#it was unexpected specifically yesterday. i kind of figured there would be a few more months at least. but no.

[bestfluteninja]

i am so loved. i am so so loved.

#one of my best friends who is also one of my roommates made me dinner tonight #didn’t ask if i wanted dinner. just said what she was thinking of doing and then made it happen. i didn’t need to make a choice or do it #my tutor friends took all the writing tutees tonight. one did it with me barely having to ask #he just made eye contact with me and i said ‘please?’ and he said ‘of course’ #and then he made me laugh a lot later #my professors have all sent me really nice emails back #last night when i said it out loud—‘my grandma died’—my roommates hugged me immediately #just. immediately. they held me. #my favorite high school english teacher texted me today for the first time in like a year and a half #to say she’d heard and to say she was sorry #so yeah. grief sucks. i hurt a lot right now. i’m weirdly better in some ways than i thought i might be #but it’s not linear and it’s hard in other ways i didn’t think it would be #and also like she had dementia and she’s been in decline for a long time and it wasn’t totally unexpected #it was unexpected specifically yesterday. i kind of figured there would be a few more months at least. but no. #ouch. ouch ouch ouch. #but i have so many people who love me #and i am so grateful for them #personal #hannah does college

[seungminotes]

Broken Noses and Potted Plants (pt.1)

w.c. ~2k

warnings. some cursing I believe, gender neutral (please notify me if anything suggests otherwise!)

desc. high school au, love triangle w/ student body president! seungmin and reckless and lazy! jisung

a.n. hello! I am getting back into writing! this will be part of a series updated weekly, for now please enjoy part 1 and tell me if you're liking it? any and all feedback appreciated.

For someone as lonesome and timid as you, Kim Seungmin was what you'd call your savior.

Him being Class President and the longest standing place holder of the first rank of your grade, you would think he was the solitary and studious type of person. No one would think such a straightforward and driven student was so popular and well-liked as he was.

You being only second to him, knew it was difficult enough to balance academics with a few simple extracurriculars, imagine having a social life on top of that, it made your head spin.

And yet, somehow Seungmin managed to do it all. He was class president, captain of the baseball team, and on the officer committees of at least five clubs and honor societies. On top of all that, he was one of the most popular and well-known students in your year.

Sure, Seungmin had lots of friends and acquaintances, but some he would consider a lot closer than others. You weren't really one of those, let’s face it. You knew that much.

In fact, you and Seungmin were mostly just "friends" for the academic benefit of it all. You'd sat near him all year long, were his vice class president, and were also in numerous of the same honor societies. It just made sense that you'd be at least academically close, a lot more would get done that way.

For instance, you two would often study together at the school’s library after classes, specifically on Fridays, when no extracurriculars were occurring to keep you busy. Lunch time was strictly student government briefing for you two. And in the time between lessons, you’d regularly check each other’s classwork and homework for each other, catching any errors either of you made before it was time to submit, not that Seungmin made many errors anyway. To say that you two spent a lot of time together would be a bit of an understatement.

Despite all this time though, you could hardly say you really knew Seungmin, at least not on a personal level. You knew he always preferred chicken at lunch, and how math was undoubtedly his best subject, whereas he struggles a bit more with language. You knew he was an amazing leader and how his decisions were always very well rounded and well-received amongst the student body. You knew he was an exceptional baseball player.

But that was about it really. Yet you somehow still managed to develop some huge crush on this guy. This boy who would never feel the same towards you surely, because you two were merely classmates with similar goals and no intentions of building upon this acquaintance-like friendship.

Knowing this, you still sometimes tried to get closer to Seungmin, you really did, out of the sheer possibility that one day he may notice and you’d have an implicit agreement of friendship at the very least.

-

One of these attempts was made with the founding of the club you’ve always wanted the school to have, but were sure hardly anyone would join unless prompted to do so.

The morning you had asked Seungmin to take into consideration a new club proposal, he had initially rejected it quite harshly.

“Who would join this?” he smiled. To be quite honest he had found the idea of a gardening club maintaining potted flowers and vegetables on the school’s old rundown rooftop greenhouse to be pretty wholesome, but did not think it held quite the right formality to be taken as seriously as other clubs if presented to the rest of the student government. Everyone was way too stressed and busy with exams to waste time playing with dirt.

He eyed the proposal form meticulously, looking for the student’s name, but to no avail.

“Who submitted this?” he asked, looking up from the table for the first time since lunch began.

“I just thought it’d be a nice stress reliever for everyone,” you replied, now feeling a lot less confident than when you had slid the piece of paper in front of him.

Your shy look told Seungmin he had probably hurt your pride just now, something that he would never mean to do on purpose of course, and now he felt the remorse creeping up on him. Perhaps the club wouldn’t be such a bad thing, he thought over. Maybe tweaking the name just a bit would make it sound more worthwhile to students.

He sighed.

“Put your name on it and change the name to an Environmental Awareness Club, something along those lines at least. We can present the idea at today's meeting.”

Headstrong and confident as always, Seungmin brought a smile to your face as you reached over into your bag to fish out a pen and correct the form.

Seungmin had always been this closed off and serious, never speaking informally to you, and never wasting his words, he was the most concise and careful speaker you had ever met. And for some reason this only drew you in. His big brain energy was just that attractive.

On the other side of the table, Seungmin took notice of your surge in mood and smiled to himself, relieved to have boosted your spirit.

-

The board hardly agreed to the proposal until Seungmin cut in and beautifully explained the benefits of gardening and plants on stress relief and the ideologies of being environmentally conscious at your age.

After that everyone was pretty much sold on the idea with just one condition. Miroh High’s new Environmental Awareness Club would have to be established in time for the annual club fair in two weeks. Meaning, recruitment of leading members, supplies and set up on the rooftop would have to be set by at least next week to be considered for the school’s extensive list of beneficial extracurricular activities for students.

The condition was enough to falter even Seungmin’s confidence. He was unsure if you’d manage to do all that on your own in just a week, especially with your rather quiet tendencies, he doubted you could recruit many students in such a small amount of time.

He looked over at you, almost as if asking for your approval, to which he caught your lingering gaze on him, a look he had never seen coming from you. You slightly nodded your head once in agreement to the ruling and Seungmin politely shook his head towards the rest of the government board members, bowing as he took his seat once again.

Seungmin had made your dream gardening club a hopeful reality, you just needed more people now, that was the only problem. Still, you imagined having Seungmin join and coming along to your gardening club, gently taking care of a flower. No, a vegetable, you decided. Seungmin would prefer a vegetable, it’d be more practical of him.

-

The day following your ‘environmental awareness club” approval was a Friday. Your designated study session with Seungmin was as always to take place in the library after classes had ended, only today he had opted to stay behind a bit and insisted you meet there in thirty minutes instead.

“I’m helping Han with cleaning duty today, so I’ll meet you there,” he explained, before he stood up from his seat making way for the desk behind you.

Behind you, a certain Han Jisung had sat for the last 3 years of school in which somehow you two were always assigned the same classroom and the same seating order, you in front, him right behind you.

Today Jisung was dead asleep, as he usually was after a math lesson. The sight made you smile, Seungmin lightly shaking his friend awake as a very disoriented Jisung began to stretch and groan from his interruption.

Jisung was actually a very close friend of Seungmin’s. Very unexpected given their contrasting qualities. Sometimes opposites just attract huh. Seungmin could never sleep in class, for instance, while Jisung might as well have brought a pillow on the daily.

You knew Jisung wasn’t exactly the most driven student either, but his rank had miraculously never sunk below 10, he was just naturally smart that way. He also never bothered with extracurriculars much, claiming music was all he cared enough for to ever sign up for. Overall, Jisung was an unexpectedly exceptional student with lazy tendencies and not much academic ambition, a striking polar to Seungmin.

After watching the scene unfold, you stood up yourself and made your way towards the vending machine to pass the time waiting for Seungmin before heading to the library. You decided on a small bag of chips and two cookies. You also decided to save one for Seungmin, even though you weren’t supposed to eat in the library, you figured he could save it for afterwards or something.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin would later take this small offering in a different light.

Because you see, Seungmin had experienced a fair amount of admirers in his time and had been used to the small gifts given to him by more brazen ones before. In combination with the lingering gazes he felt you giving him both yesterday and now today, he was worried the same was occurring once again. Only this time he didn’t know to go about it. Usually he would simply refuse their gestures with a polite apology and it’d be enough to kindly reject them. But he was unsure this time. Not because he felt anything of the sort towards you, no, Seungmin was much too busy for romantic gestures and feelings to eat up his time, but rather because you were simply so close to him. Not in the personal sense, but in the academic proximity sense of closeness. If he were to “kindly reject you”, would you avoid him like his other past admirers often decide to do? That would make a lot of student government stuff difficult. He suddenly wondered if he could have led you on at all, had he been too kind towards you lately? His racing thoughts spiralling into a mess of ‘what ifs’ were fortunately cut short.

“Are you alright Seungmin? You haven’t finished the problem set yet.” you inquired. Seungmin was usually the one to finish long before you, especially if it was math.

He’d looked over at the fully scribbled page of your workbook, realizing his distraction.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No problem,” you replied, glancing towards our watch briefly. It was just nearing the time the school’s library closed and you had planned to leave a bit earlier to make a quick trip to the plant nursery just a few minutes off your route home, you had thought your study session would have ended by now.

“Do you need to go,” Seungmin voiced, noticing a slight impatience in the bounce of your knee.

You thanked Seungmin’s impeccable attention, you couldn’t find it in you to excuse yourself when he still hadn’t finished.

“I’m heading to the nursery today for some supplies for the club,” you unconsciously checked the time once again.

“We can look over the answers Monday if you like? I got a little distracted today…” Seungmin trailed off.

It was unusual for Seungmin to trail off his sentences and get distracted and for a second you worried for him and wanted to ask if anything was bothering him.

Only, you stopped yourself. You didn’t know Seungmin like that. It would be inappropriate and insensitive to ask him something like that, right? You decided it was best to let it go, everyone has off days after all. Even the amazing Seungmin isn’t immune to them.

“I’ll leave first then,” you offered, bidding him a polite bow of the head before slinging your bag over our shoulder and making your way out of the library.

Seungmin watched you walk towards the door, unconsciously biting his inner cheek, he felt... worried, that was the best fitting word, he would say, only he wasn’t completely sure that was what the heavy weight in the pit of his stomach really was.

When you had disappeared down the hall, Seungmin slumped his head down onto the table heaving a deep sigh.

#stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fluff #skz angst #han jisung imagines #han jisung #kim seungmin #seungmin imagines #jisung imagines #skz scenarios #jisung drabbles #jisung fluff #seungmin fluff #skz x reader #skz imagines

[sncwbaz]

left on read.

| Carry On Countdown | Day 5 | Nov. 29th 2020 | Sleepless | @carryon-countdown |

Once a year I rise from the ashes to write a fic for the Carry On Countdown. This time about troubled boys and their unexpected late night texts. I hope you enjoy.  

(This takes place somewhere before Wayward Son I think? Maybe?)

link to ao3

+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+

He felt stupid about it, but there were times when Baz missed the Watford catacombs. He specifically missed them as he lay awake at unreasonable hours, with his head full of worries. He knew it wasn’t a good place to long back to. Not a good time in his life to long back to, either. However, it had been nice to have a place to retreat to when the voices in his head wouldn’t quiet down. It had been a good place to feel lonely; in the catacombs his loneliness just became part of the scenery, whereas in his London flat it turned the air so heavy that he felt constantly weighted down. 

It had been good to have a physical place to put his emotions. Now that he lacked such a place, he resulted to outsmarting and outrunning all the feelings and thoughts that tugged at him. 

Baz rolled over in his bed and reached for his phone, that he unwisely kept on his nightstand where it could act as a perfect distraction from sleeping. He knew he wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway, though, so it didn’t matter if the brightness of his phone screen kept him further from a proper night’s rest. If he found himself feeling nostalgic to his angst-ridden days at Watford, then he truly was in a bad place. 

He unlocked his phone and, without much thought, found his way to his text conversation with Simon. The conversation was mostly one-sided, as had been normal the last few months. Both with texting and real life conversations. Most of the texts were Baz asking Simon practical questions: If he wanted something from from supermarket (butter), if Baz should come over on Friday to cook dinner for him (sure), if Simon wanted back his hoodie that he’d left at Baz’s flat way back when (no answer).

Looking at the text only made Baz feel lonelier, but he still clung to them like they were a life line. Simon was still there, just… less. 

Baz scrolled all the way down again, to the last text he’d sent Simon the previous evening. 

Baz (21:39) - Will you let me know if you need anything from me? 

He’d sent this unprompted. The fact that it had gone unanswered was answer enough for Baz. Simon wouldn’t ask for help, which left Baz with a permanent furrowed brow.  

Baz stared at the texts long enough that his screen almost turned to black again. He was about to close out of the app when a tiny speech bubble with moving dots appeared at the bottom of the chat. It took him a moment and a held breath to figure out what this meant. Simon was typing. 

Simon was awake, with his chat to Baz open. And Simon was typing. 

Baz’s heart was suddenly racing. He sat up in bed as he waited for Simon to finish typing. 

But then the speech bubble disappeared, and no text followed. Baz waited for a bit, but nothing came. Baz considered the option that he might have imagined the little speech bubble, but his breathlessness told him otherwise. 

Even more awake than before, Baz kept staring at his lit phone screen. 

Will you let me know if you need anything from me? 

What if Simon had been trying? Baz decided to bite the bullet and typed out a message himself.

Baz (03:12) - Hey, are you awake?

The longer he waited for an answer, the more he regretted sending the text in the first place. Something in Baz kept telling him that he shouldn’t push Simon. That he should follow the pace Simon set for them. That he shouldn’t ask more questions than Simon would have the energy to answer. That he shouldn’t want more from Simon than Simon was willing to give. 

But he felt alone and sad, and his inability to reach Simon was eating at him more than the voice that told him that he should leave Simon alone. 

When Baz almost lost hope that Simon would reply, the little speech bubble with the moving dots reappeared, causing Baz to still completely. 

This time the speech bubble really did turn into an actual message. 

Simon (03:29) - Yeah

It wasn’t much—barely a word—but it was something. Baz took a few deep breaths, and decided to take Simon’s short reply as an invitation. 

Baz (03:30) - What’s keeping you awake?

Baz’s heart did a leap as Simon started typing back almost instantly. Simon had been typing for a while, but Baz only got a one word reply. 

Simon (03:32) - Caffeine

Baz snorted despite himself. Considering the time it had taken Simon to type such a short message, it had probably gone through many revisions. Baz knew he wasn’t getting the full truth. However, it was an answer nonetheless, which was more than Baz could have hoped for. 

Baz lay back down in bed, and wondered shortly how to follow up on Simon’s text, but he didn’t get the chance to come up with anything.

Simon (03:32) - What’s keeping you awake? 

Baz (03:33) - My head won’t quiet down. It’s full with uni stuff.

Baz contemplated for a moment before sending an additional message, his fingers shaking with adrenaline as he pressed send. 

Baz (03:33) - And you.

Simon (03:34) - Oh

Baz (03:34) - Yeah.

Baz couldn’t stand the idea of allowing a silence to fall between them at this moment, so he continued typing. 

Baz (03:34) - Perhaps I was missing you

Simon (03:35) - You were here yesterday

Baz (03:35) - Well, yes. You’re saying you don’t miss me after not seeing me for a single day?

Simon (03:35) - Don’t be ridiculous

Baz (03:36) - And how exactly am I being ridiculous?

Simon (03:36) - I always miss you. 

Something stilled in Baz. He didn’t know if it was his heart, or simply his breathing. 

Baz (03:36) - You don’t have to, you know.

Baz (03:36) - I mean

Baz (03:36) - You can always reach out to me when you miss me.

Simon (03:37) - Okay

Simon (03:37) - I think I know that

Baz (03:37) - You *think* you know? 

Simon (03:37) - Things aren’t always clear in my head. Not used to thinking. It’s tiring. 

Simon (03:38) - I used to be better at not thinking. 

Baz felt at a loss for words here. He felt like Simon was finally saying things to him—really saying things. He was finally showing him a little of what was going on in his head, and Baz didn’t know what to do with it. His inability to act as proper support for Simon left him feeling hollowed out. 

In a panic of not knowing what to reply he ended up pressing the call button. If he couldn’t find the words to comfort Simon, then he at least wanted Simon to know that he was really there with him.

The call got denied within seconds. 

Simon (03:39) - Did you mean to call? 

Baz (03:39) - Yeah.

Simon (03:39) - Oh right. It made me jump. Sorry. 

And then a call came in from Simon. 

“Hey,” Baz said as he answered the call. 

“Hey,” Simon’s voice sounded, cracking through the speakers of Baz’s phone. 

“I figured listening to me could maybe help you a little with the thinking problem?” 

“You sound unsure.”

“I am unsure.” Baz sighed. “I just didn’t want you to think that my silence would mean that I was leaving you on read. I’m here with you even if I don’t know what to say.” 

Simon makes a snorting sound at that. 

“Are you laughing at me, Snow?” 

“You don’t seem like someone who’d have trouble with finding things to say.” Simon’s voice had a sleepy kind of roughness to it, over the phone like this. Baz melted a little at the sound of it. 

“I do when I want the things I say to mean something.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Yeah.”

A silence fell. 

“I think I’m getting sleepy,” Simon said after a while. 

“I can stay on the phone until you fall asleep, if you want?”

“Really?” 

“Of course,” Baz said, soft enough that it could almost pass as a whisper. 

“Won’t it be weird?”

“I don’t know, Snow. Won’t it be?” 

Simon made a huffing sound, which Baz guessed was the audible version of a shrug. 

“Maybe it’s better if we hang up. What if the call stays on the entire night?”

Baz couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for another moment. 

“Well, good night then, Simon.”

“Good night,” Simon said back, and Baz thought he could hear a smile in Simon’s words. Though, maybe it was just wishful thinking. 

“See you tomorrow, right?” 

“Right.”

“Okay. Good.” 

Another silence fell. Baz had already firmly decided that he wouldn’t be the one to hang up. 

“Okay, bye then,” Simon said.

“Bye, love,” Baz whispered back and Simon ended the call. 

The feeling that spread out from Baz’s chest to his throat was one he couldn’t quite understand. He was happy. Simon had properly talked to him for what felt like the first time in ages. Yet he felt heavy in a way that came too close to dread.

He wondered if the conversation they’d had just now would change anything between them when Baz visited him tomorrow. He wondered if anything about Simon’s state would be improved tomorrow. If Simon would come greet him and kiss him at the door when he arrived. If Simon would talk about his day and actually listen while Baz told him about his. 

But the heavy feeling in his chest told him not to hope. Simon was not okay, that much was clear. And Baz didn’t really know how to help him, that was clear too. But maybe, he’d made Simon understand that he would still be there for him, even if he didn’t really know how to, and maybe that was a good start.  

#y'all im so sorry if there's typos or something im an idiot without a beta reader pls forgive me #but yes he's my yearly fic have fun with it #idk how i feel about it #i think it was better in my head but oH WELL #i hope you'll get some enjoyment out of it #anna writes #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on fic #carry on fanfic #carry on fanfiction #simon snow series

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Monday, 12:03

Song: Petit Biscuit - Sunset Lover

Lucas scrambles out of his chair as soon as the teacher dismisses them, three minutes after the bell signals they should be allowed to leave. His stomach had started grumbling embarrassingly a few minutes into the class, and he’d tried to muffle it for the following half an hour. He’s pretty sure no one had noticed, though, or they’d at least been kind enough not to give him any funny looks, but he’d still spent the class with his head down, trying to ignore the vague dizziness there.

He may still be avoiding his father, just a little, and it may have led to him skipping out on breakfast.

He’s anxious now to get up and leave, shoving his books halfway into his bag and shaking it to get it zipped. He tosses the strap over his shoulder and cringes at the screech of his chair as he pushes it back under his desk. He shrugs his bag higher onto his shoulder and slips through the desks and lingering students to rush out the door, hand pressed to his stomach and taking a deep breath to stave off the small head rush. He only makes it two steps out of the door, however, before crashing into someone and stumbling back.

Hands reach out to steady him, one lightly taking hold of his arm, as a very familiar voice says, “Shit, sorry.”

Lucas whips his gaze up to find Jens standing in front of him, fixing his own backpack as he keeps his hand on Lucas’s arm until he steadies. He looks much the same as he had at the party, though he’s switched his tee and jacket combo out for a heavier red hoodie, still paired with tight blue jeans. His eyes are just as bright as they meet Lucas’s. When he takes Lucas in, a bright smile spreads over his face and Lucas’s heart flutters in recognition.

“Hey, Utrecht,” Jens says cheerfully. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Uh,” Lucas stutters, head suddenly feeling lighter than before. Then he smiles slightly. “I would say the same, but honestly, I’m not that surprised. I’m starting to feel like you’re stalking me.”

It has the unexpected effect of making Jens blush. He rolls his eyes just the same, pulling a face at Lucas. “Says the one who went looking for me first.”

Lucas works very hard to not let a blush of his own form, but his cheeks feel a little warm. Still, he doesn’t really think he should be embarrassed. He’d seen Jens yesterday. Typing and stopping. Typing and typing and stopping again. He’d been trying to pluck up the courage to text the other boy, himself, when he’d first noticed it, and then Jens had stopped for longer, and Lucas had attempted to draft something. Had considered teasing him. Then the typing bubble appeared again, and he froze up. And waited. And nothing happened. “You weren’t that hard to find.”

Jens’s smile widens. “Neither are you, apparently. I’m surprised we never ran into each other before. Especially if you’re friends with Amber and Luca.”

Lucas huffs a small laugh, smirking. “I’m pretty sure Luca was trying to avoid letting me run into you, actually.”

“Yeah it did kind of seem like that, didn’t it,” Jens laughs. The sound sends warmth sweeping into Lucas’s stomach. “She’s just worried I’d steal you away. Which is fair enough, I guess.”

Lucas raises his brow, heart thumping a little faster. He’s a mess. “Why?”

“Well, I am kind of hoping to steal you away,” Jens grins, “as long as that’s okay with you.”

“Oh,” Lucas says, eloquently. He’s not sure what to make of that. Now that he’s completely sober, and stood in a crowded hallway, it doesn’t seem as easy to interact with Jens. He feels a little out of his element, and a little awkward, and a lot obvious.

Really, how is he supposed to react to that?

Jens’s face falls as a sudden insecurity seeps in. “Unless you already have plans, of course.”

Lucas’s eyes widen. “No,” he blurts, then gives a small, nervous laugh. “I mean—I mentioned how I don’t really have any friends, right?”

His heart melts as Jens softens. He looks different, in person, to what he does in the vlogs. There’s simultaneously a more aloof and gentler air about him, something about his presence that makes Lucas feel twitchy and comfortable all at once. It may possibly have something to do with the fact that he is both stunningly beautiful and surprisingly kind, all at once. It may have something to do with the way he looks at Lucas, like he’s something that actually should be seen.

“Then, do you want to come with me and hopefully change that? My friends can be dumb, but I think they’re smart enough to like you. Robbe will, at least, I think, and Aaron kinda likes everyone, and Moyo doesn’t show it as much but he’ll like you, too. Trust me.”

Lucas shouldn’t really trust him. Barely knows him. He wants to go with him all the same.

He really is a mess.

“Okay, Antwerp,” he waves a hand. “Lead the way.”

Jens grins and nods his head down the hall. Lucas turns around and follows him, sticking close as they wind through the mass of students. The corridor is alive with chatter, students lingering at lockers and bustling around them, but it doesn’t quite cover up the rumble of Lucas’s stomach. He stiffens just slightly, hoping, but Jens squints over at him, lips slowly curving up further. Lucas elbows his side and shushes him without looking over, though he stops walking. “I was actually going to go get some food in the cafeteria.”

Jens stops with him and raises a brow. “The cafeteria? Have you actually tried the cafeteria food?”

Lucas slowly shakes his head.

“Okay,” Jens snorts. “Let’s go then, I’ll tell you what’s safe and what isn’t.”

It’s an offer that sends Lucas’s heart fluttering, and he’s unable to stop his lips from twitching up in another smile. He has been having a rather uncomfortable time attempting to adjust to this new environment, and it feels a lot easier with Jens by his side. He’s too focused on how easily their steps sync up and how they’re so close their elbows keep accidentally bumping together to wonder if anyone’s looking at him. He wouldn’t even care if they were, not with how Jens is looking at him, with a bright and easy smile, posture relaxed and natural. He doesn’t hold any of the same tension as Lucas, none of the familiar fear, and it’s enough to have Lucas smiling back and allowing his own shoulders to droop. He has mentioned his inability to make friends a few times, and it had sat uncomfortably in his chest, but since Friday he’s felt a lot better about it. He has just known, since then. He had just been waiting for Jens.

Jens bumps their arms together purposefully as they slip into line in the cafeteria, nodding towards the hidden array of food. “To be honest, if it looks okay it probably is, but you’re still better getting one of the packaged sandwiches or something.”

Lucas nods to himself, figuring that’s probably his best option indeed, considering they’re a little late now and most of the acceptable options have already dwindled. He’s stuck between wanting to take it as the easy option and get out of here quickly or to prolong this moment alone with Jens. At least now he feels comfortable, and pleased, even with the nervous tickling in his stomach. He’d wanted nothing more than to wiggle his way into this friend-group, watching them at the weekend. He still wants it. He’s just a little more nervous than he thought he would be.

“Any specific recommendations?” Lucas thinks to ask as they near the counter. Most of the people in front of them are also going away with a sandwich packet, and a few are simply there for snacks, but there are the brave souls carrying trays with suspicious looking meats. There are more people than he expected buying lunch and settling at the many cramped tables, seemingly used to the raucous laughter and overlapping conversations and dull lights. It’s a bit too much to appear enjoyable, for Lucas, and he’s glad that Jens apparently isn’t a fan, either.

Jens shrugs. “Not really. I haven’t actually tried out much. It just depends on what you’re into.”

He smiles down at Lucas, casual, and Lucas can’t help the way his throat closes up. He knows it isn’t what Jens meant, but he can’t help but find a deeper implication there, a harder question to answer. He finds himself looking away as a flush crawls up into his cheeks and hopes Jens doesn’t notice.

When it’s their turn, he snatches up the first item he sets his sights on, in a sudden haste to escape. He only scrunches his nose up at the odd salad mixture slapped between the bread slices after he’s made his purchase and Jens is raising his brows at him, unable to hide his amusement. Lucas elbows him again.

Nerves tie a knot in his stomach as Jens finally leads him outside, and Lucas does his best to act clueless when he catches sight of the boy’s friends first. He falls slightly behind Jens and watches as Robbe takes notice of them, raising his hand in a slight wave.

Jens grins as he gets close enough to greet them, and Lucas lingers as Robbe shoots him a small smile and Moyo’s eyes trail over him, calculating. Aaron, however, is the one to tilt his head and speak to Lucas first, completely ignoring Jens as the boy nudges at his feet. “Hey, aren’t you that new guy Amber was talking about? From...Utrecht, or something?”

Jens rolls his eyes and succeeds at making space for himself on the bench next to Moyo, Aaron’s feet finally out of the way. “Lucas. I met him at the party on Friday. Lucas, this is Aaron, Moyo, and Robbe.” Jens points each of them out in turn, and Lucas does his best to seem like he doesn’t already know.

“So he’s who you ditched us for,” Moyo nudges his friend. He’s still considering Lucas closely, but his posture remains relaxed and there’s a slight upward curve to his lips. “And here I thought you were off hooking up.”

