinner out on his girlfriend and sending a delayed text message as an apology. He leaves his office to the main floor, going to the very back in the room of cabinets where they keep copies of everything. Hoseok files through the numbers until there’s white paper coating the carpeted floor. He pulls everything out that he can. It bothers him. Bewitched him. He needs to know what’s going on. And after hours of drowning in the sea of paperwork, he finds the file folder with the correct string of numbers. Euphoria fills his body as he holds it and he doesn’t waste time to flip it open. Hoseok finds your application, the report he filled out, the letter he wrote attached to it — he doesn’t understand. He didn’t write this. He doesn’t remember doing this. But these are his words, his writing, his signature marked at the bottom. “Are you alright, Seok?” It lingers on his mind and he’s only shocked out of it when Soojin hugs him from behind when he’s at the sink, washing the dishes. Her arms wrap around his abdomen, tight, scared at how distant he feels. It gives him a sense of déjà vu, but it still feels wrong. Wrong. Wrong! He pulls her off of him. Hoseok shuffles away in discomfort, escaping from her grasps and wandering hands. “I’m….fine. You should go to bed,” he mumbles. “Didn’t you say you were sleepy?” His girlfriend ends up walking away in silence, hurt. He doesn’t know what’s going on. This is his soulmate. There’s nothing he can complain about, no faults in her at all that he can nitpick. She’s perfect for him, a flawless couple that makes others ooze of envy. But he’s the sole cause of the rift between them. Hoseok is self-sabotaging his relationship. And he doesn’t know why. “We haven’t had a date in so long,” she is curt, angry and he feels guilt overwhelm him when he realizes he made her this way. “We’re going to the movies this weekend.” “I’m busy—” “No but’s, Hoseok.” Soojin is done and walks away, forcing him to begrudgingly oblige. It happens on a Tuesday evening. The sun is falling from the horizon, painting the world in golden hues. His eyes are bleary, muscles aching from the long day of work, and yet he has to drag his legs forward. Soojin is stomping ahead of him, steps heavy, marching straight ahead with a frown. He lags behind her with his hands deep in his pockets, sighing. But something catches in his peripheral vision. It’s a flutter of someone's skirt, their hair brushing in the wind, a sweet scent that he used to know wafting over to overwhelm his senses. It’s someone familiar. And his heart stings. His head whips away from the front and he looks over, eyes locking with this person’s. You’re standing across the street. Feet rooted in the ground. Shock. Fear. Relief. Longing. And above all, a sorrowful regret etched on your beautiful features that takes Hoseok’s breath away. He knows you from somewhere, though he can’t pinpoint it. Maybe at some point you had sat across his desk from him nervously fiddling with your fingers in your lap, maybe he had sat across from you at a restaurant table….maybe this….maybe that…. All Hoseok is certain about is that he can’t move away. You can’t either, staring, watching, frozen in time as people pass by on the street towards their homes. Hoseok softly gazes at you, the way the golden dusk light makes you shine somehow. He can’t look anywhere else. It takes ten seconds before Soojin realizes he’s no longer following her and she turns around on her heels. “Hoseok! What are you doing?!” But he ignores her. He can’t hear her whatsoever. It’s instinct that takes over Hoseok, making him cross that street. He takes a step forward. And like he promised, he doesn’t need his memories.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok angst #I know this got some Jungle Park vibes - but it's different #I swear hahahahahha #I thought of the concept a long time ago #but I felt like Hoseok fit it best #and looking at the outcome I think he did in the end #:D

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javisjeanjacket · 3 years

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The Phantom Menace Drunk Re-Watch

A/N: y’all asked for more reviews and I am here to serve. :) also THE HORSE IS OUT OF THE HOSPITAL CAN I GET A HELL YEAH YOU KNOW I HAD TO CELEBRATE SOMEHOW!!

I am already regretting re-watching this god awful movie but i can’t do maul dirty

there are spoilers for phantom menace in this list but like...its been out for 21 years. if you havent seen it yet what the fuck are you doing

Jesus christ this thing is 2 hours long fuck me

Starting the opening crawl off with a bunch of high brow political information was a BOLD move at best

Obi-Wan "I have a bad feeling about this." Kenobi

YESS OBI AND QUI FUCK EM UP BOIS

Okay okay wait so around 7 minutes into the movie they have a standoff with two droidekas and the droidekas are kicking their asses and so they escape and then somehow just zoom out of the frame?? like they don't walk they're just pulled by some kind of force??? 1999, man

Obi: "The negotiations were short" what a smug ass bitch i love it

"A communications interruption can only mean one thing-invasion" dude what the hell that can not be the case. have you checked the wifi router my guy

Oh fuck I forgot jar jar binks is in this movie get me another beer

also who plays jar jar?? becauseeee I just want to talk. why would you do this to us

That cheek blubbering shaking he does?? JAIL. I AM ABSOLUTELY PUTTING YOU UNDER ARREST STOP RIGHT NOW

Do you think the phantom menace was for the prequels what rise of skywalker was for the sequels in terms of disappointment in the theater

So fun fact about me I have a horrible fear of the ocean and water in general so this whole underwater sequence is literally making my skin crawl

Naboo is vaguely reminiscent of rivendell from lord of the rings I said what I said

While I do respect how much effort they put into the political side of this movie's plot I feel like it's kind of getting in the way tbh

HELL YEAH FIGHT SCENE IN THE HANGAR BAY

"hello boyos." Me trying to flirt

What makes me emo is knowing that R2 was there for literally everyone's adventures and he saw it all and he knows it all but he can't tell anyone :(

MAULLLLLL HELLO SIR ITS V NICE TO SEE YOU

Jar jar is the 8th circle of hell

How tall is Natalie Portman?? because standing next to Liam neeson she looks like she's about 3 feet 4 inches

Anakin's first words to Padme: "are you an angel?" 🥺🥺 Oh-

Watto's neck beard makes me increeeeedibly uncomfortable

Also why doesnt Jedi mind control work on toyardarians?? I have questions

Jesus christ sebulba is terrifying

OBI'S CAPE IN THE WIND SO MAJESTIC I LOVE IT

Okay so at 38:38 into the movie r2 is going into Ani's bedroom and there's a wood carving that looks exactly like Maz Kanata??? 👀👀👀

🥺🥺🥺 3PO and R2 meeting for the first time!!!

Not jar jar eating his food from his plate like a fucking dog please just kill me

Qui-Gon: "I don't know there's just something about this boy." Me about literally anythinf with a pulse and floppy brown hair

C-3PO: "You know, I find that Jar Jar creature to be a little odd." Lol SAME

What is wild to me is that ani's midichlorian count is dummy thicc but it's not talked about enough to be something I remember

MAUL HAS ENTERED THE SCENE THE MAN IS HERE EVERYONE BATTON DOWN THE HATCHES

Qui-Gon to Watto: "Patience, my blue friend." Sksksksk Qui-Gon please

Wait wait wait one of the pod racer announcers is played by one of the guys who was on Whose Line is it Anyway? I just realized! What an amazing show I miss it everyday

That animal farting in jar jar's face lol he deserves it

Also lol why is sebulba so mean to Anakin?? Anakin is like 9 years old. Sebulba is definitely full grown. grow up you fucking loser

I've reached that point in my drinking adventure that I am get very tired so fingers crossed that I don't fall asleep 🤞🏻

Watching this pod race sequence as a child is part of the reason I have so much anxiety now

"Skywalker's spinning out of control!" Lol same

Anakin ate that race tbh

Has anyone written qui gon x shmii content?? because he just put a hand on her shoulder and 👀👀 I am thönking

MAUL V QUI FIGHT SCENE LETS GOO

Listen LISTEN Anakin is like what 9 or 10 in this movie and Padme is ?? 15? 16? No dude. No giving of a necklace and saying "I care for you" absolutely not. JAIL

Palpatine is so good at emotionally manipulating people he must drive a Honda Accord and his favorite movie must be Clockwork Orange

MACE WINDU I SEE YOUUUU YEEHAW

The reveal of Padme as queen doesn't make any sense. Like why?? You could have just waited until it was absolutely necessary bro no need for a dramatic entrace

Anakin too baby to be in battle

Wait is this movie the Star Wars version of the classic man vs technology?? because I'm thinking about the gungans which are very like organic and versus the droids

Also the gungans shield didn't stop the droids from just straight up walking through so like what the fuck is the point guys

YASSSS Maul and Obi and Qui-Gon here we go!!

Seeing maul bust out the double edged lightsaber really made me tingle when I was a young lass

This maul fight is incredibly extra but what else do you expect from the Star Wars franchise

Qui-Gon meditating while waiting for the barrier to fight Maul is absolutely too much

Yay!! the evil donut blows up

IN CONCLUSION

I did fall asleep towards the end there I'm not gonna lie, but ya know, we've all seen this movie before, so.

it was just as horrible as i remembered it but like....i did enjoy falling in and out of sleep as it played in the background so that counts for something right??

#the phantom menace #BIDEN IS PRESIDENT BABY #BOTTOMS UP LADS #drunk rewatch

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jemej3m · 5 years

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What Now? (p2)

andrew and neil get protective over their respective kids: kevin is a history nerd. robin is an exy junkie. we meet allison, nicky and renee. (also yes, ms danielle wilds and headmaster matthew boyd are trying their best to remain professional at work but they be havin a BANGIN good time together ya know)

“...And I’m sorry for cutting your hair with craft scissors, and I’m sorry for drawing on you ini permanent marker when we were meant to be napping, and I’m sorry for saying your stupid history books are stupid, and I’m sorry for putting grapes into the bottom of your bag, and I’m sorry for telling Thea that you have cooties so that she wouldn’t kiss you, and I’m sorry for scribbling on your things, and calling you bad names, and pushing you.”

Neil Josten sighed. His daughter still sounded rather petulant, which meant none of this had truly gotten through. They’d written this speech at the dinner table last night, and he’d been almost impressed at the antics she’d described to him.

Matthew Boyd looked pleased, sitting back in his chair. “Okay? Are we all happy?”

Andrew Minyard - all it’d taken was a quick search for articles to flood Neil’s feed - said nothing, watching Neil from under his eyelashes. Neil had no clue what he wanted from him, and had stubbornly avoided looking in his direction as both kids read their apologies. Kevin was brooding, looking out the window. Robin’s hand was tugging on Neil’s sleeve.

“Thank you for your time, Neil, Andrew.” Boyd stood. “I hope both of you will continue to remind both Kevin and Robin how important civility is.”

Neil was sure that all four of them grimaced at the idea of civility. If Andrew was going to use Neil’s past to degrade his worth as a parent, he’d have to try a little harder than that. Besides: He was being hypocritical. Neil had never been arrested, let alone sent to court and convicted - Andrew had. Twice.

Shuffling Robin out, they stood next to one another on the pavement, Robin holding his hand. The whole ordeal was over now. Time to forget Andrew Minyard and his arrogant son.

"Off to class?” He tipped Robin’s chin up carefully.

She nodded, but tears were welling in the corners of her eyes and threatening to spill. Neil knelt down immediately.

“Robin, what’s wrong.” He took her cheeks in his hands.

“I didn’t really mean to push Kevin.” She blubbered. “Is that why you’re going away tonight?”

“Oh, sweetheart, no.” He drew her in, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

Tonight, Robin would stay with Allison Reynolds. She was the parent of Laila and Jeremy, who’s daughter had long moved on from Exy, but who’s son remained on Neil’s A-Grade team. They were close friends. Robin had grown to adore Laila, doting on her like a little sister, taking time to teach Robin to bake, play backyard Exy, or even help with homework. She stayed with them when Neil had to travel out of state with his team.

“I don’t want to.” She sniffled. “Why don’t you take me with you, like you normally do?”

“Because they’ve skewed the scheduling, Robin. I don’t want you to miss school.” He brushed a kiss on her forehead whilst she was being unresistant, revelling in the affections that Robin had grown comfortable with. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, I promise. Allison has your things, and your nightlight: The guest bedroom always has its locks. Laila will keep you safe, okay? Maybe she’ll bake you those brownies that you love.”

She perked up slightly, nodding and taking off: Her glittery backpack bounced on her back. “Bye Dad!” She called over her shoulder, waving. Neil closed his eyes as his chest squeezed.

It always pained him to see Robin go.

With shaky hands, he drew out his pack of cigarettes and shook out the lighter. His fingers were trembling, making it difficult to spark one. Frustratedly, he threw the lighter into the bin on his left and rubbed his eyes, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

“Want a light?”

Slowly, he peeled his eyes open.

Andrew Minyard was stood to his right, offering a sparked lighter.

Andrew watched Neil Josten light his cigarette and take a slow drag, hollowing his scarred cheeks. His eyes were the same spectacular blue of the sky, his hair almost the colour of blood. Fitting, for the Butcher’s boy. It would be shocking, if Andrew wasn’t incapable of being shocked, that Neil would be here. It was always strange to see people you heard of in the news when you were younger.

What a quiet life he’s arranged for himself, here.

Andrew could say the same. Only moments ago had he carted Kevin off to class, books under his arm and a sullen set to his frown. His son was a miserable nerd. It was hilarious.

“I know about you.” Neil offered. “I don’t want your son near my daughter.”

“And I know about you.” Andrew rebutted. He couldn’t deny he didn’t appreciate the honesty. Most parents at this school were conniving fuckwits. “I don’t want your daughter near my son.”

“Good.” Neil huffed. “That’s settled, then.”

Andrew wasn’t finished. “What do you do?”

Neil rose a single eyebrow, keeping his gaze on the stagnant carpark in front of them. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon: Andrew hated the humid, electric storms of South Carolina’s summers. “I coach the junior state Exy teams. You?”

“Criminal prosecutor.”

