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scarecrowmilkfog · 3 years

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♡My Prison Pen Pal♡

Helmut Zemo x reader

Word count: 1,802

Warnings: swearing, mentions of prison and crimes and slight angst to do with his family

A/N: its finally here! I havent writen a fic in a long time so hopefully you guys like this! I tried to avoid using idioms and things like that but message me if you need anything explained or reworded as I know most people aren't native English speakers

@sorcerersofnyc

♡♡♡

His first letter came during the series finale of your favourite show. A rather inconvenient moment, you thought, so it stayed on the welcome mat until you passed through the hall on your way to bed. Picking it up, you figured you'd skim the first few lines then finish it and write a reply before work. Instead, you found yourself writing and rewriting a reply through the night. Somehow this man had managed to enthrall you with only a letter. Maybe it was the way he wrote as if he was some elegant poet whose sonnets would one day be hailed as classics. How he managed to be open and expressive, exuding a welcoming aura, and yet still seeming mysterious. Or perhaps it was simply fated by the stars that Helmut Zemo would capture your heart.

You waited anxiously for his second letter to arrive. After sending the first, you hadn't cared whether you got a response, the whole thing seemed like a bad idea to you. But your mother was insistent that you needed to meet new people and this way you wouldn't need to worry about awkward face to face conversations. Sending the first letter felt like any other chore you do in the day, done with much effort and resignment but forgotten within minutes. But the second? It felt like the most important thing you'd done in a long time. You'd even bought a first class stamp (not that it makes a difference).

You wanted to know more about this intriguing man. No, supervillain. Charged with international terrorism. Jesus christ what the fuck was wrong with you? Were you really falling in love with a supervillain after one letter? But he didn't seem evil to you. He wrote eloquently, somehow his simple and brief description of his day (he'd started reading a new psychology book, you'd have to send him some recommendations) sounded fascinating in his words.

Over time, you started to notice small things about Helmut. The way he crossed his t's, how he signed his name, but mainly that there was a romanticism to his writing. From the way he described his home, his wife, his son to his recipes for Sokovian dishes with small notes and doodles (your favourite was his shepherd's pie recipe where he helpfully noted his mother's assertion that you should always add more than you think you need). It was becoming clear to you that he wasn't the stoic and vengeful baron you expected but rather a soft, lonely and endearingly weird man who you couldn't imagine plotting to destroy the Avengers. Whilst it was his mystery that first captivated you, it was his sweet and sometimes awkward personality that convinced you to keep writing.

It took a while for Helmut to tell you about his family. You had heard on the news back when he first arrested about his motive, so you were interested to hear his perspective on his crimes. But that wasn't what you got. Instead, he told you about when he and his father used to play football when he was young and how they would play a match every time he visited, with Helmut playing against his father and son, who always wanted to play with grandfather. He told you of the songs his wife used to sing, how her voice was always loud and shaky and after years of singing somewhere over the rainbow she would still forget the lyrics and invent her own. He told you how his son was the best pianist he had ever heard. How he could play the greatest rendition of amazing grace and that he had just learnt the theme from swan lake. That he had been excited to practice it on his grandfathers grand piano the day Ultron attacked.

There was something so human about this man. His love for his family, his loss and grief, his plan to avenge his family, it was all so tragic and yet here he was sending you drawings of the flowers from his garden growing up. You wanted to hug him and yet sometimes you felt he wouldn't need it, wouldn't want it. You were wrong.

Helmut Zemo missed his family. He told you so in one of his most recent letters. He missed holding his son, brushing his wife's hair, going for long drives, waking up at 2am to comfort his son, early morning trips to the shops, cleaning up after dinner, helping with homework. Everything he listed seemed so trivial, so meaningless in the grand scheme of life and yet the memories meant so much to him.

You realised then you had never pitied him before. Not that he wasn't deserving of it, just that he didn't seem to need it. But overtime you realised that what Helmut had really needed wasn't revenge or to make a world free from superhumans, it was someone to talk to. Someone to trust. Someone who would understand his pain and not judge it. Perhaps, you thought to yourself, you could be that person.

Fuck.

You couldn't think of how to cope with this. No one you knew had ever mentioned falling in love with a criminal through letters. And as hard as you tried you hadn't been able to find a single romcom with this plot line. You couldn't tell him. You imagined with his seemingly fragile state of mind receiving from basically a stranger professing their love would at best cause him to ghost you. Especially after he confided in you, shared his thoughts and memories.

So instead you continued as normal. You sent him pressed flowers and pictures of your favourite places. Eventually, he asked what looked like, and you spent an hour trying to decide whether you should send a picture of yourself or to just vaguely describe your features. After deciding to send a picture of yourself on holiday a few months before the blip, you found yourself wondering what he'd do with it. Would he throw it away as soon as he got the letter or would he keep it, tuck it away in some book to look at whilst thinking of you?

You also found yourself wondering what he looked like in the real world. You had found pictures of him online, but they didn't feel real. He was never rarely happy. The pictures pre Ultron were clearly taken by paparazzi, so you weren't surprised he rarely looked anything other than annoyed. There were a few though, ones with his wife and son, where he clearly hadn't noticed, and some from when he was much younger and seemed to enjoy the attention. Then were those taken after his arrest.

And so you continued to wonder he looked like. How he looked in the morning, with flowers in his hair or in summer with the sun lighting his face. You wondered what his hair looked like wet, if he ever scrunched his nose in disgust. You wondered what his smile was like.

Over time, you told him more about yourself. The stress of returning home after the blip to no job, no house and your friends 5 years older. Your ex was married with kids and your sister had moved abroad. It was as if you blinked and your whole life had changed. You mentioned how it was your mum who had suggested getting a pen pal, so you could talk to someone new, who was living a different life to you, although she had meant someone in a different country not jail. Since coming back you'd been isolated and stressed with starting a new job, recovering lost information and personal belongings and moving house, so you had thought it might be good to speak to someone who didn't know you, who couldn't judge you. You told Helmut how it had been good, how writing to him had helped you, how he had helped you more than he could ever know.

No, that sounded creepy. How you appreciated his letters.

Too formal. How you hadn't expected to become his friend, but you were glad to be able to say you were.

Helmut was comforting. You knew in your head that your meeting on Friday was nothing to worry about but seeing him say it felt so reassuring. Each one of his letters made you feel relaxed, feel safe. You wanted to make him feel the same. So, as a way to repay his kindness you had told him that no matter what happened, he could always trust you. And it was true. You couldn't imagine a world where you wouldn't do anything for Helmut and although you knew he would never need it, you still wanted him to know you would always care about him, even if no one else did.

Writing to him had become as easy as talking to someone you'd known all your life. You had fallen into an easy routine, you knew when to expect his letters and you knew when you'd send a reply. The routine felt so natural that you even knew what the envelope would look like, always the same off-white with a square edged flap. The address was always the same too. Except on his last letter. Which was strange.

At first, you thought Helmut had been moved to a different prison but after frantically typing the address into Google Maps you realised it was not a prison. Fuck you had no idea what it was, but it wasn't a prison. It also wasn't in Germany.

You sat still, staring at the unopened letter for a few minutes.

You looked up at the door. You thought you heard someone knock. The post had already come and you weren't expecting people. Hell, there wasn't anyone other than your parents who would visit anyway and they would have called first. Now you were sat still, staring at the front door.

"I know you're in there, the lights are on."

It was as if you were a marionette, being moved by some strange force that was slowly pulling you out of your seat and towards the door. You didn't even register that you moved until you felt the door handle on your fingertips. The cold metal caused you to stop, as if broken out of a trance. There was a sudden realisation that if you opened the door your life would never be the same. It was sickening, a mixture of dread and excitement; it reminded you of the moment before a roller coaster drops. You repeated that thought in your head. "Your life would never be the same". Your life hadn't been the same in almost a year. What would be the harm in one more big change. So you did it. You opened the door.

His smile was beautiful.

#zemo x reader #helmut x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #tfatws

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browniefox · 3 years

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The One with the Motorcycle

@wrightfamilyweek day 4 - Free day! Which I took to mean 'shove my headcanon here'. At first I wanted to do something with Ryuunosuke, but I still haven't finished tgaa so uhhhh sorry my boy. Also, you can find this on AO3 here.

In which Trucy and Phoenix decide they need to find a more reliable method of getting around. Luckily, Phoenix already has a vehicle registered under his name.

oOo

“Does this mean that when I turn sixteen, I’ll get a motorcycle license?”

Trucy skips alongside her Daddy as they walk through the aisles of the storage facility. They pass locked garage after garage. Trucy has always known that her Daddy had somewhere he stores a bunch of stuff that doesn’t fit in the office, the stuff he used to keep in his apartment back when he had one, but this is her first time coming along with him.

There’s been a lot leading up to this. Now that Trucy’s getting a little older, there’s more things she wants to do, or go to, and Daddy seems to be getting a little busier too. He’s started going down to the library more often, and having some kind of meetings for lunch, and getting calls by people Trucy doesn’t know. They’re both getting busy, and buses and taxis only get them so far. Daddy had declared, in an almost resigned-sounding voice after they missed a bus and had to wait underneath the bus stop in the pouring rain for another thirty minutes, that perhaps it was time to find a more reliable method to get around.

“Dessie says she’s running a little late, but she’ll be here soon.” Trucy is in charge of the phone while Daddy frets over the pieces of paper in his hands, crinkling the edges up in his nervous hands.

Daddy doesn’t reply to this either, just keeps walking forward. Trucy frowns to herself. Daddy’s been kind of weird about this whole thing. From getting the Learner’s Permit, to the practice drives and lessons with Desiree, to his final test, but now if anything he seems at his most awkward and strange as they approach the storage unit.

They final come to a stop, and Daddy pulls up the metal door.

If old case files in the office were little glimpses into who Daddy was before Trucy knew him, this place was an in-color photograph.

There’s cardboard boxes with ‘sketchbooks’ scrawled on the front. There’s a dead plant in the corner. There’s a stack of picture frames, an old couch shoved into a corner, and a small wood table with rings from the ghosts of old drinks, a few splashes of paint marring the surface. There’s some art supplies shoved off in a corner that Trucy immediately goes over to, and piles of books Trucy hasn’t read before, and Trucy wants nothing more than to stay here all day and look through everything and anything in sight.

In the middle of the storage unit, however, is what they’ve come here for.

It’s a lilac-colored motorcycle. There’s an unhealthy-layer of dust on it - there’s a layer of dust on everything in the room - and Daddy brushes his hand over the seat and handles, sending a plume of the dust into the air. He starts sneezing and coughing over it and Trucy laughs a little at that. She stops in a moment, though, because of the almost-grim look on Daddy’s face as he stares at the bike.

They’ve been building up to this for months, in reality. Trucy realizes this now, that everything up to this point has been to get this motorcycle out of the garage and back onto the streets, because it was a vehicle Daddy already owns, and he wouldn’t have to go through the hassle nor money involved in getting a new one. But it’s also all conflicted with Daddy’s attempts to distance himself from the past.

Daddy wants to move forward in life, she gets that, but it makes Trucy sad anyway to see how nervous and resigned he’d looked about so much as calling the Delites for help. Like doing that much is losing something.

“So this is Aunt Mia’s bike?” Trucy asks, going over to it as well. She doesn’t know anything about things like this, but it looks like it’s in okay condition. It’s certainly not as shiny as Desiree’s, but it’s not bad.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t by.” He says, and she can tell he’s not talking to her. His eyes are fixed on the bike like sometimes he’ll stare at Charley for what seems like hours on end; it’s never for that long, but it feels like it might be at times. He tilts her head to Trucy and explains, “I used to come by and try to keep it clean and stuff, but things have gotten… complicated. I’m sure Mia’s upset I haven’t done more to maintain this since she’s been gone.”

Ah, it’s one of the days where he’s talking about Aunt Mia in the present tense. It’s hard to tell if that’s ever a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe it’s just A Thing he does sometimes. Even after four years, there’s still so much Trucy hasn’t figured out about her daddy. Sometimes, he talks about Aunt Mia as the dead person she is, gone and out of this world, a deceased but loved person, just like Trucy’s mommy was talked about. Other days, though, it’s like he expects Aunt Mia to walk through the door any minute.

“Alright, well, let’s see what we can do before Desiree gets here.”

Daddy’s temporary license, the edges of which are almost torn up by his worrying hands, is set aside on top of the sketchbook box and he grabs a towel from one of the other boxes, setting to work on a more thorough dusting. Trucy searches through Daddy’s phone for the list of what to check for that Desiree had texted him and passes it over to Daddy.

Trucy picks a stool out from the mess of things and rifles through the sketchbook box, finding one and flipping through it. There’s mostly little doodles and the like on the pages, or realistic portraits of faces Trucy doesn’t recognize. She wonders if, were Daddy not so determined to distance himself from the past, she’d know any of them. There is a picture of Miles, and she knows him, so she smiles at that picture and lightly brushes her hand over the pencil markings. Miles looks really angry in the picture, and scribbled right next to him is ‘I’ll save you’.

And Daddy did.

“Alright, let’s see what we have to work with today!”

Desiree announces herself, carrying her own box of tools

“Thought you might not show up for a moment.” Daddy jokes, but it’s one of his hollow-sounding jokes. Desiree laughs anyway.

“Oh please, I’ve been waiting to get a look at this beast for myself ever since you told me about it!” Desiree says and starts going over the bike. She talks about oil and gas and spark plugs and batteries, looking over everything and digging through her stuff and checking things. She says they’re going to need a new battery, and definitely replace just about all of the fluids. Luckily, Desiree is well-capable of doing all of that, she assures them, and they’d be able to get it up and moving enough to get it to her shop where she could do some of the rougher things to do.

“How much do I owe you?” Daddy asks, and Desiree waves her hand.

“We can discuss that later, let’s focus on getting this beauty out of this dusty-old place and back here she belongs, huh?”

Desiree has said that every time, so far, that Daddy asks about price. Trucy can see that it means Desiree doesn’t really want to make Daddy pay for any of it, but it seems to put Daddy more and more on edge every time Desiree says it. He’s waiting for something bad to happen, and his tension over it bleeds into Trucy, even though she’s not worried. Desiree is a nice lady who likes to chat to Trucy and can talk a mile a minute about motorcycles. When she’s not talking about them, she’s talking about her husband, Ron

They walk the bike out of the storage facility, Desiree filling the space with chatter about what the make and model of Aunt Mia’s motorcycle is, and the pluses and minuses of it, and how it’s lucky that it already has a backseat for Trucy. Daddy says that he used to ride with Aunt Mia sometimes, eyes trained on the bike still, as if he expected it to fall apart at a moment’s notice.

Desiree’s red-hot bike is parked out front and she tells them to meet her at her shop. She’ll be able to finish up there, where the rest of her supplies is.

“Don’t worry, she should be able to get you there just fine. And anyway, you can tell me if anything starts sounding worrying!” Desiree says as she climbs onto her bike. It’s been what Daddy has been practicing on, what Daddy even passed his driving test on just yesterday, and the rumble of it had just started to become familiar. Trucy feels like she’s going to miss it, but she’s excited to see how Aunt Mia’s bike works out.

Desiree peels out and leaves Daddy and Trucy standing on the side of the road, Daddy regarding Aunt Mia’s bike like it’s a python that’s going to bite them.

“... maybe this was a bad idea.” Daddy says five months too late.

“You worry too much! C’mon, Dessie’s waiting for us!” Trucy hops next to him, excited to get on the bike. Daddy sighs, turning his helmet over and over in his hands. Trucy has her own, bought a couple months ago, but she hasn’t been allowed on a bike yet. ‘Not until I get my official license’, Daddy had insisted. Now is the time, though.

“But what if something happens? What if I crash, and you get hurt?” He says. Trucy feels a ripple of shock run through her and she looks at Daddy’s face. His expression is grim and an open wound of his emotion. Of worry and fear, “What if I crash and I ruin her bike? What if-”

“Daddy, you’re being dumb” Trucy informs him. Daddy looks at her, and she can already see him starting to close off again, but she steals the last few moments of honesty she can, desperately, “Daddy you can do this, okay? We’re going to be okay. Even if we have to go five miles an hour to get there.”

“I think I’m actually worse at driving slow.” Daddy grumbles. Trucy grabs his hands.

“Then we’ll go really fast. We aren’t giving up on this just because you’re scared.”

Daddy sighs and then ruffles her hair.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It’d be stupid to give up right now. It doesn’t matter how long it’s going to take.”

They put their helmets on and climb onto the bike. They both hold their breaths when the engine first starts, and then it roars to life. It’s different than Desiree’s although exactly how, Trucy isn’t sure. She wraps her arms around her daddy’s stomach as they get going, keeping her eyes open. She isn’t scared, she can’t be. She needs to seem sure and trusting over this, for his sake, for their sake, so that they can make it through here together.

Things don’t change a lot with Daddy. They’ve lived in the same place for all this time, and Daddy’s worked at the same bar, and Trucy’s worked at the same bar, and they have the same routines day to week to month to year. This is new, this is change, but it’s a good thing.

They roar down the streets for the first time, Daddy is shaking, Trucy can feel it with how tightly she’s holding onto him. The air roars past them, chillingly-cold.

He did this for me, Trucy thinks, and then, no, he did this for us. For family, so that we can keep moving forwards .

If they had stood still, they would’ve been alright with buses and taxis and rides from friends. But they are moving forward in life, they need the ability to do more, be more independent, further their own things.

And help, here they had help, from Desiree, and from the thoughtfulness of Aunt Mia to leave Phoenix to her bike, and Ron had told Trucy before that Phoenix had helped them (Trucy had already known this, she’s read that case and every other case what feels like a thousand times over, her illicit self-read bedtime stories) and that they’d been wanting to do something for the man ever since they heard about The Disbarment.

It’s sort of funny, how independence and getting help seemed to go hand-in-hand.

Trucy and her Daddy roar down the streets, and her grip loosens as she gets more comfortable, and Daddy stops shaking so badly as he gets into his groove, because he’s done this before and has been training and practicing, and he knows how to ride a bike now, and Desiree has taught him how to maintain it, and now, now they are going towards a new normal, a new schedule, a second half of the darkest time of their lives (of course, Trucy doesn’t know this, and neither does her daddy, and now it seems like the shadows is simply where they will always be living) and they prepare to meet it together.

#wrightweek21 #ace attorney #trucy wright #phoenix wright #fanfiction #fanfic #browniefox writes

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canisfuria · 2 years

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@flyinbanachab replied to your post “collected enough random one-off fma doodles for...”

Wait wait wait tell me about this plot

...... nnnngh... hnnNNnnnghghh.....

“I need a getaway, or something.” she says, although not with her usual gripe.

It’s tired enough that Kain looks up, catching the grimace as she rolls her neck. No surprises there: business at Cat’s has been on the boom. An oasis of cheer among the locals, and a hotspot for the evening trainfarer- “Location, location, location!” Rebecca cackles proudly, never revealing what a thrilling surprise it’s been. She works her tail off for those crowds, and it surely pays off !

But even the most well-oiled machine will wear and tear eventually.

“A vacation would do you good,” Kain agrees. “Just a change of scenery would be nice.

The gushing praise is sweet, but frankly, it’s Becca’s smile that says it all. Sure, it had taken some nudging-- "Maybe I WANT to spend my day off holed up in my room, Kain.”-- but ultimately, her curiosity had been piqued. Whatever Kain could promise to “make it worth her while”, he’d been persistent about it.

Now, seated on the patio of Central’s newest Cretian dine-in, Rebecca smiles into her bellini, and Kain feels his shoulders relax.

“Come on,” her hands fold pointedly under her chin, “what’s the big surprise?” And as he makes a zipped-lip gesture with his hand, his eyes flick discreetly towards his watch. They still have plenty of time.

“Aw, you’re no fun!”

Kain cannot believe he lost track of time. The sky is already going goldenrod-- Kain knew he should’ve asked for the check earlier ! But conversation had been electric, and the live music, so pleasant... ! Thankfully, they aren’t far from the place, a short cab ride that let them off around the block. Kain had all but thrown the tipped fare to their driver, hastening his date and self towards their destination.

“You still haven’t said what you wanted to show me,” Rebecca snickers as she matches his power walk. “should I be worried?” “Not much farther.” “That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

It’s been months since Mustang had jokingly christened it the “stairway to heaven”. Of course, not without reason- a glance from sandstone steps, to Becca’s choice in heeled-fashion shatters the last illusion of timely arrival. It’s probably better they take their time, anyways; after climbing the first story, both pause to catch their breath, and punctuate it with weak laughter.

“... Probably could’ve... planned this one better...” “Ha... haha! Remind me to... strangle you when we get there...!”

But the evening is warm, and the breeze picks them up. Dust and feathers give away the age of the stairwell, winding no steeper than they can handle. Towards the tail end of the flight, Rebecca resigns to taking her shoes in one hand, and giving her other for Kain to hold.

“Where the hell did you find this place?” she muses, eyes catching the doorway above them. Which Kain will assure is the final one-- his last excursion here had all but demolished its true penthouse.

“Is it less romantic if I tell you, work?”

To which she offers a bemused snort.

“Nobody really comes here,” he smiles, helping her up the last step, and through the doorway, “which I thought was a shame; the view is really nice.”

He hopes she’ll forgive him for all the stairs. Upon reaching the final floor, Rebecca can find herself greeted with a balcony view of the city. The setting sun would’ve surely taken her breath away. However, as its last light descends, the skyline sparkles with halogen and neon, rooftops still gilded with the final trace of day.

“Where the hell did you find this place?” She repeats, rhetorical and breathless, as she moves to hang over guardrails. And, since there doesn’t look to be anyone lingering the streets below, she cups both hands around her mouth, and gives a delighted howl to the glimmering lights: “HELLOOO!”

Giggling to herself ( is it the bellinis, or real joy? ), Becca feels a warmth envelope her shoulders; one glance over reveals the jacket Kain carefully covers her with.

“Central's no tropical vacation, but up here is the nicest change in scenery I know.”

One smack to his shoulder later, and he promises to warn her next time he plans on taking them anywhere she’ll regret wearing stilettos. But he’ll worry about next time, next time. In the meanwhile, their taxi is quiet, and Rebecca’s shoulder is warm against his. And he’s sure it will be again tonight, when she decides to catch a morning train back east, instead.

#flyinbanachab #beccain #Rebecca Catalina #Kain Fuery #(( me: ''i'll never write this plot because what a weirdly nichely dramatic gesture that would take too long to figure out an ending for''#me 24 hours later: ''...................... okay well his love language is acts of service''#aka i had FMA on in the bg the other day and was trying to figure out what that ''watchtower/safehouse'' riza was staying in was for #like that's a very strange and foreboding building that's just abandoned on the skirts of the city? and roy accidentally blew up the topmost #*floor saving riza and kain from gluttony right- rendering it further unusable until somebody fixes it #but riza had a sniper's view of that whole piece of the city and i'd thought to myself ''lol eiffel tower date vibes''#and then blammo half this idea came to me in sketch form and i thought ''naaah tossing this in the fodder pile. too complicated to finish''#famous last words i guess ))#.POWERHOUSE ( ;rebecca catalina )#.TECH SUPPORT ( ;kain fuery )

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tsipasce · 4 years

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Same Difference, Ch.08

A/N: [ insert “Growth” gif]

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07

AO3 | Fanfic

The weekend flew by, mostly thanks to the great time she had with Hitomi. Though after Saturday night’s events, Nanami’s only thoughts were on her friend’s suggestion to get self-defense training. Well, that and the cute doodles on a now-bookmarked page in her planner. She smiled to herself remembering that night and the unexpectedly pleasant company. The image of him sitting next to her as they joked brought a warmth to her face she was very reluctant to accept. Snap out of it and focus. She chastised herself as she quickly remembered what had happened earlier that night when she felt she couldn’t defend herself.

Sure it turned out fine, but what if he’d been more aggressive and I was alone? Or what if he had a quirk or got training to use it against people… Nanami didn’t finish the thought but she knew where it led and she was honest enough to admit it scared her. Sunday night she made a list of classes to check out. Usually being a thoughtful shopper, she figured it would be smarter to vet the classes by observing before diving in. She had an hour or so after work before she went to the lab, so why not squeeze in an errand?