Lucas’s stomach clenches as Jens rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the comment as it bounces around in Lucas’s head. Of course, that option has disappeared at the revelation that Lucas is a guy. He shouldn’t be disappointed—he’s already more than aware of what the ‘norm’ is and how far he is from it.

Then Jens says, “Unlike our friend here–“ he juts a thumb at Aaron “–I don’t think it’s necessary to hook up with someone at every opportunity.”

Robbe snorts, but nods his head in agreement. “It’s true that Jens has more emotional tact than that.” At Moyo’s incredulous look up at him, he mends, “Most of the time.”

“He does?” Lucas can’t help asking, dubious.

Jens looks at him with his mouth dropped open in betrayal. “Hey. I thought we shared something special.”

Lucas very valiantly ignores the storm that kicks up in his stomach. “Belgian weed really just isn’t as good.”

Jens snorts, shaking his head at him as Moyo finally cracks a smile of his own. He slides along the bench, shoving Robbe’s feet away as he goes, and pats the newly created space between him and Jens. “Sit the fuck down and tell us what’s so special about you, then,” Moyo orders, and Lucas automatically obeys.

The space is smaller than he expects, and he finds himself thigh to thigh with Jens to leave a tiny gap next to Moyo as they twist around. Robbe and Aaron clamber off the table and round it to sit on the other side. When Moyo looks at him expectantly, he shrinks slightly in his seat. “Oh, there’s nothing actually special about me.”

“Amber and Luca think you’re cute,” Aaron offers, and Lucas can’t help but smile slightly.

Jens turns his head to smirk at him. “Ahh, okay. Now I get why Luca is so possessive of you.”

Robbe shares a look with him and then shakes his head, giggling slightly as he shoots Lucas a sympathetic glance. “She’ll get over it eventually. Unless you’re interested?”

Lucas leans his elbows on the table and gives a small shrug. “I think she’s already gotten over it. She seemed to have her own fun at the party once you took over her babysitting duties,” he nudges Jens.

“She knew I was going to have more luck with the cute guy,” Jens nods solemnly, and Lucas nudges him again with a little more force.

He relaxes as he digs his sandwiches back out of his bag and the boys continue poking fun at each other, leaving Moyo cursing and Jens laughing in his ears. He allows himself to smile as he imagines this, sitting with this group everyday, teasing and laughing and getting to know them. Making friends somewhat similar to those he has at home. People to go out with, to smoke with, to message when the loneliness begins creeping back in. Jens there to show him the ropes.

“How the fuck did you get a salad sandwich?” Moyo suddenly asks him, glaring at his own chicken mix.

Jens snorts from his other side. “I don’t think he knows himself. Why do you have cafeteria food though? Where’s your usual fancy lunch your mom sends with you?”

Moyo shrugs. “She didn’t get a chance to make it for today and I couldn’t buy anything on the way ‘cause I slept in.”

A more serious tone seems to fall over the table as the boys give an understanding nod, and Jens looks around Lucas to ask, “Everything okay?”

Moyo nods, and that’s that. Lucas understands that he has been left out of something and accepts that he isn’t quite a member of the group that easily. He’s going to have a little more work to do, of course, as they’re going to have to put in the time with him.

“If you’d prefer it, I have no problem with switching,” Lucas offers, doing his best to be just as casual, giving a small shrug of his shoulders.

The calculating look returns, though this time it appears pleased. Moyo gives a grateful nod, smiling as Lucas switches their lunches around. “I’m beginning to see why they like you.”

Lucas gives him a mock-offended look. “Not because I’m cute?”

Moyo scoffs, but he’s smiling as he rolls his eyes. “The position of cocky pretty boy in this group is already taken, I’m afraid.”

“Aww, Moyo,” Robbe says, “don’t tell him lies. You’re not that pretty.”

Moyo tosses what appears to be a piece of lettuce at him as he giggles again, leading to Jens letting out a chuckle alongside him, while Aaron rolls his eyes. “We all already knew Robbe’s opinion.”

“And Robbe’s opinion is the only one that matters,” Jens butts in, stretching his arm across the table to fist bump his smallest friend. Another inside conversation, Lucas realises.

Lucas huffs, shaking his head amusedly. “I’m guessing he’s talking about you then,” he raises a brow at Jens.

Jens bumps their shoulders and grins. “You agree then?”

“The cocky part gave it away.”

Jens gives him that same jaw-dropped, mock-offended look, complete with a hand pressed dramatically to his heart. He can’t quite smother his smile though. “Need I remind you who asked you to join us in the first place?”

Moyo makes a small sound of protest, shaking his head around a bite of his sandwich. “Doesn’t matter, he’s ours now. I like him.”

Lucas smiles, feeling a pleasant, easy warmth slip over him that had been absent for the past week, since moving here. He’s beginning to feel a little less out of place just with this one simple interaction, just because it’s simpler than he could’ve hoped for. He allows his expression to turn a little smug as Jens catches his gaze, and Jens’s smile simply widens. With another joyous kick in his stomach, Lucas realises the other boy is just as pleased.

“It’s weird that we’ve never actually seen you around before,” Aaron agrees, frowning.

“And that your girlfriend refused to introduce us,” Jens raises his brows.

“Well,” Lucas decides to speak up for the poor girl. “Amber was actually going to introduce us. Luca wasn’t so sure. I would’ve introduced myself, but I wasn’t really sure where to look.”

“So, you’re welcome,” Jens concludes, taking a mini bow to himself, and Moyo rolls his eyes again as Robbe huffs a quiet laugh.

Lucas’s lips quirk up at the corners as he turns to Robbe, and he’s unable to hold back. “I actually have seen you before, though, I think.” Robbe tilts his head curiously and Lucas continues, “That’s you on that mural, isn’t it?”

Robbe blushes instantly as the others laugh at him, even as Jens groans and covers his face with his hand. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I saw it last week and I didn’t realise how good it actually is. It looks so much like you. How’d you get one of those in the middle of the city?”

“Sander’s like some kinda art ninja with serious apology skills, that’s how,” Moyo snorts, shooting his friend a teasing smile as Lucas absorbs the information.

“Sander?”

If possible, Robbe blushes even more. Still, his voice is casual, infused with an easy warmth as he explains. “My boyfriend. He painted it last year.”

Lucas’s brain short-circuits, just for a second. He suddenly wishes he’d thought to look into Jens’s friends a little more after finding his account, imagining it would have been fairly easy. He probably could have avoided this small moment of shock, that way. This momentary lapse in coherent thought. “So you’re…”

Robbe raises a brow, smiling slightly. “Taken? Or gay?”

Before Lucas can regain function, can smile and joke back, Moyo is turning to him with his most grave look so far. “Is that a problem?”

He realises belatedly that Jens has also tensed on his other side, and that Robbe’s smile is unsure, and he hates himself for a little moment. “Of course not,” he shakes his head, smiling softly at Robbe, hoping it portrays his sincerity. If they only knew the real reason for his stunned reaction, he thinks. “Unless you think he’d mind me taking a few pictures of it. Or unless you yourself mind.”

The tension dissipates instantly as Robbe’s shoulders relax and his smile brightens. “Are you into photography?”

Lucas shrugs, feeling a blush of his own creep in. “A little bit. But I don’t have an actual camera or anything. I like art in general. That’s why I paid so much attention to the mural in the first place.”

Robbe’s expression lights up even further. “Sander will like you, too, then.”

Jens lets out another groan, but he wears a soft look as he gazes at his friend. “Yeah, Sander will definitely love that. Another ego boost.”

Robbe shrugs him off with a roll of his eyes. “You love Sander. I don’t know why you bother pretending.”

“Yeah, man, it’s not like it’s a secret, we all love Sander,” Moyo points out, lunch already halfway gone, completely at ease again. “And now we know Lucas probably will too, so it’s about time you give in man.”

Jens rolls his eyes in response, but heaves a sigh. “Sander understands our relationship. It works.”

“Cute,” Robbe hums, and Lucas finds himself smiling again.

He jumps, then, as hands fall on his shoulders from behind.

“Sorry, bud, I did try to save you. See, Amber, look what they’ve done now.”

Lucas tilts his head back to grin up at Luca as Amber squeezes into the spot next to her boyfriend and kisses his cheek. Luca shakes her head at him in faux disappointment, and Moyo lets out a disgruntled sound next to them.

“You did try to keep him to yourself, is what you mean,” he says. “As if you’re better company.”

“My right hand alone is better company than you,” Luca retorts, and Lucas can’t help the surprised laughter that leaves him. Aaron’s laughter is loud, Robbe’s giggles clear, and Jens’s laughter quiet and breathy. Still, it’s where Lucas finds most of his attention drawn.

Luca squeezes his shoulders and points across the table at Robbe. “That one is sweet, I can respect you being friends with him.” Robbe grins and blows her a kiss as she sets a hand on Jens’s head, causing him to jump as well. “This one has a few kinks that could be worked out, but he’s acceptable.” Jens offers a sarcastic smile as she drops that hand back onto Lucas’s shoulder and sets the other in Moyo’s curls, who instantly tries to shake her off. “This one is super easy to make fun of, so that’s a nice trait.” Moyo finally manages to bat her away as she gestures across the table at Aaron. “And that one just...well he’s just a ball of amusement on his own. You don’t even have to put in any work there.” Aaron flips her off, and Lucas waits for Amber to protest, but the girl does nothing more than give a tiny shake of her head and fail to give Luca a disapproving look.

Lucas grins as Luca squeezes his shoulders. He looks up at her again and she says, with a heavy sigh, “Voila. The Broerrrs.”

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip #what do you all think so far? 🥺

[yuusa]

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝟐

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟓𝟎𝟗𝟓

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐃𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝟐:

You twirled your pen in class while the teacher continued lecturing, your journal still in your close grasps as you occasionally write your routine and schedule as usual. You noticed that on the side, Tohru would also get distracted by your pen spinning and sit there admiring you. You only ignored her gazes and continued to stare down at your own work. You had already documented yesterday’s encounter with Yuki. There were moments where you would sometimes peer into the old pages and reread the written notes. You doodled a small rat character on the title of the entry, seemingly to remember the main event.

As you dozed off into your own world, Yuki had turned his head to the side and silently watched you from afar. For someone who had been closed off since the beginning of school, you were still one of the more academically gifted students in the class without any help from other students. He narrowed his eyes as he thought about his idiotic cousin at the thought of academics. He placed the weight of his chin onto his hand as he watched you doodle in your notebook.

Sometimes you would place the pen’s end at the tip of your lips as you thought about the lecture your teacher had given you. Yuki would occasionally glance at his work and back at you, thinking about what you had discussed yesterday afternoon.

For a second, he almost thought that you had understood him.

He frowned as he stared hard at his work. You were so quiet and throughout the day, you made it extremely hard for him to get a chance to talk to you again due to the awkwardness. It was. . . Really uncool of him. He wished he was as cool as everyone else, they seemed so laid back and easy-going while he is too busy thinking about the possible scenarios that would ruin his day.

While Yuki was staring at you, Tohru was also watching him with a confused expression. At first, she thought he was looking after her because the two of you were in the same general direction, but on closer inspection, it looks as if he was admiring you from afar. She could feel the hearts dance around her head as she thinks of the growing romance between you and Yuki. She was so caught up in the moment she accidentally covered her mouth with her hands and squealed which caught your attention.

“Umm. . . Honda-san, are you okay?” You whispered, the teacher still going on with her lecture in the background.

“Y-Y-Yes! I’m sorry!” She shouted, causing the entire class to stare at her. You deadpanned at her lack of awareness, was she really this air headed?

“Honda-san, (L/n)-san, are you trying to get afternoon duties?” The teacher turned around with an angered expression, she gripped onto the chalk with enough force to snap the tip off. She already had to deal with one troublemaker in that one particular group, specifically a carrot-headed cat person. She seemed so tired of Kyo’s roughhousing behavior that you just feel pity for her.

“N-No! I’m so sorry!” Tohru panicked as she started to bow several times in front of the class as they stared in awkward silence. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’ll never happen again! I’m sorry!”

“You’re both on cleaning duties today!”

“E-Ehh?! I’m sorry!”

You sighed and placed your head down on the desk in exhaustion. You wished the day was over already.

You wiped at the windows with a towel and a bucket of soap and water, your brain wanting nothing more but to simply go home and sleep after such a long day of school assignments. Although you generally had enough strength and energy to soar through classes such as physical education, the amount of workload given to you has been weighing you down.

"(L/n)-san. . . I’m sorry.” Tohru was crying comedic tears as she swept the classroom floor, her hair tied back with her hands occupied by the wooden broom, “it’s my fault you’re here after school with me. . .”

You turned to her with the towel still in your hands, “no, it’s okay. I started the conversation after all.” You squeezed the towel after dipping it into the bucket of water, “it just seemed like you had an issue with something I did.”

“N-No! I was just wondering. . .” She scratched her cheek as her cheeks began to turn a blush color, “if you were one of Yuki’s friends. . .”

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

“It’s just that. . . In class he was looking at you as if he knew you, s-so I thought you would be one of his friends!” She laughed as a way to distract herself from spilling the actual truth, “you guys just look very cute together!”

Tohru mentally screamed as she gripped onto her hair and panicked violently, just as she thought she was getting over her aloofness the words slipped out of her mouth, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to assume, I’m sorry! Please forgive me (Y/n)-kun!” She screamed once more at her big mouth, she was so used to calling everyone by their first names that she got caught up in the moment.

You turned your head away from her to cool down the rush of blood towards your face. This was the first time someone had addressed you by your first name, it was really embarrassing. You shook your head violently and slapped your cheeks, trying to focus on the moment and not be distracted.

“Honda-san, you don’t need to apologize over every little thing, if you want to call me (Y/n)-kun that’s fine.” You dried your hands off with your handkerchief before walking towards the board to clean the surface, “Sohma-san and I met only yesterday.”

“O-Oh! U-Um. . . Then you can call me Tohru-kun!” She gave you a friendly smile and continued to wipe at the floor. She peered outside the window to see that the sky had already become orange, signaling that they had stayed late enough. She spun back to your figure which was still wiping the top of the board clean.

“A-Ah, it’s getting late outside (Y/n)-kun, um. . . Do you want to come over to our house for dinner? Y-You don’t have to go to if you don’t want to! You already have so much work! I-I just thought it would be really late for you to walk home. . .” Tohru tilted her head downwards, her eyes slightly glossy in embarrassment.

You paused for a few moments. You didn’t have much to eat at home and although you were confident enough to walk home in the dark, you felt that it would be rude to turn down an invitation from someone like Tohru. Despite getting you both in trouble, she was very kind and generous. Although you were a bit skeptical on the idea of joining another classmate for dinner, you didn’t have much choice as you didn’t have anything at home to eat.

“Okay.”

Tohru’s mood seemed to brighten immensely at your response, “really?!”

“Mhm.” You finished wiping the board and cleaned your hands a second time, “I don’t have a lot to do at home anyway.”

Tohru squealed in excitement before quickly finishing up her side of the duties and you both headed to the exit of the school. You noticed how joyous and aloof Tohru could be, she would skip around when she was happy which seemed to be most of the time. She was a very nice person you concluded.

“(Y/n)-kun, um. . . Do you live alone?” She asked.

“Oh, yes.”

“Ah! Then I hope you don’t mind the other guests in the house too!” She smiled with the same flowery and happy aura around her.

“Other guests?”

“Yes! I live with the Sohma family since they were really kind to take me in. . . S-So I hope you don’t mind coming over still!” She waved her arms around as if to express her nervousness, you wondered why she seemed so adamant on bringing you over for dinner.

“That’s fine Tohru-kun, you shouldn’t worry about it too much.” You pulled open your journal from your bag and began to write into the pages.

“(Y/n)-kun, can I ask what that book is for?” You hummed at her question.

“It’s a journal for me to keep track of my thoughts.” You lifted the contents of the pages to show her, “I write down my schedule and what happens every day.”

Her eyes sparkled in admiration as she scanned through the page. Everything was neatly written and they even had little doodles sprinkled throughout the pages. She noticed that you had a strong love for drawing flowers and birds as they were in almost every other sentence. Despite your quiet and standoffish nature in class, she realized how cute your inner personality was.

“They’re so cute! You have very pretty handwriting (Y/n)-kun!” She praised you to which you responded with the slight blush of your cheeks.

“I-It’s not a big deal. . .” As the two of you approached the gates, your eyes met with Yuki’s, the two of you standing in front of each other in shock while Tohru stood in the middle between you.

“A-Ah Honda-san. . .” Yuki didn’t expect the two of you to be walking home together, it was surprising, to say the least. “N-Nice to see you again, (L/n)-san.”

“O-Oh. . . Nice to see you too.”

There seemed to be slight tension in the air, Tohru thought. She sweatdropped at the sight of you turning your head away from Yuki as your cheeks were still a slight pink color. He seemed to be doing the same as well. Tohru only chuckled as she guided the two of you into walking home together.

“How did you guys meet?” She asked.

“We met at the library after school when you were all playing the card game,” Yuki answered, to which you nodded.

“Does that mean you two are friends?!” Tohru squealed, the same heart aura dancing around her as you stood there confused.

“A-Ah, I don’t know if we could be considered friends.” You scratched at your cheek nervously. “We just met yesterday after all.”

“I wouldn’t mind being friends with you, (L/n)-san.” Yuki responded, his smiling face still there as Tohru stared at him shocked yet excited nonetheless.

Your eyes widened at his statement but nervously bowed in front of the two, “Er. . . I-I would like to be friends too. . .” This was quite unexpected.

Tohru grinned happily, slightly over joyous by the idea of having another friend at school to talk to. You were quite nervous despite being quite intimidating at school, something which Tohru admits to being a bit scary.

“Sohma-kun, did you know that (Y/n)-kun has a really cute journal?” She piped up.

“Is that so?” Yuki smiled at her as you glanced off to the side.

“Mhm! She has really cute drawings! She drew a rat on one page, it was super adorable!” Tohru continued to gush over your art while Yuki only gazed at you.

Was yesterday an event caused by fate? Was he simply dreaming? It seems too unrealistic to believe that the day after he met you, you would have already befriended Tohru and coming over to their house. For a moment, he felt slightly threatened by the idea that you could advance so quickly into his life but he shook his head, it was rude of him to assume that you might have ill intentions when he knew nothing about you. Similar to Yuki’s thoughts, you had your own skepticism regarding Tohru’s extreme kindness to invite someone she barely met over to her house, it felt a bit too good to be true.

“L-Like I said, it’s not a big deal Tohru-kun.” You huffed.

“You guys seem friendly.” Yuki grasped onto the handles of his bag, “did something happen at school?”

“I asked (Y/n)-kun if she wanted to come over for dinner since she lives alone.” Tohru responded, “o-oh! I accidentally called her by first name too. . . “ She scratched her cheek as she recalled the previous event. Yuki hummed in acknowledgment.

As three of you were approaching to the Sohma household, you could see your orange-haired classmate sleeping on the roof. You questioned whether or not this act was normal, but considering his cat-like behavior, you believed this may be in the range. You sighed as Tohru and Yuki made their way to the door. You felt a bit out of place in this household, they seemed so traditional and your apartment was a bit run-down. Tohru gestured for you to come inside and you started taking off your outdoor shoes to leave by the doorway.

You turned your head to see a tall man with darkened hair wearing a dark green traditional outfit. You sweatdropped at the sight, you felt really out of place here. Tohru guided you to the table in the center as Yuki took a seat at the end of the table.

“Um (Y/n)-kun, since we came back from school and dinner will be ready in a bit, you could stay and do homework here while you wait. A-Ah, this is Shigure-san! He’s the owner of the house.” Tohru waved her hand over to Shigure who gave you a kind smile.

You bent your back over to bow towards him, “thank you for having me in your home.” You straightened your back but sat on the floor with your knees close to your chest. Shigure raised an eyebrow at your way of seating but only smiled.

“(Y/n)-san was it? How are you doing at school with these three?” He pointed at Yuki, “is it fun? Are they rowdy? Have they caused any trouble?”

He was quite blunt for someone you just met, you thought.  You pressed your lips together as you thought of an answer. In all honesty, you barely met any of them and this was your first time putting effort into making some new friends.

“. . . It’s fun. Sohma-san is a really kind person, and I’m lucky to have been invited by Tohru-kun.” From behind you, Tohru was listening to the conversation while making each of you a cup of tea.

“What about Kyo-kun?” Shigure asked.

You gave a closed eye smile, “we don’t talk, but I hope he doesn’t mind me staying for dinner.” You’ve made eye contact with Kyo in class by accident, but the two of you had always stayed apart from each other.

“You talk so formally! Just like Tohru-kun sometimes, lighten up we don’t bite.” He winked to which Yuki only groaned in response.

“S-Sorry, this is my first time coming over to someone’s house.” You heard Tohru’s footsteps come over as she announced her arrival with the tea. She placed down your cup and smiled before going back to prepare dinner.

“(Y/n)-kun, are you fine with eating fish?” She asked.

“Yes, that would be fine, thank you Tohru-kun.”

“Do your parents mind you staying over though (Y/n)-kun?” Shigure held his fan up to the side of his face as he leaned forward against the table. You hummed as you took a small sip of the tea.

“We don’t talk,” you stated bluntly, “I live alone and work part-time.”

“Ooh! Sorry for bringing it up (Y/n)-kun!” You waved at him to dismiss his question.

“It’s fine.” You tried to suppress the frown that was starting to crack through your joyous facade. You stared at the ripples from the tea as a way to avoid looking at them with your pitiful eyes. “It’s not something that should concern you.”

Yuki narrowed his eyes slightly before lightening. He would assume you didn’t have the best childhood, but considering everyone in the house didn’t, it wasn’t shocking news. He noted the way your lips were pressed against each other as if you were holding yourself back.

“The eagle could save the rat from his burdens.” He pondered over the meaning of your words. It was a bold statement coming from you who he recently met. He watched as you continued to interact with Shigure about various types of books with your journal by your side as you noted down the ones written by him.

Yuki didn’t know what to feel in this situation, it seemed too unpredictable for him and he wanted to figure out the meaning behind your words. Perhaps he was looking too far into it as it would have been impossible for you to know the Sohma family secret, but there was something in the look that you gave him that sparked a sense of hope within him. A strange sense of hope that maybe there could have been a world where he didn’t feel alone.

“Dinner is ready!” Tohru called out to everyone with an array of plates, “is Kyo-kun still outside?”

“Yeah, could you go call him for us Tohru-kun?” Shigure asked, helping her set down the plates as you watched their interactions. The sound of the phone ringing echoed in the hallways, “I’ll excuse myself for a moment.”

“Alright!”

You sat there waiting for her to come back with Kyo while Shigure went to pick up the phone that was ringing, which left you and Yuki alone just for a couple of minutes. You glanced at him a couple of times before hearing him clear his throat.

“(L/n)-san, do you need someone to walk you home later? It’s getting quite dark already.” Yuki suggested, “I could walk you home if you need someone.”

“N-No, that is fine.” Your eyes flickered towards the meal before returning your attention back to your grey-haired classmate, “you really don’t have to be so nice Sohma-san.”

“It’s okay, I was just trying to talk to you after yesterday’s events that’s all.”

You sat there staring at him in awe. You didn’t expect him to actually care about your interaction and it surprised you. You felt your heart sink into your stomach as you realized he must have thought you said something irritating. “U-Um. . . Sorry.” You gripped onto your skirt from under the table as you bit your lip. “I must have offended you somehow didn’t I?”

“Not at all,” Yuki smiled, “It was my first time someone asked me a question like that. Is there a reason you don’t talk to everyone else in class?”

“I wasn’t really the best at talking to others so. . . When Tohru-kun invited me over it was hard to say no.” You toyed with the hem of your skirt, “l-like I said, this is my first time.”

“Then I’ll go gentle.” Your eyes widened as he gave you an innocent smile. There seemed to be this comedic and pure aura around him as he spoke in such a slightly vulgar way, this contrasted his outer appearance greatly which caught you off guard.  

“A-Ah you don’t have to phrase it like that! I-It’s embarrassing!” You stumbled on your words while trying to form a complete sentence, “Umm. . .”

Crap, what were you supposed to do in this situation? You internally panicked, did he really have to say that?! You could feel your brain losing all senses until you heard him speak up.

“I’m just kidding (L/n)-san, I just wanted to ease you since you seemed tense.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, “Sohma-san that was a bit unexpected.”

“Sorry, it seemed like a good opportunity to say that line.“

“I’m back!” You both snapped your necks to face Kyo and Tohru who were arriving, “Is Shigure-san still on the phone?” You both nodded as Kyo only rolled his eyes.

Just in a few seconds, Shigure was right by the door and you all were able to settle down and enjoy your meal. Tohru was very kind in giving you a meal even though you weren’t even part of their household. You cut through the fish easily with your chopsticks and started to eat, the rest of the family staring at you in disbelief as you consumed the meal. You tilted your head up in confusion towards their stares.

“A-Ah umm. . . (Y/n)-kun, do you just eat the bones too?” Tohru asked, the rest of the group watching as you stopped chewing.

“Am I not suppose to?” You held up your hand to your mouth to excuse your rudeness.

“Who the hell eats the bones?” Kyo said.

“No. . . You normally don’t eat the bones of the fish.” Yuki clarified, digging into his own fish and pulling out the flesh without any bones. “But, it’s okay if you do that too.”

“Mhm! I’m really happy you enjoy the meal (Y/n)-kun!” Tohru piped up.

“I-I see. . . I’m used to eating it this way.” You continued to eat your meal.

You didn’t get many opportunities like this to eat, even as a child you didn’t eat much either.

“God. . . Please listen to my prayers,” She cried out, she slid a bowl of mackerel bones from her side and placed it in front of the altar, “this is all I have to offer, please forgive me!” You watched from the far corner of your darkened room as she kneeled in front of the wooden altar, which was the only furniture you had in the small space you called a room. Your (e/c) eyes staring at her with your knees close to your chest as you pushed yourself further into the corner, hoping that one day you could disappear.

Your mother would pray every single day in your room and only return with scraps of food. Even though it was thought of to be filthy at first, this was the only way you could survive. You wondered if there truly was a God. Would you be able to see one when you disappear? You pressed your cheek against the cold wall, did it truly matter in the end? It seemed hopeless.  

Was it worth dying to find out if God exists?

You watched your mother continue praying, your nails digging into your flesh as you glared at her. With every second, seeing her made your blood boil. You bit your lip, the skin splitting as the crimson liquid dripped from your chin.

The dullness in your eyes seemed to return which went unnoticed by most of the group. Yuki frowned at the sight but decided not to comment on it.

“(Y/n)-kun, are you walking back home alone?” Shigure asked, giving you a bit of a deja vu moment.

“Mhm, I don’t want to inconvenience you all, especially when I was the one invited here.” You were almost done with your meal, “I walk home alone when my shift from work ends.”

“Oh? Where do you work, Tohru-kun works as a cleaner at a nearby agency.”

“I work at the cafe just next to the Takoyaki Guy, sometimes they even let me bring leftovers home.”

“You should get Yuki-kun to walk you home then,” Unbeknownst to you, the sly dog had been snickering behind his fan while Yuki scoffed in response at his childishness matchmaking. “Unless you want Kyo-kun?”

“Hah?! When the hell did I ever agree to walk her home?! Why am I involved!” Kyo yelled.

“Don’t you think someone strong should walk (Y/n)-kun home then?~” Kyo sneered at Yuki who had already looked displeased at the idea.