At least Neil had the audacity to laugh. Andrew hid the twitch at the corner of his mouth behind his hand, watching as Neil dropped his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with his heel. He looked at Andrew one last time, and really, fuck him for looking like that. “Keep your son away from my daughter, Minyard, and we won’t have any problems.”

“Shove your attitude up your ass, and then we’ll have no problems.” Andrew left with his mocking salute, walking towards his car. He was sure Neil continued glared at him until he’d driven well out of his range of vision.

It was a big enough school that he’d most likely never run into Neil Josten and his pretty eyes again.

That was fine by Andrew - but oh, boy. He’d been very wrong.

Neil was extremely uncomfortable. A big banner across the auditorium read Bring Your Parent To School Day with dozens of exclamation marks: Around him were a chaotic cohort of children and parents, gathered into small groups and chattering excitedly. Robin had disappeared five minutes ago, and he was anxiously looking for her to return. Allison was supposed to be here, but she was nowhere to be seen, and Andrew Minyard was across the room.

Socialising wasn’t his thing: Everyone here was discussing their jobs, college, high school, reminiscing, all that shit. Neil had spent his elementary years home schooled, his high-school years running, his college years in perpetual fear and his occupation fighting the prejudice established against him.

This place was a rumour gold-mine.

“Neil! Neil!” Robin barrelled into him. “Look! These are my friends, Abby and Bee!”

One was blonde and pink-cheeked, who looked very shy. The other was grinning madly, her chubbiness endearing. Their mother rushed after them, skidding to a stop before she could barrel into Neil head-first. They all wore matching silver necklaces, crosses hanging daintily at their necks. The mother’s silver hair, however, was streaked through with many colours. It was confusing.

“I’m Renee,” She said apologetically. “You must be Neil.”

Neil shook her hand uneasily. “I’m sorry that Robin dragged your kids off.”

She waved off his concern.

“Abby is my cousin.” Bee explained to Neil. “But she lives with me now. And Robin told me that she hasn’t always lived with you. Is that why she doesn’t call you Dad?”

“Or he’s gay,” Abby chided. “And it would be confusing to call both her dads Dad.”

Neil flushed, but the girls were all giggling. Renee mouthed an apology, hiding her face behind her hands. Neil shook his head.

“Don’t worry. I get these questions all the time.”

“Which questions?” Allison’s familiar, chiding tone could be heard over the din easily. She appeared by his side, Laila and Jeremy in tow. Neil watched fondly as Robin hugged Laila hesitantly, and introduced her Exy friends to her classmates.

“That I’m gay.” Neil provided. “Allison, this is Renee. Renee, this is Allison. Don’t mind her being a bitch: She can’t help it.”

“The children.” Allison hissed. Renee waved it off.

“They’re not listening.” Momentarily, they watched their kids bonding together. “My daughter and niece were just being very invasive. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, Neil.”

“Oh,” Allison snorted. “He gets asked if he’s gay all the time. It’s not your kids’ fault. He’s just an absolute twink.”

Neil shoved her lightly and she elbowed him back.

Renee was about to ask her a question, but was promptly hooked by a middle aged man and his judgemental glares towards both Neil and Allison. She threw an apologetic glance over her shoulder towards them and the kids as she dragged her daughters off.

“It’s not like you to introduce yourself to strangers.” Neil hedged. “What about your whole all parents are beneath me attitude?”

She examined her nails. “Can’t blame me for knowing when someone’s hot and eyeing me up. Not your fault you can’t read signals.”

“She was what?” Neil shook his head. “Whatever. I want to get out of here. Can’t we just take them all to a diner?”

Allison clucked her tongue, looking at where Renee was being introduced into a new circle. “Not tonight, blue-eyed boy. Go get some kids into that program of yours. Be productive. Find a single parent to complain with. Or flirt with.”

“You are a single parent to complain with.” He grunted, crossing his arms. “Alright. Fuck off with you, then.”

She grinned and pinched his cheek, before sauntering off.

God, Neil hated school functions.

“Neil, it’s loud in here.” Robin tugged on his sleeve. “Can we go outside for a bit?”

“Do you want to go home?” He hedged.

She paused; then shrugged. “I want to play with Abby and Bee. But I’m not sure.”

“Let’s make that decision outside.” He conceded, and guided her outside. His anxiety was making him itch for a cigarette, but he never smoked around Robin. Instead, he crouched down next to her, letting her put her hands on his shoulders and hoisting her up onto his back. He grinned over his shoulder at his daughter. “Comfy?”

She nodded into her shirt. They walked around the edge of the building, away from the entrance and the cacophony of noise. Cars were crammed into every parking space. Across the way was the administrative building, where Neil had last spoke to Andrew Minyard. Neil’d seen him only briefly tonight. Had he already left?

Why do you care?

They both leaned on the brick wall of the auditorium’s exterior, Neil crouching to Robin’s eye-level.

“Dad,” She said hesitantly. “Why are everyone’s families older?”

Neil brushed an eyelash off her cheek. “It’s their choice when they have children, Robin. I was lucky to get you when I did.”

“But I don’t have a mom.”

“She’s out there, somewhere. We’ve talked about this, Robin.” Neil tapped her nose. “Did you want to find her?”

She shook her head vehemently. “No. I don’t want to leave you.”

Neil’s heartstrings were being yanked in all different directions. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She blew a raspberry at him. “Can we go home?”

“Fine, you rascal.” Relief released the tension that had curled his shoulders all evening. He took her hand. “Let’s go.”

He threw himself into the car with enthusiasm, after strapping her into the backseat, and put the keys into the ignition.

And then: Of course. The car wouldn’t start.

“What’s wrong with the car, Neil?”

He was so tempted to whack his head against the horn of the stupid steering wheel. Instead, he gave Robin a reassuring glance and swung himself out of the car.

It was probably just his battery: He’d get Allison to jumpstart his car and then they’d be sweet. Or she could just give them a lift home.

Cranking open the hood, he checked that nothing was about to explode, before calling out to Robin: “Can you try turning the radio on?”

She scrambled into the front. He could see her little flushed cheeks shaking her head after she’d fumbled for a minute or so. He drew in a deep breath and reached for his phone.

“That’s a shitshow of a car.”

Neil’s eye twitched. He turned around. “Not all of us are lawyers.”

“And yet, you could have been a professional Exy player.” Andrew - who else would it be, honestly - pointed out. “Seems slightly more lucrative than this.”

Neil seethed. “What do you want?” He could see Kevin, standing a little ways back with his arms crossed. Sullen brat.

“To offer my jump cables?” Andrew rose his eyebrows. “Unless you want to walk home in the dark.”

“And you care, because?”

“Because I’m such a caring, affectionate person, Josten.”

Neil snorted. Right. “I have my own cables, thanks.”

“Always prepared, runaway.” Andrew rose his chin. “You’d still need a battery.”

Neil ground his teeth. Whatever angle that Andrew was attempting, Neil just couldn’t figure it out. “Fine. Fine. God, I’m going to hate owing you. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Neil, what’s happening?” Robin called.

He leaned over the opened front door. “You’re going to have to wait a little out here, okay? Kevin’s father’s helping us start the car.”

She thought about it for a moment: Neil expected a fight, not wanting to be around Kevin, not wanting to stand outside in the cold and the dark. Instead, she merely said “Okay!” and shuffled out of the car feet-first. Neil watched as Kevin didn’t move from where he stood, even as she approached.

Odd.

Andrew swerved his car up as Neil unloaded his cables - its sleek exterior and leather lining screaming pretentiousness. Neil sat behind the wheel after they’d connected their engines.

“Feel free to electrocute yourself any time.” Neil offered, before starting the car. It revved to life with a rather guttural screech of protest.

“Missed opportunity.” Andrew agreed. “Then I wouldn’t have to stand the sight of you any longer.”

“You offered to help.”

“Technicalities.” Andrew leaned his elbows onto the rolled-down window sill of . Neil’s car. “You owe me, Josten.”

“Thanks.” He gestured to his engine. “For that.”

Andrew cleared his throat. “Don’t make a habit out of it.”

Neil almost smiled, rubbing the twitch at the corners of his lips away with his hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Bye, Kevin.” Robin waved to Andrew’s son as they drove away.

“What’s that about?” Neil eyed her in the rear-view mirror.

His daughter wriggled suspiciously, cheeks pinked. “Nothing.”

Neil huffed. Surely a daughter of his would be better at lying than that.

i have no idea how i want to get them together in this

#single parent au #andreil #neil josten #andrew minyard #child!kevin #child!robin #dad!andrew #dad!neil #the foxhole court #part 2 #jem writes

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kumkaniudaku · 6 years

Text

Nice to Meet You

A/N: Who doesn’t love a good origin story. Not my best, but I think I captured this facet of their relationship pretty well. I hope you enjoy.

Warm Washington, D.C. sun seared your brown skin as you stood in the unfamiliar territory. Over the weekend, your family left you with teary-eyed hugs outside of your dorm to kiss you goodbye and present you with their final well wishes. It was time to begin your transition from standout high school student to unknown college freshman, and while you were excited as you tossed and turned in bed last night, the excitement was currently dwindling in the summer sun.

“All of these buildings look the same,” you mumbled to yourself in frustration.

For several minutes, you stood in the center of exuberant meetings between old and new friends, trying to find your way around your new campus. So far, you managed to journey from your dorm room to the university center, placing you further from your intended destination. As you shifted your weight on your heels, two things were becoming abundantly clear: you were lost, and the sun wasn’t planning on letting up anytime soon.

Out of your line of vision, a young man wearing overalls and a plain white t-shirt seemed out of place. In a sea of trendy clothing, his outlandish southern flair made him stand out. His eyes slowly scanned the scene in front of him, catching the eye of several women until they landed on you. Your long, pressed hair caught the light breeze and revealed a profile view of your features. He spent more time than would typically be afforded to him to study the way your legs seemed to never end on the way to the hem of your shorts. The jersey on your back, a replica of Chipper Jones’ home jersey, endeared you to him almost as much as your undeniably beautiful features.

He had to know your name.

Before he could stop them, his legs carried him down the short flight of steps to your location.

“You, uh, need some help,” he asked after tapping your shoulder. “I-I just saw you over here by yourself. I’ve only been here a day or two, but I think I know my way around after a little exploring. I could...show you around.”

His sudden invasion of your “privacy” made you jump in shock. One glance at his off-kilter attire let you know that he was either unsure what year it was or clinically insane. Deciding to keep your mouth closed to refrain from coming off as approachable, you rolled your eyes and turned your back.

“Oh-kay,” he scoffed. “I’m only trying to help you, Miss. If you don’t wa-”

“Do you know where the A building is? Since you over here and what not.”

“It’s close the upper quad. If you go to the corner and make a right -” the stranger's directions halted when he noticed the blank stare resting on your face. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?” A short laugh escaped your lips, making your unknown tour guide smile in response. “I’m not that great with directions.”

“How ‘bout this? I don’t have nothin’ else to do today. I could walk with you. Ya’know, show you around and make sure you ain’t out here gettin’ lost. If that’s alright with you.”

“S-sure. I mean, if you have time. I don’t want to take you away from anything...or anyone.” A random bout of nerves sent your hands up to your head to tuck a piece of hair behind your ears.

Another look at the stranger’s face revealed how handsome he was. Getting past his choice in apparel, his lanky frame carried the height of a basketball player and the muscle tone of a man used to lifting more than his weight. His deep brown eyes twinkled with a sort of sincerity that was reminiscent of the people you came in contact with back home. His crooked smile housed an imperfect gap that added character to his already attractive features. The bushy eyebrows resting above his eyelids rose in expectation as if he was waiting for an answer to a question.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“I asked you what your name was.”

“Oh, I-I’m Tasha. Tasha Greene.”

“Well, Miss Tasha Greene, I’m ready if you are.” His smile widened as he extended his arm in front of him to invite you to lead the way.

The walk was silent initially while you tried to gather words to say. His quiet presence was almost overwhelming for reasons you couldn’t place. He noticed your nervous habit of chewing your lip and bumped his shoulder into yours.

“Where you from, Tasha Greene?”

“Lithonia, Georgia. It's a little city outside of Atlanta. What about you? You sound like my cousins up in North Carolina.”

“You close. I’m from South Carolina. Anderson to be exact. Close to Clemson.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a Clemson fan.”

He chuckled for a moment before giving you a charming smirk, “And if I am?”

“Then I’d have to politely step away from your lovely tour. I’m from Bulldog Country. Where I’m from, we laugh at Tigers fans. Even if they are as nice as you, uh...um…”

“Chadwick.”

“Chadwick,” you questioned with your face screwed in confusion.

“My mama thought it sounded distinguished. I think it’s a strange name for a Black man.”

“I like it.” Chadwick looked at you with a closed mouth smile to match yours. “It sounds like a man that’ll make a bunch of money one day. “

“That’s the plan. Write and direct a few plays, maybe a couple of movies, and travel the world.”

“So you’re a fine arts major? That explains your outfit.”

“My outfit,” Chadwick questioned incredulously. “What’s wrong with my outfit?”

“It’s 1996 in D.C., man. Ain’t nobody wearin’ overalls!”

“Well then, how about you let me borrow that Chipper Jones jersey you got on? I’m a Braves fan, too, you know?”

“A Braves fan, huh? You sure you not just saying that to swindle me out my shirt? You know, this will be worth a lot after we win the World Series.”

“Alright, you got me,” Chadwick laughed, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I am a Braves fan, though. That’s not a lie. You really think we’ll make it all the way this year?”

You shrugged while taking a look at your surroundings, “I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll be the happiest girl in the world if they do. I started playing softball after I begged my dad to take me to a Braves game when I was six. Haven’t looked back since.”

“I took you as more of a basketball player. You know, with your long legs and all.”

“So you’ve been looking at my legs?” You gave Chadwick a stone-faced look that you’d inherited from your mother. Your eyes narrowed to take in the horrified expression that accompanied his nervous stuttering.