Packing up her things, she headed out of the office, pulling up the directions on her phone. After a couple blocks, she arrived in front of a studio with large, glass windows and a dozen or so occupants inside. It wasn’t very long before she realized this wouldn’t be a class where she’d learn much. The “assailant” was really just some poor guy in a thick layer of padding, standing still as the students formed a line to shyly “punch” or “kick” him with all the brutality of a raucous pillow fight. Everyone moved at their own pace, but pragmatic as she was, Nanami knew whatever she learned from this class wouldn’t be enough to repel someone who really meant trouble. After checking out two other classes yielding similar results, she decided to give it a rest for the day and head to the lab. They had a lot of data to analyze from the most recent round of tests, and she wanted to get a leg up on preparations.

Parking in her regular spot, she walked up to the front gates and knocked. She cocked her brow in confusion after waiting for a minute. Where the heck is Kurono… Usually if she was due to arrive at 6:00pm, he’d be in the front room waiting with an extra cup of tea he’d just so happened to have made at 5:45pm. Despite their initial meetings, they’d gotten closer over the past couple months, trading looks when Overhaul was in one of his “moods” and taking breaks together. No one was as meticulous and punctual as Overhaul, but Kurono would definitely be a close second, so seeing him late was surprising. This is odd. Nanami began to think as the door opened and she was greeted by another man she’d seen in passing.

“Good evening, doc. This way, please.”

“Oh, good evening. Lead the way,” she said, brushing off the concern from earlier. It wasn’t unreasonable to think they’d changed schedule every now and then.

The man escorted her to the lab and shut the door, leaving her to some work she was happy to do alone. After Saturday night, she wasn’t completely sure how to interact with her lab partner. Sure they hadn’t necessarily done anything untoward, but it would be a lie to say it was nothing.

Five minutes passed by, then ten… once minute number fifteen rolled around she began to get Worried? Nope. We’re not going there today. It’s probably just “business” or something else shady. If he doesn’t think this research is important, that’s his loss. She convinced herself, a little irritated he’d blown her off without even one of his curt “I’m busy. We’ll speak later” texts. Just as she was about to mentally practice the argument she’d have with him when he finally decided to come in, the door burst open, startling her as she almost dropped the samples she was moving.

Turning towards the door, she saw the angry little Muppet, already preparing to hear some kind of smart remark. Thought everyone else had warmed to her in one way or another, Mimic made it clear the only person worth any courtesy was Overhaul. “Well how can I help you Mimi—”

“Please—please just come with me right now. I don’t have time to explain, just hurry and follow me!” the small creature shrieked. Well, in a way, he always shrieked, but this time Nanami could hear a desperation she’d only heard during her E.R. days. Switching gears, she knew to drop what she was doing and follow him. Whatever he needed, it was serious.

Racing down the long, winding hallways behind him, she was grateful to have kept in some semblance of shape. Just before she reached her limit, they stopped at a familiar door. Her heart sank, Isn’t this his office? She realized before Mimic quickly opened the door and promptly closed it once they entered. She looked confused as she saw Overhaul lying face down on one of the couches in the office. Kurono was blocking most of her line of sight to him as he was kneeling by his side. Hearing the door close, he looked back, moving out of the way, a grave look on his face. As she took in the scene, she heard a voice croak out “I… I can’t reach...”. She was confused for a moment before she saw there was a sizeable, deep gash across Overhaul’s back and hives, Probably from being touched and carried in here she guessed. By the look of it, she knew even breathing had to be excruciating and even a contortionist would find it challenging to bend their arm behind their back to touch it. Traditional medicine would be a gamble…she thought, as she took off her gloves, resigning herself to the obvious option.

“Alright, lift him up, very gently.” Nanami commanded firmly, noticing the significant blood loss.

“Touch me again and I’ll kill the lot of you.” He seethed as his subordinates backed away, knowing better than to take the threat lightly.

She tried to think quickly as she needed to see if there were any other injuries before acting. Remembering all the times he’d touched her yet hadn’t broken out, she decided to give it a shot. “Then I’ll do it.” She said resolutely. He mustered up enough strength to turn his head and glare in warning. She cautiously moved forward and knelt beside him to whisper. “You’ve touched me before without breaking out, remember? You and I both know there’s a time limit and the longer your wound is open, the harder it will be to repair. I promise I won’t let anyone else make contact, just let me help you.”

He seemed to accept she was right and that he had no other choice. The warning was still in his eyes, but he nodded reluctantly. Though moving him was a two person job, she knew she’d have to make due. With one of her hands at his head and another along his side she tried to keep his head, neck and back aligned while rolling him onto one side. She tried her best to be careful, but it was hard moving him at all without earning a wince and hiss. Good, it’s just the back. She confirmed noting the lack of blood underneath him as she quickly looked over him before her arms gave out.

Letting him down, she knelt down beside him, assessing the situation. His weak, but at least he’s conscious. I can do this. She reassured herself, not used to having such a captivated audience watching behind her. Usually when she’d used her quirk to fix something so drastic, she’d make sure she was alone with the patient and they were sedated. The Eight Bullets knew about her quirk, but it was still nerve-racking having to perform in front of so many eyes.

“Just do it” he exasperated from behind gritted teeth. He seemed to be bracing himself, but she was confused as to why.

Brushing it off, she took a deep breath, disassembling his shirt to get a better view of the wound. It was as bad, if not worse, than she thought. Within seconds she reconstructed the damaged bones, sinew and then skin until the wound vanished, earning her a sigh of relief from her patient and the onlookers.

“There you go, good as new.” She piped, almost slapping him on the back like a fixed car before stopping herself short and gently patting instead. “Who did this to you?” a note of genuine concern in her voice.

“It doesn’t matter, it was a cheap shot. None of them exist anymore.” He replied too simply for someone who’d probably just murdered multiple someones. Nanami never forgot what he was, but it didn’t make the regular confirmation any easier. “Kurono, Mimic: Leave us.” He added, now moving himself to rise from the couch.

They filed out of the room, Kurono looking back, giving her a small nod and thankful glance before closing the door behind them. Turning her attention back to him, Overhaul was already at the closet in his office, putting on another, identical shirt. Knew it. She thought remembering her theory about his wardrobe.

He continued buttoning it up, his back turned to her as he began,” How did you do that?”

“Um… the same way you do?” She replied, perplexed as to what he meant. She’d disclosed most of what she was able to do with their shared quirk already, and he’d shown that he knew how to heal himself. She’d become leagues more cooperative and transparent during their research, so the question caught her off guard.

“No, you don’t. It’s been a long day, and I’d greatly appreciate it if you gave up this little act and just explained it to me.”

“I... I don’t know what you mean…” Ok now I’m really confused…

He turned around, an obvious look of suspicion in his eyes, “I won’t ask again.”

Nanami was taken aback, insulted,” So I save your ass and in return I get an interrogation?”

“First of all, it was my back, not my ass. Secondly, I only interrogate uncooperative parties, so cooperate and explain how you healed me like that?” he intoned, now stalking towards her, an accusatory look still in his eyes.

“Like how? I have literally no idea what you mean!” Genuinely confused at why he was so angry with her all the sudden, she was really hoping he’d throw her a bone here.

“Without the pain!”

“…the what?” She looked at him searchingly before realizing what he meant, a pained and slightly embarrassed look on his face. Her tense stance relaxed before continuing, “Have you… just been feeling it all the entire time?”

“You haven’t?”

“Hell no,” she shot back before continuing, thinking out loud, “To feel every singular cell being ripped apart and put back together every time? That would be…” His eyes were no longer meeting hers, his jaw tightening, “…unbearable.”

Clinically, she knew they utilized their quirk differently, but seeing the real-world effects was another thing entirely. Of course, someone who’d grown up only weaponizing their quirk wouldn’t think about minimizing pain, and conversely someone who’d used it almost exclusively for healing would prioritize comfort. If it had just been a theory she’d concocted in a vacuum, she’d probably think it was fascinating, but now it just seemed… Sad. Knowing he’d been in that kind of pain for so long caused an aching in her chest.

“Do not pity me.” He seethed, misjudging the look on her face.

“What? No. Look, I know this may be a novel concept for you, but there is such a thing as empathy.”

“I have no use for that either.”

“You sure did a couple minutes ago when you were bleeding out.”

“Yes, and you were useful, as most tools are, but for now I need nothing else from you.”

She couldn’t help the look of hurt that flashed across her face, his hard stare unwavering. Looking him up and down with disgust, she knew it wasn’t worth the effort to continue the discussion. He was lashing out at her because he was embarrassed, and she wouldn’t tolerate it.

“This… was a mistake. Fuck you.”

She turned on her heel out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

Fuck that guy. Fuck that guy. Fuuuuccckkk that guy. She cursed to herself as she stormed down the hallway and back to the lab. The nerve of him to be bleeding all over me, begging for MY help one second, just to turn around and humiliate me the next. Fuck him.

Bursting through the doors to the lab, Nanami saw Kurono redrawing one of her diagrams in their notes, “I’m sorry Dr. Watanabe, it’s nothing against you it’s just—Wait, what are you doing?” he asked, noticing she was angrily shoving her things into her bag.

“I’m leaving.”

Kurono sighed, confident that Overhaul had to have said something cruel. “I’m not sure what he said to you, but I do know he’s been lighter than he has been in a long time since you started working together.” He confessed, hoping it would strike a chord with her. She paused, a sad look crossing her face before it reverted to anger and she began packing again. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?”

“Help me kick Overhaul’s ass and make him apologize.”

“… it has been a pleasure working with you.”

Pausing for a minute, her fists clenched in frustration, she realized what she’d be losing by leaving. “Just this morning I had one of the most exciting research projects of my career and felt like maybe we’d become just a little bit closer to… whatever counts as forward in this weirdass partnership thing. But he just had to piss it away.” It was upsetting to say the least, months of work would now come to a halt and collect dust, all because of his ego, “It’s not fair.”

Her eyes were trained on the ground, too angry and hurt to move when she heard him get up from his chair and walk over. She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Care for one last cup of tea before you go?”

Sighing heavily, trying to release the tension from her shoulders, she nodded solemnly attempting to give a small smile, “Yeah, one more for the road.”

“Ok, I’ll leave you to your things. Come to the front room upstairs when you’re ready.” Kurono patted her shoulder as he walked past her, leaving her alone to finish packing up.

The anger was still present, but soon enough the sadness of loss came washing over her. No. We’ll feel all the feels later, let’s just get out of here she thought sniffling and recomposing herself. She was going through some papers when she heard the door open behind her.

“Sorry, Kurono, I’ll be done in just a minute,” she said, still focused on her task. When there was no response, she looked to see who came in, a grimace instantly plastered across her face. He walked over to the workbench across from her and stood quietly, his arms folded. She scoffed before turning back to her task, ignoring him. Packing up the last of her things, she glanced around briefly before her eyes landed on her planner that laid on the workbench he was in front of. Rolling her eyes, she marched over, standing only inches away from him before reaching past to grab the booklet behind him. As she turned to walk away, she thought she heard something.

“Excuse me?” she looked back at him, a tinge of irritation in his eyes. She rolled hers before turning again. “Why do I even ask...”

“I said, I’d like our partnership to continue.”

She was sure she was going to get whiplash from dealing with him, but responded anyway, unable to let this slide. “You have a real funny way of showing it.”

“But I am showing it, right now by asking you to continue.”

“You do not get to humiliate me and then just pretend like saying that will be good enough. You’re calling it a partnership right now, but a couple minutes ago I was a tool.”

“So, you’d give up all of this work because your feelings were hurt?” his tone cold and almost annoyed.

“Because my feelings were hurt? No, you disrespected me. I helped you—which I was glad to do—and you spit in my face. No thank you, no nothing. Partners don’t do that, at least not any I’d consider working with.”

“We may be partners, but our standing is not the same. My mastery of overhaul exceeds yours, thus you need direction.”

“You have a mastery of violence. Just because I don’t use it to fight or kill people whenever my ego isn’t stroked just the right way… that doesn’t make me lesser than you, and it certainly doesn’t make you better than me.”

“You agreed to come into this world knowing exactly what it was. This is not about ego, this is about the natural order of things here. You admit you couldn’t hold your own in combat, so where does that leave you in a world that bases order on the violence you’re abstaining from?”

“I’d say right next to you.” She stepped forward, solidifying the confrontation. “For all your power, you still had to be saved, by me. As far as I’m concerned, whatever fight you were in tonight would have been a draw without me, so who really decided the ‘natural order’? My value is the same, whether I’m inside or outside this world, and I will not stay where people refuse to see it just because it doesn’t conform to their narrow definition of it.”

He stared at her a beat searchingly as she stared back in complete defiance. She knew logically she’d have little recourse if he made the snap decision to disassemble her, but she wouldn’t want to live with herself if she let him think this was ok. As much as she lectured about ego, her pride never ceased to get the best of her.

“You…have a point.” He managed to get out, the words sounding like they were causing him physical pain. He couldn’t deny respect was paramount in the world of the underground and her demand for it was not unreasonable, not to mention how useful she could be in the future. However, for that to be true, he’d have to acknowledge the possibility that he was in the wrong, something he’d only ever done for his father, the only other person to save him. He knew what had to be done. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath, unintentionally inhaling what he knew was a light smell of lavender. She was standing much closer to him than anyone he wasn’t planning on fighting, but he found himself not loathing it. Savoring it for a moment, he turned to walk around to her side creating some much-needed distance between them. Clearing his throat by swallowing what could best be described as his own pride, he locked eyes with her. She was still royally pissed, but also watching intently, reluctantly curious.

“I…I do find you valuable. To compare you to a tool was… unfair.” By his tone and furrowed brows, she could tell this was difficult for him, but she needed to hear him say it. Her expression softened slightly, but she stood firm, waiting to hear the rest. She didn’t want to leave, but their arrangement couldn’t continue if he was going to treat her like he had earlier, and she needed to know he knew that. “You have my gratitude. I would like for you to reconsider your decision and to move forward… with me… on this project.”

It was a relief to hear, but he’d left out one important word. “… is this your way of saying sorry?” she asked, knowing the answer. His arrogance might not let him say it outright, but judging by how worked up he’d gotten, she was sure it was as close to an apology as anyone had heard from him.

“Think what you want,” he replied turning his gaze from her to stare at a cabinet that was suddenly very interesting. “… I won’t refute your assumption.”

Close enough. For now.

Her gaze dropped from his face as her hand massaged the back of her neck, resigning herself to this curve ball fate had thrown her. She sighed, walking back to the workbench, placing the notes down as they had been earlier. She went into her bag and retrieved a small box and began walking towards the lab doors.

“… Where are you going?” He asked, the slightest tinge of worry in his voice.

“Tea break and snacks.” She said waving the small box,” I’ll be back in 30. We can go over notes then.” She replied simply.

“… I see. I’ll be waiting then.” The subtle sound of relief in his voice did not go unnoticed. She paused, with her back still turned to him and spoke over her shoulder.

“Overhaul?”

“Yes?”

“To answer your question, I disassemble the nerve fibers connected to the tissue I’m repairing until I’m finished. I’d usually just rely on the anesthesia since most of the patients I work with have to go into surgery anyway, but in cases like tonight, that is how I do it without pain.” She explained before leaving the lab.

“…I see. Thank you.” He intoned with a level of sincerity that felt foreign to him. Though he’d never admit it, the sight of her lab coat hanging next to his brought a strange sense of comfort.

#overhaul x oc #overhaul fanfiction #overhaul #mha overhaul #mha fanfic #mha oc #chisaki kai #kai chisaki #overhaul fanfic #mha #bnha fanfic #incorrect bnha quotes

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years

Text

heart of stone (6/?)

AO3

Janis ditches the tights and jean shorts by Wednesday. There’s a slight look of ‘I told you so’ on her mother’s face, but she spares Janis the lecture out of politeness. Janis never thought she’d miss them, but here she is.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she scribbles another flower on the page, a twin for the one next to it. Not an exact twin, it’s thinner and its petals are more spiked and sharp than the one she drew before it. It’s less inviting, more dangerous. Angry, even. Like if she picked it up she’d cut her finger on it. She hadn’t intended for it to happen; in fact, she’d set out to doodle some pretty little flowers in an attempt to brighten up her sketchbook. But the pencil, as it often does, did what it wanted. She turns it on the side, trying to find a way to like it. It’s not bad work, not her best but certainly not her worst. Maybe she could like it if she had drawn it earlier, but she had really been hoping to get something nice into her book today.

With a sigh, she sets the book on her lap and swings her body around so that her feet dangle over the edge of her bed. Her next round of chemo isn’t due for a few hours, a long stretch of time to attempt to fill with activity. While she’s only been in the hospital for two full days, she’s decided that the worst part is the waiting around for the next thing to happen. Granted, much of that can be put on her as she’s spent more time in her room than she has anywhere else, distracting herself with TV and art and her parents and texting her friends every chance she can get. It all comes together and forms some kind of routine for her, one that’s built with as much familiarity and comfort as possible woven through it. The only downside to it is that the room’s been getting progressively smaller since two days ago and it wasn’t long before it started choking her.

She left the door slightly open and peers into the hallway, the brightness of the walls striking against the cool tones of her room. She can hear the faint sounds of half-conversations that overlap with each other; nurses gossiping with each other while fiddling with IVs, the inhabitants of the longue talking and laughing about who knows what, doctors prescribing new rounds of medicine. The ward is much more alive than she had Janis ever thought it could be, a constant hum in the background of the day to day life keeps the place awake.

She taps her nails on the cover of her book, her swinging legs gaining momentum as she debates following the pull in her chest, compelling her to maybe leave her room for more than five minutes at a time and follow the sounds of conversation. Maybe talk to people who aren’t her medical team or her parents. Make some friends, because as everyone knows, cancer wards are prime social hotspots. She may not be here forever, but she’ll be here long enough to justify getting comfortable.

What’s the worst that can happen, logic had asked her that first night.

Literally so freaking much, she responded. Friends aren’t exactly her strong suit. Regina was a mistake, Damian was luck, and Cady was a gift. She could indulge her inner loser and tell herself it’s because she’s special and tailor made to a few specific people, but the thought of that makes her roll her eyes. So she faces up to the truth and all it entails; that she’s merely been unlucky in the friendship department, something that can be boiled down to one terrible experience and everything that came after it and lingers long after the smoke has cleared.

You’re being ridiculous she tells herself. If there’s a Regina George clone here, she’ll be thoroughly impressed. So she pulls her boots on and pushes herself off the bed, quickly explaining to her mom that she’s going to hang out in the longue for a bit.

“You need me to come with you?”

“I’m fine,” she says, a small smile on her face as she pulls on a cardigan. She nods at the intense competitive cooking show her mom has on the TV. “Tell me who wins. And don’t leave out any details.”

“Well we both know it’s not going to be Leticia judging by the look of that beef,” she says seriously. Janis clicks her tongue before turning and heading down, her steps smaller than normal and her sketchbook held against her chest like a shield. Her stomach twists uneasily, not from the chemo or anything like that, just from good old-fashioned anxiety. In an odd way, it’s a relief to feel ill in that way.

When she pushes herself past the open doors, all eyes turn to her and only look away to talk with other people. It’s far more populated than the last time she was here, people sitting in groups of two and three, most in pyjamas and some with hats. But all of them in groups, belonging with each other. Is this how Cady felt all those months ago, when she and Damian spotted her heading to the bathroom? Maybe her girlfriend had the right idea that day. A bathroom stall is a way better alternative to a room full of strangers.

Unfortunately, she knows better by now, and so she settles in an armchair as gracefully as she can, her legs tucked beneath her, and tries to shake off the discomfort she feels by opening her book and giving her hands something to do.

“You’re new,” a girl sitting on the floor states. She’s one of the few that actually has hair, dark brown and curly, and it makes Janis feel a little more at ease. Is that bad, she has to ask.

“Third day,” she explains, offering her a small wave. “I’m Janis.”

“Melissa,” she says. She leans back on her arms and exposes a little bandage inside her elbow. Janis pulls her own arm a little closer. Melissa doesn’t seem to notice, instead gesturing to her with her chin.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” she asks, her cheeks growing warm. “Oh, just some drawings I do.”

“Cool,” she says. “So you do art?”

“Sometimes it’s like the art does me," she says dryly, earning a chuckle. “But you know how it is.”

“My best friend says that all the time,” Melissa sighs. “She says she wants to go to art college but I’ve watched her cry over trying to hand in assignments.”

“You sound like my mom,” Janis replies. “Literally every time I bring up doing art in college she tells me how stressful it is.” She shrugs lightly. “She’s not wrong, but it’s the only thing I want to do.”

“Is your mom here?”

“Yeah, she’s back in my room,” she explains. “I left her watching some cooking show on TV.”

“Wow, and you’ve only just here. I’ve been here for a month and I only just got my mom to let me out of her sight,” she sighs, a resigned smile on her face and her eyebrow raised in a silent ‘you know how it is’. “Want to play some Scrabble? We’ve started keeping a scoreboard so we can add you in. We have a whole tournament going.”

“Sounds fun,” Janis says, pushing herself off the chair. “Although I should give you warning, I’m dyslexic, so I kind of suck at it.”

Janis follows her across the longue, slipping her hand into her pocket when she thinks she sees the other girl reach out to her. There’s a pang of guilt in Janis’ chest even though Melissa doesn’t seem to care, and she does her best to work through it. She exchanges names and smiles with other kids, all introduced by Melissa. It’s an odd feeling; she’s not used to being the one who’s introduced. She’s either known people so long she doesn’t need to or she’s the one making the introduction, but today her mouth feels dry and her tongue tied so much that all she can do is say ‘hi’ and try to keep up with the rest of the little group. But despite this, and despite the fact that she does supremely suck at Scrabble, they aren’t half bad. They welcome her in with no problem at all, asking her about school and life and art as they set up tiles and she knows the right questions to ask them. She laughs at their jokes and nods along to the conversation, even adding in her own take now and again as it builds into a steady flow.

It’s not entirely perfect; she can’t help but feel slightly on the outside when they bring up a nurse or a patient she doesn’t know and she’s much more quiet than she’s used to being, unsure which, if any, topics are off-limits, where the lines are. But she’s enjoying herself enough to drown out her earlier worries even if it can’t make them fade entirely, and her mood only picks up when she hears someone behind her say (squeal) her name, followed a flash of pink and rainbow appearing in her vision. How times change when a pink sweater can make her smile instead of grimace.

“Maddie!” The younger girl leans into her side, eyes bright and sparkling, and Janis puts an arm around her shoulders. “Hey kid, where have you been?”

“Where have you been more like,” she replies. “I haven’t seen you since Monday.”

“Been busy,” she says. No one presses, likely because they all understand. They’ve all been where she is before. “And now I’m busy losing at Scrabble. Badly.” Maddie chuckles and when her arms wrap around Janis and chin rests on her shoulder, she can’t say no to it. There’s nothing uncomfortable about such a gesture and it almost feels as natural as hugging Damian or when Karen rests her head on her shoulder, despite her only knowing the girl for two days.

“Oh hey, did they tell you about the photography thing yet?” she asks.

“That what now?”

“Oh it’s this thing the cancer centre started,” Melissa explains. “Basically they want us to take pictures of stuff that matters to us. Us doing hobbies, us with our friends, the whole shebang. It’s meant to be about our cancer not defining us or whatever.” She gives a casual shrug. “It’s fun anyway. You should do it. Especially since you have your art thing.”

“Sounds like fun,” she says before poking Maddie in the ribs. “Now come on, kid. Help me make a word out of these.”

And maybe it’s Maddie’s presence or just time passing, but Janis suddenly finds herself a lot less anxious. She even gets to the point where she trades playful insults with another kid, a boy around her age, and form a team up of sorts against him with one of the other girls. They can’t replace her real friends and she wouldn’t try to, the bonds she’s formed with Damian and Cady are too important and were put through too much to be replicated, but she suspects that they could quickly become new friends.

What’s more, treatments and diagnosis come in and out of the conversation with unexpected ease, and when Janis talks about her own, it’s the same. She hadn’t realised how much of this she’d held back, even in her texts and calls with Damian and talks with her mom. And while she feels bad for it, it also feels so, so good to talk to people like this. People who aren’t her parents or her doctors. People who are, well… like her.

And as it turns out, her next round is scheduled the same time as Melissa’s, and so they head down the hallway together. While Melissa continues to make conversation, Janis’ responses dwindle the closer she gets to her room. It doesn’t take long for the good feeling from the longue to fade, and the image of the needle in her vein becomes sharper in her mind.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Janis asks suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Does it…” She swallows past the lump in her throat. She finds a loose thread on her cardigan and toys with it until the question comes out. “Does it ever get easier? All this?”