“You really think he is strong?” He argued, “I’m sure Honda-san is also stronger than Kyo to walk her home.”

“You wanna go rat boy?!”

You silently finished your food, enjoying the small show in front of you. They were a very lively family, you assumed that Yuki and Kyo weren’t on the best terms based on their interactions. You began to take notes in your journal of this experience, writing down every insult and word the two of them spat at each other. As you tapped your pen against the paper, you started to realize how similar the two were to the idea of being a cat and rat. Shigure discretely tried to take a peek at your journal but you had already finished writing by the time he even finished the first sentence. You were a fast writer, he thought.

“Yuki-kun, why don’t you walk (Y/n)-kun home then?”

You raised your eyebrow, Shigure was awfully persistent in letting Yuki walk you home.

“Are you sure? He asked me earlier and I really don’t want to cause trouble.” You turned to the mentioned boy, “you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you any more than I already have.”

“Erghh! (Y/n)-kun you’re starting to sound like Tohru-kun a bit.” Shigure whined, his head resting on the table as he groaned, “she is always too humble for her own good!”

“Ignore him, I wouldn’t mind walking you home (Y/n)-kun.” Yuki responded as he set down his pair of chopsticks, already finished with his meal, “do you live far from here?”

“Not really, my apartment should be a few minutes away from your house.” He nodded before Tohru dismissed herself to clean up.

“I know you youngsters didn’t do your homework yet, but it already is dark and it’s time for (Y/n)-kun to go home don’t you think?” Shigure suggested. Kyo only yawned and prodded at his ear in boredom as he turned on the television. You could see Yuki’s irked expression from the corner of your eye.

“A-Are you sure it’s okay for me to leave when Tohru-kun is still cleaning?” You asked.

Tohru peeked over the sliding door, “I’ll be fine (Y/n)-kun! I don’t want to keep you any longer! I’m happy you liked the dinner!”

You quickly brought yourself up to your feet and bowed down to the group, “thank you for having me here tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

“You can always come here again for dinner if you’d like!” Tohru grinned, “maybe next time you could even join us for lunch at school!” You wondered how such a girl could have so much generosity built in her bones. For group of people you recently talked to, they were extremely welcoming. Did she treat everyone like this?

“Tohru-kun, you’re too kind,” You smiled, “I’ll think about that offer. Then, if you you could excuse us.” You picked up your school bag and faced Yuki, signaling that you were ready to leave. He quickly stood up and waved at Tohru before walking you out of the house.

The two walked in silence for the first couple steps down the mountain while you admired the scenery of the street lights. You never realized this until now, but the Sohma family has a really nice view of the town from the mountains.

“You seem quite relaxed at home compared to when you’re at school Sohma-san.” You commented.

“Is that so?”

“Mhm. . . You seem to have this certain aura around you.” You clutched your journal close to you, “you have an interesting family.”

He chuckled, “I guess you could say that. They’re all strange in their own little ways.” They were very strange indeed, but it gave you a sense of warmth when you entered the house. You exhaled and noticed the small breath of air materializing into the air.

“Are you cold?” He asked.

“Not really,” you tilted your head to admire the glistening stars, “this weather feels nice. The stars look bright today.”

It seemed as if his smile never left his face even after leaving the house. You wonder if he was simply faking it or it was in his nature to stay looking happy. This idea made you feel slightly gloomy the more you thought about it, but you felt as if you should have been more on edge.

“Sohma-san, do you think I’m a bit strange?”

He hummed towards the stars before turning to face you, “not really, why do you ask?”

You tightened your grip around your journal, “no reason really. I was just curious.”

“I’m sure you’re just a bit nervous since it’s your first time right?” He teased, “I’m glad I would technically be your first.”

“P-Please let’s not speak of that” you pouted. He thought your facial expression was quite cute, but didn’t want to comment on it. “I-I just thought it would be awkward not to say anything in the library. . .” You sighed.

“It’s quite fun to tease you. But (L/n)-san, could you tell me more about your idea? About the eagle?” You halted your steps as the breeze blew past your cheek, you had almost loosened your grip on your journal at his question. He stood in front of you with an honest smile, one that you could tell was genuine.

“Are you sure? It wasn’t that interesting.” He only nodded before the two of you continued walking again.

“Do you know what the eagle would do if they were first place?”

You hummed, “. . . They would fly through the sky, carrying the burden of everyone else.”

“Why is that?”

“They feel sorry for the Zodiacs. Because the eagle is strong, and they want to protect others. They want to free them by asking God to do it.” You started to kick at a pebble on the ground, “the eagle would think that if they tried their hardest to convince God, they could unite the other zodiacs.”

“Then, what would happen to the eagle?”

“They will. . .” You trailed off. Your lips curled downwards into a frown. You watched as the pebble you previously kicked scattered off somewhere.

Then the eagle would be alone too.

It was a selfish thought, thinking that an eagle could handle the burden of all Twelve Zodiacs. You dug your nails into your journal at the idea.

“The eagle would become heavy with burden, and eventually they can’t fly anymore.” You mumbled, “they would be trapped forever.”

Yuki turned away from you by the time you both approached your apartment building. You gave him one final wave before making your way towards the staircase and opening the door to your home. Yuki stood near your building for a couple of minutes, lost in his own thoughts before walking back home.

Perhaps the eagle wanted freedom just as much as the rat did.

#fruits basket #fruits basket x reader #x reader #yuki sohma #yuki sohma x reader #yuki soma #yuki soma x reader

[ganymedesclock]

I kinda wanna hear your thoughts on NiGHTS, if you don't mind me asking. I just really like your speculation/headcanon posts!

I have great affection and great frustration for NiGHTS, honestly.

There’s a lot to love about the series. It’s got exquisite visuals and a really cool concept. While the gameplay isn’t completely my cup of tea, I think it’s a novel innovation. The designs of Nights and Reala, their bond and conflict, are really interesting and Wizeman’s a pretty impressive chunk of cosmic horror. I even feel like some of the dislike of Owl in JoD was unwarranted; yes, he was made the face of the slightly clumsy tutorial mechanism but it’s hard for me to not care a little that Nights, who is privately lonely in ways they seem disinclined to admit to anyone, clearly has some mutual fondness for this fussy bird dad.

But I definitely feel like the games have their problems- and I’ll focus here mostly on JoD because I feel like NiD itself was a pretty minimalist piece flying more on emotion than deep lore and it was successful in that regard.

I feel like JoD in particular struggled to decide if this was a story about Nights and Reala or a story about Will and Helen, and while they could’ve made room for both, it would’ve required more integration than they pulled off, and it ultimately weakens both narratives. 

Nights never really meaningfully reaches a conclusion with Reala. They get angry enough to hurt him, feel bad about it, Reala goes on to take their new friends hostage, and Nights gets angry again and, seemingly, finishes Reala off, either personally, or indirectly because their attempt to kill Wizeman would affect Reala too. Even the nature of their sacrifice is hampered here because they don’t really sell us on what it is about Will and Helen that makes things so different. I take issue with the short-lived archie Nights’ comic’s invention about the “two perfect dreamers born once a century” but it at least explains all the hullabaloo about these specific people. I don’t mean that to be callous- but there has to be a reason Nights makes their stand here and now, even if it’s for internal reasons rather than Will and Helen, and we don’t get a sense of why that is.

Will and Helen themselves have the seeds of interesting or compelling problems, but they aren’t really brought home either. The conclusions they make don’t really feel of a piece with the nature of their issues. We don’t really find out what about Helen is ‘fragile’, and you have to read into things to see the contrast between Will’s lonely, ‘abandoned playground’-like second dream and the vibrant potential of his third dream, this fear that if you can’t grow up people will leave you behind in childhood.

JoD takes from its roots in NiD that it is good at evoking emotions. Many of the ‘major beat’ cutscenes land with really impressive intensity and evocative qualities! I can vividly call to mind Nights and Reala’s argument in Delight City or Reala circling Helen menacingly in Memory Forest. 

But I feel like the devil’s in the details. Frustratingly often for me, these vibrant splashes of story were followed up by, like... hey kids, it’s time to chase Octopaw around in circles again! This is in-universe and out a completely pointless exercise! Let’s save some Nightopians from Wizeman, never once examining or explaining what Wizeman wants with them!

I try not to gripe too hard on Wizeman’s inscrutability because he as a character at least resonates with it- that he’s only a handful of ominous details in the dark actually kind of works for his character and the jawdropping beauty of the Unconscious Space and Will and Helen’s respective leaps of faith into the sea of darkness is contrasted by a profound sense of unease. Why is this space simultaneously so real and unreal? If Nights lands on a real-world building at the end of the game, sure, they’re alive, but is that a good thing, if they’re inextricably connected to Wizeman and Wizeman seems to be clawing at the veil between dream and waking?

Again, this is not a frustration of I hate these games. It’s a frustration of, I really love these games, but they feel like a vivid concept padded into existence with inconsistent flesh where the most interesting workings of both worlds- the real world emotional problems, and the dream world’s politics and potential fate under Wizeman’s onslaught- struggle because they’re ramming into each other at cross purposes rather than intertwining and facilitating/shoring each other up. There is some unbelievably premium good shit in NiD and JoD both but the experience of those glorious moments is undercut with the disappointment of going straight from that, to, octopaw. Nights do you wanna talk to Owl about how you unhealthily use harassing this octopus as a way to run away from serious emotional talks? No?

All of this has been a big reason why I’m looking forwards to Balan Wonderworld eagerly, because, Balan Wonderworld seems to be doing the spirit of what NiGHTS was as a series, and directly answering some of the problems of JOD. The human-side dynamics are spiced up with the chapters each having their own stars-of-the-day, and we’re digging into more raw emotional territory than stage fright or a nebulous insecurity growing up- just the three released so far are dealing with unexpected catastrophe bringing ruin to months of hard work, an accident leading to medical problems and a sense of betrayal, and the ‘pettiest’ problem, interpersonal rejection, is easily the most heartbreaking because it showcases how little self-confidence that afflicted person had. 

Balan’s more mature position as a maestro and a hands-off sort of narrator figure while Leo and Emma take center stage means that I don’t mind as much when the kids get focus- in JoD, while Will and Helen were kids, Nights seemed like a teenager who was disconcertingly willing to throw themselves under the bus for friends they met yesterday and this wasn’t really framed as a bad thing. With Balan, I feel like even if Balan does at some point in the narrative sacrifice himself to advance Leo and Emma, it’d play to very different tropes- the removal of the magic feather or mentor, as a lesson you have to fly on your own.

(and, Balan is an integral part of the Wonderworld itself, and I have reason to suspect Lance would have a vested interest not fully ‘removing’ him even if they at some point separated him from Leo and Emma)

The kids themselves are also shored up in terms of intrigue. I’m really excited for square enix’s involvement, because they’ve produced a few stories that dig at emotions, and taking characters from the stock of, say, Neku and Shiki from World Ends With You, who Leo and Emma have passing resemblance to (a boy who lost a friend and became disillusioned and closed off, a girl who’s ebullient and sociable and more than a little insincere in it, hiding an insecure, lonely core) I think this is very promising.

That doesn’t mean I am abandoning all love for the NiGHTS series or that I think it’s garbage compared to Balan Wonderworld, especially since they have different themes and motifs and one isn’t even out yet, but I think that it’s interesting how, to my eye, the Wonderworld game seems like a sort of continuation or refinement upon JoD- that NiGHTS in some ways seems to be an inspiration bedrock for this new theater adventure.

Ultimately even if Balan Wonderworld is everything I hope for and more, there’s always going to be a place in my heart for NiGHTS, though. (I mean, hell, Nights themselves was an instrumental force in me figuring out my own relationship with gender.) 

(and, once the game DOES come out, I feel like I’m certainly not the only one who’s gonna want to write crossover fic.)

TL;DR I love the nightmare jesters from the absolute bottom of my heart but I just wish we had a little more plot to squeeze loose.

#NiGHTS into dreams #Balan Wonderworld #readmore #Anonymous

[inactiive-shit]

Electricity

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Masterlist

Warnings: references to past issues, intrusive thoughts, Remus-normal stuff

Pairings: Platonic Intruality, background romantic Royality

Words: 2,224

Summary: Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers.

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

Remus is vibrating.

That’s not some weird metaphor for sex, he’s not alluding to anything that isn’t exactly what he means.

What he means is: his body is running about a million gigawatts through every single atom. How else would you explain the flailing arms, bouncing legs, loud screeching noise that is coming out of his mouth, or the white streak in his hair that he swears wasn’t there yesterday? No, there is no other explanation. Remus is being electrocuted enough to kill an elephant ten times over and he still has the unfortunate luck to not only be living through it but aware of it as well.

Which, really, depending on which Gods he’s currently worshipping, is deserved. Zeus would probably smite him, given half a chance. But that isn’t Remus’s problem until it actually happens, and this isn’t that.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This was one thousand - I’ll raise you two - I’ll raise you three thousand percent electricity made and controlled by Remus’s own brain because sometimes even his body is against him. He can’t always control the bullshit that comes out of his mouth, and sometimes he feels disconnected from his arms when they flail around and accidentally land a gnarly black eye, and do you really think he would keep bouncing a hole through the floor with his leg if he had the choice to just stop for a minute?

But he doesn’t, because things often don’t work out for Remus. It’s just what he’s come to expect. Stupid because he can’t do easy things, nonsensical because he can do hard ones. Confusing because he reads with music on, lying because he can hear your watch ticking from across the room and cannot do simple math with a distraction like that. Uncaring being so impulsive, wrong for trying to be considerate. Always, always, Remus is never enough.

Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers.

He doesn’t know who the problem really belongs to, whether he is running too fast for everyone else’s day, so that he has twenty-eight hours for their twenty-four, or if they simply don’t know how to read the time on an analog clock, with it’s spinning hands and whirring parts. He figures there’s not much to figure out about all that, not really. At the end of the day, he is the one out-numbered, he is the one impulsive, he is the one with oxymorons that run like code through his system that works for him and no one else.

Remus is not the problem, he is their problem.

But right now, more specifically, he is Patton’s problem. Roman had left him alone in his house, assuring him that he’d be back in half an hour. Due to some crappy traffic, crashes, making a few other stops, and having his other friends require his help, Remus was still sitting - bouncing off the walls in his house alone when Roman’s fiance Patton got back.

In the twenty minutes proceeding, it’s all been downhill.

“Remus, please stop that,” Patton says, mouth twisted into a politely downturned smile most likely because it’s not the first time he’s said it. This is also not the first thing Remus has done that made Patton ask him to please stop. It doesn’t feel like as much of a win as it usually does with Patton’s genuine if nervous smile when he’d first seen Remus today.

Remus launches the bouncy ball at the wall again, snatching it out of the air before it can shoot away to break one of their overly expensive vases. He grins at Patton, lips pulling a little too wide, and does it one more time, then pockets the ball.

“So so so,” Remus sings, flipping himself upside down on the couch and staring at Patton. “What’s up with you, A-Pat-thy? Get it? Like apathy but-”

“But with my name, yeah,” Patton says. There’s almost a smile on his face, which is not the kind of reaction Remus’s nicknames usually get but he’s not objecting. “Wait here,” Patton says and leaves the living room. Remus takes the ball out of his pocket and puts it in his mouth instead. There’s not much reason to it, just rough and round and in mouth. It has no taste but it feels like stretchy sand, which Remus will make the second he gets the supplies he needs.

“Let me ask you,” Patton says, returning with one hand held behind his back, “how fondue you find puns?” He presents Remus with fondue-covered bread. Remus jumps off the couch, clapping his hands.

“Oh, punderful!” he exclaims, accepting the bread for the olive branch it is. Remus may be a million things that other people have accused him of, but he’s never been dense - as much as Roman would have liked him to notice less. He knows a peace offering when he sees one.

“That’s just too cheesy!” Patton says, really laughing.

“You better be bread-y because there’s more where that came from,” Remus says, pointing at Patton with his bread. He cackles.

“Well, well, well, you better just Skittle on out of here, because puns are my business and you are about to go bake-rupt,” Patton says. He makes finger guns at Remus and Remus collapses back onto the couch, clutching his wounds gravely.

“Oh no, the Sheriff of Punnery has yeasted me again.” Patton wrinkles his nose. “On bested?” Remus asks. He refrains from saying his buns were just too powerful because that can carry connotations and this is his brother’s fiance; he doesn’t want to make things too weird when he actually kind of does want Patton to not-hate him.

“It’s passable,” Patton says. “But I think I out-punned you this round.” They both laugh at the last, unexpected pun of their duel, and Remus has to concede defeat here. He nods acceptingly.

“I must agree. My brother has picked a worthy adversary.” Remus’s leg starts bouncing again now that he’s sitting down, and the electricity is coming back full force so that the air around his skin is crackling with energy he can’t touch. It’s arcing through his veins like molten rocks, leaving behind a desire to jump and scream and move, but his leg bounces and he picks at his nails and chews his lips and tries not to be any more obnoxious than he has to be.

“I have some spaghetti I was going to heat up for dinner,” Patton says. “It’s nothing special, and if I’d known you were coming I would have made something better, but we can split it.”

“That sounds pasta-tively delicious,” Remus says. “I can’t remember the last time I had spaghetti.” Patton laughs and goes back to the kitchen - which, from Remus’s limited understanding of their life, is where Patton lives. He can’t say for sure, but he’s pretty sure Patton is some kind of human-sized brownie that enjoys cooking. Is it technically bestiality that Roman is going to marry him?

Remus is still musing over Patton’s perilous status as human and rubbing the carpet bare with the ball of his foot when Patton returns with two plates of spaghetti. He sits on the couch next to Remus, which is strange. Not many people sit next to Remus if they can help it. He doesn’t say anything though. As much as he’d like to make a crude innuendo or pun (as much as they’re clawing up his throat to be voiced), he will not mess this up. They’ve only just decided to be brothers again, and he won’t fuck up like last time.

“Do you like it?” Patton asks, jolting Remus. He nods hurriedly.

“It tastes better than any gourmet rat I’ve ever had,” he says, shoving another handful in his mouth. Patton’s face twists up again, but Remus can’t and won’t just not talk. “You know, there are a lot less rats in dumpsters than you’d expect to find. And there’s a lot of stuff that’s totally functional that people just throw away. It’s crazy. The world would quit working without trashmen. They can make or break an entire neighborhood. Once, when Roman and I were kids, there was a huge storm on garbage night, ended up with trash all up and down the streets. I don’t know who cleaned it up, but it wasn’t us.” Remus keeps talking until he’s forced to stop to breathe at which point Patton interjects.

“I noticed that you move around a lot.” Remus immediately stops all movement before it picks back up and the intensity increases. “Which is fine,” Patton continues hurriedly, “but I was just wondering if you had heard of something called pressure stimming? It helps me when I start to get restless. I just thought of it because fidgeting that much makes me tired.”

“I have never not ever heard of such a thing,” Remus says, speaking quickly. He flutters a hand through the air and it looks kind of like a drunk hummingbird. Wouldn’t that be an interesting sight? Remus adds it to his to-do list. “What does it entail?”

“You just apply pressure to yourself, like sitting on your legs or something. Or you can do it with another person on a larger scale.”

Remus doesn’t say doing it, huh? How forward of you despite that being the loudest thought in his head for approximately five seconds. “You mean punching people.” Remus nods wisely. Punching is a good way to calm down.

“No!” Patton cries. “Nothing violent! Like cuddling.”

“Yeah,” Remus says slowly, “I have no idea what you mean.” He lifts a shoulder nonchalantly and shoves another handful of spaghetti into his mouth. But then his plate is lifted out of his lap and he looks up into Patton’s eyes, much closer now than he had been a few seconds ago.

“What’re you doing?” Remus whines, watching his plate leave him with all the regret he can summon.

“Can we cuddle?” Patton asks. “Like, platonically?”

“Uhm, sure?” Remus says. Patton pushes him so that he’s laying down flat on the couch. Remus turns his head to look at the wall and wonders what on earth his brother’s fiance is about to do. If something goes bad here, if Patton does something Remus didn’t ask for, Roman will still believe Patton over him.

Remus can’t lose his brother again. Not so soon after getting him back.

“What are you,” Remus starts and begins to sit up, but then Patton is flopping carefully on top of him. Remus’s back is pressed firmly into the couch. Patton makes a comforting weight on his chest that almost lets him drown out the stupid voice in his head yelling chew his hair and pull the threads so his shirt comes undone and he’s in eye-poking range.

“Take a deep breath,” Patton says. Remus does as he’s told without thinking about it first - not always a good thing to do - and immediately feels like he’s settled exactly where he’s supposed to be, with the couch firm under him and Patton solid above. He’s content.

He hasn’t felt like that in a long, long time.

“Do you like it?” Patton asks.

“Yeah,” Remus says. He reaches up hesitantly to rub his eyes, almost afraid that if he moves this apparition will evaporate (it wouldn’t be the first time.) “It’s...nice.”

“I’m glad,” Patton says. He pauses for a moment and Remus wonders what thing he’s not saying, what Remus is doing that is wrong and bad and loathed-

“You’re not fidgeting as much,” he says quietly, which is definitely not what Remus had been expecting. “Do you feel calmer?”

“I-uh.” Remus chokes and he flutters a hand in the air before trapping it at his side. He’s surprised to realize that he doesn’t really feel that electricity burning through his synapses, telling him to pick his hand back up and fling it around like a badminton racquet when the shuttlecock has gone out of range. How strange.

Remus’s eyes flutter shut before he can stop it and he sighs heavily, giving himself fully over to the comfort of the moment. “Yeah. I feel calmer.” His fingers trace patterns against his pants and his leg shifts. Patton moves slightly and Remus holds his breath, hoping that he hasn’t done anything to make Patton mad at him, but he only adjusts himself to Remus’s new position and stays where he is.

Patton hums on top of him, and while the otherwise silent house is a bit too much for Remus, this noise isn’t entirely unpleasant. He finds himself slipping away, feeling so tired and okay and really, actually safe here that he shuts off before he can stop it. His last solid thought is wondering if Patton is like a lightning rod, attracting the electricity out of Remus so that Remus can finally relax. His brother really did fall in love with someone good. Despite everything, Remus is glad that he’ll have that.

He falls asleep without electricity snapping against his skin. It is a singularly amazing experience.

#sanders sides #ts remus sanders #ts patton sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #ts remus #ts pattton #ts dark creativity #ts morality #fanfic #my writing #electricity #intruality #platonic intruality

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

Cozy knits, cardamom donuts, and turtledove butterflies

There's something so warm and inviting about hand knitted stuff. Maybe I'm biased because I'm a knitter, but there's really something special about knitting things. With needles and yarn, the possibilities are endless!

This gyroid event is a cozy knitwear theme, a collaboration between Daisy Jane, Tiffani, and Rowan. Collecting gyroids around the camp has been putting me in the mood to knit again, specifically a big project.

It's been years since I've made a sweater but I really feel like making one. Sweaters tend to be a hit or miss with me, which is why I rarely make them. Measurements aren't my strong suit but they're a big deal if you're making clothes. Constant counting as well because you have to make sure you have the exact amount of stitches or else everything's off. Also, it takes commitment to make a sweater, even a simple one, so that's another reason why I stick to simple projects like scarves.

I'm in the process of looking up simple sweater patterns so let's see how long this spark of motivation lasts. Making a sweater can be frustrating and time consuming, but it really is rewarding when it's finally finished.

Tiffani and Rowan are here with us at the camp to join in on the event as well as take a well deserved vacation. I feel like it's been forever since I've seen either one - Tiffani had dropped by the camp a couple years ago while Rowan's been out and about traveling the world. It was a pleasant surprise to find out that they've been working on gyroid designs with Daisy Jane.

I'm glad to see many entourage members thriving, especially after things went downhill with the university. Tiffani started her own fashion line called Stellar where everything's ethically made and a good portion of the proceeds go to charities that help abuse victims. Being a survivor of child abuse, Tiffani puts a lot of time and effort to use her influence to spread awareness and resources to help those who need it.

Rowan, a figure skater, is the co-founder of Stellar. He too grew up in an abusive household and is also an activist for abuse victims as well as the trans community. He's got an interesting story, one of victory as he and a couple friends were responsible for taking down a corrupt fashion design label.

In fact, he's working on a memoir tentatively titled "How I Destroyed Traynor's By Being Super Fake". The title alone sounds like an interesting read. People have approached him for years about writing a book, something he was considering as he had a lot to say about his father and stepmother. By now enough time has passed that his ex-family are beyond caring so he can freely talk about them without dealing with their associates threatening him.

Rowan always had a complicated relationship with his father. His mother died of cancer when he was ten and he never forgave his father for not letting him say goodbye to her. Not too long after that Wilfred married his mistress Caitlin and Rowan gained two step-siblings, Portia and Chad. Wilfred and Caitlin created Traynor's Fashion, an elite luxury label that developed quite a reputation.

Growing up in that household was torture for Rowan, so he left as soon as he could. He found solace in ice skating, an activity he and his mom bonded over. Rowan practiced for hours while his so-called family mocked him and eventually his efforts led to him getting a scholarship with a shot at a career in competitive figure skating.

Unfortunate circumstances and burnout forced Rowan to go back home, where he was known as the loser who couldn't kick it in the real world. Determined to get out, Rowan tried to work his way up in Traynor's, only to remember that hard work at a place like that won't get him anywhere, especially for someone like him. Rowan considered fashion design as a backup if figure skating didn't work out, but Traynor's was the absolute last place he wanted to start over. He only stayed for a few months before getting kicked out because of Portia and Chad.

Rowan would’ve been broke and homeless if it weren’t for aspiring fashion designers Victor, Ella, and Michele. The three were screwed over by Traynor’s and were trying to put together evidence to bring the company down. Victor used to work there before getting thrown under the bus in order for the company to save face. If it wasn't for that alone, Victor would've quit anyway because of the toxic environment and questionable ethics. Michele, another fashion designer, had her career end before it even started when Portia and Chad stole her work and accused her of plagiarism. Ella was the founder of Fairytale Castle, a small fashion company that ended up shutting down because friends of Wilfred and Caitlin were sent to harass her and sabotage her designs.

With Rowan on their side, exposing Traynor’s corruption became a reality. By disguising himself as a snooty fashion designer named Creighton Adcock, Rowan was able to infiltrate the studio. He wore a ridiculous getup and sported an exaggerated English accent - the more fake he came across, the more believable he was. It was pure torture, having to pander to his so-called family but it was so totally worth it.

The big expose took place on an important night for Traynor's and overnight the company fell. Spite and revenge had never been sweeter. Most of the employees as well as Rowan's ex-family were stacked with numerous charges like harassment, assault, embezzling, tax evasion, unethical practices, etc - they got what they deserved. Of course, there was backlash but once that died down, Rowan and the others were ready to move on.

Rowan went back to ice skating, though more for performance than competition - which was the reason why he almost quit in the first place. While posing as Creighton, Rowan had to sit through some shit, so to unwind, he would go out to the ice rink. Being on the ice made him realize how much he missed skating, though not the competition part. Rowan always says he's more of a performer than a competitor - the latter being the reason why he almost gave up because it took away the fun for him.

As for fashion, he does some design on the side like Tiffani. Then the two got together and launched Stellar earlier this year. He considers his relationship with fashion design as a sort of love-hate thing. For obvious reasons Rowan grew to resent it, especially when his father tried to force him into the business. He didn't hate it entirely, but when it's associated with people who failed to give you a good upbringing, it's hard to separate the two. Though since meeting Jamie and going back to skating, Rowan's slowly stepping back into the fashion design world after being on the fence about it for so long.