“No! I mean, I did, but not like that. I was just saying; you’re...you’re kinda tall for a girl. It’s not a bad thing! I like tall girls. I-I” His stammering came to an uncomfortable halt as he caught wind of your laughter. “Am I missing something? What’s so funny?”

You continued to laugh with hot tears threatening to spill from the corners of your eyes. Doubled over in laughter, you brought the “tour” to a complete stop while cradling your stomach. Though he didn’t understand the humor in the situation, the sound of your unceasing laughter and the pure joy that seemed to light up your face to match the sun hanging in the sky amongst the clouds made Chadwick smile along with you.

“I’m just joking around with you. I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist,” you informed between breaths as you stood. “I like tall girls. Yeah right. How many times have I heard that?”

“You haven’t heard it from me.”

That sincerity that you picked up on when he interrupted your private thoughts was present and magnified in the way he looked at you after such a simple statement. His smirk made you look away for fear of staring too long. Noticing the defensive gesture, he released a quiet chuckle.

“I do play basketball. Shooting guard.”

“I thought so. I played guard in high school. Mostly point.”

“Are you playing here,” you asked, partially hoping he’d say yes.

“Nope. It’s not really my thing anymore.”

“Yeah? Why not?” It was Chadwick’s turn to look away, but not from embarrassment. He needed a moment to gather his thoughts and compose himself. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, I understand.”

“A friend of mine, from AAU ball, was shot and killed not too long ago. Kinda...changed my direction in life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to apologize, but I appreciate it. I was nice, though.”

“Oh really? Prove it!”

“What?” Chadwick watched you drop your belongings on the asphalt and bend your knees into a defensive stance. Your eyes held a playful twinkle that made him want to see just how far you would take your demonstration. “You really wanna do this right here?”

“Hell yeah. Let’s go! I bet you can’t get past me.”

Contemplating the notion of trying to score against you in the middle of the street with an imaginary basketball, Chadwick took you up on your offer. Turning his back to you, he began to dribble the “basketball” in his hand while backing into you. He tried to fake right, but you didn’t take the bait. His move to the left was exactly what you expected, leading you to mimic the motion you would typically use to steal the ball in a real game.

Chadwick watched you with a crooked smile as you exaggeratedly sunk a “lay up” and turned to face him.

“Okay, so maybe I’m not as nice as you. Damn, girl.”

“You can see that in person this season,” you boasted as you wiped sweat from your forehead. “How come I’m the only one sweating out here? You ain’t hot?”

“I’m from the country. This heat is nothing compared to summers at home. You look like you been melting since I tapped your shoulder. Sweating like a sinner in church.”

“Whatever. I’m burning up,” you exclaimed as you removed your jersey to reveal your tank top underneath.

Chadwick watched you in stunned silence, taking in the way your brown skin made the sun but a minuscule part of the solar system. As far as he could see, you were the golden being lighting up the world around him.

“You got a nickname, Tasha Greene?”

“My dad calls me Pumpkin at home, and my old teammates called me Stilts as a joke. Neither of those is an option for anyone to use in public,” you warned with your eyes cut in his direction.

“Hmm,” Chadwick smiled, before letting the conversation end.

Birds chirped, and cars could be heard in the distance as both of you walked in silence. Occasionally, one of you would steal a glance at the other and smile.

Truthfully, you were uncomfortable around others, especially men. Your awkward stage in high school still haunted you and kept your guard up at all times. It was tough to tell if people were being genuine or looking to hurt you. But, your interaction with Chadwick felt natural. He made talking and laughing with him feel like second nature. Though he appeared to be nice, you refused to get your hopes up. The last thing you needed was another social let down.

A sudden stop broke you from your trance. Your assumption that you’d reached your destination was confirmed when Chadwick turned to face you.

“I guess this is it,” you started, looking down at your feet. “Thank you for...your help.”

“Ah, don’t thank me. It was nothing. I can show you around some more if you’re free. Or…”

“Or?”

“Or you could, you know, hang out with me every once in a while. Hopefully, we’ll see each other around? Only if you want,” he corrected himself as he watched your face change.

“Sure, we can hang out again. If I see you around that is. I’m pretty busy. You know, workouts and games -”

“And school! Can’t, uh...can’t forget school.”

“Right, right. School. That’s what we’re here for right?”

“Of course,” Chadwick added with a smile. He could sense your nerves were causing you to ramble, and he found it endearing. Cute, even. “See you around then, CoCo.”

“Yeah, see you aro-CoCo? What does that mean? Is that a South Carolina thing?”

Chadwick let off a laugh so loud and melodic that you couldn’t help but smile along with him. It was a sound so ridiculously boisterous that you almost didn’t want it to stop.

Regaining his composure, Chadwick left his gap-tooth smile on display. “I’m tired of you acting like we not the same kind of country.”

“Are we though,” you laughed.

“Close enough! Anyway, I thought I’d give you a nickname. You out here melting in the sun like chocolate ice cream, hence, CoCo. Is that cool with you, Tasha Greene?”

“That’s fine with me, Chadwick, uh…”

“Boseman. Chadwick Boseman.”

“Chadwick Boseman,” you repeated to lock the name into your memory. “Well, thank you for the tour and the 'nickname,' Chadwick Boseman. I have to come up with one for you now.”

With a smile, Chadwick began backing away to leave. “We got plenty of time for that, CoCo. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

“Probably, Ashy. You really gotta do something about those ankles.”

“Miss CoCo got jokes,” he laughed looking between you and his legs. “Okay, I’ll take for now. I’ll see you around. Come find me if you need me.”

His smile rendered you speechless as you offered a small nod in response to his statement. With a nod of his own, he turned to finish his day’s journey. Your eyes remained fixed on the bob of his shoulders and the back of his head as he walked away. You didn’t even notice you were staring until he turned around one last time to find you watching him.

You were getting your hopes up. For what, it was too early to tell, but you knew you wanted to see him again. You wanted to hear that obnoxious laugh and see those awful overalls again and again as often as he would allow you. Was this a crush or a desire for friendship? You didn’t know, but it was evident that you’d met someone special.

In twenty minutes of conversation, you knew that whatever drew you to Chadwick and him to you was, hopefully, the foundation for something beautiful.

____________

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#Chadwick Boseman #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick boseman x reader #Chadwick boseman x you #Chadwick boseman fiction #Chadwick boseman fan fiction #black panther imagine #black panther fanfiction #black panther fics #black panther fiction #black panther

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aoi-mikazuki · 7 years

Text

The Briefest of Reunions

Huge spoilers for DGS1 and 2, but I wanted old people love and reminiscing so here is my contribution... >>;

Also on AO3 if shorter chapters are your jam.

SPOILER SPACE

Title: The Briefest of Reunions

Series: Dai Gyakuten Saiban

Words: 5,765

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/Mikotoba Yuujin

Chapter 1 - The Train Ride

"I nearly had a heart attack when I first saw Miss Susato on that ship, you know," Holmes suddenly blurted as he sat at his desk hunched over his fancy instruments.

"Hm?" I looked up from my book and over the back of the settee I was lazily reclining on. The children had all retired for the night, and I had been hoping to finish this last chapter before I headed up to bed myself. But alas, I could see that my relatively relaxed evening was not meant to be.

"She looks just like her mother," my friend continued, lowering his goggles into position on his face, "though she has your eyes."

I had, on a few occasions, shown a picture of my dear, departed wife to Holmes during our six years together, but to think that he still remembered her face ten years on was remarkable; the man could barely remember what had happened on a case an hour after the fact and yet he had identified Susato with ease, it seems.

Then again, one should never underestimate Holmes's capacity to remember things -- especially those even tangentially related to me -- is something I learned about him relatively early on. He had always chalked it up to his keen powers of observation, yet, I daresay it was more due to a combination of his youthful spirit and a keen personal interest in me.

It was 16 years ago that I first met the then 18-year-old Sherlock Holmes. I was only 27 myself back then, and though I was a rather privileged and well-educated man back in Japan, it was something of an eye-opener to travel with the intent of living in an entirely different country -- I was suddenly intensely aware of how very small and very ignorant I was here among a people and a society with a set of rules all of their very own. Suddenly, all of the book-learning I had done felt very inadequate indeed in preparing me for my new adventure half-way around the world, so it was a godsend that I had met a young man who was willing to share his home with me and acquaint me with different people of all stations of life.

As with most people he encountered, Holmes instantly struck me as a strange and curious fellow, and perhaps that is what drew me to him in the first place. From the poorest of the poor up to the noblest of the noble, the man had a way with every soul in London, it seemed. I had initially assumed that this was a perfectly normal state of affairs for the average British gentleman, but I soon grew to see that he is actually a most singularly peculiar specimen among his countrymen. His strange mannerisms, raucous laughter, and ridiculous theatrics endeared him to the masses, but his intellect and deductive reasoning were what made him a necessity to the upper elites. But none of that seemed to matter to him, for I never saw him with anyone I would label as a "friend".

That is, until a little under a year after we’d first met. We were on a train traveling back to London after a most thrilling chase through the English countryside when we hit upon the topic of how we should celebrate yet another great success.

*********

"Let's go out -- just you and me! A night on the town!" Holmes proposed.

I laughed at that, my slightly larger frame bouncing in time with the train as it leaned into a curve in the tracks.

"I'm too old to be running around piss drunk like a teenager, Holmes. And you know how I feel about 'female entertainers' and brothels in general."

"That I do, but you still never gave me a good reason why."

"Does a man need to have a reason to decline the company of certain persons in this country?" I rebutted. I was beginning to sense that Holmes was going to try to push that topic again today.

Holmes stared at me from his seat across the cabin, making observations and filing the information away for future reference. I released a small sigh in response.

The Western custom of casually sharing one's personal life with strangers and friends alike is something I continue to find rather odd, and the expectation that I should divulge such similar information about myself to others still seems immensely invasive to me. Yet in the year of our acquaintance, Holmes had proven himself to be a trustworthy flatmate.

I ran my hands over my face to clear my mind and buy myself some time. I needed to phrase things in such a way as to satisfy his immediate curiosity without opening the door wide enough for him to barge right on through to ask gods know what else.

Placing one hand on each thigh, I leaned forward and looked Holmes in the eyes. "I know I haven't shared very much of myself with you, Holmes, but I... I’m actually still in mourning. My wife passed away in childbirth, you see... and I..."

In my mind's eye, I saw my wife's pained face as she slipped away from me -- me, a medically trained doctor who was powerless to stop her rapid decline. The piercing cries of our new baby girl grew muffled in my ears as my mind focused solely on the woman in front of me.

"Ayame... Please..." I had pleaded then, as my eyes darted around furiously, searching for the source of the bleeding. I scrambled and tried to find a tear, a rip -- anything -- but it was like dowsing for water in the middle of the bloody ocean. Precious minutes passed like seconds, and eventually, my wife reached down to me and lifted my face up to meet hers.

"Yujin," she had said though a pained smile. "I am counting on you to raise our daughter now."

"No, we'll raise her together...!" I answered in denial. But she knew me, and gave me one last parting request.

“Please take good care of Susato for me.”

And then, she was gone.

"...kotoba! Mikotoba!" The force of Holmes shaking me snapped me out of my reverie and back into the train cabin.

"I-I'm sorry, I appear to have..."

Holmes gave a flourish of his hand. "No need to apologize. I assume you were transported back to that moment?"

I nodded in affirmation.

"I see," Holmes states. "So..." he started, "you have a child then?"

I nod again. "A daughter. Her name is Susato."

"And yet you are here with me in jolly ol' England?" he questioned.

"Holmes, don't..."

"You... didn't come all this way just to escape your responsibilities, did you?" he said with one eyebrow cocked as he drew ever closer. Uncomfortably so, even.

"I wasn't-- I'm not trying to escape my responsibilities!" I answered indignantly. And yet, he was right. I had come to escape something, but I decided that the sordid details could wait for another day.

His eyes lit up for a second, and I knew he had made some deduction in that short span of time. But he quickly hid it.

He moved to sit next to me, his long right leg against my left -- the man really had no concept of personal space -- but when he reached out to grab my left hand with his own, I pulled it towards my chest instinctively. His hand was quicker and he caught it mid-air and laid it over my heart, holding it there. He slung his other arm around my neck, his hand reassuringly gripping my shoulder.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to impugn on your honor. But... just humor my curiosity for a second, Mikotoba."

A long moment of silence passed between us as I considered my options:

Push Holmes off and away from me and switch to another topic

Ask him to extricate himself from me and then switch to another topic

Talk with him like a goddamned adult

I breathed in and steeled myself for what I knew I needed to do.

"You've probably already deduced that there is more to my story, but..."

"But...?"

"I'm sorry, my friend." The word "friend" couldn't have felt more right just then. "But I'm afraid your curiosity will have to go unfulfilled for now."

Holmes was strangely silently next to me. Perhaps I had been too forward, or perhaps he did not see me as a friend. I turned my head to see what was the matter. He seemed at once somber and yet, somehow, comically dejected.

"Ha ha! You are a tease, Mikotoba," he rebounded. "But I will get the truth out of you yet!"

I smiled back at the young detective. "I have no doubt you will, Holmes. But for now, I ask that you simply stay by my side."

"Isn't that what partners are for, Mikotoba? To be there for one another in times of need?" he gently said into my ear over the rattling and clanking of the train as it continued on towards home.

Chapter 2 - The Advertisement

Recalling the details of that train ride brought to mind another lady I couldn't save.

"...Is everything alright?" Holmes asked, concern in his voice. He had turned around and was now kneeling on his seat, facing backwards over the chair’s tall back. Holmes lowered his goggles to where it usually hung around his neck to get a better look at me.

"Ah, yes,” I started. “I was just remembering how I came to tell you about Ayame--"

"And it brought up memories of Lady Baskerville, right?" Holmes surmised.