“Well…” Melissa stops in their tracks and Janis almost trips as she does the same, immediately regretting asking. The other girl bites her lip, searching for the right answer. It feels like hours before she says “I don’t really know. I can’t speak for you. We’re all different here.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I guess you get used to it. So it starts getting less scary, I guess.”

Janis only nods and then Melissa reaches out and taps her arm.

“It doesn’t stop sucking,” she sighs. “You just get used to it sucking.”

“And then we all bond over it sucking?” she asks, smirking.

“You get it,” she replies with a laugh. “See you later, Janis.”

“Bye.”

After Melissa leaves, she lingers in the hallway for a minute, pressing her finger into the spot where her IV goes. The problem is exactly what Melissa said-you get used to it. And she really, really doesn’t want to get used to it. Getting used it to means that she’ll be here for a while, that something else replaces her old life. Especially now, after the year she had last year, she wants to get used to good stuff, not stuff that ‘sucks’. The idea of this, medicines and hospitals and doctors, becoming normal to her sends a shiver down her back.

But she learned a while ago how to live in reality, even when it’s not what she wants. And it’s with that attitude she walks into her room, where she finds not only her IV set up, but a text from Cady detailing something funny from her math class and how much she misses her.

Even if she gets used to everything else, she knows she’ll never, ever get used to missing Cady.

*****

Friday morning, she wakes later than she normally does. It’s a slow process at the start, sleep pulling her in and begging her to stay, the hospital-issue sheets softer than soft around her and forming a cosy cocoon that she’s so tempted to remain in.

That is, until she remembers what day it is, and then she’s jolted awake.

Friday. Or as she’s called it, Damian-and-Cady day.

It was an unspoken agreement that the two of them were visiting her in here. Just like her father, they were insistent on coming over every moment they could, with Damian jokingly suggesting he could hide under her bed and they could have a sleep over (which they had considered in seriousness and attempted to plan). But thanks to a little thing called school, and another thing called distance, today was the first day she could see them, which is why now she’s wide awake, bright eyed, bushy tailed, everything. Because she’s finally seeing them again and filling the hole in her soul being away from them had carved.

“Morning, kid,” her mom says cheerily, entering the room with a cup of coffee in one hand. “They’re still serving breakfast downstairs, or if you want it brought up to you-”

“Sounds great, Mom,” she replies, only half paying attention. She turns on her phone, her leg bouncing anxiously as she waits for it to load. Has it always been this slow at turning on? She swears it hasn’t been. It takes an eternity for her lockscreen to come up, the time written across it in thin white numbers.

“Ten thirty?” she reads out loud before her head snaps up. “Mom, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Why would I?” she asks. “You need all the rest you can get, and you’ve still got time before you’re due a round.”

“I know,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “But Cady and I text good morning to each other and it was my turn this morning. I don’t want her to think I forgot.”

“Well, I’m sure Cady understands. You know, with all that’s going on, maybe she’s not expecting good mornings right now.”

“Course she is,” she replies quickly. In what universe would Cady not wait for a good morning from her? “It’s our thing. Didn’t you and Dad have a thing?” She types out the message and sends it quickly, although Cady probably won’t see it for at least another two hours.

“Oh, you think we did good morning e-mails back in those days?” she says, laughing a little. She sits on the bed next to her on the bed. “So are you getting some breakfast? Someone can bring it up if you don’t feel up to going down, I’ll just tell them what you want-”

“It’s fine, Mom.” She reaches under the bed and pulls on a sweater before slipping into her boots and raking a brush through her hair. “I might as well go down. Someone might take the last yogurt while I’m down there.”

Truthfully, she doesn’t really feel like eating. Not anything bad, she’s just not hungry, but it’ll put her mom’s mind at ease. Just as she thought, the tension fades from her mom’s shoulders, and when she pats her shoulder, there’s more relief in her smile than just breakfast warrants.

She eats in her room, with the TV on, like she does when she’s sick at home. She could eat in the dining room, but despite the new friends she’s made she prefers eating in private, especially away from the buzzing nurses. As she flips around the channels, her phone buzzes on the plastic table, the screen lighting up to show her a new text that makes her smile and roll her eyes at once.

‘Good morning, babe. Can’t wait to see you today. Also, ik I can’t really change it now, but what do we think of the outfit?’

Beneath the message is a picture of Cady in her bedroom mirror, clad in a black vest and blue flannel shirt with white skinny jeans, her hair held back in a high, loose ponytail, soft curls framing her round face, her eyes looking up at the mirror as she gives an open, toothy grin. And Janis can’t help it, she squeals. God damn it, her girlfriend is cute.

‘Love it, love it, love it. You’re the queen of cuteness. And apparently, texting during class. Stop doing that. If I get a text from you between now and lunch I will not cuddle you later.’

��I’m not texting during class, it’s study hall.’ Wow, what on Earth has happened to the ever-studious, rule following Cady Heron? Not even Plastic Cady texted during study hall. ‘Besides, you have to cuddle with me. It’s legally required and I’m deprived of Janis cuddles.’

‘Only if you be good and don’t text during school hours.’ She fires back, chuckling under her breath. ‘And you remain that freaking adorable.’

“Well someone’s in a good mood.” She looks up and sees Doctor Wiley standing in the doorway, and her smile dips a little, the perfect bubble she was sitting in with Cady ruined. Not enough to ruin her mood, nothing could do that, but it shakes it.

“It’s her girlfriend,” her mom explains.

“How do you know that?”

“Your smile,” she says. “It’s your ‘Cady smile’.”

“I don’t…” Her voice trails off and her mom simply shrugs. Well look at that. She’s that girlfriend now.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Wiley says, striding towards her. Under the table, Janis crosses her fingers that this is a normal good morning visit. She’ll take bad news on any day that’s not Damian-and-Cady day. “So, Janis, a lot of us on your team have been talking and we’ve decided to ask if you might want to get a port inserted.”

“A what?” she asks.

“Think of it like a little reservoir put underneath your skin,” he explains. “Just to make receiving the chemo easier on you. A lot of patients have one put in.”

“Oh, wow.” Way to bring the mood down, Doc, she thinks. Sometimes she envies the younger patients who have their parents making all the hard decisions. Still, one word sticks out in all that. “It makes it easier?”

“Quite a bit easier,” he agrees. “For one thing, it’s a lot more comfortable than an IV.” There’s a plus. “And a lower risk of your medicine leaking out-”

“Sounds cool,” she interrupts quickly before he can bring up an image she doesn’t want. “Um, can I think about it? I mean, is it urgent?”

“No, of course not,” Wiley replies with a stiff smile. “I’ll let you and your mom discuss it.”

He leaves them after an uncomfortable silence, nodding to her and her mom and reminding her that he’s around if she has any questions.

“So what do you think?” her mom asks.

“I don’t think.” She picks her phone back up and jumps off the bed. “Where did you put my clothes?”

“I put everything in your bag, it’s under the bed,” she replies. Janis pulls out her bag, sorting through the mass of denim, cotton, plaid and leather, all while her mom hovers behind her with anxious eyes that drill into her back. "Janis, you should consider this.”

“And I will,” she sighs. She pulls out a shirt she’s always liked and throws it on the bed. “Just not right now.” She shakes her head, trying to clear some of the smoke in her brain. Still sitting on the ground, she looks up at her mom and sighs. “Mom, I just want to not think about cancer stuff right now. I just want to see my friends and think about that.” She toys with the shirt in her hands and bunches it into a tight ball, her arms tense and shaking and her grip tight. “Is that okay?”

Her voice sounds impossibly broken on that question. And while it wasn’t intentional, it works on her mom, who nods and comes over to pat her hair.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, and that’s the temporary end of it.

The day passes even slower than it normally does in hospital-time. Hours stretch on and on with no end in sight and she can’t distract herself no matter what she tries to do. She can’t focus long enough to read or settle on one TV show and even games in the longue can only get her so far. She tries checking her social media when on her IV, but she’s hardly there a minute before her anxiety peaks again after seeing pictures of her friends. Besides, it’s mostly dry now, everyone else is in class.

Finally, finally, it comes to the afternoon and it’s close enough that she can justify beginning to get ready. She stretches, grateful for the little power nap she took earlier, and fishes her make-up out of her bag. It’s not everything, but it’ll have to work, as will the tiny mirror in her bathroom.

“What’s going on in here?” The voice makes Janis jump six feet, even though it’s the honey-toned voice of one of the older nurses. “Little makeover.”

“Just wanted to look nice today,” she explains as she unscrews the foundation. She’s a little bit surprised to see that she’s not out of practice since she’s been bare-faced for well over a week now. Bigger priorities and all that.

“Her girlfriend’s coming over today,” her mom says in a low voice.

“It’s not just that,” she says, even though it might be. “Damian will also be here.”

“Oh you kids and your relationships,” the nurse chuckles as she takes the empty bags out. In the mirror, Janis sees her point sternly in her direction as though she were her mother. “Just remember Janis, if she really cares about you, she won’t care how much muck you have on your face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says as she applies a coat of eyeshadow, deep indigo and sparkling under the low lights. She adds a generous amount of purple lipstick next, a shade that’s always been a favourite of hers, and four coats of mascara. Some say that’s overkill, she disagrees. Bigger, bolder, better after all.

She takes a second before looking at herself properly, and when she does it makes her happier than it has any right to be. She looks like herself again. Not a girl with cancer. A girl who is perfectly healthy and happy, the dark circles around her eyes and the pale tint to her face deliberate. Not only that, she feels stronger, even though she hadn’t been aware of any weakness before. She can breathe easier now. She’s herself again. A little winded but it was worth it.

When she’s done, Cady and Damian should get out of school in about ten minutes. They worked it all out; they’ll get the first bus from school up to the hospital, which should take about twenty-five minutes. She offered to pay their bus tickets and her mom had offered to pick them up, but neither one of them would hear any of it. Damian in particular would die before accepting money from anyone.

So she has just over half an hour. Maybe closer to forty minutes when factoring in waiting for the bus and various stops…

She probably should have left the make-up to later just to give herself something to do.

No, it’s fine. The last thing she wants is them walking in on her doing her make-up. Besides, there’s plenty to do for half an hour. She’s waited this long after all. She checks her outfit again, first in the bathroom mirror, by bouncing repeatedly, and then by using the camera on her phone. This morning she was sure about this outfit. Now she’s not sure about this skirt. Maybe if her mom had woken her up earlier she’d have had more time to plan it. The shirt is fine, it’s something Cady loves, so she won’t trade it, but the skirt… it’s not working. She grabs more stuff from her bag and lays it out on the bed, debating each one carefully. There’s a pair of studded shorts that she doesn’t think looks right with the shirt, a pair of jeans that would be far too uncomfortable, and a dark grey skirt that she’s not worn that much and is a little short-

“Holy crap,” she sighs. She shakes her head at herself. She hasn’t obsessed this much over her looks since middle school. “You’re insane, Sarkisian. You’re fine.”

They’ve both seen her look worse, surely.

She forces herself to sit on the bed and just watch some freaking YouTube like a normal person. She gets a text from Damian telling her they’re on their way, and she takes a deep breath and sends a response. She then has one eye on the phone and one eye on the window, all the while counting the minutes until they should be here.

Twenty five minutes. One video later, it’s twenty one. Another video, eighteen. Another video, plus a sip of the coffee her mom got her, fourteen. Another video, plus re-checking her make-up, ten. Another video, six. Another video, three.

And now they should be here. They probably are; they’re probably walking through the lobby. Maybe the elevator’s a little slow, maybe they got lost. This is a big place and they don’t even know where they ward is. Do they? Did she tell them? She grabs her phone and checks their groupchat, scrolling through the week-

“Janis?” Her name is accompanied by a soft knock on the door, and when she looks up, Cady is standing in the doorway, looking even more beautiful than she did that morning with a breathless smile and dimples in her cheeks. And everything else she was feeling melts away.

Janis doesn’t care about dignity, she runs over and throws her arms around her. As Cady hugs her back just as fiercely, Janis fights the urge to pick her up off the floor.

“I missed you,” Cady whispers into her shoulder.

“I missed you more,” she replies, certain that she’s correct.

“Well I’ll just go then,” Damian jokes. “If you two need a moment alone.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she tells him seriously, jumping into his embrace. He runs his hand through her hair and even rocks her and everything about his embrace feels right.

“Got you these,” he says when they eventually pull apart. He presents her with a bunch of white flowers wrapped in silver paper. The scent is just like the gesture; so sweet it makes her well up.

“Oh you losers,” she says. “I love them.”

“Hi kids,” her mom greets from her chair in the corner. To be honest, Janis had actually forgotten her mom was there. So her mom has watched her run across the room and tackle-hug Cady. Nice. “How was school?”

“It’s fine,” Cady replies. “You know… senior year….”

“Oh I’m sure it is,” she says fondly. “I’ll give you kids some alone time.” She gives Janis’ shoulder a squeeze before heading out, and then Janis can hold Cady’s hand as tightly as she wants and pulls the two of them to the bed, utterly giddy at having them at her side again.

Even if it won’t last a voice in her head whispers.

“So come on, what have I missed?” she asks. “Other than you two, I mean. Tell me everything. Spill all the tea. I crave gossip!”

“It’s been a week, Jan,” Cady tells her, grinning and swinging her legs as her feet don’t touch the floor. “But, you do know that you’re talking to the newest captain of the North Shore Mathletes.”

“Come on then.” Janis digs her elbow in her girlfriend’s ribs. “Tell me everything.”

That’s all the incentive Cady needs.

She babbles on about her plans for the new year as Captain, how she’s already getting new recruits and she’s even allowed to invite freshmen and create Junior Mathletes, how she’s sure that membership is going to be double what it was last year (at which point Damian reminds her that there were only three people on the team last year), and about how they’re already starting to put together teams for a few contests, more than last year, and of course, how she’s ready to defend their state champion title. With each word, Janis’ heart grows warmer, the sense of security she’s craved all week settling and wrapping around her like her favourite blanket, and their hands lie intertwined on the bed a though they’d never been apart.

“So that’s my life…” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She shakes her head and covers Janis’ hand with hers. “But what about you, what’s it like in here?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she scoffs. “I’m always fine.” Cady’s smile dips, not enough, but Janis notice and let out a sigh. “I mean it’s not the ideal situation. But I’m… coping?”

“I do not like that inflection,” Damian adds, leaning back on the bed and raising an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t,” she says. “Like, it’s not too bad. You know… the food is actually pretty good, we have some cool stuff in the longue, they know how to keep us occupied. The doctors are all great. Including one hot med student I’m considering setting Damian up with.”

“Consider my attention grabbed,” he says. “How hot are we talking here?”

“Like… Okay I’m not into dudes, so I’m not that great at guessing, but he’s a solid 7.5,” she explains. “Would be a 9 but he stabbed me several times while trying to find a vein.”

“He did what?” Cady squeals, making the two of them jump. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “He stabbed you?”

“Woah, yeah.” She grasps Cady’s shoulder and silently bites her tongue. She rubs it in circles, bringing her back down. “And it hurt for a few seconds and I was slightly annoyed by it. And then we laughed about it.” She strokes Cady’s cheek carefully. “Nothing bad, Caddy.”

“Okay.” Cady lets out a breath and shakes out her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love.” She plays a kiss on her cheekbone, the tension fleeing Cady’s body as she does so. She tangles her fingers in her hair. She even missed her hair. “It’s cute that you worry so much.”

“I always worry about you.” At that moment, Damian turns his attention to the window, and Cady rests her head on Janis’ shoulder and Janis wraps her arms around her. This, the fearful looks and causing anxiety to her, this is what Janis wanted to avoid in the first place.

Damn Cady Heron and her unflinching loyalty.

“You’re feeling okay though?” she asks quietly. “Right?”

“Okay’s a bit of a relative term these days,” she says. “I’m feeling a bit bleh. But it’s fine.” Cady murmurs something she guesses is an agreement and nestles closer to her. Janis rubs her hand up and down her arm. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” She presses her cheek into her head and closes her eyes, only for a moment.

“Anyway, enough of that stuff,” she says, bouncing and turning to Damian, beckoning him back over. “There’s got to be more that I’ve missed. Come on, spill.”

“Well…” Damian begins, spinning around to face them with a grin stretched across his face. He’s been waiting to tell her this, she can tell. “They’ve announced that the musical this year will be… drum roll.”

She can Cady drum their hands on their legs, the sound bouncing off the walls and making the room tremble with anticipation as it gets higher and faster until-.

“Cabaret!”

“No way!” she gasps. Damian nods excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands together. “Stars have aligned, mon amie. Stars have aligned.”

“Which means,” he goes on, throwing himself down on the bed with such gusto that it bounces. “I am going to be the greatest Emcee that North Shore High would ever wish to have.”

“Damn right!” The two high five, their glee double that of the slightly out of the loop Cady. “Emcee has been one of Damian’s dream roles ever since middle school.”

“Ever since I came out of the damn womb!” he exclaims. “I cannot tell you how much I screamed when the drama club announced it.”

“I can,” Cady adds. “It was loud and long and he got several death glares from everyone else.”

“That’s the only appropriate way to react,” Janis chuckles. “We watched the movie way back when and that’s when he decided he was going to play the Emcee or die trying.”

“It’s also when Janis became gay for Liza Minelli.”

“I’m gay for myself,” she corrects. “Liza was just the object of young Janis’ affections.” She rests her chin on Cady’s shoulder and smiles at him. “I’m helping you prep for this. I don’t care if I have to break out of here with an IV in my arm, I’m helping you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he replies. “Also the drama club is devastated you can’t do the set this year.”

“Who the heck says I can’t?” she says indignantly. “Those morons they have won’t last five minutes without my guidance. And I will not have your shining moment ruined by a subpar set.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “We all know who really runs that drama club.”

“Oh really, madame,” Damian scoffs, turning so his leg is folded beneath him. Janis keeps smiling, despite the feeling that its being tugged down and the weight settling in her stomach. Of all the times he had to do Cabaret, why did it have to be now?

“Everyone really missed you at school,” Cady tells her.

“Bet it’s not everyone,” she says, half joking. “Not one person in particular.”

“Hey!” Cady slaps her arm. “Be nice.”

“I promised to play nice to her face,” Janis reminds her. “Not behind her back.” Cady huffs out a laugh, her face slightly scrunched up. “But how’s the most important thing; LGBT+ society?”

“Well, we’re having our first welcome back meeting on Wednesday,” Damian says. “And Gretchen is taking over your stall at the fair. Sonja’s going to help her out though,” he adds. “And Sonja’s taking over your spot on the committee too.”

“Good choice,” she says. Lovely as Gretchen is most of the time, Janis isn’t sure she could handle the pressure of running her stall. And Sonja’s the perfect choice to take over her committee spot, smart as a whip, decisive and funny as hell.

So why does the idea make Janis so uneasy?

“Yeah, why don’t we turn this TV on?” she says, grabbing the remote. “It apparently has Netflix, although I’m not entirely sure how to operate it. There’s a load of DVDs in the longue as well.”

“A DVD. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Damian says.

“I don’t think they have Cabaret though,” she sighs. “Which would be perfect for us right now.” She’s telling half-truths, because there’s a substantial collection of old movies, including musicals, but she doesn’t really want to brave the longue now, or to take them in there. The longue is probably her favourite place in the hospital, but it’s bound to be full right now. And for now, she wants to keep her cancer world and the real world separate.

So with some fussing, they manage to find Netflix and learn how to work it. Cady is insistent that Janis pick the movie, since it’s her room and she doesn’t know half of them and has already watched the other half. At the start of the summer, Janis had made Cady a list of every movie she needed to watch, and by the end of August they’d almost made it to the halfway mark. The best part wasn’t the movies themselves; it was the movie nights. Huddled under a comforter and surrounded by pillows, Cady’s body pressed against hers and the lights down low, buttery popcorn and sugar-covered candies keeping them going until one (usually Cady) fell asleep.

Now they make do with the thin hospital bed and the near-plastic sheets. At least they can adjust the height of it, and Janis positions Cady against her and Damian sits in the comfiest chair to watch The Parent Trap. It’s none of their favourites, but it’s familiar and good enough and while it wasn’t on the list, Cady hasn’t seen it yet. Besides, Damian can make any more fun.

And really, Janis can’t take any more of the back and forth debate.

The more the movie goes on, the more normal Janis feels. She runs her fingers up and down Cady’s bare arms, her girlfriend’s jacket discarded across a chair like she would in her house. The conversation is light and easy and full of giggles even at the stupidest, silliest thing, Damian quoting along with the movie and Cady hopelessly lost, especially at around halfway through when Janis decides to tell her that Annie and Hallie were played by the same person.

“No way!” she declares. “I’m not believing you until I see proof.”

“Google it,” she says. “Damian?”

“Way ahead of you.” He pulls up the page and shows her the cast list, with one little Lohan billed as the two twins. Cady’s mouth falls on the floor, her shoulders shaking in a silent, disbelieving laugh.

“Jesus Christ!” she says. “How did they do that all the way back then?”

“Movie magic,” Janis replies, wiggling her fingers for effect. “It’s okay, Caddy, we all felt betrayed when we first found out.”

“Didn’t she go off her rocker a bit?” she asks, pointing to the screen. “I know that much. Regina told me.”

“A little,” Janis agrees. “But I kind of feel bad for her, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Oh. Oh!” The camera pans up, revealing the striking and scary figure of Meredith Blake, and Janis squeezes Cady’s arms. “I hated this bitch.”

“I hated her more,” Damian adds, his tone not 100% light. “When I first watched this I had this soon-to-be stepmom, because my dad was back in the dating game, and she was…” He gags and points down his throat.

“Real mature, Damian,” Janis jokes. “I mean she absolutely was, but still. Mature.”

“Okay, missy,” he laughs. “Nah but I used to try to get inspiration from how to deal with her from this movie.”

“Shh!” she hisses sharply, covering Cady’s ears. “Spoilers!”

“I can still hear you,” Cady tells her. “And I could sort of guess. All the movies about step parents do that kind of thing, don’t they? Bratty kid gets wreaks havoc on the step parent?”

“Are you saying thirteen year old me was a brat?” Damian asks.

“Seventeen year old you is also a brat,” Janis teases. Damian gasps and grabs the cushion from the chair, aiming it at her head. Part of her is completely sure he wouldn’t, not in a hospital, part of her is completely sure he would because of course he would.

She doesn’t find out either way, because their gathering is interrupted by her medical team, and the weight in her stomach comes back with a vengeance.

“Not getting in the way are we?” Nurse Lucy asks.

“Not at all,” she says. Before she stops herself, she’s already pushing Cady off her. Heat rises in her cheeks. “That time again?”

“Unfortunately so,” she replies as Cady slides off the bed. “Is it okay if Jackson does it this time?”

“Yeah, sure.” As she rolls up her sleeve, her friends catch on to what’s happening, and Damian rushes to Cady’s side.

“I promise I’ll find the vein this time,” Jackson jokes.

“Oh this is the one you said-” Cady is cut off by Janis making a small ‘cut it out’ gesture with her hand. She then raises an eyebrow at Damian, whose small smirk tells her everything she needs to know.

She takes a look at her IV and her bare arm before turning back to them. She still hates this; shockingly, she hasn’t gotten used to it in under a week. Her stomach still drops a hundred feet when she looks at the needle and her chest tightens even if she’s only thinking about it.

“You guys don’t need to watch this,” she tells them. “It doesn’t hurt. But if you need to look away, it’s fine.”

“I’m fine,” Cady tells her. When Janis looks down though, she sees how tightly she’s holding Damian’s hand.

“Okay,” she says.

This time around it only takes Jackson three tries to find her vein before securing it with the bandage. Good for him. He’s learning.

“You know the drill by now?” Lucy asks.

“Two hours, stay hydrated.” She gives her a two-fingered salute.

“Two hours?” Cady echoes, and Janis has to chuckle at it. “This takes two hours?”

“That’s what she said the first time she found out,” Lucy says, gesturing to Janis. “I can see why you two like each other so much.”

“No but… two hours,” she says again as they leave. “What do you do for two hours?”

“I just… sit here I guess,” she answers, looking up at the medicine. “You know, there’s TV. I have books. I draw. Sometimes it knocks me out and I get a little surprise nap, so that’s fun.”