Joining forces with Tiffani and starting Stellar was unexpected. The partnership just came together and before they knew it, they were coming up with a bunch of ideas together. I honestly was surprised to hear from Jamie that Rowan was working on fashion designs. Then Stellar launched not too long after and it's actually been kinda therapeutic for Rowan and Tiffani.

I'm glad that both of them are out there living their best lives, far, far away from their abusers - most of whom are in jail, thankfully. They got lucky and after what they've been through, they want to do whatever they can to help other abuse victims. They're the kind of people who keep their word and they actively work to make the world a better place. No performative bullshit here.

Tiffani and Rowan have been here for a couple days now, enjoying the camp and all its lovely scenery. We've been collecting knit gyroids around the camp and checking in with OK Motors. Rowan had some car trouble so it was lucky that it managed to survive the long trip from Peace Coast to here. Since his car's pretty old, the repairs will take a while, which he doesn't mind. Beppe's also throwing in a free paint job so the car will be like new once it's finished.

Yesterday we went to the mountain trail, where not only we found gyroids, but also turtledove butterflies. They only show up around this time and after three years, I finally got to see them! I hardly venture around these parts because it's kinda out of the way but now I'm slowly expanding my horizons.

Turtledove butterflies are such majestic creatures. From the way they flutter about, their soft blue and white patterned wings contrasting nicely with the mountain view - like straight out of a lovely painting!

There's so much around the camp that I have yet to explore, I hope one day I'll know these places like the back of my hand.

Along the way and back we collected gyroids. Crafting gyroid furniture is always fun, seeing what kind of stuff we can make from them. I love the cozy knitwear aesthetic so much, it's easily one of my favorite themes! Tiffani, Rowan, and Daisy Jane did an amazing job with the designs. Given how much fun they had with the planning, there's likely going to be a second collaboration in the future, which I'm definitely looking forward to.

In between collecting gyroids and camp activities, we also got into knitting. That's why I've been in a knitting mood again. Rowan just learned how to knit last year and it's his new favorite hobby. He made a pair of leg warmers that look super snazzy, Tiffani's working on a cute beanie, Daisy Jane got started on a pretty lace scarf, and I just finished with a beaded headband.

Now I'm looking for sweater patterns and I already have some saved. Since I'm rusty with clothes, I'm sticking to something simple. The seed stitch ones are catching my eye as it's a simple pattern that looks nice, especially in pastel since that's what I've been into lately. Hopefully by tomorrow I have settled on a pattern so I can get started while I'm in the mood.

Today was a chill day where we stayed at the main camp. In between crafting, collecting, and camping, we baked donuts. I was kinda intimidated by donuts because it involves using the deep fryer but the whole process itself isn't too complicated. Making the dough was easy, using the deep fryer took some getting used to.

We made a bunch of different kinds - cardamom cream, apple cider, vanilla spice, and pumpkin pecan. The cardamom and vanilla ones are from Emilia Eats, the apple cider from Rustic Kitchen, and pumpkin pecan from Calico Bakery. They're all great, though if I had to choose, my favorite would be the cardamom cream. Pumpkin pecan comes a close second.

Since the donuts were a hit, we're thinking of baking cookies next. Tiffani wants to try out a black sesame recipe, Daisy Jane bookmarked a maple hazelnut recipe, Rowan has his eye on chocolate chip cheesecake cookies, and I always wanted to try earl grey shortbread.

Right now, we're enjoying donuts while knitting and crafting gyroids. Rowan's really becoming a pro at knitting as he wants to take on cables next. I kinda have a love-hate relationship with cables - they look good but take a bit of effort. I'll admit I haven't quite mastered them yet as I can't do a simple cable without having to refer to a pattern as a reference.

Warm, cozy knitwear and fresh baked goods - it doesn't get any better than that!

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

[dat-fandom-losertown]

The Drift Between Us

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Chapter 8: The Search

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Hank Anderson x Connor, Gavin x RK900 (Ritch)

Pacific Rim AU

Warnings: Inaccurate/Unfair representation of a therapist (for only 1 paragraph), A physical fight, and I think that’s all?

Word Count: 12,273

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: Hey guys, I normally don’t like putting notes before a fic, but I just wanted to apologize for this update taking literal months, and I wanted to thank anyone who’s still around and is still wanting to read this. On with the long-awaited chapter!

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    After Ritch hesitantly peeks through Connor’s journal (which turns out to be admittedly helpful, if not surprising because of the specific note that Ritch is more compatible with Gavin despite the fact Ritch had always made sure Connor wasn’t in the area when they started picking at each other, the one exception being during the Alex fiasco) and adds his own information to it, he goes to lunch.

    He ends up spending most of his meal time talking with the Jericho Squad (and he doubts he’ll ever not internally cringe whenever they unironically call themselves that) about therapy and what generally makes a good therapist and a bad one. It’s actually quite helpful. Helpful enough, in fact, that after he and Connor take two written evaluations directly after lunch– with the second one having significantly harder and oddly specific questions that he’s sure they both got some wrong– he initiates a relatively unstressful talk with his brother about general types of therapists.

    They end up agreeing that they absolutely don’t trust strangers with anything personal, which will make this entire endeavor harder than it probably should be since the therapist will be a stranger. They also surprisingly agree on what type of therapist they think they’d prefer to have, despite their very different personalities. Neither twin mention that this may be because the warm, casual nature of the person they’re both hoping for is nearly the opposite of how Amanda always treated them, but it does vaguely show up in Ritch’s unsettling dreams that night.

    The next morning, on his way to breakfast, Ritch almost predictably runs into Gavin. However, instead of immediately getting into another round of gibes, Gavin is so wrapped up in whatever he’s doing that he doesn’t acknowledge Ritch at all. He supposes that even the pilots with shorter tempers have actual work to be done, so the trainee doesn’t question it and moves on. Ritch refuses to believe that the negative emotion he feels because of the lack of attention from Reed is disappointment. Just another thing to shove away and forcibly forget about for the preferably indefinite future.

    The strength tests after breakfast definitely help with keeping him distracted from therapists and Gavin and anything else he’s shoved away from his mind so well that he can no longer recall what they are (but he knows they’re there. He can feel them trying to cause him more stress and uncertainty, but all he has to do is pointedly not think about that vague feeling and they can’t bother him). Chloe doesn’t show a reaction or share their results during the strength evaluations, so he doesn’t know if they’re just average or if they scored close enough to what they had before that no input is needed. Yet another thing to add to the “don’t think or worry about it right now” pile.

    Thankfully, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, he forgets about everything in that mental pile except for one thing after he finishes dinner. The therapist search. He and Connor have separate people they’re going to check out, since Marshal Fowler said it would be better for them to not have the same therapist. Both he and Connor readily agreed.

    When Ritch arrives at his appointment, the older man only greets him and introduces himself as Dr. Johnson before getting right down to business. That isn’t anything more than a rub in the wrong direction, but when Ritch gives an honest but simple request, “I’d rather not give any personal information before I know you’re right for me,” the man starts assuming possible situations that could be the reason why Ritch is here without letting him properly speak. Again, Ritch doesn’t have a particular problem with this– he certainly won’t be choosing this man– but Mr. Johnson then ignores Ritch when he requests that they get back on topic and instead takes that as a “clue” that he is “getting close” to the “real reason” and starts spewing even more ridiculous bullshit.

    (As if he, of all people, would have had any time or desire at all for a romantic relationship growing up, and that he would’ve been be vengeful, of all emotions, if “she” died in what would be considered a freak accident. As if he even knows if he’s interested in women exclusively or at all. It’s not like he’s had the time or desire to experiment with relationships or even the idea of them.)

    Ritch ends up so tense with frustration that he gets up and leaves long before the session is supposed to end, ignoring the calls behind him. He will not put up with someone who won’t listen to him, not again. Not if he has any control over it, and Marshal Fowler and Chloe had guaranteed that he does.

    After those short 15 minutes, he reluctantly decides to get some outside help, and there’s only one person he can think of that would have both the information he’s looking for and the potential willingness to help– even if it’s only for Connor’s sake.

    He’s surprised to see the man he planned on looking for during breakfast. After a beat of hesitation, he figures that the sooner he asks the better, and heads over to a table with only one, familiar figure sitting at it.

    “Hello, Mr. Anderson.”

    The ex-pilot doesn’t turn around to face Ritch or sit up from being hunched over his food, and huffs in lieu of a greeting. That isn’t unexpected, though, since it is a well-known fact that Mr. Anderson normally doesn’t get out of bed until lunch is already being served. It would almost make Ritch feel guilty for bothering the exhausted man if he weren’t also concerned about himself and Connor being eaten alive by strangers who claim they want to help.

    Mr. Anderson suddenly turns his head towards Ritch, as if just realizing something. “I thought I told you to call me–”

    Ritch sees the shock on his face when he registers his blue eyes instead of Connor’s brown ones. He probably should have waited to call out to him until he was seen and couldn’t be mistaken for his twin, but he didn’t want to spook the older man by appearing in front of him without warning. There’s nothing to do about it now, though, so Ritch tries his best to offer what could be an apologetic smile, but could also very well look like an awkward grimace.

    He’s not well versed in showing proper emotions yet since he’s only had a day or so of practice. Simon and Josh are trying their best to teach him so he doesn’t look angry at the press if/when he’s announced as a new jaeger pilot, but so far it’s been an uphill battle.

    He doesn’t voice any of those thoughts when he addresses Mr. Anderson again. He is not like his twin, who gets nervous and overshares and rambles as a result. He has more self-control.

    “I apologize for interrupting your meal, but may I ask you for a favor? Or rather, offer to owe you one in exchange?”

    Something curious yet cautious glints in Mr. Anderson’s eyes. “What kind of favors?”

    “The kind of equivalent exchange. I may be out of line to ask this, but you do have experience with the therapists and such here, yes?”

    “Why the hell do you want to know.” Mr. Anderson snaps and sits up defensively, but it doesn’t bother Ritch. He was expecting this and more to come.

    “I would like to know which ones Connor and I should avoid.” Seeing Mr. Anderson’s blatant confusion, Ritch figures Connor hadn’t mentioned these trial meetings to him and explains further. “We started mandatory therapist jumping yesterday and the one I started with was pushy, impatient…” He purses his lips and looks to the side. “I generally try to avoid using words like “unpleasant” when describing people, but that’s the most accurate word I can use for him.” Ritch pauses long enough to look him in the eye. “Of course, if you do trust me enough to tell me these things, then I’ll let you cash in a single favor from me whenever you’d like.”

    Mr. Anderson snorts and turns to his food again, trying and failing to not let his surprise show. Is he surprised because Ritch wants his help, even though he can count their interactions on one hand? He can’t imagine it being anything else, especially since he knows of some of their issues from Connor apparently mentioning and/or actually talking about them with the older man. Maybe his twin downplayed their experiences again despite being much more anxious than usual recently?

    God, this is way too much thinking for someone who’s been actively trying to not think for the past several weeks, years even.

    “Lemme guess, a favor within reason, right?” Mr. Anderson jokes sarcastically after a few moments.

    “I am not my brother or your old partner.” Ritch states.

    Mr.Anderson looks up at him at that, very still with slightly raised eyebrows, probably asking “Does that mean what I think it does?” silently. Ritch answers the assumed question with a slight upwards tilt of his head, “Yes.”

    Ritch has far less of an issue than Connor does with doing things that don’t exactly follow the rules. Not that his brother has any particular issue with breaking the rules, he just doesn’t like to anger people because he seems to have trouble making them not angry anymore. Ritch, on the other hand, usually knows exactly how to placate and bargain with most types of people, and thus he has very little apprehension of doing things against the rules.

    Mr. Anderson hesitates for a moment before nodding his head to the chair in front of him, saying, “Go and sit down. Should I wait for Connor before I start or–”

    “Wait for me to start what?” Ritch’s shoulders stiffen in surprise, but he quickly relaxes them again. He didn’t hear Connor behind him over the white noise of the food court. ��If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

    Ritch turns to his twin. “Mr. Anderson has agreed to tell us about some of the therapists here so we can narrow our search. Did you have a pleasant experience with yours yesterday evening, Connor?”

    He knows Connor catches the silent apology in his tone for ignoring him yesterday when his brother wanted to “compare results”, as he called it. Ritch needed to focus on how to get the tight-lipped Anderson to talk about something he likely would rather not. This is all rather straightforward and easy compared to what Ritch thought he was going to have to do.

    Connor answers as he sits down in the chair to the left of Ritch and places a steaming cup near Mr. Anderson’s tray, “I wouldn’t call it pleasant, but I wouldn’t call it unpleasant either. I believe Dr. Amelia Johan would be suitable enough if there were few or no other options. What about yours?”

    Ritch feels his expression darken slightly and has to stop himself before he clears it, then he ignores how vulnerable and awkward he feels in order to exaggerate the emotion. According to Josh and Simon, not immediately returning his face back to neutral makes him seem more human, as mildly insulting as it was to insinuate that he wasn’t human for keeping his thoughts more private. It’s one of the things they insisted he work on, though.

    “Avoid appointments with Mr. Johnson.” Ritch states plainly, pretending he doesn’t see Connor’s concerned look and body language out of the corner of his eye.

    Hank snorts in agreement. “You were right to call that man pushy. Pushy and he never lets the conversation be turned to himself or give you a break for even a second. It’s like talking to a wall that always insists you got mental work to be doin’.” He shakes his head, “I guess it works for some people… From what I heard, the roughest appointment with him is the first one, especially if you don’t work with him, but I wouldn’t know.” he finishes with a shrug.

    Connor frowns. “That’s pretty much the opposite of what we’re looking for.”

    That visibly grabs Mr. Anderson’s attention. “You’re both wantin’ the same kind of shrink?”

    Connor nods with what looks like amusement in his eyes, “It was a surprise to us as well.”

    “We’d prefer someone who is kind and more casual rather than always controlling where the conversation goes.” Ritch finishes.

    “You’d probably like Alicia Steinfield or Alexander White, then,” the older man informs immediately. “If they even still work here, that is. And avoid Johnson–” he gestures to Ritch “–obviously, and Dustin Payne and Felix Antúnez. They’re pretty strict and prefer to follow the ‘therapy is only about work’ policy. I didn’t like them much, either.”

    The ex-pilot takes a slower, almost exaggerated bite of what’s left of his breakfast. Ritch wonders if that’s a normal thing for him and Connor, because his brother, without seemingly realizing it, starts eating his own previously ignored breakfast. Interesting.

    “Dr. Steinfield and Dr. White.” Ritch forces himself to nod as he commits the names to memory because that’s apparently a normal, human thing to do according to Markus.

    Connor turns to face Ritch. “Do you think we could request to change our schedules so we can meet them this afternoon instead of the ones we had previously?”

    “I’m willing to try. After we finish breakfast.” Ritch adds as Connor moves to get up. “I’m sure they’ll at least let us skip anyone with a similar... technique as Dr. Johnson.”

    Connor nods, settles back in his seat, and starts shoveling food in his mouth in a way that Amanda would definitely disapprove of. Ritch simply sighs and turns to finish his own food in a more respectable-sized bites. He and Mr. Anderson end up making eye contact for a moment, just long enough for the older man to nod at him, and for him to return it.

    Getting this information was much easier than he thought it would have been, indeed.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Once Ritch finishes his own food and leaves with the message that he’ll be going to the training room after requesting a meeting with whoever’s in charge of setting up their appointments, Connor quickly swallows his large bite of food. Speaking with a full mouth isn’t a habit he particularly cares about if other people do it (he’s had to sit through too many meals with too many “important” people who do that to truly care anymore), but he hates doing it to others. Besides, Hank may put up with his weird eating habits (some days, like today, he’ll shovel his food in his mouth because he can’t get enough, and other days he’s barely able to force down several nibbles), but he's pretty positive the ex-pilot draws the line at seeing what he’s chewing.

    “Thank you.” Connor says, not hiding any of his sincerity or gratitude.

    Hank harrumphs and looks away. “I did that for more selfish reasons than you think, Connor. You don’t need to thank me.”

    Connor simply raises an eyebrow. “If I know you as much as I’d like to think I know you, I know that if you didn’t really want to surrender that information, no amount of bribing from Ritch would have gotten you to tell us.” Hank’s head snaps up at that, but Connor pushes on. “And considering that I wasn’t far behind Ritch when coming to the food court, he didn’t have to barter with you very much to get you to agree.”

    He doesn’t explicitly say how he’s almost positive that means Hank actually care about people and things, even if he doesn’t realize or want to admit it himself. Hank hates even the mention of himself having any positive emotions for whatever reason. Connor doesn’t understand it, but he hopes to learn at some point in the future when Hank is ready. If he becomes ready.

    He almost expects Hank to get grumpy or irritated at him for even insinuating he may secretly be a caring person, but he just sits there and stares at Connor for a few moments. Connor decides against continuing the eye contact, since it usually make things more awkward for Hank when he snaps out of whatever it is that makes him zone out like this occasionally. He turns back to his food. Just as he raises his second bite to his mouth, Hank speaks up with a cautious tone.

    “How did you know he offered me something for the information?”

    Connor answers easily and nonchalantly, “That’s his tactic for getting something he wants.”

    “Huh?”

    Connor sets down his fork of food and looks up to study Hank’s confused– and concerned?– face. He figures the full truth of Ritch and Connor having to train themselves to be successful manipulators so they could get nice things while growing up would ruin everything he’s trying to do and be with Hank, will invalidate every single thing Connor has ever done or said to gain the fragile, unsteady trust he’s gotten from him, so he only tells a gross understatement.

    “When Ritch wants or needs something from someone he doesn’t know well but trusts enough to not be purposefully difficult or cruel, he offers a favor because he doesn’t know which specific thing that person may want. It’s nice to know that he trusts you enough to not purposefully send him into a situation that will get him hurt in huge trouble.” Connor smiles lightly and takes another bite of food, believing the conversation is over.

    “What about you?” Hank’s question pulls him out of his head.

    Connor snaps his head up in surprise. “Me? What about me?”

    Hank huffs in what sounds like amusement, and the assumption is proven right when Connor catches the slight uplift at the corners of his mouth as he shakes his head.

    “How do you get what you want from people?”

    Connor only hesitates in his answer because he has a feeling that Hank will not like it.

    “I like to do most things on my own without needing to ask for anything because I like the sense of accomplishment, so I usually only needed to pull little tricks when Amanda needed sponsors for something and Ritch and I decided to split up. In those cases...” Connor glances away.

    “People like giving things to people and creatures that look innocent, helpless, and fragile, like small children or puppies or kittens. Even on a subconscious level, people like having something to temporarily protect, whether it’s because of the ego boost or just because they’re a nice person and like to help. Even if everyone knows that I am the opposite of fragile and I’m certainly not helpless or childish, I tend to appear so when in uncomfortable situations, so it helped me gain pity points when making the rounds for sponsors.”

    “Is that part of why you get anxious if people don’t like you? The sponsorship stuff?” Hank’s winces, like he didn’t mean to say it, probably knowing how quickly this question could make things go wrong, but did anyway.

    But Connor doesn’t feel the same suffocating pressure he knows he’d feel if anyone else– even Ritch– had asked this same question. He knows Hank hates people, and that he hates gossip even more. He knows Hank isn’t asking him this to judge him or anything of the sort. If anything, he’s asking out of curiosity that has mixed with the same protectiveness that he showed when he gave him the weighted blanket and the stress ball, that leaked in his voice when he asked how old Connor was that same day.

    As much as he has been subtly pushing to get closer to Hank, Connor is only now realizing how safe and calm he feels around him compared to how he feels around the people closer to his age. It’s not logical by any means for someone who is unstable (hopefully only temporarily) to get along with someone who is easy to anger and snap– Ritch has made that beyond clear since the very beginning– but for some reason, it’s working for them. He doesn’t know how or why, but it is, and he’d really rather not look a gift horse in the mouth.

    “Hey, Connor, you don’t have to–”

    “I don’t know.” Connor quickly says, needing to interrupt Hank’s obvious attempt to take back the question.

    After a short moment of pondering, though, he sets his elbow on the table and his head in his palm, continuing in a casual tone, “I don’t actually know, I’ve never thought about any of it before.” He huffs a laugh that lacks humor, lowering his hand and turning back to his food. “That’s probably why I have to find a mandatory shrink, huh? To get me to analyze this with this stuff?” He shakes his head. “Ritch is not going to like this one bit, and it’s going to get much worse before it gets any better.”

    “Yea.” Hank says with obvious discomfort. It snaps Connor’s attention back on him. “Yea, it probably will be. You uh, you even okay enough for the shit that’s about to pile on ya? Especially 'cause you’re apparently going straight into a jaeger once you’re declared ready for it. Skipping training and all.” he asks with false nonchalance. Connor has no clue why Hank is asking these questions when he usually avoids this kind of thing like the plague, but he answers anyway.

    “I know I’ve been a nervous wreck since we first got here, but that’s mainly because Ritch and I have never been anywhere near as busy and overwhelming as this place can be. And it certainly didn’t help that we were trying our best to blend in with the herd and not stand out when we’ve spent the last decade learning how to do the exact opposite. Now that we’re slowly getting used to this place and not having to worry about holding back anymore, we’ll be able to show everyone exactly why we were able to graduate from this program so young.” he finishes confidently, head up and back straight.

    Hank just looks at him for a moment. Right as it starts making Connor unsure about his answer and has him coming up with things to distract from his bold statement, Hank nods and starts clearing his area. The ex-pilot makes eye contact with him with a strange, earnest look he doesn’t think he’s seen from the older man before.

    “I hope you will, Connor. Show ‘em what ya got.”

    Hank turns and leaves, leaving Connor with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

    The first thought that comes to mind after his thoughts have slowed down enough is man, I wish I had someone to tell about this. Of course, he’s sure that Simon, Markus, and Josh would listen (not North, though), but they wouldn’t understand why this is a big deal, especially since they still don’t seem to like Hank very much. For that same reason, Connor certainly can’t go to Ritch about this either, even with the fact that Ritch now voluntarily owes Hank a favor. Owing something to someone is different than tolerating them enough to listen to a twin get excited over the tiniest bit of encouragement and support from them.

    Connor quickly finishes his meal and cleans up before heading to the training area. If he’s going to prove to everyone that he deserves to stay here even though he and Ritch have lied multiple times on things that definitely should have gotten them thrown out, then he’s going to need a good partner.

    Traci is a good choice– and Connor’s first on his list– but she and Ritch get along easier with one another than she does with Connor. He doesn’t know exactly why, but she’s very hesitant around him and the atmosphere between them is awkward more often than not, so that’s probably a no-go. Jeremy could possibly work too, but his combat skill is too far behind for Connor to feel comfortable approaching him with something like offering a partnership. Plus, he doesn’t know much about his personality beyond “quiet” and “reserved”, so that is a bit of an issue. He’ll have to start some conversations with the other people on his list before he can properly narrow down–

    “Connor! Hey!”

    Unbothered by the interruption, he spins to greet Markus, then waves to Simon, North, and Josh who are close behind him. He pauses to let the four of them catch up before continuing on or saying anything.

    “I don’t think we’ve actually talked since the morning after the party. How have you guys been holding up with the training regime?” Connor asks with a smile.

    “It’s been hell,” North immediately complains, “and I know we haven’t even started the hard-core stuff yet. We’re just getting into shape and learning basics.”

    Markus nods in agreement, “You and Ritch are lucky you get to skip this.”

    “Maybe not so lucky…” Simon interjects, “That just means they’ve done all of this at an earlier age.”

    Don’t panic, don’t panic. They mean nothing by it, just don’t panic and make things weird, Connor chants to himself as he forces himself to answer aloud calmly with a shrug.

    “It wasn’t too bad. We were children with lots of energy when we started doing what you guys are doing now.”

    North and Josh nod together. It’s the first time he’s ever seen the two agree on something before. It’s almost frightening.

    “Traci started her self-defense and karate lessons when she was young, so it makes sense.”

    There’s a silence that Connor would describe as calm or peaceful that lasts for a few moments. He counts it as a win that he has managed to not visibly freak out like he is internally. He messes with his hair for a second to give his hands something to do in the hopes that maybe they’ll stop shaking if he does. Markus must catch the nervous movement for what it is, though.

    “You alright, Connor?”

    “Yea, I’m fine.” He plans on stopping there, but then he realizes that these four people are probably the best people he can go to for advice on making friends and finding potential partners. “I’m just worried about finding a partner, I guess. As you could probably tell, I normally don’t do too well around people I don’t know well.” Connor chuckles softly, but even he can tell that it’s somewhat off.

    “Any chance we could help with that?”

    Connor mentally blesses Simon as he says, “If you don’t mind, that would be amazing.”

    Josh smiles and comes around to Connor’s other side. “So what do you need help with?”

    He barely stops himself from saying everything short of learning the English language.

    “How did you guys know you could be compatible with one another? Because Ritch and I are technically compatible, but in reality we aren’t.”

    “So the difference between working well with another person and being drift compatible, you mean?” Simon clarifies, and Connor nods graciously. “I guess you wouldn’t have to learn too much about that since you were supposed to pair up with Ritch all along, huh?

    When Connor nods once more– again very thankful that Simon is insightful enough to figure this out without having to make Connor struggle to get a proper explanation out– Markus begins the explanation.

    “Well, I guess one difference is how well you know a person. Obviously, people who have known each other for longer are naturally going to be more compatible because they can be more in sync, but what we’re learning now in class is that that alone just isn’t enough to become jaeger pilots. Skill and mindset play huge roles in it too.”

    “Like the Hallowitts.” North offers. “They get along great and are as close as siblings can realistically be, but they are, by far, the least compatible pair in that room. I’d be surprised if they last another week here.”

    “I’m inclined to agree.” North snorts and Markus smiles at Connor’s wording, but he forces himself to pay it no mind. “As much as I’d like to think that everyone has an equal chance here, they just don’t. There’s a reason passing rates of the jaeger training are so low, and even those who pass aren’t guaranteed to become pilots.”

    Josh nods, “Exactly. Now, that being said, there are rare cases of two people who have never met being perfectly compatible.”

    “I guess the difference is how you mentally click with a person,” Simon jumps in, “Like you and Ritch don’t dislike one another, but you also don’t really get along or understand each other, right? Maybe at one point you did, but not anymore. You guys aren’t drift compatible because your mentalities and coping mechanisms are just too different, even though you both grew up in the exact same circumstances and have complimenting skill sets.”

    “So I find someone who understands the crazy things I do in certain situations and why I do it?” Connor asks dubiously.

    “And someone that can keep up with you, because damn, Connor, you and Ritch whooped each other’s asses on that first day.”

    Connor sighs heavily. He still has the aches from a couple of the worse bruises left over when he touches them, even though there are no more marks, because there hasn’t been any other training or exercises that have given him new bruises and scrapes so he can ignore the old ones. Don’t get him wrong, it’s nice to not have something he needs to actively ignore, but it’s yet another difference from what he grew up with and more proof that he’s in a completely different world now.

    Connor sighs again, with this one coming out as more of a groan than a true sigh. Where the ever loving hell is he supposed to find someone who can not only keep up with him in skill and not drag him down constantly, but also understand him and his trauma (if what Dr. Johan was going on about in their meeting yesterday is actually true for him, anyway) enough to know when to leave Connor alone and let him to his thing and when to step in to help.