"Yes," I replied, not the least bit surprised anymore by his ability to read me like an open book. "I can only wonder what she thought of me -- whether she honestly believed that this Japanese stranger would take care of her daughter, or if she had simply given herself over to me because she had no choice in the matter."

"But you explained yourself to her -- about how you came to know of her hiding place and your promise to Mr Genshin."

"I did, but she was delirious from blood-loss by that point. All I could do was help her finish delivering Iris and let her hold her child in her final moments." I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. “What’s worse,” I continued, “is that I couldn’t even keep my promise to Genshin and I had to leave Iris in your care.”

Holmes looked at me as though I had just proffered him the world's most complex puzzle to solve.

"Mikotoba," he started cautiously, "to this day, do you really still doubt that you've been a good father?"

"...Sometimes."

"Is it because of me?"

I looked up at my partner. "...I can't tell Susato what really happened, Holmes. You know that."

Holmes gave a small sigh and put his head in his hands as he leaned on the back of his chair. "She's not a child anymore,” he said as he looked me straight in the eye. “Sooner or later she will find out. Especially given how much liberty you allow her."

"I am only allowing her to claim her full birthright as a human being. After seeing the different kind of freedoms women are allowed here, and far be it for me to be a hypocrite, I found myself unable to justify my ability to act as I wished while she was bound on all sides by social expectations."

“Or is the real truth that you feel guilty for not being around for her -- be it that you are always busy with your teaching, or research... or that you were gallivanting around solving cases with me half-way around the world for six years?”

“I...” Holmes’s words stung with the pain of truth, but while I was still reeling from his pointed observation, he had leapt up and over his chair to close the distance between us.

“Wake up, Mikotoba! And see how highly your daughter thinks of you!” he said. “It is you, and only you, that thinks you have done her harm.”

Holmes’s countenance softened for a second before he came around to sit by my side, trapping my legs between himself and the back of the settee.

"Just as I will have to explain the circumstances of her birth to Iris someday, Yujin, you should explain how it was you really came to England in the first place to your own daughter." Holmes reached out to clasp my hand.

"I know. I've left her in the dark for long enough."

Holmes was right, of course. Susato would find out in her own way someday, just as he had in his usual, persistent way one morning, not long after that fateful train ride.

*********

Holmes was reading the paper at the breakfast table again -- as he is still in the habit of doing -- with his meal in front of him lying wholly untouched. Yet, I could tell his mind wasn’t actually occupied with the paper, but rather, with me, as I sat on the other side of the table gently tapping the top of my egg open.

“Out with it, Holmes.”

I had no patience for his whimsical games today. I had a medical forum to attend, and before that, a train to catch.

“Nothing. I was merely scanning the personals and found an interesting listing.”

“You? An interesting listing? In the personals?” I laughed at the thought of Holmes finding anyone genuinely interesting. By this point in our relationship, I had been with him long enough to know that people were only as interesting as they were a source of puzzles and mysteries to solve. Otherwise, the ever-aloof Sherlock Holmes had little use for actual, intimate relationships.

“Indeed, for the comings and goings of society itself are reflected in these pages. One never knows when a particularly juicy piece of gossip may be the lead that cracks the case.”

“I suppose I’ve never thought of it that way,” I replied, dipping my toast into my not-quite-as-soft-as-I’d-hoped soft-boiled egg. My face scrunched up at the less than runny yolk. I knew there was a reason why I usually got up earlier than Holmes to make our breakfast.

“Here’s a fine example, Mikotoba: ‘Wanted: Male partner for a night of passion. Am willing to pay for transport, and utmost discretion.’ Now, what would you make of that?”

I felt myself slowly tense with each word of that infernal advertisement. Holmes had to know what he was doing, I thought. Curse the man’s inability to let things go until he’s solved the living daylights out of them.

“I’m afraid I must be going, Holmes,” I said as I ungracefully dropped the remnants of my toast on my plate.

“Fine,” he pouted. “But you will think on this listing and let me know your conclusions when you return?” he requested as I wiped my mouth with my napkin.

“Yes, yes, of course, my dear man,” I hastily replied as I checked for crumbs in my mustache on my way out of our drawing room. A quick glance back provided me with the picture of a close-eyed Holmes, deep in thought. Before anything further could transpire, I quickly shut the door, ran down the stairs, threw my coat on, and strode briskly out -- cane in hand -- into the mid-autumn air.

At the time, I had no intention of answering Holmes in any way whatsoever. What was private, was private. He had no right to pry, I thought. But as the day wore on, my mind kept drifting to my dear friend.

Surely a man with as many eccentricities as him could understand my plight without judgement. Not to mention, if he had indeed, already correctly deduced what my secret was, he had been more than generous in allowing me to stay on in our lodgings.

And so I resolved that should he ask for my opinion about the advertisement upon my return that night, I would do my best to be honest with him.

I arrived back at our lodging a little past seven, and found it to be empty.

“Holmes?” I called, but received no reply. On the arm of the settee was the paper from that morning, a giant red circle around a small block of text. I picked it up and read it for myself.

“‘Wanted: Male partner for a night of passion. Am willing to pay for transport, and utmost discretion,’ huh.”

I gave a long sigh, and wondered where Holmes had gone off to. If he was on one of his expeditions again, I feared what little courage I had scraped together would be lost by the time he returned.

I spent the rest of that evening reading, though honestly, I could hardly call what I did that. Rather, it was more akin to staring at a sea of English words with the more than occasional glance at my watch. At a quarter to eleven, I finally gave up all hope of seeing Holmes that night, so I placed my bookmark in its place and closed the book.

“Of all the days to be out, you had to pick the one in which I finally have something worthwhile to share.”

“Ah, then do feel free to share,” Holmes exclaimed as he twirled into our drawing room.

“Wh-Where have you been, Holmes?” I stuttered, bewildered at how my words had seemingly summoned him home somehow.

“My story can wait,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “while I suspect that yours cannot. Therefore, I request that you go first.”

“At this hour? And after you left me waiting for an entire evening?” A twinge of irritation slipped out of me. “I’m inclined to say that we should have to wait until tomorrow--”

“Un, un-un.” He tsked his finger at me. “I did ask that you provide me with your thoughts upon your return, did I not?”

I placed a hand on my forehead and looked down in defeat. I might as well get it over with, I thought.

“Well, then, I suppose I had best get on with it, haven’t I?”

Holmes took a seat in his chair and nodded, and urged me to continue. I took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh.

“Let me just start by saying that it was an awful trick you played by placing that advertisement.”

“Ah, but how do you know it was me?” His eyes twinkled in mischief.

“You’re not the only one with deductive powers around here. I’ve gained quite a bit of insight into your methods by now, as you should know.”

“Quite right! Aha ha ha ha ha!” he laughed raucously, doubling over in amusement. “Well done, Mikotoba!” Holmes’s laugh subsided as he recovered into an upright position. “But I won’t be derailed so easily.”

“Very well. Where shall I start, then?”

“How about with why sleeping with a man compelled you to travel to the complete opposite end of the world when, unlike here in England, it has once again become perfectly legal to do so in Japan?”

Well. Let it never be said that Sherlock Holmes is the master of subtlety, I thought.

“Because,” I began, “as you are no doubt aware, I come from a country where honor and dignity is valued more than gold. And ever since Western culture began pouring into my home country, all of Japan has been most thoroughly taken in by your ideals and way of thinking. On the topic of human relations, a book titled ‘Psychopathia Sexualis’ by a Dr Richard Freiherr von Krafft-Ebing has been quite influential, to say the least.”

“Ah, yes. The Germans have been rather vigorous in their pursuit of knowledge in the emerging field of sexology.”

“Then you are familiar with its underpinnings?” I inquired.

“Only that it seeks to explain anything outside of the everyman experience as perversion.”

“Yes, well, it got my own countrymen talking, and not wanting to be seen as closed-minded, perverse barbarians, I’m afraid that most people of my station in society and above have quickly turned their thinking around to match that of their European counterparts.”

There was a brief moment of silence as Holmes looked at me in all seriousness, the mirth gone from his eyes.

“And what about you, Mikotoba? As a medical man, does your thinking on the matter fall in line with those of your colleagues?”

I had never been asked to state so clearly my thoughts on such matters before, and I struggled to put them in some sort of order before I opened my mouth again.

“I... I must admit that I have a great deal of trouble reconciling the scientific literature with my own lived experiences, Holmes. It is hard to look back on more than a thousand years of Japanese culture and history and simply wave it all away as wanton perversion when truly beautiful relationships did emerge from such acts. Indeed, some of them have even endured the test of time through glorification in poems and art.”

Holmes nodded at me. “Which explains the lack of disgust on your own part at your rented liaison.”

I give a small sigh. Of course he would also quite correctly deduce that my partner was paid.

“Yes, he was slightly younger than me, and an actor of kabuki theater. Oh, Holmes, it wasn’t that he meant anything to me, though. I fear my act of indiscretion was the result of severe loneliness and grief.”

Holmes took my statement in and processed it as only he can. “Yet you chose a man. Why?”

“Ayame... She had only just passed. And I... I did not wish to dishonor her by replacing her with another woman so casually, or so soon. It is with greater shame that I reflect on my inability at the time to control myself and deal with my grief properly, and instead, succumbed to my emotions and need for another person’s touch.”

“Well, depression can do drastic things to a man, as you know by my own dark moods.” Holmes paused for a second before he continued on. “I think I have an idea of the shape of things now. Your family must have thought it best to use its clout to send you far away -- perhaps allowing you to regain your sanity by redirecting your focus to your professional studies and training here -- while they tried to repair any damage you may have brought onto yourself and your daughter’s reputations. Is that about the long and short of it?”

“Yes,” I replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Excellent. I’m glad we resolved that little issue. Now, on to the next!”

“N-Next?” I sputtered in Holmes’s direction as he got up and started for his room.

“Of course, my good man. Did you forget what I actually asked for your opinion on this morning?”

I thought back to my mad dash out of our drawing room earlier in the day and the truth of the matter began to dawn on me.

“The advertisement...”

“Correct!”

“Holmes... I’m flattered and honored to have your attention, but... I hardly know what to think right now.” I answered honestly. “If you would give me some time...”

“As much as you need, Mikotoba. As much as you need,” he said with a flourish. “Just don’t expect me to pay for your transportation fee when you do come around.”

“Wh-What transportation fee?! I live with you, Holmes!”

“Right, so you do! Aha ha ha ha ha!” His laughter continued down the hall as he walked through his bedroom door. “Good night, Mikotoba.” He tipped his finger against an imaginary hat and closed the door behind him.

“Good night, Holmes,” I replied lamely from my chair, alone in the drawing room.

Chapter 3 - Our Family

“You should explain how it was you really came to England in the first place to your own daughter.”

“I know. I've left her in the dark for long enough.”

Giving my dear Holmes’s hand a squeeze, I picked up my train of thought from where I had left off. “I just hope she can understand and forgive me for the time I’ve stolen from us as father and daughter.”

“I’m sure if you start at the beginning, she will,” Holmes reassured me with a warm smile on his lips.

“I suppose that means I’ll have to more fully explain how it is that you and I came to live together as well.”

"That’s right! She did seem as surprised as Mr Naruhodo when she found out you were my partner!” Holmes paused for half a second before exclaiming, “Wait, are you saying that you never mentioned me to her -- ever?!"

"There was never any good way for me to do so!” I retorted. “It's bad enough that I haven’t been able to set my selfishness aside to do the socially correct thing and find myself a new wife to give her a mother. How was I supposed to explain why?"

"Pshaw, that’s simple: Susato, did you know that THE Sherlock Holmes used to call me "daddy" too?"

I threw the nearest pillow I could grab into Holmes's face.

"And sometimes," he continued as he sensuously licked his lips from behind his newfound cushion-shield, "he'd feed me a most thick and juicy sausage--"

"H-Holmes!" I ejaculated. "She could come down here at any minute!"

"Excellent! The perfect chance to fill her in, wouldn’t you agree?"

"N-No!" I sputtered. "I am nowhere near ready to divulge such information."

Holmes's eyes lit up.

"And you are not to divulge it either. Understand?"

The world’s most immature man gave me his most disappointed look.

"Time and place! And context, Holmes! This isn't something one simply blurts out over breakfast."

"Pooh, pooh! Why do you have to be such a spoilsport?" he pouted.

"Because you saw what happened when she thought Iris was my biological daughter. She was literally ready to punish me over an imaginary affair."

"But you did have one... with me."

"It's not the same. You weren’t some one-night stand. You were the one who taught me that I could still honor and cherish Ayame while loving another. And had I not been forced to leave this country, I might have called for Susato to come join us and raised Iris with you.”

“Thus bringing her into the very sort of inverted household you were sent here to cleanse yourself of!” Holmes chuckled.

I gave an exasperated sigh at the bald irony staring me in the face.

“Regardless, Holmes, there is so much more nuance to what we have than she can imagine."

"You mean the fact that we are two men in an actual honest-to-god relationship."

"...Yes."

"Come on, now," Holmes said, looking rather serious. "Do you honestly think she has never imagined the domestic home life of 'Sherlock Holmes' and his partner 'Dr John Watson', and the sort of sexual congress they might have enjoyed?"

Oh.

In truth, the thought had not crossed my mind, though I had seen my share of female students throughout the years whisper wild and taboo fantasies amongst themselves about their favorite fictional characters. Why had it never occurred to me before that my own daughter might enjoy such flights of fancy?

I could feel the tips of my ears burning with embarrassment. I harrumphed and twitched my mustache as I tried to think of something suitable to say in return.

“Speaking of those novels, do you remember when you sent Iris’s “Baskerville” manuscript to me?”

“Of course.”

“I must apologize for being so negligent as to leave it out in my study where Susato could see it.”