“Is that… should we go?” Cady asks. “If you’re going to-”

“Oh no.” She shakes her head firmly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.” She’s such a liar it’s a wonder her tongue hasn’t turned black and crumbled. “Come on. Let’s finish the movie at least.”

Cady lays beside her rather than on her, and Damian stays on the other side of the bed, away from her IV. She catches him once or twice, watching the drip instead of the movie. His gaze is unreadable, and since she’s always been able to know his thoughts without him speaking, it unsettles her.

It’s not long before that familiar tiredness descends on her, clouding her mind and pulling her downwards. And she fights it; she keeps her eyes open despite how they itch and shifts her body when she finds herself too comfortable lest she start drifting off. It’s a challenge, not just because of the medicine’s effect on her, but because of Cady’s warmth next to her, promising security and comfort and being there when she wakes up.

And she must have given into it at one point, because she opens her eyes after a blink and the movie is over; Nick and Elizabeth are together again, Annie and Hallie stay with each other forever, happy endings all around.

“What time is it?” Janis asks.

“Nearly five,” Damian explains. Visiting hours don’t end for another two hours. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she asks. “I’m fantastic.”

“You sure?” Cady’s hand is on hers, slowly linking their fingers together. Janis squeezes her hand, clarity coming into her mind by her own will.

“Of course I’m sure.”

They don’t have to be home for another hour. Home for dinner, that’s the rule. That doesn’t really change. Damian tells her that his mom is thinking about her every day and was beside herself when she heard the news.

“She’s started following more baking blogs,” he tells her. “So prep yourself for a lot of baked goods on your doorstep.”

“I can’t object to that,” she says. “Especially since Val always bakes with love.”

At some point during the hour, Janis pulls Cady into her lap again, or Cady crawls into it, or both. Her head is under her chin and her back against her chest, slotting into place perfectly. Like if she holds her this close, she won’t have to leave.

Wishful thinking, she knows, because when it gets close to six, Cady picks up her jacket and her backpack and there’s nothing but empty air against Janis’ body.

She wishes she could lead them to the door, but her IV catches on everything, so they say their goodbyes where they are.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she warns them teasingly.

“I hardly ever think about you,” Damian replies, his voice thick.

“And you,” she tells him. “Better run lines with me. When’s auditions?”

“Next Thursday,” he tells her. “So I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Perfect,” she says. “I have treatments at 11, at 2… You know what? I’ll text you them.”

“Okay. And you were right by the way. That med student is a snack.” They laugh, and then there’s a moment of silence before he folds her in his arms, her face burying itself in the crook of his neck and his hand cupping the back of her head. “Take of yourself, okay?” His voice is so soft, so desperate, that it sounds like a plea.

“I will,” she says. “I always do.” Knowledgeable as always, he gives her and Cady space to say goodbye themselves. She rubs her hand on her shorts, nervousness gripping her body in a way she hasn’t felt in a while and she thoroughly dislikes.

“I’ll text you the second I get home,” Cady says. “And can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course you can,” she says. “As long as you get some homework done tonight, kid.”

“I will,” she says. “I didn’t get the top grade in Norbury’s class for nothing.” Cady takes in a deep breath, her hand fidgeting around her backpack strap and her hair half-hiding her face. Janis reaches out and pushes it back and if she notices her shaking hand, she doesn’t say anything.

“Caddy-”

Janis actually wasn’t sure what she was going to say there, but it doesn’t matter, because Cady steps up and kisses her. It’s not perfect; it feels clumsy and awkward and they bump against each other, but it’s everything Janis needs. So much so that when they pull away, she doesn’t even attempt to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispers, grinning. “I’ll see you soon.” She steals another peck.

“See you later, Janis,” she whispers. They don’t stop holding hands for as long as they can and Janis is still looking at her until she’s out of view, walking back down the hall with Damian, maybe getting lost again. Down the hall, to the right, into the elevator and out the double doors. Bus stop down the street, next stop home. They ride together until Damian gets off and Cady stays on. All the while she stays here, IV in arm and her phone buzzing, talking to them until she falls asleep.

#mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #cadnis #cady x janis #janis sarkisian #cady heron #damian hubbard #fic: heart of stone

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cruelangelstheses · 4 years

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the path to girlhood

fandom: love live! rating: T characters: rin hoshizora, hanayo koizumi words: 3.9k additional tags: character study, au, trans girl rin, bullying, internalized transphobia, high school description: rin struggles to accept herself at her new school when she discovers a love for dancing. a/n: hello hello!! i wrote this a little over a month ago and decided to finally polish it and post it! this au is pretty similar to canon except that they’re just regular high school girls and not idols. i promise it’s not as angsty as the tags make it seem!! i will never write write a fic in which rin hoshizora is cis. happy pride to my fellow Transes of Gender <3 title comes from kururin miracle aka rin’s Trans Song. i love her so much. that's my fuckign daughter

read it on ao3

—

On the first day of high school, Rin Hoshizora goes to school in a skirt.

She hasn’t worn one out in public since she was a child, having resigned herself to hiding inside hoodies and sweatpants. As she wanders the unfamiliar hallways, Rin tries not to be conscious of the way some of her peers sneak curious glances at her from behind notebooks or open locker doors. If nothing else, she hopes the button on her backpack—a striped flag of pink, white, and blue—will be enough to clue them in, if any of them even know what it symbolizes.

Last month, Rin’s parents successfully enrolled her into the local but relatively well-regarded Otonokizaka Academy for Girls, mainly thanks to “proof” from her doctor that she has, in fact, started taking hormones and that she is, in fact, a Real Trans Girl, whatever that means. It’s an old, impressive school with plenty of extracurriculars and classes to choose from, and her best friend, Hanayo, goes there, too. Most importantly, though, it’s a chance to reinvent herself, to meet new people who don’t know her dead name—to make a statement, simply by wearing the Otonokizaka uniform and sitting in an Otonokizaka classroom, that says, I am a girl just as you are.

So far, it doesn’t feel quite as empowering as she thought it would.

Instead, she feels like a newborn baby, cut from the umbilical cord of the closet, naked and confused as she’s thrust into a strange new world. There’s no turning back now, no chance to abort the mission. All she can do is step forward into the light, with all the beauty and danger that it brings.

—

When Rin steps into her homeroom class, a soft, familiar voice calls out, “Rin-chan!”

Hanayo jumps up out of her chair and scurries over, her red glasses bouncing on her face. Rin grins and wraps her arms around her, squeezing her tightly, and for just a moment, she forgets about the rest of the world. There’s nothing outside this classroom, nothing outside her best friend’s warm embrace.

Rin opens her mouth to say something, anything—a how have you been or a help me please I don’t know if I can do this—but she doesn’t get the chance, because then the bell rings, and the homeroom teacher strides into the room. In a flurry, the students rush to their desks. Hanayo has saved a seat for Rin in the back, right next to her, and Rin sighs in relief as she slides into the chair.

While the teacher introduces herself, Rin scans the room, searching for any sign of a reaction from her classmates. Most of them are facing forward, listening or at least pretending to listen to the teacher. One girl sitting a few seats away pokes her friend on the shoulder and gestures to Rin. “Wow,” she mutters, just loud enough that it’s clear she wants Rin to hear it. “They’ll let anyone in this school, huh?”

Rin’s face heats up, and she quickly looks away, down at her empty notebook. In an attempt to seem nonchalant, she pulls a pen out of her pencil case and starts doodling a cat to distract herself. She likes her short hair—it’s cute and easy to manage, and it doesn’t get in her face when she’s playing sports—but suddenly she wishes it were longer so she could hide behind it. That probably wouldn’t work too well, though—before long, she’s sure her peers will be able to recognize her just by her decidedly unfeminine frame.

“Psst,” Hanayo whispers, and Rin turns her head to look at her. Hanayo props up her notebook horizontally. On an otherwise clean page, she’s written in pretty, curly handwriting, I believe in you! with little hearts all around it.

Rin flashes her a tiny smile and mouths a thank-you, but she still can’t shake the feeling that everything about her is wrong. Her knees are too knobby, her handwriting isn’t neat enough, her voice is too loud. She feels like a randomized Sim, like someone just threw together a collection of traits and lumped them all into a person. She’d like to give the spirits a “You Tried” sticker.

—

Rin likes talking to people. She likes jumping in on a conversation about athletics or music or pets and talking about her favorite type of cat (orange tabbies, obviously) or her favorite sports (how could she choose just one?). She likes introducing herself to those who look shy or lonely—in fact, it’s how she met Hanayo. Today, though, she finds herself infuriatingly tongue-tied, stumbling over her words in a way she never has before. Though she attempts, as always, to appear friendly, most of the girls she talks to seem to be at least somewhat uncomfortable with or uninterested in her presence, as if they’re just waiting for her to go away. The last thing Rin wants is to make someone unhappy or upset, so once she senses that she isn’t quite welcome in a particular group or conversation, she politely withdraws from it.

When Rin walks into the bathroom, all the girls that were hanging out and doing their makeup immediately grab their things and leave.

Rin overhears a few more rude comments throughout the day, but no one is overly confrontational. She finds herself pondering over girls and the way they show aggression—how girls who speak disparagingly about others behind their backs are referred to as “catty,” while physical fights between girls are often called “catfights.” Either way, aggressive or passive-aggressive, dealing in physical damage or emotional, girls are consistently compared to cats. It’s unfair to cats, Rin thinks, to associate them only with animosity and violence. Cats can be sweet and loving, too. Cats wouldn’t hate her just for wearing skirts or referring to herself as a “she.”

“Rin-chan,” Hanayo says later that day when they walk home from school together, “are you going to join any clubs or activities? They’ve got a lot of sports.”

“I might do soccer,” Rin replies, “and maybe basketball in the winter. But I’ll have to try it out first to see if I like it.”

Hanayo raises an eyebrow but says nothing. Rin loves soccer; they both know she loves soccer. What Rin’s really saying is, I’ll have to see if I’m treated in a way that deters me from playing.

“Well, if you don’t like it,” Hanayo says delicately, “you could do other sports that aren’t team-oriented. There’s track and cross-country. And there’s dance.”

“Dance?” Rin repeats. “What makes you think I’d be any good at that?”

“Well, you’re so coordinated, and you have really good stamina,” Hanayo says, twirling a strand of light brown hair. “And you like music. It looks like it’d be really fun.”

“You should do it, then,” Rin says, not unkindly.

Hanayo chuckles sheepishly. “I’d like to, but I’ve been too nervous to go by myself. Maybe you could come with me? Just to the first couple of meetings.”

Rin frowns. It’s not that she dislikes the idea of dancing, necessarily; she’s just never considered it. Dancing is for pretty girls with limbs as pliable as putty and skin softer than rose petals, not a scrappy little transgender tomboy with scraped-up knees and a finger that didn’t heal properly because she took it out of the splint before she was supposed to. Dancing is for girls who would never be mistaken for boys.

“The people there seem really nice,” Hanayo adds. “And I’ll be with you, remember?”

After a few moments, Rin finds herself nodding slowly. “Okay,” she says, trying to picture herself dancing to pop music or classical arrangements. It doesn’t quite feel right. “But if it falls on the same day as soccer, I’m choosing soccer.”

—

At the first soccer practice, they have a scrimmage against one another. It’s a perfect chance for Rin to show her teammates what she can do, to earn their trust and start to build camaraderie just like when she played on boys’ teams. Within the first few minutes of the mock game, however, it becomes abundantly clear that most of the girls have no interest in establishing a rapport with her. Some shift uncomfortably whenever she’s near. Others, especially those on defense, play particularly aggressively with her, pressing so close to her that they almost touch, nearly shoving her out of the way, or “accidentally” kicking at her heels when attempting to steal the ball from her. Nearly all of them seem to refuse to pass her the ball, even when she’s wide open, and even though she’s one of the fastest and most experienced members, so that the only times she ever actually manages to get it are when she steals it from the other side. The coach claps whenever Rin scores a goal, but hardly anyone else does, and it only seems to be out of politeness.

At the end of the practice, Rin is about ready to fall over in exhaustion, but not in a good way. She doesn’t think she’s ever had to work so hard in her life to try to make people like her, or at least play nice with her.

Hanayo texts her that evening. How’d it go?

Not great :-( I think I’ll come with you tomorrow to the dance club, Rin responds.

Hanayo’s reply comes a few seconds later. Oh no I’m so sorry!! Tomorrow will be better I promise!!

Rin sighs and flops down on her bed. “I sure hope so,” she mumbles to no one as she stares blankly across the room. A dress she bought online hangs on her closet door, unworn.

—

The room used for the dance club is similar to a gymnasium, except that it’s smaller and has walls made entirely of mirrors. When Rin steps out onto the hardwood floor and sees a few other girls chatting in the center of the room with a dance instructor, her chest tightens.

Beside her, Hanayo takes a deep breath. “I’m nervous, too,” she says, taking Rin’s hand in her own. “But we’re here together.”

They amble up to the small group, and the dance instructor turns to them with a smile. “Oh! It’s so good to see some new faces,” she says. “You can call me Miyazaki-sensei.”

“Hi,” Rin and Hanayo say in unison. They both giggle nervously.

“Hey, there’s no need to be nervous!” says a spunky girl with a side ponytail. “Anyone can learn to dance. I’m living proof! Plus it’d make great material for the talent show!”

Rin and Hanayo exchange glances. “Talent show?” Rin says.

“Yeah!” the girl says. “Every year right before summer break, the school holds a talent show. Anyone can enter! It’s really fun! Last year Kotori-chan, Umi-chan, and I performed as a trio,” she gestures to the other two girls in the room, “and we’re hoping to do it again this year! Sign-ups should be—uhhh, Umi-chan, when are the sign-ups again?”

One of the girls, Umi, sighs in exasperation, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “Two Mondays from now. So not this coming Monday, but the one after that.”

“Great!” says the ponytail girl. Turning back to Rin and Hanayo, she adds, “Are you two friends? You should perform as a duo! It would be so cute! I bet I could find the perfect song for you guys—”

Miyazaki holds up a hand. “Why don’t we see if they actually enjoy it first, hm?” she says, amused.

First, they go around and introduce themselves. Miyazaki and the other girls seem nice enough; in fact, Rin thinks she saw Honoka, the ponytail girl, smile and wave at her as she walked into Otonokizaka on the first day of class. She appears to just love and accept everyone; her sincerity is almost childish, but charming nonetheless.

Then they get into the dancing. The three other girls, all second years, seem to know what they’re doing when it comes to planning their performance, so Miyazaki spends most of her time teaching Rin and Hanayo some simple moves to a handful of familiar pop songs.

Slowly, Rin can’t help but unfold. The satisfaction that blooms in her chest whenever she gets a move right, when she shifts her body perfectly to the rhythm of the music, is such a pleasant shock to her system that she feels herself letting her guard down, opening up. She and Hanayo laugh whenever they screw up a step, and no matter how many times they fail, Miyazaki’s patience and attentiveness never waver. When Rin glances over at the other girls, she finds them completely absorbed in their practice; only occasionally does she notice any of them looking her way, and when they do, it’s not with the piercing eyes of judgment, but the joy of sharing in something they love. In this room, Rin doesn’t have to worry about how others see her. She can just be.

—

Hanayo and Rin attend every dance rehearsal together. It’s a small, close-knit group, and even though they aren’t all working together on the same exact thing, Rin can feel that sense of camaraderie that she’s been missing. They’re all constantly looking to improve, to try new things, to create something lively and beautiful. The world is their canvas, their bodies the brushes, the music the paint. For Rin, dancing becomes an unexpected refuge. In the dance room, no one throws crumpled-up papers at her head or tries to trip her down the stairs; no one whispers ugly words in her ear as she walks by.

After hours of deliberation on both their parts, and a lot of convincing (read: begging) on Honoka’s part, Rin and Hanayo decide to take her suggestion and sign up for the talent show as a dancing duo. Honoka apparently spends an inordinate amount of time picking out the perfect song for them, an upbeat tune from an upcoming idol about accepting oneself. “Trust me,” she says, “the audience will love it. Idols are all the rage these days.”

Rin suspects that Honoka picked it out on purpose for its lyrics, but for what it’s worth, it is a catchy song, the kind of song that makes Rin want to jump up and dance whenever she hears it. Luckily for her, that’s exactly what she’s going to do.

Miyazaki helps them come up with the choreography, and they spend the next few months working avidly to perfect it. Even on weekends, they often meet up at one of their houses and practice for hours. Only if they feel that they did the best they possibly could will either of them feel comfortable enough to get up onstage and let hundreds of potentially unforgiving eyes gaze upon them.

Every once in a while, a particularly nasty comment or incident will give Rin pause, and she’ll feel an almost overwhelming urge to beg Hanayo to let them drop out of the talent show. She wouldn’t do that, though; she’d never want to force her best friend to turn her back on an opportunity just for her. Besides, she’ll be okay as long as Hanayo is there with her.

—

The day before the talent show, Hanayo isn’t in school.

During lunch, Rin calls her in a panic in one of the bathroom stalls. “What’s going on?” she hisses. “Our final rehearsal is tonight! Where are you?”

“I have pneumonia,” Hanayo replies.

Rin feels like the floor is falling out from underneath her. Words crowd in her mouth, but all that comes out is, “In summer?”

Hanayo chuckles halfheartedly. “Yeah. I think I got it from my grandfather. You know his immune system isn’t the best. I don’t think I’ll be able to—” She breaks off into a fit of coughing. “I can’t come tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to perform tomorrow. I went to the doctor yesterday after school, and he says I need to rest until the antibiotics start working.”

Rin recalls the past few days, how Hanayo had been coughing for a little while and seemed more out of breath than usual. She’d hoped it was just a cold, that it would go away in no time. Now Hanayo is sick in bed, her lungs filled with fluid, and they’re scheduled to perform tomorrow.

“Kayo-chin, I—I can’t do it on my own,” she says, her heart starting to race at the thought of standing alone on that stage.

“Sure you can,” Hanayo says. “Just…finish the school day and then go to rehearsal. I’m sure Miyazaki-sensei can help you out.” Then she hangs up before Rin has the chance to argue.

The rest of her classes are a blur. Her mind spins with worst-case scenarios, and her hands shake too much for her to even try to doodle. She speaks to no one, afraid that if she opens her mouth, nothing coherent will come out.

As soon as the dismissal bell rings, Rin snatches her things and races down the hall to the dance room. Her hands are so full that she kicks the door open with her foot.

Miyazaki flashes a smile at her, but it quickly dissipates once she sees the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Rin drops her things on the floor against the wall. “Kayo-chin’s sick,” she says breathlessly. “Pneumonia. She can’t perform tomorrow. We have to drop out. I can’t do it without her; we have to drop out—”

Miyazaki holds up both her hands. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. Deep breaths, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

Rin nods reluctantly and tries to steady her breathing. She hears the door open and close behind her, and then Honoka says, “Where’s Hanayo-chan?”

“She’s sick,” Miyazaki says calmly. “Rin’s probably going to have to perform by herself tomorrow.”

“Oh dear,” Kotori says. “I hope she gets better soon.”

“Rin-chan can do it, though!” Honoka says. “We’ve all seen her in action. She’ll do great!”

Rin shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult,” Umi adds matter-of-factly. “You two were basically doing the same moves, right? It’s not like you were ballroom dancing. You won’t have to change much of the choreography to turn it into a solo act. And we can help you.”

Rin shakes her head again, faster. “It’s not that. I’m not worried about how I’ll do. I’m worried about how it’ll look. I’m not one of those pretty girls everyone loves. I’m different. And everyone’s eyes will be on me and no one else. I’ll be the center of attention…and I just don’t know if I can deal with how they’ll react to that. It suits me to be a partner or a member of a group, so I can blend in more, so someone else can shine. I can’t be the girl who shines. Not like this.”

“Of course you can!” Honoka blurts. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand. But you’re a girl just like the rest of us. Now’s your chance to show everyone. You’re at the Otonokizaka Academy for Girls, aren’t you?”

“But I tried to show everyone,” Rin says, her shoulders slumping. “That’s what I thought going to this school would do. But people still treat me like I’m just too different for them. Like I’m a failed girl, like I’m the wrong kind of girl.”

It’s Miyazaki who speaks up next.

“Then that’s their problem,” she says, “not yours. There’s no such thing as a ‘wrong kind of girl.’ There are girls with short hair and girls who love sports and girls who like to work on cars and girls who wear tuxedos and girls who like to build things—and girls who were mistakenly raised as boys. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can be free of what others think of you. People are going to judge you no matter what you do. So if dancing brings you joy, and you want to share that joy with other people, then I want you to dance your heart out on that stage tomorrow.”

For a moment, all is silent. Then Rin chuckles sheepishly. She’s right. Of course she’s right.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Who wants to help me touch up this choreography?”

—

It’s the day before summer break, and the air buzzes with excitement. Even from backstage, Rin can feel her classmates’ gazes from out in the auditorium. Her heart feels like it’s going to claw its way out of her chest and make a run for it, and part of her wants to follow suit. Deep down, though, she knows she’s ready. She’s worked as hard as she possibly could. She’s going to stay, and she’s going to perform like her life depends on it. She has to, for Hanayo.

Rin adjusts her earrings and checks her makeup one final time in the backstage mirror before Miyazaki pops her head in. “Honoka, Kotori, and Umi are almost done,” she says. “You’re up.”

Rin smooths out her dress, a cute pastel pink, the very same one she bought online over the winter. It’s her first time wearing it in public, and it fits her like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle. She takes a deep breath and glances down at her phone, which glows brightly with a new text message from Hanayo. I believe in you!! it reads, followed by a bunch of heart emojis.

Rin smiles, then fixes the pink barrette in her hair and heads out to the curtain area.

Honoka, Kotori, and Umi are walking offstage when Rin arrives. “You’ll do great!” Honoka whispers to her as she walks by, giving her a brief, sweaty hug. Kotori claps enthusiastically, and Umi puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Up next,” the principal says from the sound box, “we have Rin Hoshizora!”

The crowd claps politely. Rin tries her best not to look at any of them as she ambles onto the stage; her focus is only on the music and her body.

When she hears the opening of the song, all the fear and self-consciousness that’s been building up in her seems to fade away, replaced by instinct and muscle memory. She knows how to do this. She’s been doing it multiple days a week for months now.

For most of the first verse, the crowd is silent, as if they aren’t quite sure what to make of her. Then, when she bounces across the stage as the song shifts into the chorus, a few people whoop and cheer, and that’s all Rin needs to keep herself moving, to let the melody carry her home. She’s never felt more beautiful, more purely and authentically her. There’s so much she often hates about her body, but right now, she’s thankful for everything that makes her up, from her long limbs to her rectangular frame. Dancing, she’s discovered, isn’t just for conventionally attractive cis girls. It’s for anyone, as long as they have the passion and the resolve.

Honoka was right about the song choice—by the end, some people are clapping and dancing along, even singing the parts that they know. When Rin finishes the song with a smile, a wink, and a pose, the crowd responds in raucous applause. More than a few people in the audience seem shocked, and several others are smirking, shaking their heads, or mumbling to each other.

And yet, Rin finds it doesn’t particularly bother her. She’s realized something about this sudden turnaround: their acceptance of her is conditional, but her happiness is not. If being herself makes others uncomfortable…well, that’s their problem, not hers.

#love live!#rin hoshizora #hanayo koizumi #love live school idol project #love live school idol festival #trans girl rin #llsif #llsip #love live! fanfic #my fics

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guiltyhearts · 4 years

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FIC: The Treasured Chest (KH)

I was fortunate to be involved in The Destined Oath: A SoKai Server Zine, which was made available on Gumroad for free back in January (You can get the zine here if you haven’t yet). Silly me didn’t put up their story on this site after the zine was made public. So for your reading pleasure, please enjoy my short story!

The Treasured Chest

Words: 2937

Summary: Sora may be a little older and making big moves in his life. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have time to go down memory lane.

-------

Time was funny. It always seemed to pass by much faster than expected. Days, months, years would all blur together, no clear distinction of where it started and where it ended. For Sora, this was no different. The years of grand adventures to other worlds were behind him and he was happily settled back home in Destiny Islands. He often felt that his adventures and battles had all happened recently, maybe one year prior. In truth, six years had passed since the final showdown with Xehanort and the new Organization XIII and he had spent that time content on the islands with his friends, old and new, finally settling into some semblance of a normal routine. The funny thing was, time now felt like it passed by him in a blur and it always caught him by surprise when a major event came up. In this case, it was preparing to move into his new house.