    Ritch is relatively good at doing so, mainly because Connor usually likes being left alone, and Ritch always leaves him alone, but he doesn’t seem to understand Connor at all or care to learn the intricacies of him. He also doesn’t seem interested in letting Connor see any side of him that isn’t practically programmed by Amanda (the level of shock he felt when he saw and heard Ritch actually bantering with none other than Gavin Reed during the “Alex knifing” almost hurt. Why did it take such a publicly known asshole to bring out any kind of personality in Ritch? Why couldn’t Connor after his years of trying?).

    If his own brother can’t understand, then how can he expect anyone else to understand when they won’t have a clue of what he’s been through until it’s too late. He already opens old wounds over and over again with god-awful memories whenever he gets into a mood dip, he doesn’t want to scar anyone else who wouldn't even know what to expect, or worse, they think they do know what to expect. Although, how can they when he can barely think about it in his own head without going into panic-and-shutdown mode?

    “Hey,” Markus brushes his hand against Connor’s arm, gently bringing him out of his thoughts. He gets too lost in them too often.

    He nudges Markus’ hand kindly and says in a tone much more tranquil than he feels, “I’m alright. Just thinking of possible candidates.”

    “And?” North smirks. Count on her to try to lighten dark or awkward moods.

    “I’ve got pretty much nothing.” Connor chuckles much more genuinely than last time. If it has a tad bit of hysteria mixed in like he feels like it might, then no one reacts to it.

    At the four’s light insistence, he agrees to tell them why he believes he won’t match with anyone. He can’t look up from the floor at all. He tries to for half a second, but that makes everything so much worse about this situation, so he stares at his boots. If he tries hard enough, maybe he can forget that trying to explain this exact thing just a few weeks ago is what left him self-bedridden for a couple of days; maybe if he ignores hard enough, he can pretend that he’s talking to himself and there are only his footsteps instead of five sets in total. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he stops so the other four have to stop too if they want to listen. No more footsteps, problem partially solved.

    He can’t procrastinate that answer anymore.

    “I don’t know if you’ve been told this already, or if it’s just common sense to people, but in the drift, you share every single memory with person you’re pairing with. Certain events get more attention than others, obviously, and there is no known way to control what they both see or for how long. You just live through the other person’s memories as if you’re looking back on your own, and then look back on your own while a presence hovers over your shoulder and someone else’s emotions and reactions to events flow through the drift.” He takes another deep breath; his heart rate is getting too fast and his head is feeling too light.

    “And with that being said, I’ve got some real bad memories. Bad enough that Amanda used to try and convince me that they were just vivid nightmares. I think Ritch believes it’s a dream for whatever reason– or maybe he’s still on her side or something?– I don’t know, but it doesn’t work for me. I still can’t talk about it, but thinking like that and trying too hard to bury it is what made me break and sent me in that mood dip a while ago.” 

    He finally gets the courage to look up at the others and struggles to force his breathing to stay deep and slow. It helps that they only look concerned and surprised, rather than literally any other emotion his head was coming up with– fear and disgust, to name a couple. Although, he doesn’t know if the shock is a reaction to the information about what the drift is like, or to the fact that he’s actually talking instead of running and hiding in his room like he so desperately wants to.

    “I don’t want to scare anyone. I can’t live through those memories– not now, anyway– so how can I expect someone else to?” Connor shakes his head, trying to ignore the nausea that’s slowly but steadily growing. “I don’t even know how Ritch is gonna do it. I mean, the only people besides us who really know about this are you guys and–”

    Hank.

    Hank, who let him sit at his table on Connor’s first day even though he had a reputation of eating anyone who came near him alive, and had nearly done so to Connor at first. Hank, who stepped in and helped make him eat after his mood dip even though they had barely known each other for a couple days at most; who, almost immediately after, lead him back to his bunker (a place no one has been to in a long, long time, supposedly) so he could give him a weighted blanket and stress ball. Hank, whom Connor told he lied on essential paperwork when Hank was giving him a snack from his stash (another unheard of thing) and decided to tell Marshal Fowler to give him and Ritch a second chance instead of to get rid of them. Hank, who, despite saying weeks earlier “You’re still a kid to me”, had asked Connor to call him by his first name and has always treated him like a proper adult even though he is quite literally the youngest person on this base.

    Hank, who apparently loves (or at least used to love) dogs and, if the laugh lines and obvious protective instincts are anything to go by, used to be a kind, giving fellow who would laugh and smile easily; who now has to drown his traumas with alcohol and alcohol-induced sleep, not unlike how Connor drowns his own haunting memories with mind-numbing sleep brought by high-grade sleeping oils.

    No one makes– has ever made Connor as comfortable as he does, for whatever reason. It’s been years since anyone has been able to break down Hank’s walls like Connor has been doing effortlessly these past few weeks. They both have their issues, but Connor thinks that could help if they were to ever enter the drift together. Hank wouldn’t be scarred by his memories, and Connor doubts the ex-pilot’s memories could affect him any more than his own traumas affect him now. Besides, Connor has a feeling that he won’t be declared ready-for-battle as quickly as Ritch will be, so that’s plenty of time to wear Hank down, right?

    It’s not like the ex-pilot needs to do too much to get back into shape, anyway. Years and years of doing something over and over again makes every single technique and maneuver pure muscle memory that can’t truly be forgotten. That mixed with the fact that Connor based a lot of his own combat style on Hank’s and Marshal Fowler’s from when they were still active, they might fight better together than people would think. Plus, and Connor doesn’t think anyone else has noticed this between them averting their eyes from him and the hoodies he normally wears, but Hank is still rather built under that beer gut. He could probably carry Connor across the base if he really wanted to.

    Scratch that, he absolutely could if he tried, easily. He almost wants to test that some day. Maybe. Possibly.

    “Uhh, Connor? You good?” Josh tentatively 

    Connor shakes his head in wonder. “Yea, actually. I…”

    He pays close attention to himself, how his breathing is back to normal, the nausea and lightheadedness are almost gone, and he only just now realizes that his hands were shaking again because they don’t feel that way anymore. Yea, his heart rate is still a little high, but give it a few minutes and even that’ll be back to normal.

    He doesn’t trust this.

    “I feel fine. Way calmer than a minute ago.” He adds doubtfully, scrutinizing his own steady hands as if they can give him the answers he wants. “I think I found someone I may be compatible with, but I don’t even know if he’ll want to pair with me to pilot a jaeger. But even that made me feel better.” He looks around at the small group with uncertainty. “I’ve rarely calmed down that fast in my life, and never outside of my own room where I can be left alone to think.”

    North steps forward and carefully places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Seems like you’re the plannin’ type of guy. You always feel better when you have a plan, and hate when you don’t, right?”

    Based on everyone’s light laughter and large smiles, he doesn’t hide his amazement and realization well enough. That makes sense, though, because he wasn’t trying very hard in the first place.

    “That… That makes a lot of sense. Perfect sense.” Connor smiles.

    He gestures forward, signaling that he’s ready to keep moving, and they all do happily. Connor doesn’t really stop thinking about how he could possibly get Hank to at least test their compatibility and get him warmed up to the idea of un-retiring.

    He doubts that Marshal Fowler would have a problem with helping him get Hank jaeger-ready if Connor can somehow prove their compatibility and Hank’s willingness to start piloting again. If he would have a problem with it, he doesn’t think Hank would be on the base anymore, let alone still bunking in the jaeger pilots’ hall. Marshal Fowler doesn’t seem to be the type to play favorites and put friends first, but Connor could always be wrong.

    As he slowly forms a plan in his head, he slowly becomes more at ease. It’ll take more in-depth thinking and several pages in his notebook, but where before he only had a vague hope, now he has a small chance, and that’s slowly becoming just enough for Connor.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

    Gavin is getting real tired of all this snooping around. He’s normally the type of guy to fling himself right into the thick of things and deal with the repercussions later; not because he doesn’t care about what kind of trouble he’ll get into later– at least not anymore– but because he doesn’t have enough patience to sit still and do nothing even though he knows there’s bad things going on.

    He tried to convince himself over the past couple of days to just do as Luther and Fowler said and not get involved in the “Alex Knife Supplier” case, as he’s been calling it in his head, but nothing has happened to his top suspects at all and he doesn’t want those assholes to get away scot free. It’s one thing to just be an asshole, it’s another to actively endanger the lives of coworkers and allies. Even he knows that.

    There’s still 20 minutes left of breakfast and he still hasn’t eaten or even entered the food court because he’s been too busy watching those assholes from afar in the hopes that he can catch anything that can bring up more of a case against them. He’d rather not tussle with them until he knows he can get into their bunker and confiscate whatever the fuck is in there, but right now it’s starting to look like he’ll have to tussle with them if he wants any evidence at all.

    “What are you doing, Reed?”

    Gavin instinctively spins around and throws a punch right at the man’s throat, but it’s expertly caught by none other than the Ritch Bitch. After a split moment of surprise from having his punch properly caught, rather than blocked or deflected (which other people have trouble doing sometimes), Gavin instantly scowls and rips his fist away from the other’s grip, silently hoping the goody-two-shoes decides against reporting him for assault or something like that.

    “Don’t fuckin’ sneak up behind me, asshole,” he sneers, “And it’s none of your god damned business. So fuck off.”

    Ritchie raises an unimpressed eyebrow– since when does this dude emote?– then tilts his head at him like a fucking dog. He shifts his gaze to the group Gavin’s been watching for the past hour.

    “Isn’t that the group Alex hung around before he was thrown out?” he asks in a weird tone, almost as if he was aiming for interest or teasing and fell flat.

    Gavin’s eyebrows rise in surprise for just a moment before settling back into a scowl. He hates how many times this prick has caught him off guard today.

    “M’ surprised you even know that. Thought you were too busy bein’ the top of your class to pay attention to what the others were up to.” he turns back to the group, watching them laugh about something Gavin would probably want to punch them over.

    Ritch steps closer to him, inviting himself into Gavin’s cover like an asshole, as he explains, “If anything, being the top of my class means I need to pay closer attention to the other trainees, since I’m somewhat a tutor and an example for them. But that’s besides the point, I know someone as impatient and conflict-hungry as you wouldn’t wait in the shadows without a good reason. What are you waiting for, hm?” the asshole taunts. At least he sounds more normal now. Gavin doesn’t know why, but it was really unsettling before.

    He huffs irritably, but doesn’t immediately taunt back. He may as well tell a part of it. If Ritch is right about being top of his class, then maybe he’ll have some new input, as much as Gavin hates the thought of needing someone else’s help. A mission completed with someone’s help is better than a mission failed with escaped villains, after all.

    “I think they had something to do with how Alex got his knives.”

    To his surprise, Ritch just nods in solemn agreement. “What’s stopping you from interrogating them?”

    Gavin huffs again, this time in irritation at the situation. “Fowler.”

    “Ah. You’re not supposed to get into it, but nothing has happened yet, yes?”

    Gavin whips his head around to glare at the human robot. He suddenly can’t be sure that that’s the expression his face actually makes, though, because the annoying asshole just nods like he’s confirming something to himself again.

    “Have you tried getting into their bunker to check for clues yourself?”

    When Gavin huffs, it comes out less irritable and more incredulous of how stupid this guy can be.

    “If I could do that I wouldn’t be fucking bothering with this, now would I?”

    The trainee just sighs and says, “Come on,” with a beckoning wave of his hand, then turns around and starts walking away. Gavin doesn’t move.

    “Where the hell do you think you’re going? And why the fuck should I follow your ugly ass?”

    ��If you want to be caught and get us in some serious trouble, then sure, keep talking that loudly. Also, I’m almost interested in seeing the asses you’re used to looking at if you think mine is ugly.”

    Gavin barks a laugh that has very little amusement. What makes him think he can just start controlling the show out of nowhere like this?

    “You? Trouble? Aren’t you supposed to be, like, the golden child of the current gaggle of recruits or something?”

    Ritch spins around and looks at Gavin with an obviously forced smug and mischievous smile. “If you honestly believe that, then you’re just like everyone else here and have no clue how wide my skill set actually is.” He turns back around and starts walking again. “Come or don’t come, I don’t care.”

    It takes a second for Gavin’s brain to reboot because it’s obvious Ritch is obviously trying something new here and holy mother of god is it making him uncomfortable. This is not the Dicky Ritchy (that name was more than a stretch, never again) he’s been messing with for the past week or so. Once his head does reboot, though, his curiosity of what the hell baby-face is going to do and the irritation that he thinks he can one-up Gavin again wins over standing by the entrance of the food court and watching a bunch of assholes laugh a ways away as if they don’t realize they’re the scum of the earth.

    He speed-walks to catch up to Ritch, because it’ll be a cold day in hell when he’s seen running or jogging anywhere that isn’t to a jaeger or a kaiju. Once he makes it to Ritch’s side, the other speaks in a soft tone.

    “I don’t actually know where their bunker is, so you need to lead the way, unfortunately.” Gavin groans, but still pulls ahead slightly to lead. “How much time do you think we have until they return to the room, and are there any cameras?”

    Everything about this encounter with Ritch is throwing him the hell off– not just how strange the man is being– but he plays along anyway, never one to turn down some scheming.

    “The cameras in the pilot’s hall has been broken for months, maybe years. And the fucksticks will be out of the way for at least an hour. They always stay in the food court until they’re kicked out after breakfast is over, then they go to the gym for a while.” It’s why he avoids the gym like the plague in the morning.

    “Perfect.” he smiles with that same forced smile as before. Gavin’s had enough.

    “Okay, I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’re really startin’ to creep me the fuck out.”

    That rips the fake smile right off the robot’s face. Good, that was the main thing bothering him.

    “Am I?”

    “Yes.”

    “Oh.”

    There’s a silent pause, then Gavin’s starts talking partially because he fucking hates silences and partially because he needs to never see that kind of expression on Retch’s (he may actually use that one) face again.

    “So if I’m reading this right, you’re doin’ me a favor by apparently getting me into this dorm so I can raid their shit, right?” Ritch nods silently, so he continues, “Good. So I’m just gonna return the favor ahead of time and give you some advice because I hate being indebted to people. Got it, asstown?”

    Ritch turns his head to properly look at Gavin, then nods again, slower this time. There’s no smart ass comment to the insult, though, unfortunately.

    Gavin immediately launches into a half-taunting half-serious ramble, “Now I’m only gonna say this one time– so you better fuckin’ savor this, ‘cause I don’t do this shit for just anyone– but holy shit you need to stop making faces and using certain tones when you don’t actually want to. Like, you’re known for being a robot. You can’t feel emotions the way the rest of us can, or you just process them or show ‘em differently. That’s your thing, just like my thing’s being a fuckin’ dickwad all the time and Anderson’s is being a depressed drunkard.

    “Don’t try to go full human on everyone all of a sudden. Just stay fuckin’ blank if you wanna. Only cowards give in to peer pressure and shit.” Gavin huffs in exasperation. He’s is in a very huffy mood today, apparently. “I don’t like looking at your ugly-ass, baby-faced mug as it is, and it is so much worse when you try to smile or some shit like that when you’re obviously not feelin’ it. It’s fucking unatural is what it is.” He shivers and curls his lip in exaggerated disgust.

    Ritch just stares at him for a second, then states in his normal, flat tone, “The only unnatural thing here is how much you smell despite the fact you’ve been standing around and doing nothing for the past couple of days.”

    Gavin smiles evilly, secretly thankful that Ritch didn’t try to go down the genuine route and is instead continuing their normal interactions. Of all the nasty names under the sun he could call him, “unobservant” and “stupid” are two he can’t. “Emotionally oblivious” and “ignorant” or “naive”, however, are not off the table.

    “No, the unnatural thing here is that you’re a grown ass man and you use fruit-scented lotion.”

    Ritch gives him a weird look, but it’s at least genuine, thank god. “I do not use lotion, I simply shower everyday, unlike some people.” He pauses barely long enough to look Gavin up and down before continuing. “It’s not my fault you prefer what is obviously scentless men’s soap when women’s soap smells nicer and is less harsh on skin.” He faces front again.

    “Hold on,” Gavin wheezes, “You actually use women’s soap? Like, regularly?”

    “What of it? Are you not secure enough in your gender and sexual identity that using a soap with fruity smells that come in colorful bottles is too much for your poor masculine mind to handle? Poor baby.”

    Gavin wrinkles his nose. “Hell no. I’m gay as fuck but you still don’t see me using that girly shit. It’s a matter of preference, asshole. And I’m surprised you even know what gender identity even is, since you don’t seem to know much else about real humans.”

    Gavin doesn’t realize what he just blatantly admitted to until he’s done speaking. Of course he has to be enough of a dumb ass to officially come out to the one dude who was raised by an old woman. God damn it, he’s probably homophobic. At least it’ll give Gavin a reason to punch him the next time he gets irritated with him.

    Either oblivious to Gavin’s internal wariness or somehow reading his mind, Ritch explains in a condescending tone, “Amanda was insistent that we don’t treat people differently just because of how they identify, and one way of doing that was learning proper titles of people who aren’t ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ and other things your small brain would probably get bored with. But good for you for being just a normal ass and not a homophobic one. You’re slightly less likely to get punched now, anyway.”

    That… is actually pretty cool, the fact that Ritch apparently has no problem with anyone who isn’t cis-het. It’s a complete plot twist and surprise, but it’s cool to know that the dude would only hate him because he’s him and not because he’s gay. He’s been tired of the homophobic jokes and slurs since the 5th grade, so it’ll be refreshing to have someone that’ll skip right over that genre of insults with him, as refreshing as it can be when they’re ridiculing one another, that is (which can be damn refreshing, if you ask him).

    Gavin lets their talk end there as he slows down when they get close to the grease-heads’ bunker. He then silently checks the hall for anyone who could be watching or approaching, and quiets his voice down when he addresses Ritch, keeping a careful ear out for any footsteps or voices. He may be reckless half the time, but he’s not stupid enough to get caught breaking and entering someone’s private dorm.

    “Well, asshat, this is it. Work your robot magic and hack us in.”

    “It’s actually not hacking of any kind. I would ask if you want to learn how, but I doubt there’s enough room in your skull for a brain larger than a peanut with how huge your ego is.”

    An involuntary, offended squawk bursts out of Gavin’s throat, and after a short hesitation where he lets himself be embarrassed before moving on, he smacks Ritch on the arm. “Move over asshole. My ego ain’t that fuckin’ big, asshole, you’re mistaking me for yourself.”

    Gavin sees Ritch roll his eyes. “First, look at the keypad, you see the numbers that are more worn down than the others?”

    “2, 5, and 7? What about them?” Gavin replies in a more serious tone, suddenly a lot more invested in this than he thought he would be.

    “Those are the three numbers that are in the code. Basically, over time, as the same buttons get pushed over and over, the oils and pressure from fingers either wear down the ink of the numbers, or tint the glass over the buttons and give it a tan or brownish look compared to the other clear ones, depending on what kind of keypad it is.”

    “Okay then, genius, how do we know the order of the code, ‘cause–”

    “I wasn’t done,” Ritch interrupts, “The first button is usually the most worn down since the most oils rub off and degrade it more than the others, but in this case, since there are only three numbers worn down for a four code password, the most worn-down one is the one pressed twice, the next worn down is probably first. And when there are repeat numbers in a code as short as this, they’re rarely one directly after another.”

    “So the 2 is repeated, and the 5 is probably before the 7.”

    “Yes.”

    “What if the twos are actually right next to each other. What if they’re both first and last?”

    Ritch actually smirks this time. “I’ll be smart about it and we hope for the best.” Gavin gives him an incredulous look as he continues. “How many tries do we get to do this?”

    “Three. If you fuckin’ think you can–”

    “Watch and learn.” Ritch interrupts fuckin’ again as he gives his full attention to the keypad.

    He tries 5272 first and is denied, then immediately tries 2725 and the door unlocks with a small, green flash of light.

    Gavin doesn’t even know how to react. “What the fuck. I thought you said the 5 was first!”

    Ritch just nods and opens the door. “ I did, but there are other variables that I don’t feel like going over right now, we don’t have time to waste.” He nods to the door he’s holding open, “You go in and investigate and I’ll stand guard out here. I’ll knock if I think someone is coming so you can get out. Wouldn’t want you to get caught and rat me out to lessen your sentence, or have you get both of us caught in the first place.”

    “Ha ha. I’m glad you’re not coming in, anyway. You’d just get in my way, bitch.” He shoves past the trainee, purposely knocking his shoulder into his.

    “Close, but no cigar.” Gavin turns and looks at him in confusion. “My name is Ritch with an ‘R’, not a ‘B’. I can understand if you misread it, but mishearing it when you have no documented hearing problems is a different matter altogether.” He sighs dramatically while maintaining his straight face, which is kind of odd to witness, but not the same odd as before. “At least you’re learning, it was closer than ‘Dick’, anyway.” He finishes as he shuts the door.

    Gavin flips him off even though he won’t see it, then mumbles, “Fuck off, you prick.”

    Gavin quickly looks around the smelly, messy bunker. Time for the fun part.

    He knows better than to dig through places aimlessly and move things too much, so he goes to the tiny closets first. It’s crammed with useless stuff, but there’s nothing clearly illegal hiding in there and there doesn’t look like there’s a false back or bottom, so he closes it. The other personal closet is exactly the same– messy, but inconspicuous– so he moves on. He quickly checks under the bed (nothing) and on the top bunk towards the wall (again, nothing) before moving on to the bathroom.

    In the bathroom, the first thing that Gavin notices is that the mirror is slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be possible since the medicine cabinet behind it is welded to the wall. He opens it and it’s immediately apparent to Gavin that there is a false back; the cabinet is way thinner and more warped than his and Tina’s are, and all of these things are supposed to be basically identical. The fact that it’s empty only accentuates how wrong it looks because there’s nothing blocking the false back.

    He peels it back with ease and behind it is a stack of sheathed knives. Just judging by the handles of these weapons– and the fact that they were (poorly) hidden– they are definitely not pocket knives (the only knives permitted, since they’re mostly used for cutting wires and cables and are smaller, less harmful).

    Before he can do anything else about this new discovery, though, he hears the bunker’s door click open and shut again. Gavin’s in the middle of trying to figure out what to do when Ritch barges into the bathroom and grabs his arm.

    “Gavin, we need to get out of here!” Ritch hisses and grabs Gavin’s arm right above the wrist and yanks him out of the bathroom.

    He tries to yank and twist out of the trainee’s grip, but he isn’t successful. “Give me a second to grab–”

    “I don’t care! We need to go. Now!”

    Suddenly he’s being shoved further away from the bathroom. He hears the medicine cabinet slam closed, then the trainee tugs Gavin towards the bunker door with more strength than he expected. He tries again to pull his arm out of his grip, but Ritch moves his hand and presses his thumb into the sensitive part of the inside of his elbow. He’s yanked in a direction then hears the bunker door clicks shut behind them along with any possible evidence that he now knows for a fact is in there. He doesn’t even remember the code to the door anymore, all he knows is that the five isn’t first, so he can’t get back in.

    He takes a split second to look up and down the hall and sees that it’s completely empty. He could have easily grabbed at least one of those knives. Hell, even using his phone to snap a quick picture of the stack of them with the false back in view would be enough to warrant a search of their dorm– possibly even have them suspended immediately while the investigation starts– and this fucking prick pulled him out for no god damned reason.

     Overcome with anger, he blindly kicks out where Ritch’s knee should be. It works. The asshole goes down for only a second before he rolls into a crouched position facing him, his expression angry and hard. He gets up to his feet smoothly, but Gavin isn’t stupid enough to believe that his muscles are actually as relaxed as they seem, they’re combat-ready, and this asshole is three seconds away from getting his fight.

    “Gavin, cut it out. We need to go–”

    “No! Let me back in you fucking asshole! There’s no one here!” he shouts, spinning with his arms spread out wide, showcasing the nothingness that is in the halls. “You’re just being fucking paranoid. We need those–”

    Ritch suddenly punches him in the jaw. Gavin takes two steps back, but quickly rights himself.

    “I said. Shut. Up.” Ritch snarls, but his attention is on something behind him, and Gavin uses that to his advantage.

    He quickly throws a punch towards Ritch’s collarbone and throat area, but the little devil twists just in time for Gavin to only catch the sensitive part where his shoulder meets his pec. 

    At least that should bruise real nicely. Get what you deserve, asshat.

    He doesn’t get much more time to think about it, though, because there’s suddenly a fist coming straight at his face again, and he ducks. Gavin throws a punch to his gut, but his opponent spins out of the way. He then aims a punch to Ritch’s face, but that gets caught and twisted. He aims a kick at the asshole’s knees before it can get too uncomfortable, and even though Ritch loosens his grip to dodge the attack and he’s able to get his fist free, the trainee doesn’t go down like he wanted.

    There’s a moment of hesitation from both of them. It’s only long enough for Gavin to see Ritch scowling and to get himself in the position to effectively whoop some ass. His partner-in-crime-turned-opponent doesn’t take his attention away from him again, and instead uses the moment to study Gavin’s stance. He has no doubt he has the same kind of attentive scowl on his own face right now.

    Gavin makes the first move, moving as if he’s going to punch with his right hand when he’s actually planning to go to the left. Disappointingly, Ritch doesn’t fall for it, and catches his arm. Gavin dodges his attempt at tripping him, then aims a blow at the stubborn asshole’s neck. He ends up letting go in order to dodge Gavin’s move, but is back quickly with a punch of his own. He ends up catching and tries to shove Ritch into a more vulnerable position, but he ends up letting go to dodge a kick to his gut.

    This guy definitely has more skill than the average trainee, especially for one this new, that’s for sure. Although, that won’t change the fact that he’ll mess up or tire before Gavin will, and he’ll be in a heap of trouble and pain for blowing up the plan.

    The only thing that Gavin is able to focus on after that is where the next punch or kick is coming from and where there’s an opening for him to punch or kick back. One one hand, he’s feeling confident because he hasn’t been hit a single time beyond that first jaw punch. He’s been catching, blocking, and dodging all of his kicks and punches. He’s pretty positive that the only injuries he’ll have from this fight are maybe sore hands and some bruises on his arms from the amount of blocking and deflecting he’s doing.

    On the other hand, however, Gavin’s really starting to get pissed off because Ritch is taking about as much damage as he is right now, which is none. The damn asshole doesn’t even look tired yet. Not that Gavin’s getting tired– he can keep this pace up for a while longer– but what kind of trainee as new as Ritch is able to keep up with a well-seasoned pilot and brawler? He already knew Ritch was good, but he wasn’t supposed to fucking match Gavin like this in a fight.

    Once Gavin accepts that this won’t go anywhere unless he switches things up and stops playing by sparring rules, he lunges forward with most of his weight to punch Ritch in the diaphragm with the hope to knock the wind out of him. It almost works, but Ritch dodges at the last moment and kicks him in the back of the knees as he passes, making Gavin collapse roughly onto his hands and knees. Just before Ritch can pin him down, he shoves himself up into a handstand and his heel narrowly misses the asshat’s jaw as he leans out of the way.

    He sees Ritch quickly swoop his leg out to knock his arms out from under him, but Gavin springs up and flips back onto his feet. He spins to face his opponent and aims yet another punch to his face, but it’s caught and isn’t immediately released like before. A hand comes flying towards Gavin’s neck, but he blocks it, grabbing the other’s wrist and twisting his arm down. Ritch suddenly spins himself so his back is facing him, then grabs Gavin’s wrist and yanks him closer. Before he can do anything to prevent it, Ritch shifts his balance and flips him over his shoulder.