“It’s quite alright,” he forgave me with a flourish of his hand. “I deduced as much when she let it slip. To be honest, it was my fault for jeopardizing our case by even sending it to you in the first place.”

“Regardless, I’m glad you did, Holmes. You were so genuinely torn up about prohibiting Iris from publishing it that it was the first time I really saw that you had let her into your life... and your heart.”

Holmes looked sheepishly to the side. “I’ll admit I did spend a number of years trying to distance myself from her.”

“I’ll say you did! You told her I was her father!”

“Well, you were! You were the one who promised to look after her, after all.” Holmes grew quiet. “I only agreed to keep her safe because I thought you’d come back to England once everything had been resolved. I never imagined that so many years would pass in the interim.”

The fire crackled loudly behind us in the silence that enveloped the room. It was my turn to reach out to my dear partner. I gave his hand a squeeze.

"Do you remember how frantically you would telegram me at all hours of the day, asking me how to change Iris's diapers and how to tell whether she was crying from hunger or discomfort?"

Holmes turned and smiled in return. "I do. And I still remember your frustrated replies, reminding me that you never had to change Miss Susato's diapers so you had no idea!"

“What a spectacle you must have been at the telegram office with Iris crying on your back!” I laughed. “I wish I had been here to see it for myself.”

“I’m afraid that before I gained the moniker ‘Great Detective’, I was known as the Great Nanny Sherlock Holmes,” he joked and laughed. As his laughter subsided, the warmth in his eyes remained as he cupped my face. "Must you return to Japan so soon, Mikotoba? You've only just arrived! Why not relax a little longer here. We've barely had a moment to ourselves," he gently complained.

"That's what happens when you have kids, Holmes. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

"I guess I have to take my fatherly duties more seriously now, don’t I?"

"You've got a charming young lady with even greater expectations of you than before."

"I get the feeling it won't be hard to live up to virtually no expectations," he gestured melodramatically.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. You are a brilliant father raising a most extraordinary daughter. I daresay she has even picked up a few of your mannerisms.”

My mind drifted back to the night before, when Iris had made her fondness of Holmes clear. A number of things had been brought to light that day -- some of them big, some of them small. But one thing had remained unchanged throughout it all: I had always intended to call on my dear friend Genshin.

“About my plans, Holmes,” I began. “I would still very much like to go and pay my respects to Genshin, and see about arranging for his remains to be returned to Japan, now that he has been cleared of all charges.”

“Why not let Mr Asogi deal with that?” Holmes said with a rather considerate look on his face. “Perhaps he would rather keep his father close by, though probably in a better grave than the one he is currently occupying.”

“Indeed. I suppose I’ll speak with him in the morning. To be honest, I’m glad I am able to speak with him at all.”

Holmes nodded his agreement. “Things did get a little too close for everyone a few times, didn’t they?”

“But you managed to keep things under control, and that’s what’s important.”

I thought back to that day when the children had left on the Alaclair, bound for England. Holmes had urgently telegraphed me two months prior about two things: “I’m sending you a package,” he had mysteriously said, “and I will be on the Alaclair”. I suspected something had begun to move in our case of ten years past, and I was not mistaken when I finally received the package containing the Baskerville manuscript and a note regarding some sort of conspiracy spelled out in a series of dancing men.

I sent the manuscript back after they had gone so as to delay its arrival until after Holmes’s return home with a simple, pleasant message about how enjoyable the story was, and added a few words of caution through a line of dancing men of my own.

I admit that sometimes, it had filled me with great regret to know that my partner had been on that very ship, and that we could’ve met then to strategize further, but as long as he was watching over Susato, I knew she was in good hands.

“You have no idea how many times I wished you had been by my side, though. Truly, as my fictional self would say, ‘I am lost without my Boswell.’”

“Well, there was at least one circumstance that was a conundrum of your own making. Naruhodo mentioned that you told him that sometimes Great Detectives lie. Far be it for me to be surprised that you would do such a thing to him, trickster as you are, something tells me your brilliant plan backfired when you'd set yourself up as the fool during your first encounter with him."

"It would have only aroused suspicion had I suddenly reverted back to my charming, clever self, wouldn’t it?"

"True, but to maintain the act for so long! You are truly a consummate actor, and a master of disguise, Holmes."

Holmes took a dramatic bow. "It was nothing really, especially in this case. After all, there is but a fine line that separates genius from jackass."

"I think you mean brilliant and bumbling, since there is certainly no line separating jackass from any part of your beautiful, Bohemian soul."

"Aha ha ha ha ha!" he laughs in that way I love. "We've come a long way, haven't we?"

"I dare say we're certainly much better off than we were back then."

"Who would've thought that the great Sherlock Holmes and his partner Dr Mikotoba would have two daughters to round out their rather unconventional family?"

"Indeed, I'm not sure that the world would believe it, even if Iris wrote it up in one of her stories!"

"As she said, you really are the only "yujin" I have in the whole world," Holmes said as he doubled over in laughter at the silly cross-language pun.

"I honestly still can't believe you made Iris write that!" I joined in my partner’s mirth.

"My Yujin, the only one I will ever need," he whispered as he leaned in and took my last snide remark of the night from my lips.

NOTES:

- Technically, “Psychopathia Sexualis” was published in 1886 in Germany, and then later in Japan, but since DGS is fairly liberal with its historical timeline, I figured I could be, too...

- Japan had outlawed sodomy at one point in 1872, but in the quickest of turnabouts, it seems that it was repealed only 10 years later (8 - 10 depending on which dates you count) when Japan adopted the Napoleonic Code into what would form the basis of all Japanese law, the Six Codes. Thanks, Japanese Wikipedia article “日本における同性愛”!

- DGS Holmes seems more likely to initiate things between the two of them, but I wouldn’t say he is an especially sexual creature either. He comes across as demi-sexual to me (or he would if he had any other true friends to speak of other than Mikotoba). I like to think that he seems asexual in Iris’s accounts partially because he has no other partners that she can see (his only partner is off in Japan, after all), and partially because it probably didn’t occur to her that her papa could be interested in such things.

- Maybe someday I’ll get around to writing how they actually get together, but I fear that that will take another long fic on its own... ^^;

- Watson “ejaculated” a number of times in the real Sherlock Holmes canon. I guess that was just the hot word to use back then instead of “exclaimed” XD

- Mikotoba’s first name is phonetically the same as the word for “friend” but it uses different kanji.

#Dai Gyakuten Saiban #DGS1 spoilers #DGS2 spoilers #Huuuuuuuge spoilers #Sherlock Holmes #Mikotoba Yuujin #I write stuff

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thestoryweneededtowrite · 7 years

Note

can u write another part to the sprace ghost hunter au?? like the aftermath of them coming out or maybe them doing the boyfriend tag or something like that?

Not quite the boyfriend tag, but a relationship Q&A of sorts. Hope that’s okay!

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Spot sighed, putting hishead in his hands as he sat himself down on the sofa whilst Race set up therecording equipment.“I can’t believe you agreed to it either but you did so here we are,” Raceteased.

He sat down beside Spot and kissed his cheek, laughing whenhe got a scowl back.

“This counts as your Valentine’s Day present,” Spotgrumbled.

They’d been getting endless questions about theirrelationship from the moment they’d accidentally uploaded that stupid video.Race had decided the best way to quieten things down was to film a Q&Avideo answering some of the main questions people had. Spot disagreed – he hatedvlogs where he had to sit down in front of the camera and talk into the lens,but Race was adamant and he’d made cute begging faces until Spot had given in.

“Fine,” Race laughed, knowing Spot was probably joking. As grumpyas he could be, he had a romantic streak in him that Race was lovingdiscovering.“And you are editing out anything even remotely sappy. No kissing, nothing,”Spot threatened. It was no different than the rules they had for their normalvideos so that was fair enough. Race just rolled his eyes.

“We’ve been over this. Introduce the video already.”

—

“How long have you been dating?” Race asked, reading out thequestion from a fan off his twitter feed on his phone.

Spot stilled. It was only the third question and he wasalready uncomfortable“Are we using that word?” he said quietly. They were masters of keeping thingscasual when they were really incredibly invested in each other. They livedtogether, hundreds of thousands of people knew about them; there was no pretendingthings weren’t serious. Except they were still trying – or at least Spot was.“Yes, dork, we’re using that word,” Race said, rolling his eyes.

Spot screwed up his face, half in annoyance and half in anattempt to remember exactly when they’d gotten together,“I don’t know? A year?” he tried.

Race nodded.“And six weeks,” he added, for the sake of accuracy.

Spot turned to him, confused.“How do you know that?” he asked, quietly. “I know when our anniversary is,” Race said, shrugging like it wasn’t a bigdeal.

Spot opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t findthe right words to explain it. He was touched that Race automatically knew whenthey’d first gotten together. Still, he’d told himself he wouldn’t act sappy inhis video and Race was the editor, so he didn’t have the creative control tomake sure the final edit was free of embarrassing emotion. Instead he justsnatched Race’s phone and scrolled down to the first PG question he could find.

“When did you know you were gay?” “Thirteen,” Race replied quickly. It was something he’d long accepted abouthimself and he had no reservations about it.

Spot was less confident in his identity. He’d had far less practiceat it but that didn’t mean he was ashamed about it. And he knew exactly when he’d realised.

“When I kissed you,” he said honestly, risking eye contactwith Race. “That time in the school.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Race replied softly.

He leaned forwards and gave Spot a quick kiss, aware thathe’d probably be made to edit it out. At this rate, there wasn’t going to be alot in the video that Spot would be willing to keep in but Race didn’t get thisvery often, the affectionate, reminiscent side to his boyfriend. It was a nicechange and he wasn’t about to say anything to make it stop, even if that meantthey ended up with no video to post out of this.

Spot coughed quickly, aware they were getting a little mushy,and turned back to the phone to scroll down through Race’s twitter account andfind another decent question.

“What do your families think?” he read out, paraphrasing alonger message that had a lot more ‘omg I love you guys’ than he was willing torepeat.

That was simpler to answer - less feelings involved. Racejust laughed. His mother had been overjoyed to find out he was happily in arelationship and she were already hinting about marriage far more than he wascomfortable with. They were nowhere near that point; Race was sure he couldn’teven joke about it with Spot yet.

“They’re more worried about us spending our free timetraipsing around abandoned buildings or woodland than they are about us beinggay,” Race explained. His mum complained about a lot of his life decisionsbut all of them were career and safety related, none of them were Spot. Afterall, it wasn’t Spot that had caused the gash in his leg and his hospital visit.He looked to his boyfriend, waiting for his answer.“Mine were a little surprised but that was mainly because they didn’t know Iliked guys,” Spot admitted. “They like Race, though,” he added.

Race turned, surprised. He’d never met Spot’s parents inperson and he didn’t know they had any specific opinions about him. “They do?” he asked. It was as much news to him as it would be to theirsubscribers.

Spot just shrugged. His mum watched their videos and alwayshad something to say about how happy he looked when he was with Race.“Yeah. Apparently you’re ‘good for me’,” he sighed.

Race just grinned. He didn’t have a verbal answer but heliked the sound of that. Being approved of by his boyfriend’s parents wasalways nice to hear, but being good for Spot? That made his heart beat a littlequicker; it was a suggestion that they were right for each other. He took hisphone back to find another question, still smiling.

“Not answering that one. Or that one. Or that one,” hemumbled, scrolling past tweet after tweet.“What are they?” Spot asked, curious as he leaned over to see the screen.Knowing their fans it could be anything from ‘when are you getting married?’ to‘at this exact second in thisparticular video were you thinking about getting Race into bed?’ (About a thirdof the time the answer was yes).

Race handed his phone over so Spot could see the questions.

“About a hundred different variations of ‘who’s the top andwho’s the bottom?’” he said, summing up the majority of what he had to scrollthrough to find some decent questions.

Spot groaned, fisting his hand in the fabric of the sofacushion. He hated this part. The creepy, over-invasive questions that he didn’twant to talk about. It wasn’t anyone’s business but their own. And besides,their families watched their videos.He did not need or want his mother knowing the details of his sex life – he’dnever be able to look her in the eyes again.

Addressing the camera directly, he spoke sternly to theiraudience.

“Guys, no. We shared our relationship with you because…well, mainly by accident, but that doesn’t mean you get to be all invasive. Ifyou wouldn’t ask us to our faces, then don’t tweet it!” he ordered. He knew alot of them were young and didn’t know any better, but that didn’t mean hewasn’t allowed to call them out when they were too full on.

“Half of them probably would ask us in person,” Race pointedout, dodging out the way of Spot’s elbow with a laugh. He did have a point,though.

Spot turned to the camera and put on a serious face.

“Fine. I top,” he said, dramatically.

Race froze. It was true, but it was never something heexpected Spot to say in front of a camera.“We’re cutting that out, right?” he asked, uncertain.

Spot just hit him with a pillow.

“Yes we’re fucking cutting that out!” he shouted, vaguely concernedthat Race even had to ask.

Racethrew the cushion back, stifling a laugh when he took Spot by surprise. There wasa split second before Spot grabbed the cushion and Race reached for a second one.Then it was an all-out war, the camera forgotten for the meantime as they letthemselves just be themselves.

#newsies #newsies fanfiction #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #spot/race #ghost hunter au #prompt #anonymous

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tcohs-messenger · 7 years

Text

Listen (Fluffy!Yooran)

(Warning! There’s a description of a panic attack in this fic. If that makes you uncomfortable, you might want to stop now!)

(Also, this is a continuation of my last YooRan fic ‘A Little Danger Goes a Long Way. You don’t have to read it to get the plot, but it would help solidify their relationship better!)

Listen

(A Part of the Danger Goes A Long Way series)

Panic attacks suck, they really, really suck. Saeran hated being sucked into that spiral of what ifs and what do I dos, but even years after Mint Eye, he still had to suffer with them. Even years away from home, he was still scared.