Sora was technically an adult now, and this meant it was time to make big changes and move forward, starting with moving out and setting up his own home. With moving day looming on the horizon, Sora had no time to dwell on the mix of emotions he felt over leaving his childhood home. Not when he had to sort through his possessions. As he had informed his mother, Sora had a system for organizing his things between those he would take with him and those he would leave behind.

One look into Sora’s bedroom and its current state would overwhelm anyone. Boxes in varying degrees of emptiness were placed all around the room, with clothes scattered across surfaces and most definitely not in his own closet or drawers. Bottles of different shapes and sizes that were never properly recycled but were certainly repurposed (according to Sora). His mother, who had long been since resigned with his habit for messiness, left him alone to sort through his possessions. But it only took half the day for Sora to organize all his clothes, he would have you know! While he grabbed a heap of the clothes he planned to get rid of, he discovered the fabric had been covering a bright purple treasure chest: a chest he had repurposed for his own use. It contained numerous trinkets, knick-knacks, whozits and whatzits galore. Items of interest that he picked up, or gifts he was given from each world he visited in the three years he had been away from home. He hadn’t looked at, let alone put anything in that chest in ages. Setting the clothes aside, Sora sat down across from the chest to open it.

The effect was not immediate, like a flood of memories hitting him at once. But to Sora’s credit, he did recognize each and every item in the chest as the feeling of rediscovering a past life and all the joys that came with it settled in deeply.

The first thing Sora picked up an off-white piece of parchment and unfolded it. The paper depicted a detailed pencil drawing of himself when he was younger and starting out on his intergalactic travels, standing next to Tarzan. At first glance, Tarzan in the drawing seemed stoic, but the finer details presented a lighter side to him like upturned corners of the mouth and relaxed shoulders. Sora was openly smiling with his hands behind his head. His face and cheeks were almost perfectly round. Had he really looked that young? Sora hadn’t seen him in a long time, but how could he forget Tarzan, the King of the Apes?

---

The Deep Jungle was home to a truly glorious array of flora - flowers, plants, trees and those of the sort. So Sora had been told. But it was hard to see for himself when these plants and trees were only a blur. His focus was squarely on what was ahead of him, and in this case, it was Tarzan and the fact that the man was leading by a slim margin. Sora would have to maneuver through the intersecting branches and speed ahead to overtake him. In what felt like mere seconds, Sora could see the opening that would lead to the campsite and he willed himself to keep going. He had to keep pushing and not lose his footing. He bent low before pushing off hard to leap forward, aiming to land right in the middle of the campsite. To his dismay, Tarzan landed before him by seconds.

“You won again!” Sora dramatically groaned. Tarzan beat his chest triumphantly and grinned back at Sora.

“Keep trying!” Tarzan proclaimed cheerfully, even if the affirmation was brought down slightly by his smugness.

Sora stretched his back and turned forward with a look of determination. “Fine! I’ll race you back!”

“But Sora, we gotta go!” Goofy called out. He and Donald had been with Jane Porter while he went tree-surfing with Tarzan.

“Aww…” Sora pouted, feeling like a small kid again. He was having fun, too…

“Where will you go?” Tarzan asked.

“I don’t know.” Sora answered honestly. Remembering what Donald said about the world order, he would have to choose his words carefully. “All I know is that we’ll keep going until we find our friends.”

Tarzan was quiet, seemingly in deep thought. Before Sora could continue, Jane approached them with papers in hand.

“Good luck on your travels. I hope you will be safe. Here,” she handed the stack to Sora. “I hope you’ll like these.” Sora went through the papers, pressed flowers and hand-drawn pictures of the animals and scenery. He stopped once he saw the picture of himself and Tarzan. Tarzan looked over his shoulder and-

“Tarzan! Sora!” He exclaimed, looking surprised and pleased.

Jane smiled kindly, her cheeks turning pink. “Yes, that’s the both of you. How do you like it?” She directed the question at Sora.

“Thanks a lot!” Sora smiled graciously. “We look great here!” He and the others pored excitedly over Jane’s papers, which he now saw included individual drawings of Donald and Goofy. Through their pleased exclamations, Sora could have sworn he heard Jane say something quietly, thinking no one could hear her.

“He’s still so young…”

---

Sora kept the drawing for himself, while Donald and Goofy kept the other papers. He had thanked Tarzan ten times over for finding and rescuing him when he was separated from the pair. Still, at times he wondered if Tarzan understood just how grateful Sora was to be found when he was alone again in an unknown world.

He carefully folded away the drawing and placed it back in the chest. As Sora placed the item down, he caught sight of his membership card for the Hollow Bastion Restoration Committee. It rested on top of a pixelated printed picture of himself, Donald and Goofy, the latter being a gift from Tron. A thought occurred to Sora, and to confirm his suspicions, he flipped the picture over. On the back, a sequence of 0’s and 1’s filled two-thirds of the page. He didn’t have to look too hard to find another piece of folded paper, branded with “From Tron!” in blue letters and a cartoon doodle of Tron’s face that he drew himself. Grinning at the recollection, he unfolded the paper.

---

Sora, Donald, and Goofy were about to leave Hollow Bastion – or Radiant Garden, rather – for the next leg of their journey. They were saying their goodbyes in Merlin’s house when Cid came up to them, and said in his characteristic gruff voice, “You guys got something from Tron.”

“Really?” The trio looked up in surprise.

Cid handed Sora a single sheet of paper with a picture of the threesome in a pixelated style printed upon it. Underneath the image, ‘Thank you!’ was written in large block letters.

“This is great! Tell him we said ‘thanks’.” Sora smiled happily at the picture.

Donald, shorter than the rest, could see the back of the paper. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing. Sora flipped the paper over and was met with a sequence of 0’s and 1’s running down the page.

“I have no idea,” Sora shrugged before looking back at Cid. “Do you know?”

“I’m just delivering the message. I don’t have to know what it means.” Cid replied offhandedly.

Donald squawked impatiently, “Come on! You do know what it means!”

Cid smirked as he suppressed a chuckle. “That’s binary,” he relented. “To grossly oversimplify for you punks, it’s computer language. It’s how they give and receive information.”

“Does that mean this is a message from Tron? How come it came out like this?” Goofy questioned out loud.

“Maybe he wanted to mess wi’ ya,” Cid added with a laugh.

“What does it say?” Donald asked again.

“Do I look like a computer?” Cid shot back. This kicked off a bickering session over computers, magic, and each other’s intelligence.

In the midst of this, Goofy approached Sora with a separate piece of paper in hand. “I found this on top of that keyboard-thingy,” he said quietly pointing over at Cid’s computer. “I don’t know how binary works, but I think this is what the numbers mean.” He showed Sora the paper. This time there were words that he could read and understand.

Sora, Donald and Goofy,

I want to thank you once more for your support. I will not forget what you have done for myself and for the mainframe. It is thanks to you I am confident in my capabilities to assist the other Users.

I wish you safe travels in your journey.

Come back soon!

From Tron.

---

In the present day, Sora smiled, his chest feeling light with joy and wistfulness. He recalled Cid’s attempt to explain to the trio how binary worked (which Sora still did not understand to this day). He hoped Tron was keeping well.

Like with Jane’s drawing, Sora folded Tron’s gifts carefully and put them back into the chest under a toy-sized, yellow energy canister. Tucked to one side of the chest, a small velvet pouch caught his eye. It bore an unfamiliar crest surrounded by a border of alternating fleur-de-lis and diamond symbols. The unfamiliarity just as quickly gave way to recognition. Arendelle, it occurred to him. Opening it, a delicately shimmering crystal landed on his open palm. Sora had never seen a snowflake up close - all he knew was that no two snowflakes were identical. The crystal snowflake, now safely in Sora’s palm, was cool to the touch, but not quite as ice-cold as he recalled it had been when he received it.

---

“I don’t know how to begin to thank you for all your help.” Queen Elsa said as she held her sister’s hand. After a series of trials and tribulations, the two were finally reunited. Their sisterly bond was reaffirmed, the eternal winter spell (literally) was broken, and the world was safe.

“What about a knighthood!” Anna exclaimed excitedly.

“A knighthood, you say?” Sora grinned at the prospect. Already he envisioned himself donning a classic suit of armor. Maybe even a fancy cape, if that was still a thing. A sharp tug at his pant leg broke the reverie and brought his attention down to Donald, whose look of disapproval all but told him to keep his mouth shut and to quit while he was ahead.

Donald cleared his throat and spoke with uncharacteristic formality. “That is most gracious and generous of you, Your Highness. We are honored, but we couldn’t accept.”

“Even if we can’t knight you, we still want to give you something.” Elsa replied instead.

“It’s kind of you to offer.” Goofy said with his usual warm smile.

Elsa brought her hands up, with one hand hovering over the other. She wiggled her fingers in a manner that Sora recognized as an act of magic. It poured from Elsa’s fingers like flurries of snow and twirled together tightly into a bright orb of light. The orb spun between her hands until it transformed again. The light had faded to reveal a shining, shimmering, cobalt-blue crystal snowflake. To say that Sora was awe-struck by the feat would be an understatement.

“For you, Sora.” Elsa presented the crystal, now hanging delicately on a string, to Sora, who offered his thanks and cautiously reached for the crystal. What he hadn’t expected was for the crystal to be so cold to the touch. The shock of the cold on his exposed fingertips was enough for Sora to yelp and send the crystal flying out his hands. The snowflake was descending far too fast to Sora’s horror, prompting him to desperately scramble for the crystal. Donald and Goofy had the same idea. So three pairs of hands were grabbing at the crystal, resulting in an unintentional game of hot-potato. The crystal fumbled from their grasps and made a steady descent to the ground. Before anyone else could act, the crystal was suspended mid-fall by its looped string, hanging off a branchy arm.

“Safe and sound!” Olaf said cheerfully. The group let out a collective sigh of relief. Donald gently took the crystal from Olaf.

“Thanks, Olaf,” Sora smiled, partly grateful and partly sheepish. He bowed low in front of Elsa. “I’m so sorry.” Donald and Goofy took his cue and bowed alongside him.

“That’s alright,” Elsa smiled kindly. She created two more crystal snowflakes for Donald and Goofy, who accepted them just as graciously and were far more careful with handling them.

“I hope that whenever you see these, you will remember us.”

Sora carefully returned the crystal back into the pouch. He could never forget any of the people he met in his travels, especially not when he had these memories he could hold in his hand. He spent the better part of an hour going through the contents of the chest and revisiting his past.

And then he saw it. When did I put this in here? Sora gently picked up the old thalassa-shell charm. He used to keep it in his pocket, but its presence started to cause as much anxiety as it did comfort. What if it broke, or worse, what if he lost it? It was likely why he kept it in the chest for his own peace of mind.

“It’s my lucky charm. Be sure to bring it back to me.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Sora found it odd that he didn’t return the charm back to Kairi this time like he always promised he would. It had slipped his mind, though she never asked for it back. So he kept it away among the other trinkets. Here in his hands was perhaps his most precious possession. The charm was the promise of her memory and her unconditional devotion that he literally carried with him wherever he went. She had brought him back up on his feet and back to life more times than he could count. Where would he be without her, or Riku, Donald, Goofy, Axel, Roxas, Naminé, and all the other friends he made in his adventures? Probably long dead, for starters.

He closed the chest, but kept Kairi’s charm with him. Sora looked around the room once more: there were still some half-empty boxes, and his designated piles seemed to now make up one indistinguishable pile.

They could wait.

---

One phone call, one hasty apology to his mother, and fifteen minutes later, Sora sat on the porch of his new house. Their new house. He hadn’t waited long, but he was staring into space when a voice broke through the reverie.

“Sora?”

He looked up and there was Kairi standing before him. He shuffled to the side to make room on the steps, a silent offer.

“You were cryptic on the phone. Is something wrong?” Kairi asked with a look of concern as she sat beside him.

“No, not at all,” Sora replied. “I wanted to surprise you, but I guess I made you worry.” He looked down in embarrassment. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the lucky charm. From the corner of his eye, he saw surprise on her face.

“I just thought I should return this. It is pretty long overdue,” Sora said, handing the charm to Kairi.

“I wasn’t expecting this.” She said with a bemused smile.

“It’s yours, Kai. I did promise I would give it back to you.”

“Keep it. It’s as much yours as it is mine.” Kairi placed the charm back on Sora’s palm and closed his fingers around it. “It’s probably always been yours.”

Feeling overwhelmed and flushed, Sora looked away. “I found it in a chest where I was keeping a bunch of stuff people gave me during my travels. I must have kept it there for safe-keeping. I was afraid I’d lose it.”

“I didn’t really care. I just wanted you to come back safely.” said Kairi. “I’m willing to bet your other friends would agree with me. As long as you’re alive. That’s what matters.”

“There’s no heart my smile can’t reach, right?” Sora grinned teasingly.

It was Kairi’s turn to blush and pout, a look that said she regretted ever giving him the letters she wrote. “No teasing!” She lightly slapped his arm.

“Sorry!” He said looking appropriately apologetic. She seemed to accept this and rested her head on his shoulders. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I wanna see this chest. It sounds like it has a lot of good memories.”

“It does. Before or after we move in?”

“Yes.”

Sora laughed, falling in love a little more. “It’s a promise.”

#Sora #Kingdom Hearts #Disney #SoKai #at the end #KH #fanfic #My writing

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ambereyesandwine · 4 years

Text

We’ve Got Soul: Chapter 1

WC: 2362

Warnings: Cursing, Sass, Minor Crime, that’s all for now I think

Beta’d by: @teaspacebar

Notes: This is the first of a several part Detroit: Become Human OC Fic. Eventually there will be a romantic Markus x OC pairing and a platonic Gavin Reed x OC pairing. Have fun :)

Chapter 1:

June 20, 2036

11:34 A.M.

When Fantasia arrived at her Aunt’s house, she marveled at the sight of the long driveways and property gates and lush landscaping that seemed to be included with every house on the street. She pulled the key from the ignition and hopped out of the small moving van to walk up to the intercom. She pushed the button, “Aunt Samantha? It’s Fantasia. Can you open the gate please?”

A voice she didn’t recognize rang through, “Leave the van at the curb and make trips,” and the gate opened.

“Alright, I guess that works.” Fantasia strode to the back of the van and opened the doors, pulling out closed boxes labeled ‘Books’ and ‘Electronics’ and ‘Paints,’ setting them down on the sidewalk to be brought into the house. She hummed while she rolled two suitcases of clothes through the front door and set them aside neatly by the wall of the entryway. When she went out to make another trip, she was stopped by a man’s voice.

“Moving in?”

“Yeah, I’m Fantasia.” She turned to find a gentleman in a wheelchair and his android companion had come over. “You’re Carl Manfred,” she said with shock and awe in her voice as she dropped the box she was holding.

The android caught the box and looked over the small plants inside it, while Carl chuckled slightly, “Yes, and this is Markus. We live next door.”

“Oh, wow.” She looked over to their house and then back at Carl and Markus, training her expression into calmness. “Well it’s really nice to meet you both. Um, I can,” Fantasia gestured to the box of succulents and reached for it slightly, “I can take those.”

Markus happily passed them over, with a knowing smile, “Of course. You sure you have them?”

Fantasia blushed slightly and held the box on her hip.

“So, you paint?” Carl asked, nodding to the canvases leaning against the outside of the van.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Her attention refocused to Carl, “since I was a kid, or at least as far back as I can remember, anyway.”

“Are they always monochromatic?”

“No, just that set. The monochrome is supposed to show obsession with the subject of each painting.”

Carl nodded slightly. “Bold statement.”

“Thank you?” Fantasia’s head quirked as she questioned the intent behind his comment. “Well, I have to get this stuff inside, but it was really nice to meet you both. Thank you for stopping to chat.”

“Have a good afternoon, Fantasia…?”

“Jacobs.”

“Jacobs. Alright.” Carl turned his chair and began to slowly wheel back to his own home, so Markus briefly turned back to Fantasia.

“It was nice to meet you.” He nodded as a farewell and Fantasia waved as he walked away.

June 23, 2036

1:12 P.M.

Fantasia sighed heavily as she was escorted into the Detroit Police Station in handcuffs.

“Here I was hoping for a quiet day in the office.” Officer Miller shook his head as he adjusted Fantasia’s handcuffs to hook her to Detective Reed’s desk.

“And what, now it won’t be?” Fantasia shifted slightly in her chair to be more comfortable.

“Not when Reed finds out you’re here.”

She snorted. “I can handle Gavin.”

Chris only mumbled to himself in response as he walked away from her.

Soon after, Fantasia heard a distinct, “Aw, fuck,” ring out from behind her.

“What’s up Detective Reed?” She channeled as much sass into her voice as she possibly could as she watched the man come into view.

“I don’t have time for your bullshit today. Here,” He pulled paper and a pencil out of his desk and pushed them in front of her. “Now stay here and shut up, I’ll deal with you when I have a minute.” And he stormed off.

Fantasia sat in shock for a moment before shrugging the encounter off and doodling her time away.

Detective Reed returned an hour and a half later. “What are you doing? What is that?”

“It’s you.” She turned the paper around to show him angry chibi doodles of himself with all sorts of profane catchphrases in speech bubbles.

“That’s not funny.”

“It is objectively hilarious.”

He looked ready to punch a wall but took a deep breath before speaking again. “This is the third time you’ve been in here just this month. You drive me up the fucking wall for hours every time, and now that I finally gave you something else to do with your time, you’re gonna use that against me too?”

“Absolutely.”

“Right.” He was unamused, “The report says ‘Vandalism.’ Again. Why do you keep doing it if you keep getting caught?”

“The point of the art is to be seen. Why would I put it up with the intent of it not being found?”

“You could just not vandalize shit.”

“And you could just not show up to work hungover.”

“Excuse me?”

“You ever think you’d get more out of people by being less of an asshole?”

Detective Reed was fuming. “You ever think you might have friends if you weren’t such an obnoxious bitch?”

Fantasia feigned offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Reed! Phone!” Captain Fowler called from his office.

Detective Reed stared Fantasia down angrily while she returned the stare, smug, and when the detective’s phone rang, their eye contact didn’t budge.

“Yeah.” He answered the phone. “Mmhmm, yeah. Great, I’ll let her know.”

“Were you talking about me?” Fantasia batted her eyelashes at him.

He groaned as he reached for her cuffs to unlock them. “Somebody by the name of Manfred just paid your bail.” He tossed her cuffs onto his desk. “Get out.”

“Gladly.” She stood up and began to walk away, “Try not to miss me too much, Detective,” she called over her shoulder.

Reed only balled up the paper Fantasia had been drawing on and threw it at her across the office, receiving a middle finger in return.

June 23, 2036

5:42 P.M.

Fantasia locked the front door behind her. “I’m back!” She called out.

“You missed dinner!” Martha, the woman who Fantasia learned was taking care of her aunt, called out from across the house. “You’re going to have to figure it out tonight!”

“Okay!” As Fantasia began her ascent up the stairs, there was a polite knock at the door. She quirked her head in confusion as she walked back over to open the door. “Markus?”

“Hello,” He stood patiently on the porch while Fantasia stepped out. “Carl would like you to join him for dinner this evening if you are available.”

“Uh, yeah, I’d just need to change,” She started to go inside before turning back to Markus. “Did he say why?”

“Just that he wanted me to collect you if you’re available.”

Her nod was skeptical, but Fantasia replied, “Okay, give me just a minute.”

“I’ll wait here.” Markus turned away from the door and stood still, looking around while he waited for Fantasia to change.

“Okay, I’m back.” She locked the door and gestured for Markus to lead the way.

As he began to walk, Markus looked over Fantasia’s new clothing, noting the adjustment from paint covered jeans and t-shirt to a sensible sundress. “You look nice.”

“What?” Fantasia’s eyes went wide and she blushed.

Markus held his gaze forward as they rounded the corner to Carl’s walkway. “Your dress.”

“Oh,” She looked down at her dress and composed herself. “Thank you,” She said it softly and smiled to herself.

Markus held the door for Fantasia as she crossed the threshold into Carl’s house, to find Carl waiting in the foyer.

“Thank you for joining us. Please, come sit down.” Carl wheeled into another room without any explanation, so Fantasia followed.

“Am I in trouble?” She asked Markus quietly.

“I have no idea, but I’d follow him.” He nodded in Carl’s direction and then left the room through a different door.

Fantasia sighed, “Great.” She walked through the door Carl had disappeared through and found him sitting at a dining table in a large room, seemingly meant for other things. She saw a piano, and tall bookshelves, and skeletons hanging from the ceiling, as she walked to the seat Carl gestured toward. When she sat down, Carl simply stared at her for a moment before speaking.

“So,” He started sternly, “What art styles do you enjoy?”

Fantasia was hesitant to answer, but replied, “Expressionism mostly. I only paint when I have something to talk about.”

“Mmhmm, yeah, and what about vandalism?” Carl’s tone was perturbed, “That seems to be another something that you rather enjoy.”

A nervous chuckle escaped her lips.

“Imagine my surprise when I looked up the young artist who moved in next door, only to find that she needed bail money.”

“Which was extremely unexpected but highly appreciated, by the way. I-”

“Do you regret it?” He interrupted.

“What?”

“Do you regret having painted a piece called ‘Androids are people too’” He emphasized the title she’d left on it, “on the wall at the bus station?”

She hesitated, trying to gauge what kind of response he was looking for.

“I’d like the truth, please.”

Fantasia deflated, resigned to telling the truth. “I don’t. It needed to be said. So, I said it.”

Carl nodded. “Excellent.”

“What?”

“Having something to say is the most important part of being a successful painter. I’d like to see some of your work.” He started to come around to the other side of the table.

“I-”

“Some of your non-vandalism work.” He stopped next to Fantasia’s chair. “I need you to bring me three pieces; one that shows significant growth, one that makes an unapologetic statement, and one that you consider to be your personal favorite, so I can see where we need to start.” He began to roll away, “Follow me please.”

Fantasia began to follow him through yet another door. “I’m sorry, what is happening right now?”

Carl ignored her completely and lead her into a magnificent art studio with floor to ceiling windows covering two of the walls. “You can work and keep your supplies in here while I’m teaching you and-”

“Wait!” Fantasia stopped in her tracks, face frozen in confusion. “Seriously, what is happening?”

Carl slowed and turned to face her in his chair. “I’d like to offer you an internship. If,” he raised his hand toward her in the ‘look at me’ motion, “and only if you stop the graffiti. Whether you have something to say or not, the law will view it as vandalism, and I won’t have my name attached to it. We can find other ways for people to see your message, but it can’t be illegally if you want me to teach you. Deal?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. If you get caught it again, you can consider your apprenticeship terminated, and you should not expect to have your bail paid for. Understood?”

She nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Then I’m happy to have you here, but please, just call me Carl.” He started back toward the door he’d entered the studio from and motioned for her to follow. When Fantasia made no attempt to respond to him further, Carl filled the silence. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I’d love to.”

July 10, 2036

3:19 P.M.

Fantasia looked to her vibrating phone on the coffee table and saw the caller I.D. had come up as ‘Restricted.’ She skeptically answered, “Hello?”

A gruff voice came across the line, “Is this Fantasia Jacobs?”

“Speaking.”

“Hi, this is Detective Gavin Reed of the Detroit-”

She hung up and stared at her phone for a moment, startled by the identity of the caller. Her phone rang a second time, the caller again labeled as ‘Restricted.’ She clicked the accept button.

“Don’t hang up.” He sounded peeved.

“I didn’t do it.”

“You’re not in trouble.”

“I don’t believe you.” She said it matter-of-factly.

He huffed. “Look, the DPD is formally requesting your assistance with a case, be here by 5 P.M. tonight.”

“What if I have plans?”

“What if I come pick you up in a patrol car with the lights and siren on?”

Fantasia went silent for a moment, unsure of how to reply. “I don’t have a choice, do I?” She questioned.

“Think less ‘favor for a friend’ and more ‘court summons.’” Detective Reed sounded smug. “I’ll see you in a few,” and the line went dead.

She sighed heavily. “This is gonna be fun.” Fantasia pulled up Carl’s contact and pushed the ‘call’ button.

Carl answered on the first ring, “Yes, Fantasia?”

“I can’t make it for dinner this evening. I’ve been ‘summoned’ by the DPD.” She emphasized her irritation as much as she could.