    Gavin somehow manages to twist himself so he can land in a low crouch and wastes no time in jabbing an elbow back. It doesn’t hit anything, but Ritch does loosen his grip so he get free. Gavin rolls out of the way before he can get kicked down, then grabs Ritch’s ankle as it returns to the floor. He stands, bringing his opponent’s leg up by his shoulder, but instead of toppling over like he expected, Ritch quickly switches his weight to his hands and latches his free leg around Gavin’s middle, and when he lets go of his ankle to shove the menace off, Ritch latches that one around as well. Gavin knows what comes next before it happens, and lets himself be twisted and forced to the floor by Ritch’s weight, allowing him to sit on top of Gavin’s chest.

    He lets this happen because he was able to control how he landed, and made sure his feet were planted on the ground just as his back hits the floor. He immediately jerks his entire torso off the ground before Ritch can properly situate himself again, and thus makes him topple over for just a moment. A moment is all Gavin needs, though. He spins onto his stomach and tucks his legs under him at the same time, then rapidly sits up and shoves his head up and back. Ritch dodges the headbutt attempt, and Gavin watches him roll backwards into a standing position as he spins and stands to face him.

    In that split moment of stillness where they’re trying to predict each other’s next move, Gavin suddenly realizes that, for the first time in literal years, he’s having genuine fun sparring with someone. It would probably scare him if he weren’t so focused on the surprisingly competent trainee. He doesn’t even have enough room to think about or process why he would or should be scared. God damn Ritch and his god damned surprises at it again, the fucker.

    Before Gavin can gather his head long enough to make the first move, Ritch suddenly jumps on him, somehow spinning so his thighs are clamped around his neck and head. He uses his weight to try to topple Gavin over, but Tina tried to do this to him one too many times before, so he knows to go to a wall so he doesn’t immediately go down. He then reaches up to twist and pull Ritch’s knee out to the side with his fingers pressing against the nerve bundle on the inside of it. Judging by the surprised noise Ritch lets out, he wasn’t expecting that, and he starts to slip. He suddenly shoves off the wall, leaving Gavin scrambling to regain his footing while keeping that knee tight in his grasp. Just before Gavin can properly get his balance back, Ritch leans back and slightly to the left, bringing them both down. His plan is faulty, however, because all Gavin has to do is put his hands down and land in a handstand and Ritch’s legs slip past his head, leaving him free to back handspring back onto his feet just as his opponent sweeps his leg where his hands used to be.

    Jesus, this is a lot more flipping than Gavin is used to doing. He can’t exactly flip in a jaeger and it’s been years since his gymnastics class.

    Feeling that his back is literally to the wall and watching Ritch flip back on his feet, still relatively untouched, he pushes off of it for more momentum, hoping he can take him by surprise or something. Just as Gavin reaches him, the trainee drops on onto his back and twists and curls at the same time. He doesn’t understand why until a boot hits the backs of his ankles hard and forces him down. Just as Ritch pounces to pin him down, Gavin turns onto his back and tucks his legs in. His opponent barely stops himself in time before he springs his legs up, so Ritch doesn’t get launched away like he was hoping. Gavin instead uses that momentum to sloppily flip into a crouch.

    He dashes up and nails Ritch in the gut with his shoulder and lifts him off the ground, ready to slam him back down to disorient him. He doesn’t get to because he flips forward out of his grasp. Next thing he knows, there’s an arm in front of his throat and he’s being shoved down and backwards, so he twists so he’ll land on his stomach and breaks his fall. He instantly twists and kicks his leg out to get Ritch on the ground too, but the asshole jumps to his other side. No matter, because now Gavin can wrap both arms just below his knees and he forces the man down hard. 

    He jumps up to get on top of Ritch, who is already rolling onto his back, but is held back by another set of arms. He immediately lashes out and knocks whoever was holding him back in the head, but it was enough to get his mind out of the fight just enough to understand that they’ve gained an audience at some point. Ritch must not have realized yet, though– or maybe he doesn’t care– because he sets himself into a crouch and Gavin is already shifting his weight to dodge right to avoid getting rammed into–

    “GAVIN! RITCH!”

    They both instantly freeze and go tense. Ritch’s eyes are wide with alarm and are focused beyond his shoulder. Gavin has a feeling that he and Ritch are thinking the exact same thing.

    Oh Shit…

    Gavin slowly, cautiously, spins around to face a very angry Marshal Fowler. There are around 15 other people who have apparently been watching the show, if the way Chloe is shooing them away harshly is anything to go by. There’s one burly man who looks like his job is probably moving heavy materials around here who is clutching his bleeding nose.

    In an attempt to put off dealing with Fowler for as long as possible– and maybe a little bit because he’s kind of concerned because he didn’t hold back on that headbutt at all– Gavin takes a step towards him.

    “Oh. Shit. Your nose isn’t broken, is it–”

    “Reed. Stern. My office. Now.” That voice was the worst one. Fowler is usually yelling or “not mad, just disappointed”, but that was the calm angry voice. And to make matters worse, it wasn’t “Gavin” and “Ritch”, it was “Reed” and “Stern”.

    Wait, “Stern”? Why does that sound familiar?

    Ritch lightly brushes his shoulder, silently urging him to follow the marshal. With one quick glance back to the injured man, who Chloe is now hopefully leading to a nurse, he does. They silently walk side by side and keep close enough to Fowler that he can hear their footsteps following him, but never get closer than five feet, as if they’re afraid he’ll randomly snap and start laying it on them. Who knows, he might. Gavin has never been in a fight that big before.

    God damn it, they are so fucked.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Previous <> Masterlist <> Next

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

A/N: I want to thank everyone who read this again, and thank you all for being so patient with me. I’ve had this chapter almost done since the middle of January and it’s been killing me to not be able to finish it and have it posted. But it was a crazy few months, then some other crazy stuff happened, then quarantine kind of zapped all of my motivation to do anything.

  But anyway, I hope this long chapter was worth the disgustingly long wait. I’m going to really try to get an update out every Monday, but I can promise that you’ll never go longer than a month without an update from now on. Comments (even if they’re just as simple as “nice chapter”) do wonders to motivate me! And I also have oneshot requests open to help motivate me! Here’s a list of ships I’ll write for!

Thank you for reading (and powering through me super long note) and I hope you stay safe and have a wonderful day/night! 💕💖

#hankcon #hannor #reed900 #gavin900 #900gavin #hankcon fanfic #hank x connor #hank anderson x connor #hankcon fanfiction #hannor fanfic #hannor fanfiction #hannor au #gavin reed x rk900 #reed900 au #reed900 fanfiction #reed900 fan art #gavin x rk900 #slow burn #pacific rim!au #dbh au #dbh series #dbh

[templeofshame]

I trieeed listening to the liveshow yesterday and I truly don’t understand why on earth Phil agreed to do it through that app. Yeah we all love money but I believe he could have found better apps/platforms that would pay him just as well to deliver content of actually good quality. Idk, I am kinda side eyeing Phil for the choice he made this time, because it’s obvious that he did it just for the money and doesn’t care that much about the end result. Like, they didn’t even properly end the show, it got interrupted suddenly and never went back on and that’s not the kind of thing you’d expect from someone who’s been doing this job for more than a decade. I realize I might sound salty and that’s not my intention, it’s just that I really don’t understand his choices.

I still haven’t heard the rest of the stream so I can’t comment on the end, and I think it’s totally legit to be disappointed and frustrated by Phil’s spons with shitty apps. It’s hard to make the argument of why he does these particular deals because we don’t know what amounts of money are involved or what other options he has. But I think we saw from Rize that these things are frustrating and annoying, but ultimately, they don’t work out badly for Phil. We grumble a lot, but there’s still an extent to which we’re appeased by having some content, and we enjoy a few stories if nothing else. Phil gets paid, the app gets attention/downloads, and most of the blame for whatever frustration we have falls on the app, which we either continue to use to see Phil or don’t, rather than on Phil.

Is any of it super polished and professional? No, not at all. But at this point, it’s not unexpected either, and it’s hard to fully blame Phil for any specific technical issues with the app, even if we can figure that he should’ve known the app wouldn’t be able to handle the level of traffic. I have no idea whether he warned them about the level of traffic and they reassured him it would be fine or not; I don’t know if the traffic was actually more than usual or not. But I’m grateful to get some content and to have something we can talk about in this community, and I have to imagine that there must be an advantage on his end to do a #spon with a shitty app instead of doing a similar thing on a more established and reliable platform.

[7-wonders]

Naked & Afraid

Summary: You finally (unwillingly, like everything else that’s happened to you since that night in the parking lot) meet your father-in-law in what is arguably some of the weirdest circumstances you’ve ever dealt with.

Word Count: 3734

A/N: What, Claire finally updated Mad Love? Hell must’ve frozen over and pigs are surely flying! Feedback is always appreciated (even the h8ers; bring it on hunny I’m always up for a throwdown), and if you liked this chapter I would love if you would reblog and/or leave me a comment!

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE

Every single thing about Michael Langdon and the life that he lives is the epitome of luxury, so it comes as no surprise that the en suite bathroom that has been deemed yours is just as opulent as everything else you’ve seen. After an incredibly long week that’s seemed to stretch for months, the large, ornate bathtub is the only thing on your mind. After Michael cut dinner short tonight, an issue with the Cooperative requiring his attention, you found yourself sitting on your bed and trying to figure out what to do with an unexpected free evening. Your head is still spinning after everything that’s happened in the past couple of days, and a long bath is where you tend to do your best thinking and decompressing. Today, especially, there’s a lot to think about.

The sound of rushing water fills the bathroom and echoes off of the large granite walls (who has granite walls?). Sticking your hand under the steady stream, you fiddle with the knob for a few moments before finding your ideal temperature. The bathtub starts to fill quickly, and you pour a generous amount of some fragrant lavender bubble bath into the water. You sit back on the balls of your feet, waiting for the bath to fill to your desired depth before rushing to turn it off. Glancing one last time to make sure you remembered to lock the door, you yank your clothes off of your body before sinking into the bath.

You sigh audibly once the hot water covers your body, the heat immediately going to work at relaxing your muscles. Relaxing against the back of the porcelain tub, you turn your phone on to play some music and stare up at the ceiling. There’s a chandelier, because of course there is. Although the signature black is prevalent throughout the room, you’re pleased to see some accents of purple and silver as well. Your thoughts, which can never just remain on one topic for an extended period of time, quickly shift to what’s happened yesterday and today.

The major thing is, of course, the kiss that you shared with Michael mere hours ago. More specifically, why the hell did you reciprocate the kiss? He certainly didn’t use his magic on you; even if you didn’t know what magic felt like when it was used on you now, the stern warning that you would beat his ass scared him enough to not even consider it. But, it’s not as if you like him. At best, you’re starting to tolerate him. That doesn’t mean you’ve ever thought about kissing him before, no matter how soft his lips actually are.

Maybe it was a lapse in judgement? Or maybe drunk (Y/N) was still lurking in the darkest recesses of your mind, just waiting for a moment to come out and screw everything up. A single kiss does not equal attraction of any kind. Michael’s arrogant, nosy, doesn’t understand boundaries, is the literal Antichrist and, to top it off, kidnapped you to be his unwilling bride. But at the same time, he obviously didn’t have a very loving or normal childhood, and he’s been used as a puppet by so many: Ms. Mead, the Satanists, his father. You don’t empathize with him, or even excuse his actions due to what he’s gone through. You do, however, understand why he acts the way that he does; maybe that makes all the difference.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but it’s obvious that you did. One moment, you’re relaxing in a bathtub and pondering how weird your life has gotten, and then you blink and you’re here. Well, wherever ‘here’ is. Everything’s dark, as if you’re standing outside in an empty field with no sign of stars, the moon, or any lights. Your eyes take a minute to adjust, but even then you’re still unable to see any sign of life. Although you can’t see anything, you can feel that something, or someone, is here with you.

The hair on your arms prickles, goosebumps rising as you feel a pair of piercing eyes watching you. The worst part, though, is that you can’t tell which direction they’re looking at you from. Just when you turn around to try and catch them, the feeling’s from behind you. It’s everywhere: Your back, your arms, your side, your face. At times it feels like you’re nose to nose with this entity, even though there’s nothing there. Your breathing picks up, nervously coming out in visible puffs as you wrap your arms around yourself. Looking down suddenly, you’re grateful that you’re not still naked in this dream (or vision, or premonition). You’re wearing the same clothes that you were wearing earlier today, almost as if you had dressed yourself while asleep.

As far as you can tell, you’re alone. That is, until you’re not. You spin around in a slow circle one last time, shrieking loudly when you come face to face with a man. A small smile has his pink lips upturned, showing his amusement at your fear. He’s tall, tall enough that his neck is bent in order to look at you. His unruly black hair somehow manages to look like he styled it that way, and his hazel eyes seem to flicker and crackle with sparks. You stumble backwards, desperate to put some space between you and this stranger. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, reminding you of how Michael looks when he smells your fear in the air.

“Who are you?” Your voice, although you attempt to sound strong, comes out shaky and hesitant.

“I am known by many different names, and I possess many different faces.” He quips, taking one long step closer to you. “Mmm, but of course you would not recognize me as I am now, right, sweet (Y/N)?”

“How do you know my name?”

He doesn’t answer. In a split second, he’s changed from the man with the mop of black hair to a tall man with brown hair and brown eyes, a trimmed beard on his face. If it weren’t for the same sparks in his eyes, you would have thought it was a completely different person.

“Does this not work for you, either?” His form changes again, to that of a teenage boy in an ill-fitting sweater and ratty jeans. His blond hair hasn’t been combed in a while, but he has the same brown eyes as that of the man before him.

“Stop doing this!” You snap, half-tempted to smack him.

“Oh, but I think you will quite enjoy this next form.” Suddenly, Michael stands before you. It looks just like the Michael you know, except for those eyes. Michael’s eyes, the real Michael’s eyes, lack that odd flame in them that this person has.

“Change back.” You say through gritted teeth. You’re not sure why the sight of him makes you feel so odd, but it does.

“You are no fun at all.” He sighs, reverting back to the original form that you first saw him in.

“I’m going to ask you this one more time. Who. Are. You?” Your hands are balled into fists at your sides, and you can feel your nails digging into the calloused flesh there.

“‘The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.’” He quips. It sounds familiar, what he’s saying, but you have no clue where you would have heard something like this before. “Why did you react the way that you did when I assumed the image of my son?”

“Your son? Who’s your…” You trail off upon realizing the only person that he could possibly be referring to as his son. He smirks, knowing that you’re hoping with every fiber of your being that he’s not who you think he is.

“Such a smart woman you are, (Y/N).” His voice drips with the same saccharine that tempted Eve when she stood at that lonely tree in the Garden of Eden, listening to the lies of the serpent as he whispered in her ear that the Forbidden Fruit would provide her the same knowledge that God himself possessed. “Surely you have heard some of my names. Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Lucifer--” he cuts himself off, and the grin that he shoots your way has you shuddering at the mere sight of it, “--Satan.”

“You can’t be, I--how am I here?” There’s so much about this situation that’s wrong, but for some reason your mind latches onto the sheer absurdity of waking up in an actual hellscape.

“My dear, I’m the Devil. A mere parlor trick is all it took to get you into my domain.” He spreads his arms wide, proud of the desolate landscape that stretches ahead for miles and miles.

“I’m not your ‘dear.’” You retort, eyes widening when you realize that you just sassed Satan himself. Instead of stealing your soul and banishing you to the Ninth Circle of Hell, which is what you’re expecting, he stares at you for a moment before laughing loudly.

“See, everytime I think that I chose the wrong mortal to be my son’s companion, you prove to me that I made the correct choice.” He seems proud of himself, standing tall and with his chest out.

“You ruined my life with your ‘choice.’”

Satan’s face falls, and he takes another step closer to you. “I have given you the opportunity to be great!”

“You stole my free will!”

“Thanks to me, you will rule the New World side-by-side with Michael. You are the missing link to bring about our plans for the Apocalypse. My son, as I am sure you have noticed, is all too human. I blame his mother; gentle, impassioned Vivien did not pass many things down to Michael, but she did manage to give the boy an overly caring heart. He needs someone to fulfill his heart’s desires, and who better than the one who was handpicked for him?”

“The Apocalypse,” you scoff, choosing to ignore the last part of his spiel for now as you look the Devil right in the eyes. “Why do you even want to bring about the Apocalypse? Once everyone’s dead, there’s no more new souls for you to torture.”

“Hell is not just made up of the souls of the damned, (Y/N). Legions of demons, swarms of locusts and scorpions, plagues that mankind has long since forgotten. My domain shall no longer be restricted just to Hell. Instead, Hell, and all of her beasts, will wreak havoc upon the Earth.”

“You want to kill billions of people, just so that you and your buddies can get your jollies?”

“Chaos and disorder are what keeps the world running. I am merely trying to make sure that only those who can survive the most chaotic of situations will populate the New World. Which, might I remind you, you shall have a hand in ruling.”

“I don’t want your fucking crown or kingdom.”

You go to whirl around, hoping that there will be some door that you missed when you first woke up here, but you’re faced again with Satan. When you try to back away from him, a ring of flames encircles both of you, effectively trapping you with him. He snatches your wrist, and your eyes widen at the sharp talons digging into your skin.

“Did your mother never teach you that gratitude is a virtue?” His voice comes out as a thunder, shaking the very ground that you stand on.

You really should tone down the sass and backtalk, but you can’t help it when a man as arrogant as any you’ve ever met stands mere inches away. “That’s really rich, coming from the literal Devil.”

“You foolish, insolent little girl. You have no idea what I am capable of.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as he loosens his grip on your wrist, allowing you to snatch your extremity back from him. You rub the skin, visibly marked and bleeding in areas where the talons pierced through, as gently as possible while trying to gain some feeling back into your tingling hand.

“I embody the seven deadly sins,” he continues. “I can become your greatest desire…”

You haven’t been looking at him while attending to your wrist, but your movements stop at the sudden change of voice when he reaches the end of his sentence. Moving your eyes slowly upwards, you let out a harsh breath when you’re greeted with Michael’s smirking face. The Michael doppelgänger slowly walks towards you, lifting a chilly hand up to your face and caressing your cheek.

“Don’t touch me.” You mutter, unable to look away from his cerulean eyes.

“C’mon, (Y/N),” even his mocking tone sounds just like the Michael that you know, “don’t play coy with me. I can see into the deepest parts of your soul. That purity that you try so furiously to embody, tinted black in some areas. You desire me, even though you hate to admit it.”

“I don’t.”

“Liar.” He whispers, breath ghosting across your face while he moves even closer to yours. “The very essence of your being calls out for me, just as I call out for you. We were created for each other. No matter how much you try and fight it, we belong to each other. Soon enough, your mind will give into what your soul already knows.”

“Stop it!” You shout, shoving him away from you.

Satan goes stumbling back, caught off-guard by your sudden attack and nearly topping into the flames. When he rights himself again, he has a devil’s grin plastered across his original face.

“As I was saying, I can become your greatest desire, but I can also transform into your worst nightmare.”

He starts to shift and change, body convulsing as bones grow from out of nowhere. Satan’s no longer a man, although was the title of ‘man’ ever one that could be bestowed upon him? Instead, he’s a horrific, imposing creature with multiple heads that almost looks like some sort of dragon.

“‘And I saw a beast coming out of the sea,’” he bellows, all of the heads combining their voices to form a roar that has you clapping your hands over your ears. “‘It had ten horns and seven heads, with ten crowns on its horns, and on each head a blasphemous name.’”

Vaguely, you realize that the heads are quoting some part of the Book of Revelation, but you don’t have time to wonder about if the Devil has the Bible memorized when the heads of the beast unhinge their jaws, showing off their gaping maws and the dim glow of fire being conjured from deep in their belly. As the heads start to lower towards you, you drop to your knees and let out a blood curdling shriek.

Michael senses your panic before he hears your terrified screams. He springs up from his plush leather chair in his office, abruptly ending the phone call he was just on with a couple of world leaders. Your screams permeate the air, Michael’s heart pounding in terror at what you could possibly be experiencing right now. In his mind, there’s no time to waste. He blasts the bathroom door open the moment that it comes into view, hoping that you’ll forgive him for barging in on you while you’re nude.

Your subconscious, which Satan had pulled into Hell the moment your eyes slipped closed for longer than a second, had jolted back into your body upon sensing your imminent demise. In your panic, you had slipped under the water, inhaling mouthfuls of it as your lungs tried to breathe normally again. Your hands cling to the lip of the tub, almost like you’re worried that something will swim up from the depths of the bath and attempt to drag you back under. Alternating between screaming and coughing up the water that has invaded your lungs, your eyes remain clenched tight.

Michael reaches for you before his mind can start to think about the repercussions of doing so, arms slipping under your body and pulling you out of the water. His suit is soaking wet now, but he doesn’t care. He’s never seen you like this before, so terror-stricken that you can’t even open your eyes, and it shakes him to his core. You thrash against his firm chest, sure that Satan has shifted back and captured you in hell. It’s only when you hear his frantically calm reassurances that your body stops writhing.

“Hey, you’re okay, it’s fine. I’m here, nothing can hurt you.” He soothes you, waiting patiently for your eyes to flutter open.

“Michael? It’s...it’s actually you, right?” Your voice is meek in a way that he’s never heard before.

“Why wouldn’t it be me?” Your eyes fill with tears at the memory, and you shake your head before burying your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body. “What happened to you?”

The only sounds you make are the small whimpers that slip past the barrier of your mouth, floating to Michael’s ears. His fingers go to your back, freezing when he remembers that you’re naked. Hesitantly, he grabs a towel and wraps you in it, though you’re still too shocked to even care. Michael holds you tightly against him, rubbing circles on your back and listening to your heart to make sure it evens out. It takes a while, but it slowly manages to go to a rate that wouldn’t have an Apple Watch alerting its owner of a possible heart attack.

“(Y/N), is it okay if I get you dressed?” If your head wasn’t pressed against his chest, he wouldn’t even be aware that you had nodded in response to his request, the movement was so small.

Michael can tell that the steady metronome of his heart is calming to you, so he remains silent while he runs another towel through your hair. He’s gentle with you, almost like you’re a wisp of smoke he’s managed to capture in his hands; one wrong movement, and you’ll disappear. He helps to tug the black nightdress over your head, looking up at the ceiling while he inches it down past your thighs until you’re modest. A wave of his bejeweled hand makes the bathtub start to drain, the sound of the water level receding helping to fill the silence of the bathroom.

You’re exhausted, although you’re not sure if it’s from the near-drowning that still has your lungs feeling like they’re burning or the fact that Satan literally had you in Hell with him. When Michael picks you up in his arms, you don’t even bother to protest what he’s doing. The covers of your bed have already been turned down, likely the work of a maid slipping in while you were first in the bathroom. Michael sets you down amongst the plush pillows and starts to pull the blankets up around you, but stops when you grab his hand.

“It was Satan.” You mutter, tired eyes gazing up to see his panicked reaction.

“What?”

“Lay down with me.” Patting the spot on the bed next to you, Michael slowly slips his shoes off before sliding in next to you. You smile slightly at how he still respects your space, fingers just barely brushing against yours in an effort to not piss you off. “I must have fallen asleep while I was taking a bath. It felt like I only blinked, and suddenly I was in this pitch black landscape…”

You tell him everything about the confrontation with his father, only leaving out the part where Satan accused Michael of being your greatest desire. He listens intently throughout your entire story, saving all of his comments for after you’re finished.

“Why did he show himself to you?” Michael mutters, almost as if he’s talking to himself.

“Does he normally not do that?”

“I’ve never actually seen him before. My father has an...odd way of communicating with me, and that usually involves some sort of visions or rituals. I don’t understand why you’re--” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening while he lets out a sigh. “--he’s not pleased with either of us.”

“He couldn’t just have a friendly conversation with you instead of dragging me to Hell?”

“This was intended to be a message that would resonate with both of us. Would you have taken me seriously if he had spoken to me during a ritual?”

“You already know I wouldn’t.”

“Then what better way to voice his displeasure than by getting the skeptic, the unwilling second part of this equation, to be the messenger?”

“I don’t understand why he’s not pleased, though. I married you. Isn’t that enough?”

Michael grimaces. “You’re far more headstrong than he thought you would be. I think, when my father was picking a bride for me, he imagined that she would be this demure little thing who faithfully worshipped Satan and had already accrued a body count by her eighteenth birthday. You are almost the exact opposite of that, and it infuriates him. Any wrench in our plans means more time that’s wasted.”

“What you order on Amazon versus what shows up.” You joke, chuckling when Michael stifles a smile. “C’mon, that was funny!”

“It’s time for you to get some rest, (Y/N).” Michael reminds you, stroking your damp hair back from your face. His clothes are no longer wet, and you briefly wonder if he used his magic to dry them before nerves seize your stomach.

“Wait! Please don’t leave me.” You plead, gripping his arm tightly with both of yours. Michael looks concerned, and you sigh. “I’m scared that he’ll get me again if I fall asleep.”

Michael’s arms wrap around you, securing you against his chest. That steady rhythm that makes up his heartbeat starts to calm you again, and you use the sound to ground yourself.

“I won’t let him anywhere near you, I promise.” You can’t be too sure, considering how fast you drift off, but it feels like he lays a kiss to your forehead.

Michael keeps his promise, remaining with you until long after you’re asleep. When his own eyes start to slip closed, he allows himself to fall asleep next to you, protecting you no matter what.

Tag List: @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @sebastianshoe @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @alexcornerblogthethird @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @dolceandchalamet @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @americanhorrorstudies @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @coloursunlimited @punkysouls @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonsdemon @langdonslove @carousallie @cuddletothecake @born-on-stgeorges-day @mega-combusken @michaelsapostle @babyloutattoo89 @divinelangdon @venusxxlangdon @idespac @hexqueensupreme @hecohansen31 @rocketgirl2410 @gold-dragon-slayer 

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfiction #american horror story #american horror story imagine #american horror story apocalypse #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs apocalypse #*taps on microphone* are these tags on???

[impracticaldemon]

The Other Man’s Princess

Ikesen fanfiction by impracticaldemon ~ for acrispyapple, with thanks and best wishes, and for Vespe, Yuuki, and all my other Kenshin-fan friends!