It was silly really, he knew it, he knew he shouldn’t have to be scared of this or that, but try as he might, that fear would still trickle away, still eat away at him, and still make him fear for his life. Would tomorrow even come?

Things had progressed rather smoothly between Saeran and Yoosung since he had confessed his feelings, their days peppered with scattered pecks, playful pushes, and gentle whispers of ‘I love yous’ only solidifying that such a day was not a dream. It was new, and of course frightening, but this different experience was something that only brought a pounding heart and bated breath of excitement from Saeran. Even through their joy, they kept their relationship a secret from the RFA, especially from Saeyoung, but it wasn’t out of embarrassment or fright, but as a sort of game.

“Let’s see how long it will take them- don’t you think that would be fun?” Yoosung was shocked when Saeran brought it up, a mischievous little smile on his cheeks as he suggested the idea. “Imagine their surprise when we finally tell them, maybe months later… ohh…”

“Why though? Why should we be do sneaky? Isn’t that a little bit cruel?” Yoosung had excused awkwardly, brow knitted up and almost a bit insulted that they couldn’t announce their relationship to the world.

Saeran frowned a little, disappointed that Yoosung wasn’t completely on board. That is, until he relived, “Didn’t Seven trick you into thinking you had a life-threatening disease once?”

Suddenly, Yoosung’s expression morphed into a sneaky one. “Yeah, you’re right… let’s see how long it takes them.”

That’s how they found each other in this situation, sneaking off to be alone with each other, all while giggling like little children at the bewildered and halfway worried stares from their friends. Hell, Saeyoung was wondering if Yoosung was getting possessive as a friend, maybe even abusive.

That only made Saeran nearly bust a nut laughing.

So, the one day that Saeran had told his brother to drop him off at Yoosung’s place, and even told him to not worry about picking him up until the next day, Saeyoung was worried.

“Are you sure? You’re actually gonna sleep over?” A part of him wanted to be proud of his brother, having a friend so close to him that he was okay with being alone with them for an entire day. Then again- with the way Saeran was avoiding questions of ‘what did you guys do?’ and ‘did you have fun?’ it was a little worrying.

“Uh, yeah? Gee back off…” Saeran nearly spat, brow curled into a forceful glower. It was so hard to just admit it, just yell, ‘I fucking love kissing him alright?!’. Besides, Saeyoung would never let him hear the end of it if he did…

Saeyoung came a little closer, fumbling with his fingers awkwardly. He could never imagine Yoosung being abusive. Although more in the romantic sense, the idea of him hurting his friends was even more astonishing. He was usually so sweet, so inviting- but maybe that was just a facade? “Is he hurting you, Saeran?”

“What?!”

The word comes out a lot more harsh than he expected, so blunt and almost in a growl, it shocks Seven into stumbling back a step. Saeran gulps, looking away. He knew he should just tell his brother what was really going on, how close Yoosung and himself really were, but when the words tickled at his lips… they were suddenly gone. And all there was left in him was a pit in his stomach.

“Can you just take me over there now?”

The ride is thick in silence and tension. Saeyoung doesn’t dare to look at his brother, thoughts running wild and trying to think of what he could do to help. He had looked so offended at the thought of Yoosung abusing him- but what else was Saeyoung to think? It had to have been that, right?

And how was he supposed to help?

Saeran was thinking about something else entirely, wondering why exactly it was that he couldn’t just say… we’re- in… we really…

That apprehension, that fright of admitting it, that dangerous feeling. Saeran was feeling it again, but why? Why was he so scared to admit it? Why could he find it so easy to kiss that cute, blonde head of his, stare into his eyes, press his head into his chest and nearly fall asleep on him? And yet- he couldn’t just say that…

“We’re here.”

Saeran shakes his attention back, gripping at the small backpack he brought with his clothes and a few other necessities. He doesn’t look at his brother as he gets out, and he doesn’t say anything ether. He’s almost surprised that Saeyoung doesn’t leave with a parting word, something to keep him close, and instead lets him go (albeit, with a look in his eyes almost longing, almost scared).

When Saeran enters the little apartment, he’s greeted by the scent of cinnamon and smoke around the entire abode. He was surprised that he wasn’t also greeted by the blaring of a smoke alarm, but it was rivaled when he shut the door and heard a loud yelp from the kitchen.

Yoosung pokes out, in an apron nearly coated in still wet batter and some even on his cheeks. He’s holding a pan dotted in dark clumps. “You’re early! Wait!” Saeran looks a bit perturbed, glancing around as if to ask where he should go. Yoosung scrambles for him, grabbing his bag and tugging Saeran by the arm to guide him to his room. “I- I was doing something just… just wait here!”

With a few ushered pokes, Saeran sits down on Yoosung’s bed and waits until the blonde had shut the door before he’s snickering under his breath, only assured of Yoosung’s activities when he starts screaming about all the smoke.

It’s calm then, Saeran sitting numbly on his bed while he waits. He realizes that he hasn’t been in Yoosung’s room yet, despite having hung out with him numerous times. And it’s exactly what he’d expect, the covers a mess, socks dotting the floor, a pile of school books and papers off to the side. It’s inviting and reminiscent.

In another time, he wouldn’t have felt comfortable laying back into the bed, it was an invasion of a personal space after all, but Saeran couldn’t help himself now. He adjusts a bit until he finds a good position, nuzzling into the pillow and sighing. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable bed (as comfortable as a college student can afford), but something about it was comforting. The room is just a little too warm, warm enough to prompt him to take off his sweater and leave him in only a tank top. This leaves him laying back and a little discomforted by the fleece blanket Yoosung had, but still very cozy.

It’s almost as though his encounter with Saeyoung hadn’t happened.

Saeran grimaces and bites his tongue, feeling his eyes burn slightly as they threaten him with tears. Subconsciously, he reaches out, pulling back with him a soft chunk of fabric and nuzzling into it. The smell is intoxicating, and remarkably like Yoosung.

After a while, he opens his eyes and recognizes the color, a light baby blue. Oh god this is his sweatshirt. He holds it tighter, just about shoving his face into the fabric and sniffing it more, indulging in the scent of Yoosung that it had. It was like he was right here with him…

“Sorry- I didn’t want to make you worried. I have a new batch in, so we’ll have to wait a bit…” Yoosung opens his bedroom door and is greeted to the sweetest sight, Saeran curled on his bed, halfway covered by his blanket and holding his sweatshirt in a death grip. The slight moment he has to look at him just before he sits up flustered, he notices the peaceful look on his face, eyes squeezed in a manner of near sleeping, cheeks a faint pink, this cute smile spread across his cheeks and the dimples they bring with them. Yoosung smiles a little, his cheeks burning. “Do ya… want to come out?”

“Yeah yeah, shut up. I’ll be out in a second.”

With a renewed energy, Saeran follows Yoosung back out into the living room, now clear of smoke and with a sweatshirt in his grip. As per tradition, they fall onto the couch and turn on the television to their favorite channel before shuffling closer and waiting for the commercials to end. When Yoosung glances down at Saeran, with his head on his shoulder and just about using the sweatshirt like a blanket, he can’t help the small laugh.

“What?” Saeran, of course, gives him a hard glance, only his eyes peering up at Yoosung from underneath the fabric.

His reaction only makes Yoosung laugh more. “If you want, you can wear it. You seem a little- cold.”

When the words pass his lips, he squeezes Saeran a little tighter, and then slowly brings his arm back so Saeran can make his choice. And he pauses briefly, giving Yoosung that same hard look, but eventually pulls the sweatshirt over his head. It fits him a little too well, only slightly bigger due to his small frame, and the fabric covering most of his bare skin was enticing and soft. Saeran shudders at the sudden warmth and buries his face into the collar a bit, reveling in the smell once more.

Yoosung’s reaction is priceless. With bright red cheeks and wide eyes, he just stares at Saeran. Seeing him wear his sweatshirt is too endearing, too cute, and seeing Saeran merely enjoying wearing it was taking his breath away. Yoosung shuffles closer to him on the couch, head dipping to press his lips against Saeran’s cheek as they fall back to lie on the couch.

The commercials were done, but they weren’t paying attention to the show. Yoosung’s kisses traversed onto Saeran’s throat, giving sweet little pecks as his grip tightens around his waist. Although the kisses don’t gain intensity, Saeran is pleased with merely being in the blonde’s arms and feeling his warm breath upon his somewhat cold flesh.

They lay there for a while, Yoosung continually giving sweet kisses along the red-head’s neck, only escalating it to gentle licks every now and then, but Saeran appreciated every bit of it. For some reason, the feeling of those lips caressing him so gently, so thoroughly, and so lovingly, was more comforting than he could have anticipated. Eventually, Saeran was reduced to hushed hums, eyes closed and halfway dozing off, and that was when Yoosung finally eased into merely nuzzling into his shoulder and closing his eyes along with him. It was so easy to do this- so easy to be kissed and held like this.

He’d stay this way forever if he could.

Saeran sniffed a little, catching the scent of Yoosung and- something else.

“Are the cookies burning again…?”

Yoosung screamed.

They settled for ice cream instead, which gave them the excuse of cuddling closer to share warmth as the cold treat chilled them. This time, their attention was trained on the television, watching a recent episode of a cooking competition. Yoosung found himself muttering what he would do in this situation or in that situation, bewildered at how these people were making such trivial mistakes while he himself had burnt two batches of cookies.

Saeran, meanwhile, was stuck with his thoughts again. Sure, it wasn’t as bad being at Yoosung’s side and eating something sweet, but it was still a little bit appalling to him as they continued. Do you really care about him like that? Do you really feel that way? He cares so much about you, he says it freely, why won’t you say it? Why won’t you admit how you feel? What is wrong with you that it won’t come out?

He had been chewing on the edge of his spoon for a long time. Yoosung only spared him a glance once a commercial break appeared, and even then, it was just to try to sneak a kiss, but he realized something was wrong at the sight of Saeran’s distant gaze. “Hey, you okay?”

Saeran shudders and looks away. He hated being seen like that, so lost, so unsure, and especially by Yoosung. He shouldn’t have to deal with someone like that, someone so weak, so lost, so unsure, so…

Horrible.

“Saeyoung thinks you’re abusing me.” Time stops suddenly. The air becomes thin, and Saeran becomes aware of the coldness that envelops him. Yoosung gets to his feet, staring down at him with wide and scared eyes. And Saeran looks away, afraid of giving in to that sad look.

Yoosung shakes his head, peering down at his hands curiously, no, that look is fright. “Did- am I…?”

No, no! Saeran shoots up as well, taking himself off guard as well. “No- no! You aren’t! You’re too good to me! You’re not hurting me at all…” And the last sentence he mutters come out, assured yes, but also taken aback, as though he were… confused why he wasn’t hurting him.

Yoosung whimpers, the beginning of tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Saeran doesn’t think, he doesn’t have to, pulling Yoosung tight against his chest with a hand landing in his hair, rubbing his scalp and keeping him tight against him. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just trying to hush the cries that Yoosung produces, holding him until the tremors begin to die down. Once they do, they collapse once more on the couch, watching as they enter the dessert round, but things are a lot less sweeter this time around.

They’re not quite comfortable sleeping in the bed together. Yoosung blames a good majority of it on being that the bed is too small, barely fitting him, but they both know the hidden reason behind it.

Saeran nestles onto the couch with just a pillow and an old throw blanket, staring at the ceiling as Yoosung dozes in his own bed. It’s hard for him to get to sleep on any particular night, but on stressful nights it’s even worse.

That’s why he found himself in the early hours of the morning still awake, feeling cold despite the heat being turned up, and surrounded by something odd in the air, taunting him, threatening him.

Then the questions begin again. Why won’t you say it? Why did you let Saeyoung believe that he was hurting you? Why didn’t you tell him? Why did you let Yoosung believe he was hurting you? Why did you tell him that? Why did you tell him what Saeyoung said? Why don’t you know what you’re feeling anyway?

“Why isn’t he hurting me…”

Those words came out like venom and choked him. The air was too hot, was too thick, it was suffocating him.

Saeran kicked off the blanket and sat up, head ending up in his palms, frame trembling. This was it, he was panicking. If he caught it now, maybe he could do something. Water. He needed water. His throat was so dry.

Before he knew it, Saeran was in the kitchen, scrambling for a glass in the cupboard, hands trembling as he grabbed a plastic cup and tried to fill it with water from the sink. It was so hard- so difficult to turn the little knobs on the sink. And even when he got a glass full of water, it was difficult to drink, and too warm to do much.

Maybe there was something cold to drink in the fridge?

If he was having a panic attack before, this was something devastating.

It didn’t hit him at first. Saeran opened the fridge and first saw a carton of eggs, open on the top shelf, it only had one egg in a middle compartment. He also took note of the empty jar of pickles in the back, only holding the leftover juice- and then the milk jug with barely a cup left. Saeran’s throat tightened, and his grip on the fridge door tightened. On the side, there was an expired jar of mayonnaise, ketchup, mustard, soy sauce, a variety of unopened salad dressings…

It was honestly, in Saeran’s eyes, a very simple image: the fridge of a college student. Something about this image was striking with Saeran, and he couldn’t place it. His stomach growled, painfully, despite having eaten dinner a couple hours ago. It got so painful, in fact, that Saeran gripped at his stomach and groaned at the pain, falling back against the nearby wall and slowly sliding down as the pain grew unbearable.

“I love you.”

It whispered against his ear, and the sound brought shivers up and down his spine. The cold from the still opened fridge wafted toward him, arising goosebumps on his exposed ankles and arms. The cold stung him and made him recoil further, stomach coiling tighter and tighter, and then the searing warmth of his tears dribbling down his cheeks like molten lava.