“Is that code for “Carl, I’ve been arrested again”?” He questioned.

“No,” She defended. “Apparently they need my help with a case. I have to be at the station in a little while, and I have no idea how long I’ll be there.”

“Alright. We’ll reschedule for when you’re available.” He sounded indifferent about the change of plans. “Don’t get into too much trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t-”

Fantasia hung up the phone before she could hear the rest of Carl’s complaint. She grabbed her things and walked outside to catch the bus to head into town. When she arrived at the station, she waited patiently to speak with a reception android.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The android asked with a fixed smile.

“Hi, I’m here to see Detective Reed.” Fantasia stated coolly.

“Okay, you can go through those doors whenever you’re ready.”

Fantasia smiled, “Thank you.” She walked through the small security gate and into the back room, escorting herself directly to Detective Reed’s desk.

“Woah,” He looked surprised when he saw her. “What’s with the getup?”

Fantasia rolled her eyes. “I had plans, remember? Why am I here?”

He smiled at the annoyance in her voice “I… have a job for you.” He dropped a small file onto his desk in front of her. “I need you to take a look at those,” He opened the file and spread out the pictures inside, “and tell me everything you know about that symbol and who painted it.”

#markusxoc #detroit become human #Markus #RK200 #Gavin Reed #dbh gavin #dbh markus #dbh #detroid become human #We've Got Soul

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pancakesfor2 · 5 years

Text

Passing Notes // Highschool!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: None

Summary: When you found out you had the most boring teacher in the school for history, you figured you’d have a pretty dull year. Who you didn’t account for, was the blue-eyed boy who sat down next to you.

Check out my Masterlist!

A/N: So I haven’t actually written anything that wasn’t for a class in months so this might be a little rusty but I hope y’all enjoy this cliche fest!

The First Class of the Year.

You knew your history class was going to be boring from the moment you got your schedule and saw that not only did you not have a single friend in it with you, but you also had Mr. Charles, who was known to be the most dull teacher in the entire school. With all of this information, you went in on your first day ready to suffer through the year. What, or should you say who, you didn’t account for was the boy who had the desk next to yours.

Fifteen minutes into the first class of the year and you were already dozing off when you felt a folded up slip of paper fall into your lap. You looked over at the boy sitting next to you to see him watching you with his deep blue eyes, waiting for you to open what must’ve been his note. Carefully, making sure the teacher didn’t see you, you unfolded the note to see a little doodle of you falling asleep at your desk with your head slumped in the textbook. Underneath the picture in neat uniform letters he'd written, Ready for a year of excitement? It took more self control than you thought you’d had for you to to stop yourself from laughing out loud; so you settled for giving the blue-eyed boy a warm smile while carefully pressing the drawing into your notebook.

As quietly as possible, you ripped out a sheet of paper and started on your reply. You were intrigued by the dark-haired boy who was able to draw a pretty accurate picture of you while also make it seem like he was paying attention to the teacher. He had captured all of your attention and you didn’t even know his name yet. Finding out wouldn’t be too difficult however. All you had to to do was pull out another sheet of paper and write out, My names y/n, what’s yours? You slid the page over to the boy, gesturing to you question with your pencil.

My name is James Barnes. But most people call me Bucky.

So now you knew his name. You’d also finished the little picture you’d drawn for him and folded it up to give to him, mimicking the original note he had passed to you. You watched Bucky’s face anxiously to see if he liked the note and were relieved to see the wide smile that’d broken out on his face once he’d unfolded the slip of paper to find a picture of him erasing the teacher with the back of a giant pencil.

Unfortunately, before he had the chance to send something back, the bell rang and all the students began shuffling out of the classroom. You shoved your notebook into your backpack and got up to leave, Bucky following close behind. Once out the door, the two of you turned to go your separate ways when Bucky took hold of your arm holding you back for a second, “See you around y/n,” he said and before you could register what had happened he was already gone. Leaving you alone and confused outside of your history classroom.

2 Months Into the Semester.

Every class would be the same. Sometimes you’d be the first one to arrive, and sometimes it would be Bucky, but you would always sit together in your unofficial assigned seats from the first day. Your desks were in the second to last row, meaning they were far enough from the front that it was two months in to the year and Mr. Charles hadn’t noticed the constant note passing.

You’d learned a lot about Bucky in the past two months. You knew about how he had two little sisters who he kill for and about his oldest friend Steve. You knew how he loved outer space and how he wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger. After three classes, your communication was no longer restricted to notes passed under desks when Bucky had signed his drawing of the day with his phone number and the words text me. And so you did, marking the beginning of one of your closest friendships.

The classroom was especially cold today, and you’d forgotten to bring a jacket. You had resigned yourself to suffering through the 90 minutes when Bucky noticed your slight shivering. Right away, he pulled off the dark grey hoodie he was wearing and handed it to you motioning for you to put it on. There was something written on the back, but you were too cold to pay attention and pulled on as soon as it was in your hands, shooting him a greatful smile. Bucky’s hoodie felt like a warm hug, and as soon as you pulled it over your head you were overwhelmed by how much it smelled like him.

That better doll? Wrote Bucky on the sheet of paper between you. If anyone else had called you doll you’d hate it, but from Bucky it just seemed right.

Yeah, thx so much. You replied, adding a little heart at the end of the sentence.

The rest of the class went on pretty uneventfully, with you and Bucky passing notes back and forwards until the bell rang signaling the end of the period. As you moved to take off the hoodie to give it back to Bucky he stopped you, telling you to keep it.

Pulling you into the crowded hallway, he leaned down close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek and whispered in your ear, “My last name looks good you doll.”

The Last Class of the Semester

It was the last day before winter break and there was something up with Bucky. You sat down next to him as usual, wearing his hoodie which had become a staple in your closet, especially as it got colder. It took you a little while to get used to people assuming that you and Bucky were together because you wore a jacket with his last name on it, but soon enough something else had come along and you were promptly forgotten about.

But back to Bucky. He was acting strange, almost as if he was nervous about something. Instead of greeting you with his usual smile, he distractedly waved to you as you took your seat and then went back to his notebook. You were a little worried, but not enough as to where you’d ask him what was wrong. Besides, class had started and he’d pass you a note any minute from now.

The note never came. You sat there through an hour and a half of Mr. Charles going on and on about the Civil War, fully expecting a slip of paper to land in your lap within the first five minute of the lecture but it never came. You contemplated sending him a note of your own, but he was always the one to start your correspondence and it didn’t feel right to break tradition.

Finally, as the final minutes ticked down on the clock, you felt him lean over and drop one of his signature folded up sheets of paper in your lap. He had drawn a little cup of coffee and underneath he wrote, I like you a latte, do you wanna grab coffee sometimes?

So this was what he was so nervous about; he wanted to ask you on a date but he didn’t know how you’d respond so he waited until the end of the period to even try. What he should’ve realized was that you’d been pining over him since the very first day when he looked over at you and that you’d been dying to go out with him since that one night late in October when you’d talked on the phone for hours, spilling all your secrets and dreams.

Caught up in your thoughts you’d forgotten to actually give Bucky an answer. He was sitting there looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to either say yes or no. You couldn’t answer him with words because you were still in class but what you could do was reach down and take hold of his warm hand, making him turn his head towards you. Yes you mouthed, instantly making a grin appear on his face and his hand squeeze yours. With this, the class was over, and this time you walked out hand in hand, unbelievably excited for what was to come.

From his desk inside the classroom, Mr Charles watched and smiled.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #infinity war #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barmes x reader #highschool!bucky #bucky barnes highschool au #bucky barnes fluff

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n3rdybird · 6 years

Text

A Hound’s Purpose

This is written for @frejahertziswritingthistime #TropeChallenge. Hope you enjoy!

My trope was: Person A is working at a movie-theater, and is cleaning up, ends up talking to person B, because they are the only one left, and is ugly crying

Crowley (Human Blood) x Reader

The steady patter of rain outside made you yawn as you watched the world go by. People with dark umbrellas passed the old theater with barely a glace. It was to be expected, being the middle of the week. Your family’s old fashioned cinema wasn’t terribly busy on the weekends, let alone on a wednesday afternoon.

You had never expected to run the old theater when your parents retired. Sure, you worked for your parents for most of your teenage years. Back when you wanted to get out of your hometown, to leave it all behind. But with the years working every position, from the ticket booth, to concessions, to projection, the old theater and the regulars had grown on you.

One in particular.

The first time you had met him, you were just shy of five years, treating the theater as your playground while your parents worked. You had snuck into a dark theater that was empty, aside from a single man. As a child, you didn’t even notice how he was overdressed for a movie viewing, nor the glass of alcohol that wasn’t available in the concession stand in his hand. You just crawled into the seat next to him, and quietly watched the movie.

When the house lights came on, your mom came looking for you. When she saw who you were sitting with, her face went white. She shuffled you away, apologizing to the man in the suit.

It became a ritual of sorts. If you ever saw the man in the suit, you’d always join him. He was always by himself, and you believed movies were best watched with friends. You told him so yourself. In the dim light, you saw him smirk and introduced himself as Crowley.

As you grew up, you began to notice that your movie friend never seemed to change. When you asked, during a particularly boring part of a movie, Crowley seemed unphased by the questions asked by ten-year-old you.

“I am a demon little one,” he explained, watching your reaction out of the corner of his eye, while keeping his face forward.

You furrowed your brow in disbelief.

“Demon’s don’t wear suits. Where are your fangs, and your claws?” you asked matter of factly.

He chuckled at your forwardness and lack of fear.

“Why? Do you not believe me?”

You shrugged, chewing a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’ve never met a demon before. So I wouldn’t know.”

In the dark theater, Crowley’s eyes turned blood red, causing you to miss your mouth and drop popcorn on your lap. He looked at you expectantly.

��That’s pretty neat,” you started, before noticing the scene on the movie screen.

“Ooh, this part is my favorite, watch!” you exclaimed, your childish enthusiasm for the movie overriding anymore questions you had.

If you had been watching his expression, you would have seen a dumbfounded expression on the demon’s face as you completely disregarded the demon next to you.

“Well that’s interesting,” he muttered, before turning back to the movie.

So that’s how you became ‘friends’ with the demon known as Crowley. Regardless of his lack of soul, he was a well versed cinephile. So many afternoons were spent watching films and discussing them.

Your parents didn't like the time spent with Crowley. They knew exactly who and what he was. Apparently your great uncle entered into a deal with the sly demon, for the success of the theater. When his ten years was up and he died, your newlywed parents inherited a movie theater and a demon regular. But regardless, Crowley never seemed to have any muderous intent toward you, and your parents figured it was better not to piss of an actual freaking demon.

And now, many years later, you were in charge.

You hadn’t seen Crowley lately, but he that wasn’t suprising. From Crossroads demon he had become the King of Hell, and all the responsibility that came with. The last time you had seen him, he was tense. Not even relaxing during the movie which he had done in the past. When you asked, he snarled that had better things than watch movies with a human and snapped out of the theater without so much as a goodbye.

Not gonna lie, that hurt a bit. But you resigned yourself to the fact that you were just a human. You supposed you should feel lucky that he didn’t kill you. Either way, the weekdays were boring without him.

So you watched the rain from the box office, doodling on a scrap of paper. Your daydreams were interrupted by one of your part-timers clearing his throat.

“So I went to theater 2 to clean, and there was still someone in there.”

You raised your brow, motioning him to continue.

“And?’

“He won’t leave… and he,” he paused, trying to figure out what to say.

“And he is crying. A lot. He yelled at me and might have threatened to rip out my entrails and shove them up my ‘arse’? It was hard to tell between the sobbing and the accent.”

That caught your attention. That and the fact that you didn’t recall selling a ticket to theater 2.

You took in the pleading of his expression. He was young, just a teenager trying to make enough money to take his girlfriend out. And apparently shuffling a crying and belligerent customer was above his pay grade.

“Just watch the booth, I’ll deal with it,” you sighed.

You crossed the marble floors of the lobby, your eyes catching the scuffs of the abused floor. This place was well past its heyday, but you loved it all the same. As you climbed the red carpet steps, a throwback to the golden age of hollywood, you saw two more employees peaking into theater 2, whispering between themselves.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked dryly, shooing the pair away.

Theater 2 was currently showing A Dog’s Purpose, not the usual choice for a single man.

The film’s credits were still playing, the film theme doing little to mask the sobs coming from the middle of seats.

“You alright?” you called out.

The only reply was muted curses between heavy breathing. You decided to venture closer, sitting down a few seats away from the emotional man. The house lights turned on, revealing exactly who you thought it was.

“Crowley,” you said simply, taking in his appearance. He had a few weeks worth of stubble on his jaw. His normally crisp suit was creased and soiled in some areas. His cuffs were undone, as was his collar; his tie loose and askew. Top that with his blood shot eyes, he looked like a wreck.

“Damn, you look like shit,” slipped out of your mouth.

His eyes flashed red with annoyance, and you coughed.

Awkward silence reigned and you turned your eyes to the screen.

“The corgi scene got me,” you admitted, making him look at you confused.

“I watched this when it first came. Quality check, you know. But the corgi scene. That was the worst to me.” It was true. For being a family friendly movie, that movie had torn out your heart. Anyone who had ever had a pet dog would not be leaving the theater without some dried tear stains on their cheeks.

“Made me go home and hold my dog for awhile,” you finished lamely.

Crowley rubbed his face, cutting back a sniffle.

“Juliet… I haven’t seen her in months. Raised her from a wee hellhound. She’s my favorite. Such a good girl, I remember her first contract, tearing the man to pieces when he tried to run.”

He clenched his fist around his traditional glass of scotch, and threw it towards the screen. You flinched hearing the glass break, hoping there wasn’t too much damage.

“And now that bitch Abaddon thinks she can rule my home? Keep me from my Juliet?”

Not sure who he was talking about, you nodded sympathetically.

“Ex girlfriend?” you asked hesitantly.

Crowley snorted.

“Girlfriend? When hell freezes over. Which might happen if those two plaid imbeciles don’t get their act together.”

He continued to rant, his anger going high and then he would stop and sniffle, trying to reign in his emotions. You just watched the demon, taking in his expressions and movement. It was all too animated, too human. Crowley crying? You didn’t think it was humanly possible. (Or demonly you should say.)

You moved seats, taking the one right next to him. He seemed unaware of your movement, til you put your hand on his.

“Are you okay?” you asked seriously. He seemed taken aback by your gesture. Genuine confusion blanketed his face as he looked from your hand to your face.

Feeling awkward, you went to remove your hand, when he gripped it tightly.

“No one ever asks about me,” he said. His tone was soft, almost broken sounding. It made your heart clench, which was a weird feeling for the demon who had wormed his way into your family years ago.

“Even the King of Hell needs back up sometimes,” you told him truthfully. The two of you sat in silence. The weight of his hand pressing on yours was very odd. After all these years, you couldn’t recall ever touching him before.

You were broken out of your reverie when the credits finished. But Crowley kept his hand in yours. You pushed up the armrest, keeping the two of you apart. Leaning over, you wrapped your arm around his neck, hugging him. His arms slowly wrapped around your waist as you settled half on the seat and half on his lap.

“You know, when most women are in my lap, there are less clothes involved,” he whispered into your ear.

You rolled your eyes and pulled back, giving him your best “not impressed” look.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” you scoffed, moving to get off him. His arms tightened around your waist, keeping you in place.

“Oh I can,” he murmured, moving his lips close to yours.

Just as he was about to kiss you, you fell forward. He had disappeared. You cursed as you caught yourself on the cushions. A piece of paper fluttered through the air, landing in front of you.

Dinner, Friday at 8 o’clock. One of those teenage mouthbreathers can cover for you.

Thank you

Crowley

You sat back in the seats, re-reading the note and laughing to yourself at the absurdness of the situation.

Fucking demons.

#crowley x you #crowley x reader #supernatural reader insert #tropechallenge #spn fanfic #spn one shot

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spacechip707 · 7 years

Note

Godamn it, you're so awesome 😊😁😍 Can you do a something about Saeran and MC is talking in their home soon the topic comes to his brother. He says something cute and nice about him without realizing it. MC teases him and Saeran becomes red like tomato. Trying to deny it. When MC asks about their relationship as brothers Saeran becomes quiet for some reason. And says something like: 'He's my brother and he always be' And our god 707 hears that. And smiles like a fool. And hugs him after... 😊😁

Thank you so much, anon! :) I...kind of got carried away with this prompt. It was really sweet, and I hope I did it justice! Thank you for sending it it~

Spoilers: Post Secret Ends

Every muscle in Saeran’s body tensed when a crash from the other side of the house shattered his precious silence. Just one morning...that's all he wanted. One morning where he could sit on his bed in peace and quiet.

He unclenched his fists when the lulling hum of the apartment’s heating system enveloped the bunker again. Letting out a small breath, he picked up the magazine he had dropped against his chest and continued his mindless skimming.

Another crash.

Saeran threw down the magazine on the other side of the bed before marching to the source. He followed the clattering of metal to the kitchen. “I thought you were running errands. What the heck are you doing, you idi--oh.”

His brother was indeed still out of the house. Instead, Saeran was met with Saeyoung’s wide eyed fiancée. She stared at him helplessly from the floor, strands of her hair streaking down her face in its frazzled mess. She was surrounded a bunch of fallen pans from the bottom cupboard.

“Sorry,” she chuckled nervously. “I was trying to make a quiet breakfast.”

Saeran rolled his eyes and sighed. He wasn't expecting to get much solitude in this house anyway. He crouched down and slid a few pans neatly back into place. “Saeyoung doesn't know how to organize well,” he said as somewhat of an apology.

“Yeah, I've noticed,” she grumbled. It was odd really. Even when she seemed to say things in annoyance about the older twin, there was always this tinge of admiration in her voice.

He stood and extended his hand to her. She clasped it and shot him a grateful smile as he yanked her to her feet. Resigning himself to company, he slipped into one of the island chairs. “I didn't hear you come in,” he said, eyes flitting up to her.

“I came earlier this morning,” she replied, gesturing to the large binder labeled “Wedding at the Space Station.” Saeran scrunched his nose at the sickeningly sentimental title.

Still, curiousity tingled through his arms, and he found his fingers involuntarily pressing against the sharp edges. What was in this folder that got even his sleep-loving brother out of bed early in the morning lately? He dragged it across the marble countertop towards himself.

“May I?” he asked, not wanting to pry unwelcomed.

Thankfully, she didn’t question his interest. She nodded before setting to work on cutting some vegetables. He flipped open the top, eyes widening at the rainbow of colors splattered across the page. He scanned the color-coded notes, though he retained nothing but a few words. He had thrown MC into a party coordinator job nearly a year and a half ago, as part of his plan to infiltrate the RFA. He would have never guessed she was actually good at it.

He mulled through the guest list, wedding colors, catering options. He wasn’t sure why, but his heart thrummed inside his chest. Saeyoung and MC had been engaged for...what seemed like forever, but now the wedding was happening and was only a few months away. Soon enough, morning visits would just be a normal part of things.

MC would be a permanent part of this house. Not that he disliked her, but...she brought a different atmosphere in the house. Almost motherly--something he was having difficulty grasping with his background. Still, the thought brewed inside of him, producing a strange mixture of warmth and discomfort.

Already, Saeran had noticed her things drifting into the bunker, even though she didn’t live there. Her jacket...her hair ties...Saeyoung even had a special drawer to put her knick knacks in when she left them behind. Saeran clutched at his shirt as a realization jarred his brain. Soon...it wouldn’t just be him and his brother, and for some reason that actually hurt.

It wasn't jealousy. He knew that much. It wasn’t a painful ache either...more like that dull throb he would get when he strained his muscles too much. It was something sweet and sour at the same time.

As much as he hated to admit it, he had gotten comfortable living alone with the dorky red head. In fact, he was acutely aware of when Saeyoung didn’t spit out some stupid pun or build an unnecessary robot. More so, he discovered contentment in the smaller moments where Saeyoung was actually serious--when he somehow managed to be positive but in a completely somber manner. It was more calming than any one of Saeran’s therapy sessions. He wondered if that would change now...

He flinched when MC ruffled his hair. “You okay there?” she asked. She had the same look as Saeyoung too. Those wide eyes searching his as if she could somehow see a bleeding gash in his broken soul.

“Yeah,” he replied, twisting to the side to avoid her gaze. He rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip as he continued his snooping. He found a smile unfurling his usual scowl at his brother’s doodles on some of the notes. Sometimes, he even left encouraging words on her planner. Saeyoung...always so bright. “You’re lucky to have him, you know.”

The knife that clattered against the counter snapped him to his senses. What just slipped out of his mouth? His head snapped up to look at the gaping MC. “I-I meant he’s lucky to have you,” he tried to amend, but it was too late. That pleased grin was forming on her face.

He stood up in attempt to flee before things got worse, but of course, she was already ahead of him. She snatched the end of his overly large sweater and successfully tugged him back into his seat. “Saeran, did you just genuinely compliment him?”

“It wasn’t a compliment technically,” he sulked. But wasn’t it? The twinge of pain twisting his insides only confirmed it. And he hated that.

Heat rose in his cheeks and his ears. He had told himself that he would live peaceably with Saeyoung, but he would never get emotionally attached to him. Now he was having difficulty with the thought of another person possibly changing whatever strange bond that had formed between them. It was stupid.

He cringed when MC hovered beside him. He didn’t have to look at her to know her pink lips were turned upwards in a smirk. She pinched his cheek playfully, and he let out a splutter before prying her hand away from his skin. Suddenly his feelings from earlier seemed very silly. With her around, he wouldn’t have to deal with Saeyoung nor her irritating habits, since they would just keep each other preoccupied.

“It was one comment!” he burst.

“Your face is as red as your hair, dear,” she said softly...still wearing that mischievous smile.

He groaned and covered his head with his arms as if that would help. If there was one thing Saeran hated more than Saeyoung being an annoying sibling, it was MC also acting like an annoying sibling.

She laughed before sliding her arms around his shoulders and rocking him slightly. “Even if it was a mistake,” she said. “You’re right. I’m very lucky to have Saeyoung.”

MC released him from her affectionate grip and returned to her chopping. Saeran swallowed thickly as the atmosphere settled into quiet. He shut the book. “MC...can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Am I too hard on him?”

The movement in her hands ceased. She stared down at the counter, and he knew she was formulating her next words carefully. Maybe they didn't always get along in the past…but even with the strange tension that came about from their initial relationship of kidnapper and victim, he could always rely on her painfully candid opinions.

“No,” she said finally. The monotonous thud of the knife hitting the wooden board proceeded. “I think you've gotten a lot better at that. But...I think it would be nice for him to hear that you're okay with him now.”

Saeran ran a hand through his hair. His therapist had said as much recently...something about verbally forgiving him or something. For some reason, the idea made his chest constrict.

“That is,” MC went on. She ducked her head a little, as if unsure if her next words were appropriate. “Are you okay with him now?”

Saeran bit the edge of his lip. He traced the grey swirls patterned on a sample wedding invitation. “He's my brother,” he said with a shrug. “And that’s not going to change, no matter what happens...or happened.”

He wasn't sure why, but his edge of his mouth tugged upwards at the admission. Maybe because he knew it signified how far he'd come. How much he'd forgiven Saeyoung for everything.

He should have been paying attention to her focus, which seemed to be at the doorway more than him. Two warm arms wrapped around Saeran’s shoulders, causing him to curl into himself.

Oh no…

“Saeran,” Saeyoung sniffled into his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Saeran sent an exasperated look to MC. She was the one who dealt with emotional Saeyoung. He was not the person for this. Nope. Not right now.

Being the cruel woman that she was, she set down her kitchen utensils and exited the room wordlessly. Traitor.

Saeran’s stomach sunk as the moisture from his brother’s tears slipped onto his skin. He awkwardly patted the older twin’s arm. “Don't think too much into it, weirdo.”

Saeyoung stood up straight and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. He swiped his damp face onto his sleeve. “Sorry,” he said with a half laugh. “I guess I’ve been emotional with the wedding planning. But...it was nice to hear.”

A pang of guilt slammed Saeran's conscience. Maybe MC was right about saying things more often. After all, Saeyoung did try hard to redeem himself.

“By the way,” Saeyoung said. He tried to act casual, but he was failing miserably. Especially when tears were still leaking from his eyes while he poured himself a glass of water. “There's something I want to ask you to do, and it's okay if you're not ready.”