Words:  5800 [Note:  about Kenshin, based on an incident in Masamune’s route]

Coming soon to AO3 and FFnet [but tumblr isn’t kind to links]

Summary:  Kenshin chooses not to kill Date Masamune when the enemy warlord is saved from imminent disaster by the unexpected arrival of the rumoured Oda princess.  The princess’ willingness to protect Date at all costs--and the fact that his enemy is obviously fighting injured--ruins the whole thing.  But what if somebody else wants to save Kenshin?

~~~~~

The Other Man’s Princess

Anna had known it would be a difficult battle.  She might not have the years of experience of the men and women around her, but she was observant, and it hadn’t taken her long to learn to read the signs.  At first, she’d only been able to gauge a situation by looking at the local inhabitants as a whole:  were the men cocky, serious, or grim? were the women resigned, tight-lipped, or overtly anxious?  After almost a year in the Sengoku—and a hard, dangerous year it had been, until recently—she was much better at understanding the nuances of war, and she noticed more subtle tells, such as increases in the price of food, and fewer merchants in the marketplace.

Sasuke arrived back at the castle first, as he usually did, to bring news to the reserve commander, Kurata, and to her.  She’d noticed he was troubled almost immediately, even though his first message was that Kenshin was safe, and that the troops were withdrawing in good order.  Apparently, the Oda had been able to bring up their reinforcements faster than expected, which meant abandoning the conflict for another day, when the Uesugi-Takeda forces had grown stronger.

“It was pretty bad out there,” Sasuke told her confidentially, once he’d given his formal report. “I’m glad Yukimura decided to retreat.  Lord Kenshin was—well, he was as unstoppable as ever—but the joint Date-Tokugawa cavalry had already targeted him once, and they would have gone after him again once the rest of the Oda forces arrived.”  His gaze became unfocussed for a moment, and he sighed.  “I would never say this to my employer—or to Yukimura—but it was pretty amazing seeing Tokugawa Ieyasu and Toyotomi Hideyoshi on the battlefield together, near the height of their powers.”

Normally, Anna would have smiled knowingly at his absurd-but-genuine adoration of the Sengoku superstars, but she could tell that he was worried about Kenshin, and that made her impatient.  She waved a hand in front of Sasuke’s face.

“Hey—ninja boy!”  She raised both eyebrows, and gave him a very direct, ‘stop-stalling’ look.  “I know you have to get back there—you always do—so you might as well tell me what you didn’t tell Lord Kurata.”

His eyes slid sideways for a moment, as they usually did when he was thinking, or embarrassed, or both, but they returned shortly to meet hers.  Sasuke’s expression rarely changed much, but she’d learned to tell the difference between excited-stoic and worried-stoic. This was definitely the latter.

“At some point during the battle, Lord Kenshin took off on his own, as he does, and he and Date Masamune ended up in a one-on-one duel—which is actually very rare, despite what you see in movies and stage plays.”  He paused, caught Anna’s expression, and hurried on.  “Anyway, I missed what led up to it, but I was in time to see the conclusion.”

“You were hurrying to Kenshin’s side to protect him, of course.  I’m sure it wasn’t just an opportunity to see two of the great swordsmen of the era in personal combat.”  Mentally, she face-palmed—hadn’t she just told Sasuke to skip the fanboy stuff?  It had to be nerves.

“…There may have been an element of extreme personal excitement—after all, Uesugi Kenshin and Date Masamune never met like that in our timeline.”

“Sure—go on.” 

“Just as I was approaching, Lord Kenshin disarmed Lord Masamune, who appeared to be injured. It looked like Lord Kenshin was going to kill Lord Masamune, but then an Oda soldier suddenly jumped out of the grass waving a rifle, and distracted Lord Kenshin by yelling at him to stop.  As you probably know, Lord Kenshin isn’t easy to distract when he’s fighting—or not for very long. But this time he stopped cold, because the voice was clearly a woman’s.”

“A woman?  Nobody ever lets me go off to Kenshin’s battles—not that I want to be in them.”

They exchanged a look.  Sasuke shrugged semi-apologetically; Anna shrugged in acceptance.  Kenshin would never want her anywhere near such a battle, and she knew enough, after two months of getting closer to him, not to push him too far when it came to her safety.  He was a wonderful, caring, fascinating—devastatingly beautiful—man, but he had wounds that she was still figuring out how to heal.  Patience and steadfastness were what he needed, and once she’d decided he was worth it—very early on, in fact—she’d thrown herself into the joy and the trials of being there for him.  

~~~

She’d originally met Kenshin in a town about a day’s ride from Kasugayama.  He’d rescued her from two brutish ronin who were intent on dragging her off as punishment for standing up to them on behalf of an elderly shopkeeper.  Kenshin had refused her thanks, but although he’d seemed cold—even rude—there’d been a quality about him, beyond his obvious beauty, that had drawn her in.  When he’d saved her from the same two men just a few days later, he’d criticized her survival skills, but he’d calmly walked her home, and he’d slowed his pace to hers.  More than that, he’d told her to be herself with the people around her, something she’d somehow forgotten how to do since being dumped into the Sengoku three months before.  It had been exactly the advice she’d needed, and she’d been grateful.

Not long after, she’d met Sasuke, who’d been shocked to discover another “future person” so close by.  He’d offered to bring her to Kasugayama, where it was safer and more comfortable, and she’d had little reason to refuse, and at least one good reason to accept.  In fact, she hadn’t been altogether surprised to discover that Kenshin had arranged for Sasuke to check up on her in the first place. Moreover, Kenshin hadn’t seemed to mind Sasuke’s seemingly abrupt decision to bring her to the castle, despite his reputation as a woman-hater.  She and Kenshin had spoken often since then, although Kenshin always came up with specific reasons for seeking her out, much to the amusement of his ally Takeda Shingen.

~~~

“…Yes, it was definitely a woman, based on the voice and hair.  She was pretty well disguised by her armour, but”—Sasuke stopped and held out a hand, as if to say, I’m so sorry, please don’t kill me—“she was awfully short for a samurai.”

He looked at her hopefully.  It took her a long moment to catch the reference, but then she groaned.

“Star Wars, Sasuke?  Really?  And that’s a really obscure reference.  You’re lucky my undergrad was science, honestly.”

“The original Star Wars movies are a key part of geek culture, sorry.  I guess she kind of reminded me of Princess Leia.  Though I suppose a Lord of the Rings reference would be more appropriate—you know, ‘I am no man!’ and all that.”

“Sasuke—”

“Lord Kenshin just stared at the woman, totally ignoring Date Masamune.  But she—well, she tried to shoot him.”

“But—you said he was fine!  Or did she miss?  I’m impressed she could shoot one of those old matchlocks, actually.”  And I am not feeling competitive.  At all.

“Lord Masamune rushed in and somehow managed to deflect the shot—actually knocked the barrel of the rifle up. He’s fast.”

“I don’t understand.  Why would he protect his enemy?  Was it some kind of dumb chauvinist thing?  You know—'can’t let a woman kill my enemy for me’?”

Sasuke gave her an odd look.  “Well…” he said slowly, as though feeling out his words, “you know how I said there’s a person like us living in Azuchi?”

“Yes… You mean it was her?!  And she tried to protect Date Masamune by shooting Kenshin?!”

Sasuke looked as unemotional as usual, but she was pretty sure it was a façade.

“It was an interesting event from a time-travel, or alternate universe, perspective.  A person who shouldn’t be there tries to kill a man who should already be dead—er, sorry if that was tactless.”  Sasuke blinked apologetically, but added, “And she does it for the sake of a man who died five hundred years before she was born.  You can imagine how I felt.”

“No.  No, I really don’t think I can.  What happened next?”

“I think Lord Kenshin was… very disturbed… by the fact that there was a woman there in front of him, clearly prepared to kill, and also, well…”

“Prepared to die?”

“Yes.”

All at once, Anna could imagine how the strange scenario must have affected Kenshin, and it suddenly became far more important to see him—to reassure him—than to hear all the details.  Especially with Sasuke’s unique editorial commentary. No matter how bizarre it was that another time-traveller had tried to kill the man Anna loved, during a battle that had never taken place in Anna’s—or the other woman’s—own history, the important thing was that Kenshin was probably hurting.

“Okay, just give me the gist of the rest, Sasuke.”

“Lord Masamune said he was ready to keep fighting, but Lord Kenshin put his sword away and walked off.  He said the fight wasn’t fun anymore, so he was letting them go.  I didn’t want to make things more tense, so I didn’t intrude.  Not that I left him alone, of course.  I made sure somebody brought him a horse.  But… he had that smile.”

“So Kenshin’s on his way home right now?”

“Yes.  This all happened yesterday.  I left mid-afternoon to report back here.  I thought… I thought you might want to know about it ahead of time.”

“Yes, good—thank you, Sasuke.” It came out sounding abrupt, so she tried again.  “I mean it: thank you.  You’re a good friend, and an amazing ninja.”

“Yeah, that’s me.  Your friendly neighbourhood spider-ninja.”  

The words sounded oddly lonely, instead of cheerful, but she let it go. She had reviewed her options, and made her decision.  “I’m going with you, Sasuke.  Don’t bother to argue.”

“…He’s not hurt, Anna.  I promise, if he needed medical help, I’d have told you.”  Anna had medical training, and had been working hard to learn Sengoku-era medicine—although it consisted mostly of inefficient herb-lore, last-ditch surgery, and opium, from what she could see.  At least Japanese doctors believed in cleanliness, unlike their European counterparts of the same century. And to be fair, a good doctor could diagnose and treat wounds, and set bones, and alleviate the effects of certain illnesses.  

“I think he is hurt, and I think you know it.”  She fixed him with what she hoped was a compelling stare. “Now wait for me right here—or better yet, find me a good horse.  It will take me less than ten minutes to change and grab my bag.  Got it?”

~~~

“You shouldn’t be here.”  Kenshin’s voice was flat, and Anna winced a little at his tone.

She’d known—based on Sasuke’s story—that he’d probably be struggling, emotionally, but it was hard not to react when it felt as though he’d suddenly decided to ignore how close they’d become over many weeks of conversations, quiet evenings out on the engawa, and even occasional disagreements. He refused to admit it, but he was extremely protective, and they’d had to sort out some framework they could both live with, where he knew she was safe, and she didn’t feel stifled. That was a work in progress, obviously.

“I was worried about you,” she told him, letting her sincerity speak for itself.  “I wanted to be beside you, so that I could see for myself that you weren’t hurt.”

“Why didn’t you stay where you were safe?  I’ve told you how dangerous it is to travel right now.  You should have listened to me.”

She could tell he couldn’t hear her—not properly—and instead of frustrating her, that settled her resolve to be patient and gentle.  Once she’d set aside her hurt at her chilly reception, she’d seen the expression—the fractured look—that hovered behind Kenshin’s cool stare and irritated, dismissive words.

“As I told you, Sasuke was with me the whole time, Kenshin-sama.  And I am always safest with you, wherever that is.”

Kenshin’s beautiful, mismatched eyes narrowed slightly, but they stopped moving restlessly around the room, and focussed on her face.  That was better.

“I—that’s not the point.  You should have waited for me.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait.  I wanted to see you.  You’re important to me.”  Anna stretched out a hand to him, and Kenshin automatically took it, then looked almost comically surprised by his action.

They were kneeling facing each other in Kenshin’s tent.  Anna had dissuaded Sasuke from going in with her when they’d arrived, regardless of military protocol, and in spite of Sasuke’s evident determination to bear the brunt of Kenshin’s wrath.  After a certain amount of argument, Sasuke had admitted that it would be pleasant not to face a sword at his throat the moment Kenshin took in Anna’s presence.  Consequently, she and Kenshin were alone, which was for the best.  Alone in the immediate sense, at least—there were thousands of soldiers in the camp around them.

Kenshin cleared his throat.  She knew that he wanted to keep making his points about her safety, and about following orders, but he felt constrained by their joined hands, and by the comfort he took from her touch—something that he’d told her once, after enough sake to poison the ordinary man.

“…I suppose you’re here now.  And at least you came straight to me, and are unharmed.”  His gaze softened a little, but Anna didn’t relax her guard.  He was no longer cold, or frowning, but his smile remained disquieting.  “You know… If I can’t be sure that you’ll stay in the castle while I’m away, I may need to take better precautions to keep you safe.”

“I already feel safe,” Anna said immediately, working hard to keep her tone light, but firm.

“You aren’t always careful enough, Anna.”  Kenshin suddenly extended his free hand to caress her cheek and jaw, catching her off-guard.  Although he had once rested his head on her lap, and they often held hands lately—by strictly unspoken accord—this touch was new, and more deliberately intimate. It was also undeniably possessive.

“I appreciate your concern, Kenshin-sama,” Anna responded, as calmly as she could.  She did her best to focus on the tricky situation with Kenshin’s emotions, rather than the rush of warmth that flowed outward from his hand.  “However—”

“I sometimes wonder if I should lock you in your quarters, for your own protection.  You can be reckless.”  Both tone and expression were bright and brittle.

Anna managed not to react to the threatening words; she’d known that it was a risk to come out to meet him.  Instead of pulling away, she resolutely set aside her fear of being locked up in favour of conveying how much she appreciated his touch.  She covered Kenshin’s hand on her cheek with her own, and turned her face further into his palm.

“I know that it’s important for me to be careful,” she told him, “most of all when I’m not with you.”

Kenshin’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment of surprise—it obviously wasn’t the reaction he’d expected—sharpness gave way to interest, and a hint of amusement. His fingers on her face gentled and then stilled.

“Are you trying to persuade me that your journey here was undertaken with safety in mind? Because you are safer with me?” He stroked her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, and she wished she could just relax and enjoy being—somehow—important to this very special man.

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“No?”  Kenshin leaned forward, so that their faces were almost touching.  The humour had vanished from his two-coloured gaze. “That’s good… But you won’t promise to stay put.  And a woman doesn’t belong on the battlefield.”  His grip on her hand and face tightened again.  “How can I make you understand?”

“I understand, Kenshin-sama.”  She might not appreciate—or agree with—his declaration, but she also knew better than to take it at face value.  Kenshin was trying to use a simple, obvious (to him) statement to express a complex fear. “I know you don’t want me to go onto a battlefield, and I agree that it would be too risky.”  For now, anyway, she added silently to herself.  Sometimes it was hard to wait patiently, not knowing how things were going, wondering if she could be helpful.

“You say you understand, but—”

Anna could almost see the struggle going on behind his ice-sculpture features.  He knew, rationally, that she hadn’t been the woman on the battlefield when he was fighting Lord Masamune.  But the sight of a woman in mortal danger had clearly opened old wounds.  It made her sad to see him so obviously afraid, even when he expressed it as concern for her safety.  He was fearless by nature, and immensely strong, but that just made it worse for him.

“I have never ventured onto a battlefield,” she assured him. More slowly, she added: “And—I won’t.  Not unless you agree to it first.”  She’d given it a lot of thought during the ride to the camp.  It had been a struggle from the beginning to balance her modern views on freedom with the realities of life in feudal Japan.  But she’d decided this was a choice she could give up, for Kenshin’s sake.

“Well, I don’t agree to it.  And I won’t.”  Kenshin’s words were forceful. She would have been irritated, if she didn’t understand him as well as she did now.  “It would be foolish and pointless.  I won’t allow you to put yourself in such danger.”

“I will accept your decision.”

“You have to.”  He was torn between asserting his authority—the man was akin to a divine prince to his clan, after all—and seeking reassurance.  Not that he was one to invoke his rank, or power, explicitly.  It was just part of who he was.  Anna sometimes challenged that assumption of authority, as it applied to her, but she understood it.

“I mean it, Kenshin-sama.  I will not follow you onto a battlefield without your knowledge and agreement.” She couldn’t quite bring herself to say permission.  “You don’t have to force me to obey you. This is important to you, so I’ll let you decide.”

“Anna…”

“Yes?”

He remained silent, unable, or unwilling, to voice his thoughts.  After a time, he seemed to reach a decision that satisfied him, and he smiled.

“I will take you home.”

“You’ll take me back to Kasugayama?  I mean—now?”  It was getting late; the sun had disappeared over an hour ago.

“It will be fine.  I know the road well, and I can be back here well before dawn.”

“But…”  This time it was Anna who was at a loss for words.

Kenshin withdrew his hands, although he paused to stroke her hair in a reassuring manner.  Anna felt her heart thump almost painfully in her chest, and for just a moment she forgot how to breathe.  Which was ridiculous!  He affected her like this, more and more as time went on, but she could never decide what part of the attraction was his physical beauty, and what part was everything else—his integrity, his (constantly denied) kindness, his strange combination of strength and fragility.  Or maybe she’d been truly lost when she’d come to believe that he needed her?

“We’ll just take one horse, to avoid being separated, or attacked.”  The brisk, almost enthusiastic, statement brought her sharply back to earth.

“But, why do we have to go at all?  You must be tired…”  Not that he ever seemed tired after even the most gruelling battles.  This time, though, she saw traces of strain.

“We’re not far from the castle, by horse.  It’s much slower for the infantry, of course.”  Kenshin regarded her intently, frowning a little.  “Or are you tired after riding here?  You can rest, and have tea, while I hear Sasuke’s report.”  His expression changed when he mentioned Sasuke, and Anna suspected there would be swords involved. ‘To be expected,’ Sasuke had told her.

“Kenshin-sama.  Isn’t there room for me in the camp?  I thought it would be pleasant for you—for us—to see each other, even if you didn’t have much time to spare.”  

Of course, she didn’t say that she had needed to make sure for herself that he was coping all right with his strange encounter with The Other Woman—the other time-traveller—who isn’t The Other Woman in any way, why did I even think that? Ugh!  It was annoying to realize that there had been a twinge of jealousy in her sentiments toward a woman who might even be a friend, if they could ever meet.  Or maybe I’m just worried that it isn’t me who’s special, and any woman from the future would be new and interesting?

“It’s better to return to the castle.”  Now his tone was flat, and that caught her immediate attention. “I”—uncharacteristically, he seemed to change what he was going to say—“appreciate your effort in coming here.” Even though they weren’t touching, she could sense tension return to his body as fairness warred with instinct. “It wasn’t wise of you, but you were anxious.  Women are emotional.”

As if you aren’t!  Amazingly, she managed to keep that to herself.  It was worth being patient if she could help.  Kenshin had come to terms with her arrival relatively quickly, had even seemed reassured to have her near—for a short while.  But now he wanted her back in the castle, and it might be more sensible to give in.  Hopefully, he wasn’t serious about locking her up.

“If we’re going to go back, then I’d rather leave sooner than later.” Certain parts of her body wanted to protest the whole idea of getting back into the saddle, but she was starting to catch Kenshin’s restlessness.  Or maybe they both wanted to be away from others for a while?

Kenshin nodded, relaxing, but he scrutinized her closely before rising to leave the tent.  When Anna moved to follow him, he waved her back.

“You might as well rest a little.  I have to talk to Sasuke either way, and it may take me some time to get away.”

“But I thought—”

“I won’t go far”—Anna was quite sure he wouldn’t—“so don’t worry.  Get some rest.”

He spoke brusquely, and left the tent without looking back, but Anna was only briefly discomposed.  She guessed that Kenshin had noticed her fatigue from the earlier ride, and was giving her an excuse to recover before starting back.  Of course, he’d made it impossible to refuse.

~

They left an hour later.  Sasuke saw them off, his face even more unreadable than usual in the gloom.  He appeared to be uninjured. The moon was still low in the late summer sky, but approaching full; its light dimly illuminated the path they’d be taking through a rippling series of hills and valleys.  There wasn’t much flat land in Japan, once you were away from the sea.

Kenshin had insisted that Anna ride with him for safety’s sake, but she hadn’t needed convincing.  The rest had helped, but while Kenshin knew every part of this route, and rode as easily as he walked, she had no such knowledge, or skill.  Privately, she thought that the danger of falling off her horse, or guiding it into a hole, far exceeded the chance of being attacked. She couldn’t imagine any bandits stupid enough to prey on the roads this close to Kasugayama.  Besides, she’d come to be with Kenshin, so why wouldn’t she ride with him?

“Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you, Kenshin-sama.”  

It wasn’t quite true, since she’d become unexpectedly self-conscious from the moment he’d lifted her into the saddle and seated himself behind her. His arms were warm around hers, and it was impossible not to be fully aware of his—taut, lean, muscled—body against her back.  They both wore thin summer clothing, and despite Anna’s light haori, worn in deference to the damp night air, she felt as though they were practically skin-to-skin. She was glad she was facing mostly away from Kenshin.

“Do you always ride so stiffly?  No wonder you were tired.  Didn’t Sasuke teach you to ride?”

“Oh! No… I mean, yes, maybe that was it.”

Kenshin shifted, transferring the reins to one hand, and tightening his other arm around her.  She tensed, and then gave up and settled back against his chest.  How could she resist?  She wondered if her heart-beat was as loud to Kenshin as it seemed to her. Probably not.  Right?

“Are you sure you’re all right?  You seem alarmed.  There’s nothing to fear while you’re with me, and we have no need for haste, so I won’t push the horse.”

Or maybe he had super-human powers of observation, when he wasn’t focussed on other things.  Looking down, she realized that his hand was wrapped carefully around hers, and his thumb was pressed to her racing pulse.  Of course.  So he had noticed her pounding heart-rate.  While riding a battle-trained horse through the near-dark on a winding, hilly trail.

“I’m not alarmed.  I’m not afraid of being attacked, I’m not afraid of falling off, and I’m not afraid that you’ll go too fast.  You pretend it’s not true, but you are very considerate of me.”

He was loosening up as he rode, she could tell.  She, on the other hand, was struggling to keep her cool. Kenshin’s voice carried warm breath past her ear as they rode, and it was yet another distraction to add to all the other pleasant-but-possibly-inappropriate distractions happening right now.  She wondered, again, what he really thought of her.

“Is it considerate to make you ride through the night with me after you have just endured the same ride in the opposite direction?”

“Mm, okay, I’m not sure on that one, but if you’ll tell me why, then I can answer your question.”

“You can be very stubborn.”

“So can you.”

“…I’ve heard that before.  I wish you wouldn’t quote Shingen at me.  It’s annoying.”

He was ‘annoyed’ enough to tighten his grip on her, but it felt a lot more like a hug than anything bad.  Anna realized that she’d be very okay with hugging him back, if they weren’t on horseback, on a difficult trail, in the middle of the night. Inadvertently, she sighed.

“What is it, Anna?”

“Nothing.”

“Ah.”  His breath tickled her ear again, and then—and then—he softly kissed her temple.

“Kenshin!”  Did she really squeak like a fangirl just there?  Yes, yes, she did.  Damn.

“Sasuke told you about the woman—Date’s woman—didn’t he?”

“Um—yes?”  Context? Hello?  Did you just move from kissing me to asking whether I knew about the other woman—no, the other time-traveller who just happened to be a woman?  She was curious, irritated, and a little ‘glowy’ all at once.

“And that’s why you came to see me?”

“Yes… I suppose that’s true.  I was worried.”

“There was no need to worry about me.  Sasuke sometimes—frequently—oversteps his bounds.”

“I worry about you, Kenshin-sama.  I care about what happens to you, and I think about what you’re doing. I wonder if you are all right.”

“I didn’t want you anywhere near the battlefield.  Or in an armed camp full of men.  Sasuke shouldn’t have brought you here.”

Okay, now what?  

“Is that the answer to why we’re riding through the night like this when you should be back at camp overseeing your army?”

“There were a lot of wounded.  Oda Nobunaga—and in this case, Date Masamune and Tokugawa Ieyasu—is a worthy opponent.”

She wanted to point out that he’d just changed the subject again, but over their time together she’d become adept at following his thoughts.  It took an agile mind, and a certain intuition, but she could do it.  Sometimes, she made him spell it out anyway, but it was so comfortable being with him like this that her inclination to push back was waning rapidly.

“You didn’t want me to insist on tending the wounded?”

“I didn’t want you wandering camp—it would be dangerous and inappropriate.”

Inappropriate?  She wasn’t sure whether he meant that she might see, or hear, inappropriate things, or whether he was just being weirdly jealous.  Come to think of it, he could mean both.

“I don’t think I would be in any danger in your camp, with you nearby,” she said, seriously.  “But I travelled to the camp for the sole purpose of seeing you, and even if I didn’t like it, I would follow your instructions while at the camp.”

“She saved Date’s life, you know.  I probably would have killed him before Tokugawa could get to him.  Though he showed surprising stamina for a man who I suspect was badly wounded.”  Kenshin’s assessment was ungrudging—he admired courage and strength in friend and foe alike. “I look forward to a proper fight in the future.”

“Setting aside your quest for a suitable opponent…”  Anna leaned her head back more securely against Kenshin’s chest, and suppressed a sigh of contentment.  “You know that I’d do a lot to save your life, right?”

Kenshin immediately tensed.  “You promised—”

“But you have my word that I won’t chase you onto a battlefield.”

“Good.  I don’t need you to.  You’re a very strange woman—I shouldn’t have to make you promise not to subject yourself to… all that.”

“In exchange—”

“You’re trying to bargain with me?”

“I’m hoping you’ll hear me out.”  She took the silence that followed as assent, if not happy assent.  “I want you to promise you’ll live.”

“You what? That’s—”  He stopped abruptly.

“I’m very sorry if I’ve upset you, Kenshin-sama.”  She hadn’t wanted to.  She’d much rather have ridden on without conflict.  “But I care about what happens to you.  It will make it easier for me to stay away from battles, or war camps, or whatever, if I know that you are doing your utmost to come back safe and sound.”

“You don’t need to worry.  Nothing ever touches me.”

“Kenshin-sama… I trust you.  So if you tell me that you will do your utmost to live, then I will believe it.” She’d try, anyway.  But it would help a lot if she knew he cared enough to come back.  She’d heard the whispers that he couldn’t be touched, couldn’t be killed, because he was the so-called God of War.  It just made her more worried, since she’d already noticed a certain sad fatalism in Kenshin.

They rode in silence for several long minutes after that.  Kenshin’s grip on her slowly relaxed, but remained strong enough to be reassuring.  She found she had to keep pressing her lips together not to add to what she’d said—whether to cajole, or entreat, or just argue.  Eventually, she heard Kenshin sigh, but gently, like a release of pent-up breath.  He drew the horse to a careful stop, allowed the reins to loop over the pommel of the saddle, and wrapped both arms around Anna.

“I told Date Masamune that dying for love was the worst kind of foolishness.  And it was both of them!  She risked everything to be there—she’d already interposed herself between us once, earlier in the fight, although neither of us knew it.  But Date was worse.  He was losing, he’d just dropped his sword, and he still had the nerve to knock away his woman’s killing shot.”

“Bravado?”  She’d suggested that before, but Kenshin hadn’t answered her.  Right now she cared more about Kenshin talking to her, and holding her, than anything else, but she was still a little curious.

“No, worse.  He didn’t want her to have to kill.  He didn’t want it to change her.  I didn’t hear all of it, but that was the gist.”

“I think that’s—” Anna stopped on the edge of saying that she thought it was very sweet.  More than just sweet, it showed true caring and protectiveness.

“It was ridiculous.  He endangered both of them by not letting her shoot.  I had to let them go after that.”

“Of course you did.”  Because he was a good man, and had too much integrity to pursue a fight under such circumstances.  And probably because seeing the woman there shocked him.  But either way, it was just like him to refrain from mindless killing, despite leaving an enemy commander alive.

“I wasn’t being kind.  They took all the enjoyment out of the fight—both of them.  …And I’d heard Date was a ruthless adversary, the kind of man who didn’t let sentiment come in the way of his duty!”

He sounded peeved, Anna thought.  She had to smile.  She hid her face so that he couldn’t accuse her to laughing at him.  Then she felt a kiss on her hair—the first of several. Her body temperature seemed to rise with each kiss, and the way his hands were stroking her back.  She didn’t protest when Kenshin finally lifted her face up to his and pressed his lips to hers.  A hand slid into her hair, and their kiss deepened, becoming more passionate.

When it finally ended, they were both short of breath.  Anna wondered if she looked as startled and—happy?—as Kenshin.  Probably worse, she decided.

“You’ll stay safe?”  He spoke almost too softly to hear.

“I’ll do everything I can to stay safe.  How about you?”  The moonlight turned his hair and eyes to silver; he looked almost otherworldly.

“I’ll—You know I’ll need to go on fighting?”

“Yes.”  She wouldn’t debate the need, or whether it was personal, or duty.

“Yet you still want me to stay safe?”

“I want you to promise to keep yourself alive.”

“I can do that.”

“Then I will promise to stay as safe as possible, and to stay alive, for you.”

“Anna, you are—”

“Very strange?”

To her surprise, he laughed—she wasn’t sure she’d heard him laugh before.

“I was going to say stubborn.  And hard to resist.”  He stopped laughing, and bent to kiss her just below the ear, in a way that made her gasp.  “Also, right now, I want you all for myself.”  He kissed her jaw, and the corner of her mouth.