“You better understand that. I’m doing this because I love you. I want you to become stronger. How else are you going to survive out there?”

Saeran wept, his lips quivering with the effort to silence himself. His entire body shook as the pain continued to absorb him. Why didn’t Yoosung see all of this? See his weakness? His boney frame and thin stature? Why couldn’t he see his illness and fragile immunity? Why didn’t he hurt him over it…

Why didn’t he hurt him?

“Saeran?” The voice was sleepy and very confused, at least this time around. Warmth around Saeran’s side was shocking and a little bewildering. “Hey- hey what’s going on?” Yoosung mumbles mostly into Saeran’s hair as he hugs the smaller one tighter.

Saeran sucks in a breath through his teeth, the whimpers in his chest finally letting go in one exhale. It all comes out in a flood of word vomit, the pitiful whines and questions. “Why do you love me? Don’t you see how gross and weak I am? Don’t you see how pitiful I am? How do you even love me? Why- why don’t you hurt me like you should- if you really love me- shouldn’t you be hurting me…”

In all reality, the words shocked Yoosung. It shook him to his core and made him really think about what Saeran was going through. It wasn’t explicitly explained to him, how Saeyoung and Saeran had grown up, just simply put that their mother was ‘a bit fucked up’. Maybe it was her actions that brought Saeran here, weeping in front of the fridge, wondering if Yoosung, someday, would hurt him too?

That idea had made him sad, but also very angry. Yoosung wanted to punch that woman square in the face, or perhaps even better, make her go through the exact same pain that she had put her sons through. But he shouldn’t think of that now- right now, there was Saeran, held tight in his arms, weeping, scared, confused…

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. Here- sit down on the couch.” Yoosung helps Saeran up with a calmness and genuine gentleness that Saeran was not used to. As they sit, Saeran’s stomach grumbles, and Yoosung shoots to his aid, “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

Saeran doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The way he is clenching his stomach is enough for Yoosung to get up and head to the kitchen again. Saeran sits numbly on the couch as the minor clinks from the kitchen hushes to the sound of boiling water and frying oil.

Yoosung returns quickly with a bowl of ramen and fried egg. And Saeran eats it slowly. They sit there in the thick silence on the dingy couch, Saeran nibbling on the noodles with Yoosung’s palm on his knee. Eventually, the silence is a little too daunting, and Yoosung turns on the television to help ease their nerves.

When Saeran finished his food and sat the bowl onto the table, Yoosung had finally decided to try talking again. “You feeling a little better, Saeran?” The other boy nods slowly, clearly just a little bit more relaxed. There’s still a tensity that he holds, one that Yoosung hopes he can help ease.

“Want to snuggle a bit? How about in my bed?” It takes Yoosung a moment to realize what it sounds like he’s implying, and at that point, color is enveloping his cheeks and ears, and he starts to sputter. “I-I mean- it’s more comfortable in my bed than the couch, with all the springs and- and gee- ah…”

Finally, Saeran smiles.

“No, I understand. Yeah, let’s snuggle.”

So Saeran found himself lying in Yoosung’s bed, smiling just the slightest bit as the humor of Yoosung fidgeting shyly just beside him had resonated with him. Even with his weakened state, exhausted from crying and empty from his emotions, he was still able to smile.

He pinned it on Yoosung.

Yoosung eventually settled next to Saeran (and by next to, we mean at least a couple inches apart, decency!), turned so he could still see Saeran’s bright, gold eyes. That little smile on his face confirms that he was able to succeed in his goal, and so Yoosung smiles back.

“Hey…” Yoosung’s gaze travels up to Saeran’s eyes, watching him intently as the red-head speaks to him. “I… I love you.”

When he says the phrase, the warmth around them seems to melt into something even more comfortable. Then Yoosung smiles, and Saeran swears he can hear his heart in his ears. “I love you too.”

The touch of their lips is soft and gentle. It doesn’t go anywhere, they merely break apart after a few moments, but the comfortness and the inviting nature of their bond is suddenly engorged with even more adoration and love- and Saeran just can’t believe he found something so good.

Saeran closes their distance, pulling Yoosung closer to him by his pajama shirt before nestling his hands into the blonde’s sides. Yoosung had only squeaked briefly, soon settling into his new position with a hand landing upon Saeran’s cheek, playing with the soft strands of hair drifting near his jaw. His touch is intoxicating, Saeran soon finds out, as he leans into Yoosung’s palm and invites him to continue the gentle petting.

He loves me. I love him. Saeran was pleased with these thoughts, very sure of them, in this exact moment. It made him wonder why he doubted before? Why- sitting in front of the fridge- he doubted Yoosung’s feelings. Not anymore- he was sure of it. Yoosung loved him.

“Hey.” Their calm and gentle atmosphere breaks at Saeran’s very sudden excitement. Yoosung opens his eyes and looks back expectantly. “We should tell them. That we’re dating- in the messenger.”

Yoosung sits up suddenly, a big smile on his face, violet eyes shimmering excitedly. “You mean it? You want to tell them?”

Saeran nods and sits up as well as Yoosung pulls out his phone and opens the app. With a new chatroom opened, Yoosung pauses. “Should we just say it? Like- ‘guess what? We’re dating, lol’ or something?”

“Let’s send a picture.” Saeran’s suggestion is very out of the ordinary, very bold, and it excited Yoosung even more.

Yoosung giggles a little, trying to adjust his phone camera a bit. “Us cuddling right? That should be enough proof.”

Saeran shrugs, his confidence and boldness building even more. “Maybe- or we could do something straight to the point. Maybe a picture of us… kissing.”

Yoosung breaks. His phone plops onto the blankets as he drops it, squeaking softly at the suggestion. After a moment, he moves to grab the phone back. “You- uhh- really want to send everyone a picture of us kissing…?”

The way he phrases it isn’t from unsureness, but for pure confirmation, wondering if Saeran was really okay with an outing like that. But Saeran nods, very sure, very determined suddenly. When Yoosung adjusts the phone again, capturing both of their faces in frame, Saeran’s hands do the work, gently grasping the blonde’s cheeks and holding him close as their lips connect.

Snap!

They pause, their kiss connected now out of desire. Saeran’s lips move suddenly, moving in fluid motion against Yoosung’s. The hands brought up to Saeran’s cheeks pull him closer, and they slowly ease back into the inviting pillows, still softly kissing, still with bated breaths.

The only sounds besides the hushed smack of their lips was the continuous dinging of Yoosung’s phone, still lit up and still receiving updates from the chatroom. He’d answer later, Yoosung assured.

They were busy right now.

#mystic messenger #yoosung #saeran #yooran #tcohwrites

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magitek · 7 years

Text

no need to read under the cut unless you want major sgt prompto’s spoilers but @strifetown here’s the draft!

“Sir, please,” Brandon said, politeness diminishing by the second.

“Another moment, if you don’t mind. I’m reminiscing.” It was no small business, taking over an empire, but Ardyn rather thought he’d pulled it off beautifully. Being the force behind a figurehead was not the path he’d wanted all those ages ago, but it was a fitting one nonetheless. Who could fault him for stopping to smell the roses, now that they’d finally bloomed?

Over the millennia, Ardyn had lived almost every life imaginable. The life of a youth, a friend, a messiah. A pariah. A chronically drunk hermit (that had been an interesting century), followed by a somewhat less drunk historian (too easy, having lived through so much of the key events). He might’ve dabbled in theater at some point, before cameras made their way back into the pool of readily available technology. He’d played more parts than he could count – but each of them men of no consequence. On the fringes, never acting, always plotting. Waiting for the right time to act.

As the lifetimes wore on, Ardyn began to see the patterns of humanity. How certain brands of disruption were purely temporary, and would soon be forgotten. A life spent making fiery statements could easily mean nothing, and a man with nothing to lose could live by his own rules and face no consequences, compared to the eternal sentence he already carried. Yet history repeated itself, though in more elegant ways. A simple, subtle action repeated from a bygone age could become the catalyst of chain reactions that started wars, ended dynasties. Brought chaos – though not enough, never enough for the gods to wake up and understand where they’d failed. The debt they owed him.

And through all the chaos, Lucis still stood. Their crystal and their nuisance of a ring, forged from the power of usurpers, protected them from whatever havoc the Aldercapt line dared wreak upon them. It took a long time – too long – for an opportunity to present itself, so once it did, Ardyn latched onto it with everything he had, bending the paths of history to his will. After all, revenge was a dish best served cold, and there was nowhere colder than Niflheim.

“Chancellor, sir, the broadcast goes live in two minutes,” Brandon said, holding his clipboard in one hand and a water bottle full of something in the other. “I know you hate being rushed, but—”

“It’s quite alright – I believe I’m ready,” Ardyn said amicably, adjusting his hat one more time. He’d decided to keep the title of chancellor for the time being – he’d held most of the power under Iedolas’s rule anyway, and the title of ‘king’ was something he was reluctant to take until…certain plans had come to fruition.

Iedolas, in one of his last orders before Ardyn’s appearance, ordered the construction of a specially fortified balcony on the southwest side of the capitol building. It was a lavish structure by Gralean standards, though it would seem drab amongst Insomnian architecture. The late emperor, unfortunately, hadn’t had much use for it – the open architecture made anyone on the balcony an easy target for, say, a bullet to the head. Security had warned him the press conference would be better located on the front steps, or the throne room, or almost anywhere else, but in the unlikely event the rebels chose to take direct action, they couldn’t touch him anyway. And an attempt on his life would be an excellent excuse for Ardyn to hunt down their so-called ‘president’ and watch as their ranks dispersed.

In short – given the circumstances, it was the perfect place for Ardyn to usher in his new administration. And as he took a stand at the podium, sizable crowd waiting behind the lines of reporters, he felt the satisfaction of a man who would not be thwarted.

“Citizens of Niflheim,” he began, “it is thanks to the quick work of our ministers that the government has transitioned so quickly following the tragic death of Emperor Iedolas. I stand before you today as your continued chancellor, prepared to carry out and preserve Iedolas’s vision for this nation.”

It was a short introduction, and not very flashy, but that was the point. Best to save the flashiness for the bastards who deserved it.

The first reporter to grab his attention was, he was pleased to note, wearing a scarf that nearly matched his in pattern – though it wasn’t Ross (the biographer had requested to be in the public standing room section, in order to capture the moment as a regular citizen, and Ardyn had no reason to deny such an artful request). “Chancellor Izunia, now that the transition of power has completed, will the restrictions on domestic industries be lifted?”

I sometimes forget how little the common folk care for the things that matter. “There will be a series of new orders in the upcoming weeks outlining the expectations of domestic industries,” Ardyn said. “I would expect…certain freedoms and protocols to be altered, but other than that, the answer to your question is yes – industries will be allowed to resume production. The prosperity of our fair empire is, of course, a top priority.”

The next question was on that mistake of a magitek project, the rallying cry of that pesky ‘resistance.’ I should never have allowed Verstael to proceed with that one in the first place. Producing the units with curated daemon souls would have solved the problem, but of course he and Iedolas wanted to create a public relations nightmare first. “I have no plans at this time to resume the MTP program,” Ardyn said, the polite tones of his voice becoming more forced. “The invasion of Tenebrae and all subsequent operations have been nothing short of successful, even with the loss of MTP integration – our current production methods are optimal, so there is simply no need to make changes.”

The same reporter had a follow-up question. “Chancellor Izunia, are the current line of magitek soldiers truly optimal if MTP is still a ghost in the system? What about the recent blackout?”

She had done her research – Ardyn gave her that much. The blackout that, for a brief period before Iedolas’s death, had oh-so-conveniently rendered most MTs immobile received little more than a passing glance by the media. For good reason – there was no reasonable cause for it. ‘A freak accident,’ the head of magitek security had called it. ‘Fatal errors sometimes occur at random, and easily spread through an interconnected system.’

An interconnected system Ardyn had never supported. “If I could remove all traces of MTP from the magitek army, I would,” Ardyn said. “As it stands, that program is nothing more than a trace – a label, so to speak, that every MT carries. It has served as the bedrock for most of our intra-magitek data transfer systems, so removing it would be logistically impossible. Any further questions on the matter should be directed to the magitek security department.”

Those sorts of painfully detailed questions dominated the press conference for another hour – for the love of fedoras, dramatic press conferences for were dramatic, sweeping statements about Niflheim’s future place in the world, not factual information on policy! After what would have felt like an eternity if he hadn’t already been acquainted with it, a reporter in the front row finally asked the money question. “On the topic of carrying out the rest of Emperor Iedolas’s vision – what does that look like to you?”

At long last, the question I came here for. “It’s fairly obvious, is it not?” Ardyn asked. “Niflheim possesses the crystals of every nation in the world, save one. All that’s left to do…is to conquer the kingdom of Lucis. Which I rather think we have the means to accomplish. Don’t you all agree?”

A gust of cold wind, blast Shiva, swept through the square, and Ardyn faked shivers as it blew its way home to the ice goddess. The crowd behind the reporters began shouting chants of ‘Nippleheim,’ like they were so fond of doing whenever Shiva sent chills their way, and Ardyn debated for a moment how to deal with it before settling for a bow.

“In case the winter storm becomes more severe, I think it best we end this little gathering,” Ardyn said, unclipping the microphone from his collar. Good evening to you all, and whatever Lucian moles have burrowed near.

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

The George guy behind the front desk was giving him weird looks, and Prompto pushed his glasses back up for the fourth time in as many minutes, feeling self-conscious (well, more so than usual). Is there something on my face? I mean, the glasses, but…they don’t look that bad, do they!? Maybe he’s just high.

“You look uncomfortable,” Ignis said, his own glasses stupidly straight. Of course they were, Ignis wore his way more often than Prompto did.

“I am,” Prompto said. “I look stupid and we’re about to be on an actual radio show. With actual people listening.”