Saeran's heart plummeted. He had been anticipating this when Saeyoung and MC had started officially planning a wedding. But all the planning in the world didn’t stop his trembling fingers.

Saeyoung was going to ask him to leave. It made sense. He would have a wife soon--and inevitably children. They probably didn’t want the mentally messed up twin hanging around. His chest shouldn’t have throbbing as much as it was, but dang it, Saeran just had to get himself emotionally invested. Stupid…

“Don't dance around it,” Saeran snapped, retreating behind his aggressiveness as usual. “If you want me to leave, just give me a date. I'll...start working and save up for a place or something--”

Saeyoung’s deep frown shut him up real fast. The red head wasn't angry often, but when he was…

“Saeran, did you think we were asking you to move out?” He said, his voice low and almost betrayed.

The younger twin dodged his brother’s piercing gaze by slapping open the binder again and pretending to rummage through it. “Well, what else could you ask? It’s okay. I get it if--”

“I was going to ask you to be my best man.”

Oh.

The tremors in his fingers wound through both hands to the point where he had to clench his fist to make them stop. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Saeyoung. That bittersweet emotion from earlier was now spreading unevenly through his entire body, slowly transforming into something completely tender. If it was possible, it hurt more...but he liked it. “M-me?”

“I understand if you don’t want to,” Saeyoung replied. A flustered tone replaced his taut one from a few moments before. “I know we still have some things to work on, and I’m okay if you’re still not ready for that big of a step or--”

“I’ll do it.”

The words went flying out of his mouth. Saeran finally lifted his gaze to Saeyoung. He was crying again...but his eyes were shimmering with sheer happiness. A laugh tumbled out of Saeran’s mouth. “Don’t look so surprised, idiot. You’re my brother.”

When Saeyoung grinned and gave a watery chuckle, Saeran felt it again. That wonderful heat filling every part of him. His chest….his stomach...and something even deeper. He had never felt so warm in his entire life.

Perhaps things might be different when Saeyoung did get married. They might run into each other less, or maybe Saeran might end up leaving the bunker to live a life of his own one day. But one thing was sure: no matter what, his brother loved him.

And that moment in time solidified a fact in Saeran’s mind that he thought would never be possible again. He loved his brother too.

#mystic messenger #saeran choi #saeyoung choi #choi twins #saeyoung x mc #mystic messenger fanfic #mystic messenger one-shot #choi twin fluff #mystic messenger imagines #Anonymous

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tea-and-cardigans · 7 years

Text

Meeting Time

Hey everyone, here is a quick little AU oneshot that I did for the Bughead AU project.

It is based on the following prompt:

person A who sits in the back of every staff meeting and makes snarky comments under their breath about everyone the whole time and person B who arrived late and sat next to them and can barely hold in their laughter.

Betty and Jughead are social workers who are stuck in the dreaded weekly team meeting, Jughead can’t help himself but snark and Betty tries to contain her laughter. Also a little flirting.

I will preface this one shot by saying that my day job is as a social worker and I have been in many a team meeting wish you just wish would end so you can get out there and work with your clients, so this fiction is based a little on this. I hope you enjoy.

Where was she. Here he was stuck in yet another snoozefest, about cases, and numbers, and assessments and she was out traipsing around the town, getting to do some actual work. He considered for a moment that maybe she had overslept or called in sick but that wasn’t the Betty Cooper he knew. She was so dedicated to the job it made him worry for her.

He looked at the sheet of paper in front of him, he took the same one to every meeting. It had two columns, ‘Archie Says Something Stupid’ was at the top of one of them and the other had ‘Departmental Bullshit’. Under the first column were 15 little marks. He had attended three team meetings so far this year. This year was turning out to be Archie’s best year yet, he was almost proud of him. Or he would be if it didn’t mean that every stupid question that came out of his mouth resulted in additional time being added to what was already an overlong, unnecessary waste of time in his mind.

“Forsythe.” He looked up immediately at the sound of his name, well not the name he preferred to be called, but he had given up trying to tell Weatherby this. He was pretty sure Weatherby was just using it now because he knew he hated it. “Where’s Cooper?”

“Do I look like her babysitter?” He snarked back.

“She sits next to you.” He had been a little hesitant at first having the new graduate sat next to his desk. A personal experience of the foster system and the constant disappointment of his career had made him somewhat cynical, okay a lot cynical. But that was how you survived in this job. The desk next to him had become almost a tunstile of rotating social workers. Burn out levels were high with the increased pressure to achieve results and if you didn’t learn to get a sense of humour quick you were done for. When she had bounced in all bright eyes and blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look younger than her years he had commented that she wouldn't last the week. But she had, then she lasted the month and soon the year. Sure the job had taken its toll, it always did but she refused to let it drag her down. And she laughed at his jokes that always went a long way with him. She knew how to handle herself and the stress that came along inevitably with the job.

“Don’t remind me.” He said in mock frustration. He was sure that Weatherby had put the eager young graduate next to him on purpose, hoping that she would be the thing that finally drove him to the edge and handing in his resignation. Weatherby’s plan soon backfired as he liked to think that he had converted Betty to the dark side.

“This is the third time, tell her there will be consequences the next time I see her.”

“Will do boss.” Jughead gave a mock salute, before returning to his doodles in the corner of his piece of paper. He knew Weatherby was full of empty threats, Betty was too good at her job for him to fire. She would probably get another warning, or she would batt those pretty eyelashes at him and get a reprieve. Either way he wasn’t worried for her.

At that moment Betty entered the small meeting room, she tried to sneak past unnoticed before she knocked into one of the chairs, swearing under her breath on her way to the seat that was empty next to Jughead.

“Cooper, nice of you to join us.” Weatherby addressed her and she turned to face him while continuing to navigate the narrow space between the chairs and the wall.

“Sorry, I got caught up with the Smiths.” Boom, there was the eyelash batting, and he had to stifle a laugh at her predictability.

“I’ll see you after.” Weatherby gave a loud cough as she smiled that thousand watt smile at him and he looked like he was about to choke. He wished he could give a smile to get what he wanted from Weatherby. He was never going to be in his good books. “Right, well now that everyone is finally here. Let’s talk numbers.”

“Did I miss much?” She whispered to Jughead as Weatherby droned on in the background pointing to a series of numbers on the large presentation screen in front of them.

“Just the usual, behind on paperwork, spending too much time in the home, and numbers are down.” He replied quietly while maintaining his best impersonation of Weatherby, which Betty couldn’t help but giggle at.

“What numbers exactly?” She raised her eyebrow in question highly doubting that Jughead had actually taken on much of what had been discussed.

“All the numbers, Betts, every single one of them,” he said as he leaned in closer his face serious and without humour as he lowered his tone. She rolled her eyes at him as she got her notebook out of her bag, placing it open with her pen at the ready to take notes she knew she would never actually look at again.

“So we need to start looking at ways we can maximise efficiencies.” Weatherby continued, with most of the team, beginning to scan the room for anything else of interest.

“We could just stop seeing people all together, you know that would make my job way more efficient.” Jughead chimed in, an eager smile on his face his hands clasped in front of him like an attentive student.

Weatherby gave a loud sigh that echoed through the small room.

“I’m looking for serious suggestions Mr Jones.”

“I am serious. Betty, does this face look serious to you.” He turned to Betty and narrowed his eyes slightly and pursed his lips in his attempt to look serious. Betty tried to hide her smile but could feel it breaking through when he gave a waggle of his eyebrows. For all his joking around Jughead Jones was good at his job. Betty knew that he cared for each one of the families that he was looking after, not that he would ever admit it. Although he would hide it with a joke or sarcastic comment Betty knew it hurt him just as much as any of his colleagues when things didn’t quite work out.

The first time she had put her hand on his shoulder when he slammed his phone down on the receiver after a call, he had looked at her stunned for a moment, before he relented and allowed her to rub shoulder gently through his jacket, sympathy written all over her face. Just as much as he was helping her survive in this job with his humour, she helped him survive with her kindness.

“Anyone else?” Jughead noticed Archie raise his hand, instead of just speaking like they were still at elementary school or something battling each other for approval from the teacher.

Betty turned to Jughead again who already had his pen poised in the Archie column ready to make another mark.

“He’s not doing too bad this year,” she whispered to him as she counted up the marks within the column. It had been Jughead’s way of coping with these meetings, instead of letting out the loud obnoxious groan whenever the redhead raised his arm above his head.

Jughead was half paying attention to her but also to Archie as he made another mark in the column as Archie finished his long winded but unhelpful suggestion. “Well he wasn’t doing too bad.” Betty corrected herself.

The meeting continued in much the same way for the next 20 minutes, Weatherby droning, Jughead making a snarky comment, Betty trying not to snort as she listened and Archie looking over at them confused while mouthing ‘What?’ as he seemed to be missing out on their little private moment within the crowded space.

“Right, that’s all for this week.” Weatherby finished as a collective sigh filled the room and he seemed a little put out at the team’s reaction. Jughead neatly folded his piece of paper and placed it in his jacket pocket ready for when it would be needed next meeting. He got up and waited for Betty to pack up her notebook, with it’s neatly written prose, before giving her space to move past him towards the exit.

“Ladies first,” he said with a flourish of his arm and Betty shook her head as she passed him.

“Betty we need to have a chat.” Betty gave a heavy sigh, closing her eyes, before straightening her posture and moving back towards the centre of the room as Jughead made his way to the exit. He gave a wave as Weatherby closed the door behind him.

“So Ms Cooper, will I be seeing you in the storage cupboard in say 10 mins.” He finished with a slow wink, which Betty responded to by biting her bottom lip as if she was tempted before she gave him a playful slap on the arm. They had fallen into this pattern of flirtation, she played it off as light fun. It was a way to sometimes distract from the work, to earn a little reprieve.

“I told you already Jughead I don’t date co-workers.” He had begging her for a coffee for a months now. When their playful flirting had developed into something more for him and he wanted desperately for her to feel the same way.

“I’m not talking about dating. I’m talking maybe about reliving a certain moment that we had at our staff Christmas party.” Hooking up with Jughead Jones at her first work Christmas party had not been a proud moment for Betty, but she had had maybe a little bit too much to drink and he was there with his dress shirt, the top buttons undone and his ties loose around his neck. She had been wondering what it would feel like to run her hands through his hair, and as he sauntered up to her it had been waving back and forth in front of his eyes. He said something to her in that low tone of his, before roughly pushing his hair back from his face and she was grabbing a hold of his tie and practically dragging him to the first cupboard away from prying eyes that she could find. He had given her a knowing smile the next Monday at work and she had blushed furiously.

“Sorry Juggie,” She had sworn that it was going to be strictly professional from that moment and she had told him so. But soon enough she found herself falling back into old patterns and throwing coy looks his way in response to his gentle flirting. “I have a client visit, guess you are going to have to relive that moment all on your own.” She said before turning on her heel and heading towards the lift.

“A raincheck then?” he shouted across the room as she continued towards the exit. She threw up her hand waving to him, as he made his way back to his desk. Yes, he was definitely falling for one Betty Cooper.

#bughead fanfiction #bughead #AU #one shot #bughead au project

158 notes · View notes

itslulu42 · 7 years

Text

Stay Sober, Yamato

Ninja Dorks Flailing at Interpersonal Relations Part Five *oof*

Warning: second hand embarrassment

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Sakura groaned as exited the operation room, her shoulder aching after three back-to-back surgeries, the last thing in her ten day stretch. Finally, she was going to have two glorious days off. Her previous weekend had been interrupted by an unexpected strain of colds that knocked out some of the hospital staff as well. She was looking forward to a sleeping in, stopping at that cafe Ino had mentioned last month, a long bath, and a pedicure.

Sakura had spent the past two days in the hospital, sleeping between patients and surgeries on the corner chair in her office. She kept a pair of spare uniforms in her office, and had changed into them when she was a little too ripe.

Tucking her dirty laundry in her overnight bag, Sakura flicked the light switch off, then exited the office. She pulled the strap of the bag over her shoulder, and waved goodbye to a medic standing at the front desk. Once outside, Sakura took a deep breath of the outside air, the first in over seventy-two hours.

The night was cool, with just a touch of humidity in the air. They were due for a storm soon, and Sakura prayed that it would come in the night when she would be home, dead to the world underneath her blankets. Deciding to take the scenic route, Sakura skipped her usual walk home from the rooftops, deciding to navigate through a string of restaurants and past the river.

The pedestrian traffic was light, most villagers were already home, or having a late dinner. Peering through open doors, Sakura noted the restaurants were half-empty of customers; it would still be another couple of hours before they would close. Sakura was tempted to stop more than once, the smell of food causing to make her mouth to water. But if she went inside, it was possible she would be recognized, and she would be asked to join a table, or trapped in small talk. No, eating her sad leftovers in her refrigerator was a better choice; she could always get something tomorrow after she had her pedicure, when she was looking cute.

Sakura rounded the corner, and stopped dead in her tracks as Yamato-sensei and Kakashi emerged from the bar. Desperate to hide, she looked for an escape route, maybe a trash can she could stand behind, or a pedestrian, or a spare piece of trash! There had to be somewhere—

"Saaaaakura!" Yamato-sensei was leaning heavily on Kakashi, beckoning for her with his free arm. "Come ‘ere!"

It was just her luck that Yamato-sensei was drunk. Resigned to her fate, Sakura made her way over to the pair. She gave a polite smile in Kakashi's direction, but she noticed he was avoiding her gaze, instead staring intently at a poster for a business which has shut down six months ago.

Yamato jabbed Kakashi in the stomach with an elbow. "Hey, hey, Kakshi-Hokage-sempai-sama, ish your girlfriend." Yamato puckered his lips like a fish, miming a kissing motion.

Sakura felt her face heat up; the urge to flee practically choking her. The only thing that kept her rooted to the spot was Kakashi's reaction, she marveled as his face turned bright red. At least she wasn't the only one embarrassed.

Sakura hadn't spoken to Kakashi since their failed date. She had awoken from her nap in his bed three hours later, the apartment empty. There was note pinned to the bedroom explaining he had returned back to his office to work, but he hadn't wanted to wake her. He had signed it with a doodle, and a request to lock the door behind her. She had done as he requested, resisting the urge to snoop in his apartment after his courtesy.

Had something happened? Had she mumbled something in her sleep? Sakura gripped the strap on her bag as she remembered some of the vivid dreams she had about Sasuke.

"I know the two of you would hit it offff," Yamato said, his head bobbing emphatically. "Kakushi only likes women if he can die with hish head between her thighs."

The strap of Sakura's overnight snapped in her hands.

What?!

Kakashi made a miserable noise as her belongings fell to the ground.

"And you!" Yamato pointed dramatically at Sakura, with the conviction that only a drunk could have. "You should be lucky. Sempai hokage is really attracting." He began to tug at Kakashi's vest to raise it up. “Show her your abs!” Yamato insisted when Kakashi tried to pull away

Sakura forgot all about her embarrassment as her eyes dropped down to stare at Kakashi’s torso, curiosity taking hold of her. She really could use a pick me up after the week she had. Sadly, Kakashi was far more sober than her sensei, and easily defended any attempts to unclothe him.

Sighing, Yamato sensei turned back to Sakura. “I’m going to go.” He pointed both hand to in the direction where Sakura had rounded the corner. “I’m sure you want some alooooone time,” Yamato said, loud enough that group of people emerging from the bar stopped to stare in their direction.

Sakura watched her sensei stumble off, then turned back to Kakashi. He was civilian clothes again, sticking with dark colors that only serve to emphasize his striking hair color. “Hello.”

“Yo,” Kakashi responded, scratching at his chin before tucking his hands into his pockets. “Ah, do you need help with that?” He pointed to her dirty laundry that was scattered at her feet. Sakura had torn the strap on the side of the bag, creating a large enough hole that her dirty laundry was now scattered on the street. Thanks to the streetlight a few meters away from her, he had the prefect view of underwear.

Mortified, Sakura scrambled to gather her things; stuffing what she could in her bag, juggling the overnight bag in both of her arms to keep her belongings inside.

"Shove your tongue down her throat!" catcalled a member of their audience.

Kakashi turned to the side to see who spoke. The group flinched in unison when they recognized their Hokage, the scattered post-haste, one of them dropping his take-out box in the street.

Kakashi turned back to her. They stared at each other.

"Do you…uh… I'll walk you home." Kakashi coughed in his hand.

"Thank you," Sakura replied politely, using the good manners she had learned from a dozen romance novels. "I would like that."

They walked to her apartment in silence. Sakura chewed her lip the entire journey, desperately trying to think of a topic to bring up, but also too tired to think of anything engaging. Giving up, she settled at looking up at her companion, her eyes trailing up his shoulder to his left profile. Sakura’s hands curled slightly at the thought of brushing his hair away to trace the scar on his face She felt the bag give slightly under her grip, and relaxed her hand before she ruined it completely.

A few years ago, Kakashi’s medical file had caught Sakura’s eyes because of the size, and her interest grew when she found out it only contained the previous five years. Tsunade had removed it from her hands, claiming Sakura lacked the clearance level. Now there was nothing stopping her, and she could probably find out more about him from his medical file than a discussion.

They were crossing the river now, and her apartment was in sight. A person was waving at them, and Sakura’s heart sank as when she recognized the voice.

"Sakura, thank goodness I found you!"

The medic who had waved goodbye to Sakura from the hospital had beaten her home, undoubtedly taking the rooftops in an effort to get to Sakura quickly. Sakura could feel her day off slipping through her face as she took in the nurse’s tense face.

"What's wrong?”

"A team went on a mission to Kusa and they all came back poisoned. I have three ninja vomiting and dry heaving all over my lobby and—Oh! Good evening, Hokage-sama." The medic’s eyes darted between the two of them, furrowing her brow in confusion

"I'll be right there," Sakura replied. The plants in Kusagakure made for tricky poisons; and with Shizue out of the country there weren't many people who had the skill to make an antidote.

The medic nodded, gave a quick bow to Kakashi, and then jumped to the rooftop to return to the hospital.

Thunder sounded in the distance.

"I didn't even make it to the front door," Sakura whispered, looking at the steps to her apartment as she clutched her ruined overnight bag. She blinked rapidly, tears of exhaustion forming in the corner of her eyes at the thought of another night sleeping on her uncomfortable chair.

Sakura stiffened when as a hand was placed on her back.

“There, there.” Kakashi gave a pat on between her shoulder blades. He was tempted to rub her back to comfort her, but he had been accused of treating people like his ninken more than once. “Do you want me to take your bag home so you can go back to the hospital?”

“Would you?” A look of astonishment crossed Sakura’s face. She tugged at her uniform, rubbing her hand at some unidentifiable stain. “I could use a change of clothes too. That is, if you don’t mind?”

Kakashi was already reaching for the bundle in her arms. “Which one is it?”

“Fourth floor, apartment F.” Sakura wrung her hands anxiously before giving a small bow. “Thank you.”

Kakashi watched her leave before leaping up to the four story landing. Sakura forgot give him her key, but he found it in her overnight bag, tucked in the pages of a hentai magna with two men on the cover. He thumbed through the pages in curiosity, raising an eyebrow when he came to a particular page.

Sakura was interested in that?

Filling that knowledge away, he returned the book in the bag, he returned to his mission.

Sakura’s apartment was small, with a single chair next to a kitchen counter for seating. Kakashi found a change of clothes in chest of drawers, then placed everything in a spare sealing scroll he had in his pocket. He left the dirty clothes by the laundry basket, and then left the apartment.

On his way to the hospital, he thought of Sakura’s commit to the village, the hospital, and her co-workers. She had returned to work quickly, ignoring her need for a day off.

And Sakura liked him. But as what? As a ninja? A Hokage?

A man?

A blush rose to Kakashi’s face as he remembered Sakura’s sleepy murmur and her happy sigh of contentment delivered in his bed.

She liked him.

Part Six

#ninja dorks #word vomit #kakasaku #my fanfiction #featured

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kuraiamore · 7 years

Text

Zura 2017 bday fic, plum rain

pairing: Gen (though can be GinZura if you feel like it)

fandom: Gintama

rating: G

summary: Happy birthday, Zura!

I know, I know, I’m late, but this ended up so much longer than I expected (I mean, all my fics end up like that, but still...), and I’m a very easily distracted creature >.< In any case, it’s done now, so I hope you enjoy!<3

AO3 or read below

Another day of nothing but dreary summer rain, the overcast skies so heavy with water Gintoki thinks he should start stepping outside for his morning showers and save on the water bill—except going outside would mean standing around in the muggy weather and having to deal with the outside humidity making the air dense and sticky against his skin.

Yeah, better to just keep lounging around on his desk chair and wait for the rainy season to pass.

After all, if snivelling kids and high school brats get a summer holiday, why can’t he? He is most definitely still a kid at heart; his hoarded pile of Shounen Jump could attest to that, which reminds him…

He swivels around on his chair and checks the calendar hanging by the window.

Yep, Monday; the latest issue of his most beloved magazine should be out by now, waiting for him on the cheap wooden shelves of convenience stores and train station kiosks.

His fingers twitch, the phantom sensation of rough paper and waxy front and back covers sliding across his pads. He glances out the window; the downpour hasn’t relented at all, torrents of rain falling lazy and fat over Edo and sending the slightly rotten petrichor of the city wafting up into the Yorozuya office.

“Ne, Kagura,” he singsongs, swinging his chair back around to look across the room at the young Yato seated on the floor between coffee table and couch, a pen in hand and doodling absentmindedly on a letter she's been composing to Umibouzu for the past hour, more paper and pens in varying colours scattered about the table.

“What is it, Gin-chan?” she asks, mild and sweet as the summer rain singing around them. The faraway quality to her voice that always appears on slow, rainy days dips her words with a soft wistfulness she’s probably not even aware of. Gintoki drums his fingers against the desk and waits for the butt of the pen to stop moving and bright blue eyes to turn in his direction.

“You hungry?” He does his best to keep his voice cool and nonchalant, but long experience living with him immediately makes Kagura narrow her eyes and cock her head to the side.

“And if I said I was?”

“What’s with that suspicious look, huh? Here I am, your gracious and generous guardian, simply wanting to offer you the chance to head down to the convenience store with money earned from my blood and sweat so that you can buy yourself a snack.”

Her eyes narrow even further, as if she’s squinting at something particularly loathsome.

“And pick up the latest copy of Jump for me while you’re there,” he finally relents.

“What a scummy adult you are, Gin-chan,” Kagura says, somehow managing to look down on him even though she’s the one sitting on the floor, “trying to trick young girls into going out into the rain for a stupid stack of papers no decent person over the age of fifteen would be caught dead with. What if I caught a cold and got sick, huh? What kind of guardian would you be then, huh? Would you feed me lots of rice and pickled seaweed and wait on me hand and foot until I got better, aa?” She pauses, her eyes widening to what would be a guileless stare if it wasn’t for the sly gleam sneaking through. “Actually, yes, give me some money, Gin-chan, I think I’ll head down to the shops after all.”

As Kagura stretches out her free hand towards him, palm up, he kicks out with his foot and spins around to face the window again.

“Ahh, look at all that rain out there!” He gesticulates wildly up at the grey-white sky. “Guess you better stay indoors after all, Kagura! Wouldn’t want you getting sick now, would we?”

“You should go out, Gin-chan; idiots can’t catch colds, so you’ll be fine.”

Gintoki only grunts in reply, leaning back heavily in his chair and staring drearily out the window. His only solace is the thought that no one with a respectable job is likely out in the downpour, and surely no working man or woman has time for the ¥300 childish mindlessness of Shounen Jump. There’ll most definitely be a copy waiting for him tomorrow, and with the month almost at its end, the rainy season should be over any day now.

He settles more comfortably into the desk chair, content to listen to the rain wash over the city and let the day pass by in quiet banality.

He zones out to the tinkling of water droplets falling on metallic roofs, the rush of the water gurgling and trickling through the empty streets below, and almost misses the knock at the door, only just managing to discern the rhythmic tap-tap-tap pounding beneath the pitter-patter.

“Gin-chan, door,” Kagura says helpfully.

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself, peeling himself from fake leather and moving sluggishly down the hallway to the front of the apartment. “Who in their right mind would be outside in this crappy weather?”