“Don’t be,” Ignis said. “Prompto, you’ll be fine.”

“Seconded. I dunno how Iris – uh, Briana does it,” Gladio said, looking around. “But you should be grateful we’re getting publicity. And it’s a radio show – no one’s gonna see your glasses.”

Prompto had a hard time finding the words to justify why…I know, Gladio, but I still feel weird about it just didn’t cut it. Being ushered out the door by Ignis five minutes after waking up (Noct must’ve turned off the alarm so he could rest, but he’d been fine for days) didn’t leave enough time for any part of his morning routine, and Prompto saw too many signs of the chubby boy of yesteryear in the dashboard mirror on the way here.

The guilty boyfriend in question returned from the bathroom with a lazy smirk on his face. “Man, you look cute in those glasses,” Noctis said absentmindedly, biting his lip once he realized he’d said that out loud.

Oho…that’s something new~. “I’d ask you if you’re just trying to boost my ego, but…” Prompto said, crossing his arms. “That look on your face speaks for itself.”

“…What look? I don’t have a look,” Noctis said, though he was still wincing.

“The first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem, dude,” Prompto said.

“Pfft. Recovery from what?”

“From thinking I’m cute or something,” Prompto said, pushing up his glasses again.

Noctis snickered. “You are, though.”

The unmistakable click of a phone camera drew Prompto’s attention to the other side of the room. “Another one for the shame album,” Ignis said, motioning for them to follow. “We’re up next.”

Unless he’d read Iris’s message wrong, the radio station had a weekly show where they interviewed local musicians – and while the content was usually superficial, considering recent events, it was likely they’d be asked about Nifheim’s recent transition. The timing was, admittedly, super weird for the band’s first public appearance, but they’d take what they could get. Noctis hadn’t heard the news until it reached the public airwaves, which meant…well, Prompto wasn’t sure what it meant. The marshal, the king…none of them had said anything. But they had to have known before the general public.

Wait. Hold on…is the dinner with Noct’s dad tonight?!?! Holy shit?!?!?! “Psst,” Prompto said, poking Noct just as they reached the doorway into the recording room.

“What’s up?”

“When are we having dinner with your dad?”

Noctis shrugged. “I thought it was tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Prompto asked. “Because I thought it was today. And. There’s kind of a difference.”

“Hmm. I’ll ask Ignis after this is over,” Noct said, and of course he wasn’t at all anxious about seeing his dad, but by the Six he knows I’m dating Noct now, doesn’t he??? This??? Is suddenly even more terrifying???

The girl giving the interviews gave off a way less creepy vibe than George the receptionist, and she gave them a concise yet fitting introduction as they took seats around the mics. “I know you boys are musicians, but the public’s buzzing about other things right now, so – if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Noct said, and the others voiced their agreement shortly after.

“Great! So, folks, to review – the leaked broadcast from a few days ago contained more information than anything that’s reached Lucis so far,” the interviewer said. “In a matter of days, the old emperor died, and they’ve already got the chancellor in a leading role. And what’s more, the guy spent ages dishing out the deets on Niff policy. I’m assuming you boys have all read the full transcript, yes?”

“You betcha!” Prompto said, though it wasn’t entirely truthful. Skimming counts at least a little, right?

“They won’t get into Lucis,” Noct said, and Prompto could tell he was making an effort not to put more authority into the statement than ‘Nick Callaway’ had any right to. “It’s been centuries, and they’ve never managed it before.”

“That Izunia dude didn’t even give a timeline or anything for it,” Prompto added. “He just said ‘oh yeah, we can probably do this.’” I read that much of it, anyway. That and the MT stuff…

“Well, why would he go into details?” Gladio asked. “It’s not like that guy’s any stranger to leaks. Maybe he planned for everything he said to make it to Lucis.”

“The real question I have, Joanne,” Ignis said, who, bless him, had actually managed to ask the interviewer her name, “is not about Izunia’s foreign policy. I think none of us were truly surprised by a promised invasion – this is, after all, the last free nation on Eos.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we can all agree on that,” Joanne said. “What’s your – wait, we’re getting a caller. Uh, Nick?”

“Mmhmm?” Noct said.

“Hi Nick, I’m Sophie! I heard your guys’ new single and it was super cool!” The girl sounded about twelve. Kid fans were good.

“Thanks,” Noct said. “It really means a lot—”

“And I just wanted to say, you sound so much like Prince Noctis! And he has, like, a super nice voice, so I definitely mean that as a compliment!”

The girl clearly hadn’t meant it like ‘I think you’re lying about your identity,’ but Prompto cringed all the same. Well, that was bound to happen at some point. Let the conspiracy theories begin…

Noct laughed nervously, looking at Ignis for guidance. Joanne the interviewer gave him the ‘start talking’ gesture, and Noctis shrugged. “Aw…shucks,” he said, and Prompto almost burst out laughing at the words. Shucks!? “Though, I’m sure the prince is way…um, sexier than me. In every conceivable way. Definitelty.”

Gladio snorted, which in turn caused Prompto to start giggling, and it was only thanks to Ignis’s death stare that the two of them managed to calm down in a timely manner.

“Was it something I said?” Noct asked.

“Dude, you don’t just talk about how sexy the crown prince is while you’re on the radio,” Prompto said, despite still being on the radio. The rumor comes out: is Nick Callaway gay for Prince Noctis? Lol that’d be hilarious… “That’d be like me saying that the king should wear booty shorts the next time he goes out in public because he’s, like, the kingdom’s daddy.”

A moment passed. In complete silence. Joanne blinked. Ignis his face in his hands. Noctis looked absolutely scandalized. “Oh my gods, I didn’t mean that,” Prompto said.

“That caller, uh, hung up. So what were you saying about Izunia’s foreign policy, Iggy?” Joanne asked, and it was to her endless credit that she wasn’t cracking up over Prompto’s extreme social mishap. “Or was it that it wasn’t about foreign policy?”

“The latter, John,” Ignis said. If people don’t know he’s with the Citadel already, they will by the end of this interview. Stop being so formal, my Iggs. Iggy Shears. “I like to keep up with news from the empire, and many of the policies mentioned are things I’ve never heard of.”

“Yeah, what’s this Employee Discretion Act that he talked about in the middle?” Gladio asked. “Or the MTP program that one reporter kept asking about? We’ve seen a lot of types of MTs since they started cropping up, but I’ve never heard of MTP.”

“What about when the crowd started chanting Nippleheim?” Noctis said, completely off-topic.

“Haha, that was definitely a highlight,” Joanne said. “I can imagine some kids out on the edge of the crowd going ‘chancellor of bofa!’ ‘Bofa what?’”

“Bofa deez nips!”

The conversation never quite got back to Niflheim’s domestic policy, which was all good and fine – Prompto planned on rereading the parts of the transcript that talked about it later. For reasons. MTP…I hadn’t heard of it before seeing it in the news. At least, I don’t think I have. But a trace of an obsolete comms system…

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

So…the dinner wasn’t tomorrow, it was tonight – Prompto was, terrifyingly, right about something. By the time they’d gotten back to Noct’s apartment, they barely had any time to get ready for dinner.

He’d frantically done his hair and contacts after the (gods, why did I say that thing about the booty shorts, what if he heard about it already) interview, putting on the closest thing to a formal shirt he had – though, on second thought, as Ignis pulled in front of the Citadel, he was pretty sure he was wearing one of Noct’s. Captain Yikes strikes again.

Noctis led him (by the hand, which was…distracting) down several hallways to the dining room, and before Prompto had gathered the presence of mind to prepare for seeing the king not only as his son’s friend, but as his boyfriend, and also the guy who kind of suggested he show off his legs to the world, they were there.

Oh gods, it’s just the three of us. I mean, of course it’s just the three of us it’s a Caelum family dinner oh gods – calm down, Prompto. He gulped and took his seat on one of the long sides of the table, as Noctis sat opposite his father on either end of the table. Drinks had already been set out for the three of them, and Prompto took his in hand, almost disappointed it was just water.

“I’m glad you could join our family dinner, Prompto,” Regis said, his voice giving no indications whether or not he was about to turn into a googly-eyed rage monster and smite Prompto where he stood. Worst case scenario, of course. “Do try to relax – this isn’t an interrogation.”

Part of Prompto (the rational part, evidently) was relieved, but the other part didn’t believe it. “Uh…you sure? Cause, I always thought ‘meeting the parents’ was supposed to be, y’know…”

“But you’ve already met,” Noctis said. “Unless you mean…oh.” Yeah.

Regis chuckled. “I believe it would be an abuse of power if I attempted to intimidate either of you, even more so considering Prompto already seems rather anxious. Though, if you want the fatherly relationship lecture, so be it.”

Prompto gulped, expecting the worst.

“Use protection,” Regis said after a moment, prompting both Noctis and Prompto to spit out their drinks. “Honesty and communication are vital to maintaining a healthy relationship. Wash stains out sooner rather than later. Don’t microwave eggs whole – especially not in your significant other’s kitchen. On that note, there’s a fairly long list of things I hear you shouldn’t put in microwaves. I think Clarus has it.”

He went on like that for a while, the advice getting stranger and stranger, and Prompto almost thought he was off the hook about his earlier comments. “Close the blinds, and – I ask this as a father, Prompto, not as a king – do not let my son leave his apartment in booty shorts, as nice as they may look. And Noctis, if you ever see me frolicking about in those, assume it’s an imposter and stop them.”

Noctis blinked. “Uh, sure.”

“And you, Prompto?”

He nodded quickly – a little too quickly, bangs falling across his face. “Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. Whatever, sir.” #Yikes.

“Good. Noct’s safety and happiness are, of course, the most important things,” Regis said. “On that note, I think it’s safe to say Izunia’s rhetoric held more promise than suggestion, if you catch my meaning.”

“You want us to skip town,” Noctis said, clearly on the same page as his father.

Skip town… “Yes, that would be wise. It will be more difficult for your band to gain popularity without access to Insomnia, but ideally, you two, Ignis, and Gladio will leave Lucis as soon as possible,” Regis said.

Prompto gulped. Already? “Leave Lucis altogether?”

“That is the end goal. And if fortune favors you, Altissia is a mere boat ride from Galdin Quay,” Regis said. “The arts flourish nowhere more so than Altissia.”

“Okay…but Dad, what will you do?” Noctis asked. There was a pleading tone to his voice Prompto hadn’t heard before, and he felt more like an intruder than ever. He could be the little boy in the courtyard again, wide-eyed and lonely…

Regis shrugged. “That depends on what Niflheim does. The fact that Izunia is after the crystal is a given. What else he might want is…hard to say.”

Noctis took a deep breath and looked up from his plate. “Don’t…don’t die, Dad.”

His father gave a small smile, eyes unyielding. “I’ll do my very best not to, son. I promise.”

Prompto took a sip of his water, trying to take up as little space as possible.

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

“Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, to the counter. I repeat, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, to the counter.”

Luna stood up in a hurry, earning plenty of stares from the other poor souls in Altissia’s emigration office. Would they have been more or less surprised if I’d worn Oracle white? No, what would have been the most surprising was if they all succeeded in booking passage out of Accordo.

The woman behind the counter handed her a booklet that looked remarkably like a passport, giving her a wan smile. “You’re awfully lucky this got pushed through – Oracle or not, closed borders are closed borders,” she said. “Has Accordo’s novelty worn off already, Your Highness?”

“No, of course not,” Luna said, signing the passport. “It’s simply…” Now that the government has fully transitioned, I could be summoned to Gralea any day. And I… “I wish to see Lucis, while it remains free.” While Noctis and King Regis remain free. The Six know what Ardyn has planned…never mind. Ardyn may not even know what Ardyn has planned.

“You and everyone else in this office, Lady Lunafreya,” the woman said, stamping the signed passport. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there – oh, your passport was greenlighted on the condition you take an escort. He should be at the docks, if you’re ready to leave immediately.”

An escort… The only comfort is that while this ‘escort’ could be any number of magitek monstrosities, the chancellor himself could not leave Gralea unattended under the present circumstances. So at least he wouldn’t be joining her. “Thank you,” Luna said, placing the passport in her handbag.

Luna made sure to take in the scenery of Altissia’s winding streets one last time as she walked to the docks, suitcase rolling behind her. I’ll be back one day, she thought, though…probably not for a long while.

She was pleasantly surprised to see, of all people, Ravus waiting at the docks. “It took you long enough to get here,” he said. “That boat on the end is assigned to take us to Galdin Quay, and from there, I’ll rent a car and drive you north.”

“Thank you so much, Ravus,” Luna said, “I—”

“It’s no trouble,” Ravus said, though his expression said differently. Luna could only imagine the strings he’d had to pull to get her through. I’ll make it up to you later, once we’re both in Gralea. “I’ll drop you off inside the Crown City and head back to Tenebrae. The chancellor will most likely send another escort to take you out of the city before…”

“…Before he attacks,” Luna finished, the words sour on her tongue. At least this gives me time to warn them. Things could always be worse. “You’re not staying with me?”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” Ravus said. “Just between you and I, the contest for who will be chosen to lead the invasion of Insomnia is between General Glauca and myself.”

The polite, sisterly thing to say would have been along the lines of ‘I’m rooting for you’ or ‘I pray for your success,’ but the last thing Luna wanted to see was the fall of Insomnia, regardless of who was responsible. “I pray the operation does not result in many casualties,” she settled on, giving her brother a searching look. What is it you want?

“Luna, whatever things may look like, know that I’m trying to protect you,” Ravus answered. Maybe, but you also seek glory. First Son of Tenebrae doesn’t have the same ring to it as it did in ages past. “Let us hurry – I’m sure you want as much time with the king and prince as possible.”

#i'd wait until morning and just.....talk to u......but i want to proofread/post before thursday evening #so maybe by the time i get out of bed you'll see this?#lmk when you read so i can delete the post

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