He pulls open the sliding panel and his entire version goes white, a blast of heated air flying into his face. At first he thinks he’s gone and fainted for no apparent reason, but then he blinks several times in rapid succession and takes a step back to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway, the wide outline of his body almost blurring into the white-grey of the sky. In one flipper, the ever-creepy alien duck holds a slim but wide black case by two strappy handles; in the other, his trademark signpost, words sketched out in big, black strokes.

GOOD AFTERNOON YOROZUYA. MAY I COME IN?

A folded umbrella, leaning against the wooden rail, slowly drips a tiny lake onto their porch.

“Don’t get any water into the house,” Gintoki says, moving back to let their visitor in.

Before he can turn to lead the way back into the main room, Elizabeth holds out the case and looks at him expectantly.

Gintoki pulls a face, suspicion in every line, then sighs and takes hold of the straps, hoping that whatever Joui madness he had just resigned himself to wouldn’t take up more than a few hours, and especially wouldn’t involve any running, fighting or general physical activity to be done outside.

A squelching sound pulls him out of his thoughts; he watches in a mix of disbelief and horror as Elizabeth pulls off his duck feet, careful not to touch the wet soles, and lines them up neatly in the genkan. He suppresses the urge to shudder when he catches sight of a pair of feet and ankles peeking out from under the sheet of white, desperately not thinking about what exactly is living under the sheet.

Instead, he carries the case into the living room-cum-office and sets it down on the coffee table above Kagura’s scattered writing equipment. Face up, it takes up almost a third of the whole table.

“Ah? What’s this, Gin-chan?” Kagura stops in the middle of drawing looping curls of silver on a stick figure standing beside two other stick figures, one with two balls of orange and the other with a pair of glasses, and looks up. “Oh, Eli! What are you doing here?”

Gintoki plonks himself on the couch near Kagura as Elizabeth seats himself on the opposite side of the table. The Yorozuya-minus-one both watch curiously as Elizabeth opens up the case and pulls out a card almost as large as the case itself, turning it over for them to read the words emblazoned on the front in shining gold.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATSURA-SAN!

In the background, various shades of dark blue blur together in a watercolour sea that make the words appear to glow. More gold swirls and dustings of gold glitter artfully flow across the expanse of blue, fireworks over an ocean.

Kagura lets out a gasp, “Eli, this is so pretty! Gin-chan, why didn’t you tell me it’s Zura’s birthday?”

Gintoki opens his mouth to protest, because how is he meant to remember the wighead’s birthday, he barely even remembers his own most years, but at that moment, Elizabeth unfolds the card with a flourish and the words vanish from his tongue as his eyes roam across the page. A chaotic jumble of scribbled messages fill up the almost entire space, handwriting in every degree of elegance and messiness spilling in every direction. Blue, black, green, red, purple, and bizarrely, neon pink ink clash together, words edging against each other as their writers vied for room to compose their birthday messages. The only real spot of white left is a small, rhombic patch near the upper left corner.

Near it, Gintoki reads a long, winding message in familiar handwriting.

‘Happy Birthday, Katsura-san! I know that we haven’t know each other for that long, but I feel really happy and grateful to have met you, both as a man and as a samurai. You have taught me a lot over the years, even if it’s only what NOT to do. Thank you for supporting me, and the Yorozuya, whenever we’ve needed it; we’ll always be here to support you too! I hope you have a really great birthday, filled with lots of laughter and smiles! —Your friend, Shimura Shinpachi’

“Look, Kagura.” He points out the message. “Patsuan’s already written a message for us.”

“What are you talking about Gin-chan?” Kagura picks up an orange pen, the one she must have used to draw her hair buns. “Shin-chan wrote such a boring message; we need to write something fun! It’s Zura’s birthday!”

Nodding to herself, Kagura writes a bold ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZURA!!!!’, followed by drawings of a round cake bearing a single candle, a wonky box topped with an extravagantly big bow, and a party popper. The whole thing takes up half the remaining white space, cutting orange lines into the words of the surrounding messages. Gintoki’s eye twitches.

“Oi, leave some space for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now shh, let an artist work.”

Resisting the urge to grumble, Gintoki sits back, catching sight of Elizabeth watching Kagura draw. If Gintoki has to guess, he would say that the alien duck is smiling, though it’s hard to tell with the duck bill.

Several minutes later, Kagura jumps up with an excited shout.

“Done!”

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZURA!!!! Let’s do K-BBQ for your birthday next year!!’

Floating all around the message are balloons and stars in every colour she owns—she had even taken the time to squeeze them into the tiny spaces between other people’s messages, filling the card up completely with colour.

Gintoki doesn’t have room to write even the tiniest ‘hapiba’ that wouldn’t be an illegible series of dots.

Ignoring the strangely hollow feeling in his stomach, he turns to Kagura’s grinning face.

“Looks good,” he admits.

Kagura beams, carefully folding up the card and putting it back in the portfolio case for Elizabeth. Over her head, the alien duck tilts his head in question towards Gintoki; Gintoki stealthily waves a hand in response, shrugging lightly. Understanding, Elizabeth accepts the proffered case from Kagura, bowing to both to them, and starts making his way towards the door.

With Kagura seeing the Joui rebel out, Gintoki wanders back to his desk chair, settling himself to face the window once more. Behind him, the sound of footsteps as Kagura comes back, then the scratching of pen against paper. If Gintoki wanted to, he could pretend that Elizabeth’s short visit had never happened.

But.

His eyes keep drifting to the calendar, circling around the date.

June 26th

Zura’s birthday...

His eyes drift shut, the sound of the rain soothing his ears—

—they had spent a night huddled in an alleyway once, their only shelter from the rain a protruding roof, because the men had found out their General Commander’s birthday and that had evidently been enough cause for the entire army to get drunk—

—Sakamoto had bought a bottle of saké for Zura’s birthday once; it was the first time Zura had ever drank a full bottle all to himself, trying to blame the beautiful red flush of his face on the summer heat—

—once, before—

—back when things had been simple, he and Takasugi had found a hidden pool at the foot of a mountain, in the forests on the far outskirts of the village, and spent the days of the long summer week leading up to Zura’s birthday stealing away to deposit bits of hard candy wrapped in pink paper, packets of nuts and red bean mochi, and the occasional bit of fruit into a box they stashed in the upper branches of a nearby tree, the lid carefully tied down against any curious beaks or paws, until the moment when they could bring Zura up to their secret spot and watch his face light up with pure delight; they had spent the whole day swimming and lounging and laughing, sugar tingling on their tongues—

—one night, the three of them huddled in their futons, Zura had confessed that his grandmother had always bought him plums as a treat for his birthday; the next morning, ignoring the dew still clinging to the grass, he and Takasugi got down onto their hands and knees and let Zura climb onto their backs to pick the ripe red fruits hanging down from lush green branches, the smell of earth and rain and plum all around them.

Gintoki opens his eyes; outside, the rain falls.

“Oi, Kagura, I’m heading out.”

“Huh? Whatcha doing out for, Gin-chan?”

“…Shounen Jump.”

“Oh, hmm. Okay then!”

“Yeah, be back in a bit.”

He slips his wallet into his pocket, pulls on his boots, grabs an umbrella, and is out the door in less than a minute, opening up the umbrella as he heads down the stairs and onto the street. It’s a quick fifteen minute walk to the nearest grocer, water splashing under his boots the whole way. The old lady watching the store gives him a kind smile as he starts picking out the juiciest-looking plums from the stand. It makes him want to protest, and tell her it’s not what it looks like, except what does that even mean, he’s just a regular guy picking out regular plums from a regular fruit store, it’s not like they’re meant for anyone, urgh, okay, he’s just going to pay for the plums and leave.

The old lady smiles at him as he walks out, plastic bag full of plums in hand.

He’s halfway down the street when he realises he doesn’t know where he’s going, that he’s never gone searching for the Joui rebel of his own accord, has no idea where he should even start looking.

(Kagura would know; in between the itinerary she keeps of her father’s travels and the timetable of Shinpachi’s kendo classes at the Koudoukan, she saves the slip of paper holding the location of the latest Joui meeting spot, slipped under their door every month.)

The longer he stands there, the worst the rain seems to feel as it slogs and hammers over his umbrella. The air is oppressive, the collar of his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his neck, his hair all frizzled and bristly in the humidity. Frustration gnaws at his chest, and he’s about ready to chuck the damn plums into the bin just to make himself feel better when a familiar low tenor calls out his name.

“Gintoki?”

Looking up, Gintoki sees the man he had been just about to give up looking for standing a few paces in front of him, a large white-and-yellow patterned umbrella shielding him from the downpour around them. He’s forgone his haori, dressed simply in only his usual blue kimono. His hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, only his fringe and a few loose strands of black framing his face.

Somehow, he looks incredibly young, even though he’s aged another year.

Gintoki licks his lips.

“Oi Zura, the hell you doing out here in this rain?” he asks, completely naturally, walking forward to close the few steps between them.

“I’m not Zura, I’m Katsura,” Zura says on autopilot, then makes a contemplative hum, the sound almost drowned out under the rain. “I tried call a Joui meeting today to discuss our future plans, but everybody said they were busy and that I should take the day off. Even Elizabeth left me this morning!” He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. Gintoki watches his tail of hair swish behind his neck with the movement, somehow still looking soft and silky even with the heat in the air. “Honestly, just how do they think we’ll bring change to the country if we’re not constantly striving towards a new dawn, a new tomorrow? Days shouldn’t be wasted so frivolously like that, it’s unbecoming of a samurai.”

“Japan will still be here in a day,” Gintoki says, his voice gentle despite himself.

Zura shoots him an odd look, eyes searching, and Gintoki glances away, his grip on both bag and umbrella tightening.

He’s relieved when Zura lets the comment go unremarked, instead asking, “so what are you doing out here?”

His whole body relaxes, and he holds up the bag and lets it swing in Zura’s face.

“Grocery shopping. Apartment’s out of food and plums are in season. You want one?”

He supposes he can’t blame Zura for the baffled expression that crosses the man’s face, though it smoothes out a second later as a soft smile lights up.

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says.

If he tries hard enough, Gintoki can pretend that the rapid beating of his heart is no more than the pounding of the water falling around them. He coughs lightly into the back of his hand, the plastic bag rustling with the movement.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” he mutters, averting his eyes from Zura’s gaze and making a show of looking up at the sky, even though the only thing he can see is the red of his own umbrella.

He makes no effort to lead.

“…I have a place we can go,” Zura finally offers, turning on his heel.

Gintoki hums in acknowledgement, following after the rebel; they walk in a sort of meandering stroll, the rain and emptiness of the streets beckoning Gintoki to a dreamlike haze. When they finally reach their destination, a small traditional townhouse off a main road, the only thing Gintoki can clearly remember from their walk is the sound of the rain, the weight of the plums in his hand, and Zura.

Leaving their umbrellas and shoes at the entrance, they pad through to the main room at rear of the house, where Zura slides the shoji screen open to reveal a garden grown wild, leaves and branches tangled and groping over sand and stone. Gintoki plonks down on the tatami mats, handing over the bag when Zura gestures for them. The rebel walks off and comes back a minute later carrying a bowl filled with several pieces of the reddish fruit, water droplets glistening on their skin.

Zura sits down cross-legged and sets the bowl between them. They grab a plum each; the plum juice is cool and sweet on Gintoki’s tongue.

The rain outside eases as they eat, a soft breeze drifting through the falling droplets to cool the damp heat clinging to their skin.

Gintoki waits until he hears Zura bite into his second plum before breaking the silence.

“Hey Zura.”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday.”

A ragged hacking noise.

“O-Oi, you okay?!”

Not knowing what else to do, Gintoki thumps frantically on Zura’s back with his clean hand, trying to catch the other samurai’s face through the fall of his fringe and the hand raised to his face, plum clutched in his fingers.

The choking sounds taper away into little hics, but Zura’s shoulders are still hunched over and shaking, still hiding his face behind hair, hand and plum. It takes Gintoki a few long seconds to realise the wighead bastard is laughing.

Immediately Gintoki’s whole face heats up, and he slaps Zura’s back again out of embarrassment and slight vindictiveness.

“Ah, sorry, Gintoki,” Zura says when the giggles finally subside completely and he can look up properly, letting his hand drop, “I wasn’t expecting that.” His eyes flash suddenly to the left, head tilting slightly with the movement. “Ah, but that could explain… Gintoki, wait here.”

Bemused, Gintoki waits as Zura stands up again, finishing his plum is quick bites and throwing the seed into the garden, and scurries off. He returns carrying a giant saké bottle as tall as his torso, and a round lacquered box painted with pink and white blossoms set against a crimson background. He sets them down next to the bowl of plums, opening the lid of the box to reveal candy wrapped in petal pink.

The scents of alcohol and mountain forest mingle in Gintoki’s memory.

“Elizabeth gave them to me, said they arrived this morning,” Zura says, a note of something bittersweet laced through his voice, “after the men told me to take the day off. I didn’t even think… Did you plan this?”

Gintoki looks at him, perplexed. “What?”

“Did you plan this?” Zura says again, as if Gintoki hadn’t heard instead being merely confused. He leans forward, earnestness taking over the timbre of his voice. “Elizabeth messaged me and told me to go to the convenience store in Kabuki District. I thought I was going to meet him, but then I ran into you.” His eyes shine.

Beyond the shoji doors, the rain recedes to a lull, the only noise vibrating through the air to their ears the slow chime of raindrops dripping off leaves and splattering to the ground.

Gintoki splutters, his brain running to make sense of Zura’s said, tripping over the words and untenably distracted by the intense way Zura is looking at him, the dark fall of his hair bringing out the gold of his eyes.

“I didn’t—it wasn’t planned—I didn’t even know—wait, that thing knows how to message? Since when did you even carry around a phone, Zura?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gintoki. Elizabeth doesn’t know how to message; he writes on his sign, takes a picture of it, and sends that to me.” He says this so matter-of-factly, the veins at Gintoki’s temples pop slightly with annoyance. “And of course I carry a phone. How else would I keep in contact with all the Joui members? Gintoki, you’re the only one who doesn’t carry a phone, you know.”

“Shut up, the Yorozuya doesn’t need a phone, we have plenty of loyal clientele. What’s the point of carrying around a phone, huh? It’s just useless weight. Besides, Kagura—”

Gintoki stops short, his brain jumping through loops as he remembers how docilely Kagura had let him go, no questions or snide remarks or demands for her favourite snacks from the convenience store. How well connected the young alien is in their rough’n’tumble town, her journal full of locations and names and numbers.

Gintoki groans, wiping a hand over his face. “Meddlesome brat.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Gintoki says loudly, making a note to buy Kagura some dango on the way home.

Zura smiles knowingly; Gintoki picks up a pink wrapper and throws it at his face. Zura laughs as it bounces off his nose, catching it in his hand before freeing the bit of crystallised sugar and popping it in his mouth. He picks up another piece and offers it to the man beside him.

Gintoki rolls the bit of candy around his tongue; as it melts into syrup in his mouth, sweet as Zura’s smile, sunlight breaks through the clouds and stretches across their laps. The whole garden gleams, light glinting silver off still-hanging raindrops.

The air, he thinks, rolling another piece of purple-red fruit to his old friend, smells of rain and earth and plum.

#katsura kotarou #sakata gintoki #gintama #hbd zura!<3 #my fic #my writing

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vernalagnia-blog · 7 years

Text

[Fanfiction] Thank You

Strong Woman Do Bong Soon - Slightly Canon Divergence: Do Bong Soon x Ahn Min Hyuk

In this universe, Bong Soon doesn’t work at Ainsoft as game developer because I want to keep their cute relationship free of unprofessional boss-employee trope. And there is no crazy murder kidnapping sub-plot either. Just pure fluffy stuff.

Taking off the watch, Ahn Min Hyuk signs. He debates the idea of working out a sweat and then sleep like a log but decides to hold back until he completes the regression testing of the latest game. The last batch of added new features are going well but he wants to make sure that the established features don’t catch any bug as well.

They are only a week away from the launch of a new game and everyone is in frenzy. He made sure that the cafeteria is open 24/7 and convert two other board rooms into secured napping areas for female employees apart from the usual sleeping corner. But all the catering efforts can’t erase a harsh truth of the gaming industry: his staffs are slowly becoming walking cross-bred between panda and zombie.

So he told everyone to go home today and leave a small team who has not pulled all-nighter stay behind for emergency calls.

He also needs a break from all the office buzz.

Flipping out the cellphone, he is about to set alarm clock for 10:15pm, hoping to catch a short nap before seeing a new message from Bong Soon. His heart swelled at the flashing bright yellow icon but soon flops at the two-sentence message:

“I will stay with grandma for two more nights. I will call you when I get back.”

“Is everything alright? Should I come and pick you up?”

“I know it’s summer but keep warm, don’t sleep in your sleeve-less shirt”

“Send grandma my hello. I will come visit her next week”

Sleep tight Bong Bong!

<3 <3 <3

Looking at the three fluttering heart icons, Min Hyuk lets out another sign. He misses her, really really misses her. He wants to hear her calling him Minmin, wants to see her, hug her and kiss her. But seeing how the messages are unread, she probably deserts the phone somewhere. And he doesn’t want to interrupt her quality time with grandma either. She only gets to see her a few times a year. Not to mention, grandma is sick. Bong Soon could be sick too. And he feels anxious about the possibility.

Tossing the phone on the nearby table, he goes for a shower, hoping to get rid of the murky feeling.

___________________

The regression test doesn’t go well.

At 2am, strained eyes and dampened spirit, Min Hyuk decides on a kitchen break and makes a cup of tea.

It is in times like this that makes him want to call Bong Soon just to hear her voice. But it’s too late into the night. The messages remain unread and it makes him a little lonely.

She’s only been away for three days and he feels like three months have passed.

It’s crazy to think how fast they have gone from being just two complete strangers to a couple in matter of months. No, deletes that statement, they were not completely strangers. He has known her for years. He has kept her in his heart since that Sunday morning, building her an altar and worshiping her devotedly as one would to a savior. He has looked for her traces in any girl in pink but she remains elusive. Just when he resigned to the idea that she was just a creation of his panic mind, Bong Soon stormed in and upended his life.

Sipping tea in front of the closet’s painting, Min Hyuk thinks of wonder and traces the contour of the canvas girl’s hidden face, making a mental note of calling Bong Soon first thing in the morning.

That is when his fingers brush past something plastic. It’s transparent and were put in places which are not very noticeable at the first glance. On a closer look, there are many of them dotting the painting and uncannily resemble sticky notes.

Picking one up for a better look, Min Hyuk realize it’s Bong Soon’s writing. The one he’s holding reads: “Minmin, don’t stay up too late” decorated with a cute drawing of a stick figure snoring out a string of Z letters in descendent size. That one draws a chuckle out of him.

Another draws a big bowl of steaming rice in the middle with a single line “you promise three meals a day” with a pouty face to accentuate the mood. He actually laughs out loud reading the note and feels a bit guilty all at once. He didn’t remember what he had for the last meal or when that last meal happens to be honest. The last few days were hectic and without her around, food doesn’t seem to taste anything.

One note is a reminder of him taking a break whenever the stabbing scar aches. It’s followed by a smaller line saying “I’m sorry.” His smile fades at the line but his eyes are warm. He has an overwhelming urge to drive all the way to Busan to hold and tell her that’s his decision, for his selfish wish of keeping her out of danger, his and his alone. It’s not her fault. And hope to kiss away her misplaced guilt. Oh, how he wishes to kiss her now.

There are quite a few of them sticking here and there. Some are just silly doodles. Some are tips for relaxing neck and shoulder muscle or how to make home-made eye patch. He smiles, laughs and feels warm inside. The unfinished tea has grown cold but Min Hyuk doesn’t notice.

___________________

2pm. Shit. He overslept.

Checking the phone, he saw one message from Secretary Gong assuring that they have received his notes on the regression test results and the development team are working on the issues. They will let him know asap if anything happens. It came in at 9am so work seems to be fine.

Stretching arms, he debates whether he should go to the office at this point but rationalize his choice to stay home as a testament of his amazing leadership skill. If everything can go smoothly without him, doesn’t it show how well he has trained the staff?

Messages to Bong Soon were marked as read but there is no reply. But strangely it doesn’t bother him as much. Maybe he should take this day off to visit grandma, and Bong Soon. Her transparent notes are laid neatly on his bedside table. He took picture of all of them last night and now they will be with him all day wherever he is.

Feeling excited over the idea of getting to Busan, he strolled into the kitchen to get water and almost chokes when Bong Soon chirpily greets him:

- Good afternoon sleepy head! I’m back!

Apparently Bong Soon is unfazed by his dramatic antic of dripping off water and goes on her monologue as usual:

- Grandma is getting better so she told me to go home. “A measly cold won’t kill me,” yeah, right, as if it’s not the reason she wasn’t able to get out of bed for three days. But Dad’s cold remedy and Bong Gi’s prescription seem to be working so she is up and around this morning. Gyeong Shim said she would come over to look after her tonight so that’s why I come back. Mom made so much side dishes, I brought some for you. I bet you haven’t eaten any since forever so should we have ‘linner’?

- Well, hello beautiful stranger, and I believe you mean ‘dinner’?

A shocked but very awake Min Hyuk lightly teases the cheerful woman unpacking several little containers at his kitchen table

- Well, dear sleepy stranger, I think ‘linner’ is the correct term. Remember ‘brunch’? What time do you think it is?

- You haven’t had lunch?

- Yeah, dad normally eats in shop, Bong Gi is at hospital as always, and mum is off to share the dishes with the neighborhood ladies. I don’t want to eat alone and plus…

Her voice trails off and she seems to be suddenly engrossed in knowing how many containers there are. Min Hyuk is dying to know what comes after her “plus” but they can come back to this “plus” after the meal, when she is well fed, less blushed and more comfortable. They have all the time of the world.

- Give me two minutes to wash up. Come right back.

He winks at her and skips to the bathroom.

Their ‘linner’ goes on well. Bong Soon told him about grandma and he fills her in about the regression test. They argues a bit over whether it’s time to pull out the Korean flag chopstick and Bong Soon doesn’t look convinced when he said it’s actually an interior design highlight. But he doesn’t lie when he said it’s endearing to him.

They ends up spending the afternoon lounging and absentmindedly watching tv. Head on her lap, he told her of the upcoming launch of the new game. It never fails to excite Bong Soon.

- Next week! Yay, I can’t wait to play it!

- And I can’t wait to not worry about it

- Aw, sleepy head, you will be worry-free soon, but I must admit, your workaholic self is sexier than your usual carefree CEO image.

He loves how her tease mixed with relaxing smile. In his signature move of pretending to be scandalized aka. hand-over-mouth, Min Hyuk signs exaggeratedly:

- Well, so no future break for me then. Who knows courting would be this demanding?

Bong Soon’s light kiss on his forehead feels ticklish.

- Don’t push yourself too hard. You have a one-week-of-working-per-month reputation to uphold

He chuckles lightly and leave a perk on her hand.

- Thanks for the notes by the way. They are awesome!

She quickly realizes what he refers to and smiles shyly.

- Oh that, so you found them

- Though the hiding place is quite unique

- Isn’t her me?

- That’s why you leave them there?

- I’m taking care of grandma so I can’t check the phone frequently. And I know you tend to…watch her…a lot…so I left the notes there just in case I can’t reply your messages right away.

- Thank you

- It’s nothing…do you like it?

- I like you

- Come on, you know what I mean

- I like you

- You’re messing with me

- I love you

The last sentence seems to make her blush more than usual. His strong woman, his love, his friend, his everything blushes when he says he loves her. Min Hyuk feels ecstatic. Her accepting silence emboldens him.

- I love you, love the fact that you appears in my life, love that I can protect you, and love that we are together, right now and forever

- Now you’re just cheesy

Bong Soon laughs lovingly.

- But what’s up with the stick figure? I don’t think I’m that skinny…or maybe I am. Time to get back to the weight bench. I have to tell you, I’m not a weight-lifting kind of guy, not really my style, I’m more treadmill type of guy, elegant and smooth…but you insist…

- I missed you, for the past three days.

- ...

- I miss you a lot it’s ridiculous. I miss you. I love you.

He can feel her hand in his is getting warmer. Min Hyuk doesn’t look up but he knows she is blushing. They’re both ridiculous, in love, and deliriously happy. And he doesn’t want it any other way. Putting her hand over his wildly beating heart, he mutters softly:

- Thank you, for loving me.

#strong woman do bong soon #fanfiction #fanfic #do bong soon #ahn min hyuk #kdrama

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