Anna hummed her agreement.  That wasn’t a problem:  she wanted Kenshin all to herself, as well.  Really, this moonlight ride made perfect sense, now that she thought about it.  She’d just have to count on Kenshin to keep her from falling off the horse.

[END]

A/Note:  I hope you enjoyed this foray into the “okay, but what about Kenshin?” or “and in the background...” or “off-stage...”  If you get a chance, let me know what you think!

Note 2:  I didn’t tag anybody, because tumblr search isn’t good about *any* links anymore, including links to people on tumblr (eyeroll).  I’m still trying to figure out a work-around for this! 

#ikesen #ikesen fanfiction #uesugi kenshin #ikesen kenshin #imp writes #acrispyapple #drama and a bit of fluff #canon-based masamune's route

[aka-willow]

The Looking Glass

gif

Words: 1978

Characters: Willow Wren, Marty Fields, Phil Coulson, Daisy Johnson, Melinda May

Prompt/Tag:

“We have to leave the country.”

Summary: Willow receives unexpected visitors following the library incident

Timeline: October 2015

Song: The Hall of Mirrors - Kraftwerk

A/N: uh-oh sisters!

—————————————————————————–

It seemed that my prayers weren’t answered. I spent the days after the library incident completely paranoid, feeling like this was becoming a pattern, some incident escalating, the fallout paranoia, and then the eventual slide back into normalcy until the next one.

I need to stop. I need to stop.

That Thursday was the first day I was able to not obsess over what happened. Marty and I made a pact to not talk about it, and I made a promise to never let Marty get that close again. That was a mistake. He saved me, but what if it went differently? No more help.

I got home from school early that day, only feeling a little better after learning that Adrian Lester had been arrested, and the fire alarm pull had been attributed to him as well, as an escape tactic. I tried not to let it get to my head, but I was shocked that I had gotten away with it, right out in the open, in broad daylight. Stop this, stop this Willow. We’re going down a dangerous path.

I had texted the Lab Rats group chat, asking if they remembered anything about a book, but so far, no one had remembered anything. Was it… like… a Bible? Some HYDRA Nazi book? Just a random bedtime story? Is that what Monster was? Just a bedtime story?

I was so deep in thought that I didn’t even hear someone approached our door until they knocked. I froze in my room and opened my bedroom door, poking my head out. Both Marty and his dad were out—it was just me home.

“Oh, what the fuck?” I whispered. I considered just not answering it, maybe they would think no one was home. Okay, we go out through the window, fly to the roof, regroup from there—

No. No powers. I have to face this as a normal person would. I didn’t do anything wrong. I have nothing to hide. It’s that simple. Besides, what if it’s just like UPS dropping off a package?

They knocked again and I crept towards the apartment’s front door before peering through the peephole. There were three people outside—official looking. Oh shit. HYDRA?

I should run, right now. Leave.                           

But if it was HYDRA, they would have come for me while I was at school. They wouldn’t knock, right?

I took another deep breath, checked to make sure my wings were hidden, and slowly opened the door, just enough to poke my head out. “Hello?” It was a man and two women. The man seemed to be the one in charge, which was one suckaroo for feminism.

“Hi, Willow?” the man asked. “Mind if we come in? We have a few questions about an incident you may have witnessed at the Henry Clay Public Library the other day.”

Oh SHIT.

I pushed away my panic and tried to remain calm and keep my expression neutral. “What? What incident?”

“It would be easier if we could sit down,” said one of the women. She wasn’t smiling like the man was.

“Is anyone else home?” The other woman asked.

I opened the door a little more, my heart pounding as I considered my options. “No…? Maybe… maybe I should call our lawyer or something. Are you police?”

“No, not police,” said the man. “I’m Phil Coulson. We specialize in strange occurrences, like the ones you may have witnessed, as part of the Strategic Homeland, Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. And this is Agent May and Agent Johnson.”

I worked through the letters in my head. “Shield?” OH SHIT. “Wait… aren’t you guys… wait also hold on, who came up with the letters thingy was it really necessary, it’s kind of a lot…” I couldn’t stop talking, words were just pouring out of my mouth, my usual nervous rambles starting.

“Everything all right?” Agent May asked.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. So… uh…” I cleared my throat. “What about the library? How did you even know…?”

“Oh,” said Phil, looking towards Agent Johnson for an explanation. “Agent Johnson, can you…”

“You posted on Instagram and tagged the library about ten minutes before it happened,” Agent Johnson said simply. She pulled out her phone and showed me a picture. “This one?”

Oh… fuck. It was a selfie of me and Marty with the caption come to Henry Clay Public Library if you want an ass kicking in the next 30 minutes.

Phil chuckled. “It’s amazing. Every year this part of our job gets easier. Between Facebook, Instagram, and Flickr—”

“Flickr?” I interrupted. “No one uses that anymore. I mean, Snapchat, for example, might be way more helpful if you used the—" I stopped, realized I was rambling again.

“Use the…?” Agent Johnson asked.

“There’s… uh…” I glanced out the window. “A vulnerability that uh…allows you to view Snaps under a specific um… geotag… never mind.” Can you stop talking? Is that possible for you?

“Well, as much as I would love to talk about what’s hip with the kids these days,” Phil said, “We just need to know if you saw anything out of sorts at the library yesterday. Anything strange, unusual?”

Just play dumb.

“I mean... the fire alarm went off. Why would they call you guys in for that?” I plopped down on the couch, putting my shaking hands underneath my legs as the other agents sat down across from me. Get it together! I forced myself to make eye contact with Phil since Agent May wouldn’t stop staring me down. “

“Willow, our team learned of the arrest of a person of interest that took place at the same time you evacuated the building.” Phil pulled out a photo of Adrian Lester and showed it to me. “However, a security camera by the front desk captured the agent being thrown back by an unknown force before his arrest and the injuries sustained are believe were inflicted by a powered individual. That’s why we were called in. Here.” He pulled up the security footage and I watched Adrian hit the desk again, flinching as he did so. Did I really throw him that hard?

“Damn, that’s crazy,” I said, not sure of what else to say, kicking myself for forgetting about the camera by the front desk. “I didn’t see anyone though if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Did you see anyone talking to him before the alarms went off?” Phil asked. “Or perhaps what he was doing?”

“I was just there studying,” I said evenly. “No, I didn’t see anything.”

“You didn’t seem him get approached by anyone, or anyone else suspicious in the building?” Agent May clarified.

“No,” I said again, this time a little more forcefully. “Look, I have a lot of homework, so…”

“Okay, all right,” said Phil gently. “We’re just going around and trying to figure out our next steps and questioning anyone who may have seen anything. Thank you for your time.”

I saw Agent Johnson glancing around the apartment, and it was making me nervous. None of this felt quite real and I was already thinking about what this meant for our Rat Revolution, for the others. If SHIELD finds out about us, about what we’ve been doing, we’re going to be in some real hot shit.

This was exactly what Jessica warned you about and you ignored her.

“Who else do you live here with again?” Agent Johnson asked, suddenly.

“Uh… don’t you guys know?” I asked. “I mean, government and all? NSA shit?”

The others looked to Phil as he answered. “Well, actually, you were a bit difficult to track down. Did you move recently? Your records were a bit…well… sparse, to be frank.”

Oh, no. Answer this one carefully.

“Uh… actually yeah,” I said. “Um… there was a big fire.” Why the fuck would you say that? “House burned down… and then uh… my parents died.” Where did that come from? “You can look it up. The Gideon Barn fire.” Willow—stop! Are you on crack or something? “Small farming community. Came to stay with these guys. Family friends.” I shifted my pose to the same one I did when I didn’t do my homework, elbows on the knees, leaned forward like I was going through something, so the teacher would feel bad.

“Sorry for your loss,” Agent May said.

“It’s fine.” No, don’t say that! “Is that everything?” I asked.

“I think so,” said Phil, standing up, the tone in the room shifting again. “We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.”

“Cool,” I led them over to the door. “Well, yeah, stay in touch. Would love to talk again sometime. Sorry I couldn’t help.”

“Nice meeting you,” said Agent Johnson and I forced a smile.

As soon as I shut the door behind them, I huffed a deep breath in, leaning against the door for support, all the anxiety from the interview filling me at once. I felt lightheaded and sat down instead, my head against the wall. This is bad. This is really bad.

I could still hear their voices as they waited for the elevator, and even though they talked in whispers, I could hear them.

“Think she was hiding something?” Agent Johnson asked. “I mean, we can agree that was weird, right?”

Ouch, thanks for that jab to my self-esteem.

“Perhaps,” said Phil. “The question is, why?

“Do you think it was her?” Agent Johnson asked. “I mean if the ACTU finds this person before we do…”

“We’ll find them,” said Phil. “But for now, until we know what we’re dealing with, we’re not equipped to—”

Their voices faded as the elevator descended and I was shaking again. Why didn’t they ask to talk to Marty? Why come here? How much do they know? And why not just scoop me up now?

I went to the window and stared out, half-expecting to see a bunch of black SUVs parked in the street.  

My first instinct was to talk to Fanisimo and some of the other Lab Rats and see if we could put together a hack, but if we made a wrong move, it would expose all of us, plus then I’d have to admit to them what I had been doing behind their backs—straying away from our original plan to just expose the old Facility workers, but confronting them, using my powers in the open. Drawing attention to myself.

The door opened and I jumped, stumbling back, only to see Marty slipping his shoes off.

“Hey,” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“We need to leave the country,” I said, and then paused and put a finger over my lips. Bugs. They could have left bugs.

“What are you…” Marty started, and I turned on my phone light to check under the coffee table and furniture, anything the agents had made contact with. When I saw they were empty, I turned off my flashlight and motioned to Marty.

“Turn off your phone.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

When he powered it off, I told him about the agents. “They were here, Marty. In the apartment,” I whispered. “They know stuff, and I don’t know how much.”

“So, what does that mean? What now?”

“It means that I’m done. Everything has to be back to normal. I don’t know how many resources they have or what they know. From here on out, I promise, everything is going to have to be normal.”

It means I’m shouldn’t take my phone with me anymore when I do these operations. It means I have to be twice as careful, no more sloppy work. It means I need to finish this before anyone else finds me.

And what do I mean by finish?

Find Subject Zero. Find Doctor Turner. Find out what Monster was. Destroy anything that’s left of it.

#ww writing #willow wren #marty fields #phil coulson #melinda may #daisy johnson

[queernuck]

so, last night my dad got home with dinner, was being his usual somewhat odd self, was just generally acting like the asshole he tends to be and it was just kind of business as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary, just that he tends to be, well, an asshole. and that wasnt unexpected, he gets like that a lot, and i can deal with it.

yesterday, at some point, I realized that I probably need a refill on my clonazepam script, which I cant verify without asking, who always gets really bitchy about it, who makes sure that she makes it as demeaning and awful of an experience as possible to even talk about these things. she is very good at it, as well, and knows exactly what things to say to be insulting, to be vicious, to make me feel vulnerable and awful and more than anything just makes me feel worthless. and like, this is a routine thing for her, she takes whatever opportunities she can to make me feel this way and is very open about that. i have no idea if she realizes how miserable i am, and if she did then she would likely blame me, would yell at me about not responding to TMS or claim that I ruined its efficacy by doing drugs over the course of treatment (which is...more than a bit ridiculous) or just generally looking at me with contempt

by contrast, my dad at least makes some occasional attempts at reaching out, sometimes seems to have a sense of how much pain i am in, although not really accepting it in full, not really understanding it, not getting it. and last night was just another example of him not getting it, not understanding it. he specifically said that psych meds are apparently to help me get better, are not supposed to be things that you take long-term. which, well, that is something that I might argue in certain circumstances and in fact I want to be off of my SSRI because I feel it has not been helpful, I want to change ADHD meds to one that is a stimulant so that I get actual use out of it instead of it just being...whatever the fuck Strattera IS, as an incredibly expensive drug that has no real usefulness for me, and I want to stay ON Clonazepam because it is at least SOMETIMES helpful, and in fact would like to ADD another benzodiazepine like a high dose of Ativan or a decent prescription of Xanax so that I have something for acute anxiety as well as to treat the underlying and structurally-embedded anxiety I have so much trouble with.

but that is about my own personal needs, as well as an anti-psychiatric perspective that itself flows through being relatively familiar with psychiatry and how it works, how it feels to be in psychiatric care, how psychiatry abuses people. he, on the other hand, just doesnt take the meds hes prescribed because...thats just how he is. like, he doesnt take meds for his thyroid, or B12 despite having an absolutely AWFUL memory, like a fucking ATROCIOUS memory, and has never done anything about likely having ADHD. he just does not give a shit, he just has a perspective on meds that is more than a little bit absurd, and he is proud to impose that on me, too!

and so when I was asking about my clonazepam prescription, how many I had left, kind of anxious because all of a sudden I had fixated on worrying that I maybe didnt have enough, that I maybe would run out, so on, so I asked him to make sure that I had enough for the next few days. I asked this in the evening, after dinner, because I hoped that he would be able to check for me without needing to ask my mom, who would then use it as an opportunity to chastise me or scorn me or whatever. and he was deflecting and asking why I need to know and just generally being obstinate and awful and a fucking asshole, and then he told me to just go downstairs, like as a kind of “go to your room”-esque statement.

and he got mad enough that he was banging his fucking fist on the table, which was terrifying! i was genuinely scared and I wanted to get the fuck out of there so I tried to bolt, pissed and scared and just in an awful fucking mood, and he got mad at me for that too, for storming off when he was the one who was escalating shit.

and then, after all of that, he guilts me into listening to him go on about the mistakes he’s made with me, the ways that he made mistakes more generally, all of that. he said that the biggest mistake he ever made was sending me off to college at Trinity, and like, I don’t know if he meant that in the sense of not making me go to a school that gave me money, or if he thought sending me off to college as a WHOLE is something that he never should have done, or if this or that or the other thing was like, a mistake. I genuinely have no idea. I know that he also said something about it being a mistake to have let me work on a political campaign and that the nastiness of an electoral campaign was awful and that like, I think he was implying that it was what moved me to the left and as a result bad things happened? Im not really sure on that. Im not sure him or my mother realize that like, the beginning of my own major depression, the beginning of the turn that lead to the lows I’ve had since began while I was at school and just kept on getting worse, I have no clue. I do know that they blame me for it, I know they think I just haven’t worked hard enough.

And now I’m here. I’m sad. I’m real fucking sad. I’m lonely. I feel worthless. I feel like an awful person. I also want to get right back to doing the exact sort of things that my parents think make me an awful person! like, I really want some fucking heroin or some coke right now. I really have trouble dealing with the world while im sober, i really hate being forced into sobriety through this, through my parents taking my ID, taking my paychecks, making it so that the only places I go are my workplace and home. I hate it, I fucking hate it and I am so tired of it, so fucking TIRED, that I legitimately want to off myself but am at such a low place that I can hardly even think about figuring out how to go about doing that, how to make it so that I at least can have a glimmer of hope, one last moment of “wow, I at least did some cool things” before I go so that I can feel as if I’m leaving meaningfully.

theyre keeping me relatively close to the sobriety they want but they are doing it by making my life fucking miserable, by making it so that I have to struggle, so that I am basically being hung out unsympathetically to dry. next weekend, while she visits my siblings down in DC, my mom is going to be taking part in a walk against addiction held by a foundation that has been embraced by my aunt after her son, my cousin, died of an OD after a relapse. my mom is a former nurse, and is a fucking unsympathetic person when it comes to addiction and substance abuse. she seems to have no understanding of why people resort to using drugs, she has been mocking and patronizing when talking about my own drug use, and always looks at it in the most awful terms possible. but that’s just who she is, that’s just how my dad is, all of this is where I am stuck right now.

i want to be fucking out.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Weekend Picks: 2/21-2/23

Big Head Todd and the Monsters

BY JORDAN MAINZER

There were no live picks for yesterday, but plenty for the weekend!

2/21: Objekt, Smartbar

Here’s what we wrote about Objekt’s Cocoon Crush when we named it our #6 album of 2018:

“An artist solidly known for his bold exploration of techno, Objekt now takes a plunge into a new kind of ethereal beauty on Cocoon Crush. A foray into ambient music, Objekt subverts a lot of what we have come to expect from him. The line between digital and analog is smeared. Tracks are ungrounded, punctuated still by percussion and synthesizers, but in patterns and textures that materialize in mysterious ways. And just as they appear, they stutter and morph in ways unexpected to the listener. The cold machinations of the dancefloor are still present; they are just stretched and masked in exciting and rewarding ways.”

Darwin and Flower Flood open.

2/21: Knuckle Puck, Beat Kitchen

We previewed Knuckle Puck’s set at Durty Nellie’s two years ago:

“Covering last year’s Riot Fest, I found Knuckle Puck the worst set of the festival, though I did remark that the band’s new, unreleased material had the crowd’s attention as much as their released material. As it turns out, the album versions of the songs are pretty good. Shapeshifter, released about a month later in October, was exemplary of what Knuckle Puck do best–write catchy songs with powerful melodies and hooks, enough to showcase the band’s more-than-capable instrumental prowess while avoiding the try-hard singing that plagues so many of today’s emo bands.”

Cleveland power poppers Heart Attack Man and Wilkes Barre hardcore band One Step Closer open.

Objekt; Photo by Kasia Zacharko

2/21: James McMurtry, Old Town School of Folk Music

We previewed James McMurtry’s show at FitzGerald’s two years ago:

“James McMurtry plays tonight as part of the 37th Annual American Music Festival at Fitzgerald’s, still touring strong off of Complicated Game (one of our favorite albums of 2015) like he was when it first came out. When we caught up with him last November, he said of new songs, 'I’ve jotted them down on my phone as I’ve gone along. That whole record was written on an iPhone3. Unfortunately, I dropped that phone, I don’t have the cool Notes app anymore.' Well, either he’s got a new phone or doesn’t need one, because late last year, he released 'State of the Union', a trademark jab at fascism and racism. It might not be as succinct as him telling us 'There never been a good Nazi a day on this earth dead or alive,' but at least there’s hope for more new material.”

2/21: Raphael Saadiq & Jamila Woods, Vic Theatre

Last year, Raphael Saadiq released his first album in 8 years (since the great Stone Rollin’). Jimmy Lee is named after, inspired by, and partially about his brother who died of heroin overdose after contracting HIV many years ago. As such, whether singing or inhabiting the character of his brother, Saadiq is at times uncharacteristically somber. He’s at the other end of a barrel of a gun on “Sinners Prayer”, reflecting on his wrongs, wondering whether it’s too late: “When a sinner is praying, God, will you hear it?” He wears a heavy burden on the funky, stomping “Something Keeps Calling Me”, the song’s wailing guitar solo in the bridge a mirror to his emotions. Saadiq calls out society, too, just as much as himself. “The people are mad,” he sings on “This World is Drunk”. The one-two punch of anti-mass incarceration jams “Rikers Island” and “Rikers Island Redux” presents the issue as simply as it should be put: “Too many n***as in Rikers Island / Why must it be / Set them free.” The former expresses its anger with upbeat piano and a simple refrain, the latter with spoken word over gentle guitar strums.

Best, though, are the reflections of grace that rise above the despair. On “I’m Feeling Love”, over a slower, more warbling funk, Saadiq, singing as his brother, is thankful for the little that he has. And on the skittering, rolling “Glory To The Veins”, he again distills his brother’s death to what matters: “I lost a brother to AIDS / Still, he laughed every day.” We’re lucky that as he gets older, reflecting on his life, and playing live reflecting on his career in Tony! Toni! Toné! and all the legendary artists like D’Angelo and Solange that he’s produced, Saadiq is willing to impart his wisdom.

Jamila Woods’ LEGACY! LEGACY! was one of our favorite albums of last year:

“Yes, Jamila Woods’ stunning LEGACY! LEGACY! is a tribute to important artists of color. What makes it stand out among other tributes, however, is the remarkable way Woods is able to present how each figure has guided her. Take opener 'BETTY', about funk artist Betty Davis, a woman married to a far more famous jazz trumpeter who gets his own song later on. Woods explores the gender and power dynamic in the relationship and uses it to make a personal and universal plea: 'Let me be, I’m trying to fly.' Fly, she does. On 'ZORA', over a hip hop beat, Woods succinctly declares in an all-time line, 'My weaponry is my energy', the drive and desire the catalyst in the noble goal to make her mark on the world as a black woman as opposed to while being a black woman. In various interviews surrounding the album release, Woods spoke about being inspired by black artists who perform and make art truly for themselves independent and often in spite of the race of the end consumers. 'Motherfuckers won’t shut up,' beings 'MUDDY', referencing Muddy Waters adoption of electric guitar because white audiences would talk over his sets; 'Shut up, motherfucker,' she sings inversely on 'MILES', 'I don’t take requests.' But the percussive, jazzy 'EARTHA' best encapsulates her aims of self-love and ultimate pride. 'I used to be afraid of myself,' Woods admits before stating, 'I don’t wanna compromise.' Ultimately, the refrain of, 'Who’s gonna share my love for me with me?' is the mindset by which Woods approaches relationships throughout the record and then life itself. You can be a part of it, but she comes first.”

DJ Duggz also opens.

2/21: The Wailers, SPACE

We previewed The Wailers’ set at Old Town School of Folk Music last year:

“Bob Marley might not be around, but his original band, containing many of the original members and their children, continues to play his songs. Seeing them in a venue as small as this is rare.”

Tonight at SPACE--an even smaller venue--they play two shows, an early and late one.

Joe Henry

2/22: Big Head Todd and the Monsters, Vic Theatre

We previewed Big Head Todd & The Monsters’ show at the Vic Theatre two years ago:

“The Colorado jam band that saw mainstream success in the 90′s is touring fresh off of last year’s heavy New World Arisin’. In 2016, as Big Head Blues Club (the band’s project with a wide array of blues legends like Cedric Burnside and Charlie Musselwhite), they released Way Down Inside. But for the full potential of Big Head Todd and the Monsters, go a few years back and try 2014′s Black Beehive, a rawer, more diverse blues record than you’d expect from the band who recorded 'Bittersweet'. What’s for sure is that live, they’ll lean heavily on the new material while not forgoing their more beloved classics.”

They haven’t released a new album since then but have released a new song every month as part of a series. They should play some of these live, including gospel piano ballad “Hard Times Come No More” and the funky, rollicking “Train of Storms”.

Nashville band Los Colognes open.

2/22: Todd Barry, Thalia Hall

We previewed Todd Barry’s sets at SPACE two years ago:

“So, this isn’t exactly music, but deadpan comedian Todd Barry is performing 2 stand-up sets in one night at SPACE. Commemorating his 30 years of being a comedian, he’s going on another crowd work-only tour like the one documented in his 2014 special Todd Barry: The Crowd Work Tour. From watching that and his most recent Netflix special Spicy Honey, Barry’s dry observational humor is effortlessly tailored to specific crowds and cities, making this one of the must-see comedy events of the year.”

Even if tonight isn’t crowd work-only, he should do some of his specialty.

Chicago-based stand-up comic Chelsea Hood opens.

Hot Snakes

2/22: Joe Henry, Old Town School of Folk Music

Since we last saw Joe Henry five years ago, he’s done quite a bit of production work and released two albums, 2017′s Thrum, and last year’s The Gospel According to Water. In between the two, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer; considering that, the latter takes on weight. It’s, first and foremost, raw, from the guitar playing on “Famine Walk” to the title track. But Gospel sports moments of beauty, too, as on the woodwind of “Mule” and rich vocal harmonies of “In Time For Tomorrow” and “The Fact of Love”.

Americana duo Birds of Chicago open.

Pissed Jeans; Photo by Ebru Yildiz

2/22: Tim and Eric, Chicago Theatre

Who knows what Tim and Eric will bring to their Chicago stop of their Mandatory Attendance tour, other than their purported "brand new spoofs, goofs and insanity” and “special surprises.” The last time I saw them, Dr. Steve Brule showed up and almost married Jan Skylar!

2/22: Hot Snakes, Pissed Jeans, & HIDE, Empty Bottle

Music Frozen Dancing is upon us again, with suggested donations benefiting the Chicago Coalition for the Homeless! Go and donate!

We last listened to Hot Snakes from the medical tent at September’s Riot Fest. Since then, they’ve released the first two of four seasonal 7-inch singles leading up to the next LP: the burner “Checkmate” and wonderfully plodding laziness anthem “I Shall Be Free”. (The latter’s 7-inch has “A Place in the Sun” as an exclusive.)

Hot Snakes also play Sunday night at the Bottle with an opening set from post punk band Pink Avalanche.

Allentown hardcore band Pissed Jeans haven’t released anything since 2017′s Why Love Now, but they’re thankfully back to warm your pants before Hot Snakes. Maybe they’ll have some new songs to play?

Local industrial duo HIDE (artist Heather Gabel and percussionist Seth Sher) released their second album last year, the raw, disgusting Hell is Here. The drum programming and screaming is just as cringingly visceral as the recorded sounds of vomit hitting a toilet that end opening track “Chainsaw”.

Synth band Crash Course in Science, arty The Hecks, and local punk band Hitter also open.

#live picks #objekt #smartbar #knuckle puck #beat kitchen #heart attack man #one step closer #james mcmurtry #old town school of folk music #raphael saadiq #jamila woods #dj duggz #the wailers #space #big head todd and the monsters #los colognes #todd barry #thalia hall #chelsea hood #joe henry #birds of chicago #tim and eric #hot snakes #empty bottle #pissed jeans #seth sher #the hecks #hitter #adam luksetich #ryan wizniak

[retired-executioner]

Prologue

‘Day 6,

‘I’ve been in this town for only a week and things have begun to heat up. Town meetings are growing tense, and accusations are starting to be made. I am not silent about my role, however the townies believe I’m lying still because of my insistence. I suspect I’ll need to leave this town soon, if the townies keep us this sort of attitude.

‘There have been a few deaths in the town already. Two last night and one yesterday morning. A lookout girl and a medium boy were murdered by supposed serial killers, and the townies accidentally ordered the hanging of a young doctor who they falsely declared to be one of the killers. It was near obvious that it was the wrong choice, but my pleadings for the doctor’s life were seen as a serial killer’s pleading for his partner to live. Not very helpful in my own defense.

‘The mafia in this town did end up speaking with me, however. I have established with them that none of them are my target, and The Godfather trusts me to assist them. Thankfully this has kept me from getting shot. Good relations with the mafia will usually lead to a lynching, however. It’s a bit of a conflict.

‘There’s a mafioso named Gordon. Specifically I’ve taken a liking to him. He’s much kinder than the other mafia folk, and seems more interested in telling stories than killing townies. I’ve had him come to visit a few times, and he’s great company really.

‘It’s around 1 in the morning about now. I’ve written for too long again. I need some way to remind myself that I have a project to take care of tomorrow. If I write about it before I sleep, maybe this old man’s memory will kick in.’

Grayson placed his quill on the bedside table and snapped his journal shut. The candle that was lit beside the quill and ink was just past its halfway point, and the wax was beginning to melt off onto the wooden table. The flame was nearly out, and the warm orange glow only stretched as far as Grayson’s face. He’d gotten caught up in his journal once again, and knew that tomorrow’s meeting was going to be a pain for him.

He reached over off of his bed and pinched out the candle’s flame. The light wave of smoke was the last thing he saw clearly before it faded away and left his room in darkness. He shifted in bed, covering himself with the sheets and burying his head into the only feather pillow he had. He fell to sleep almost instantly, his exhaustion finally seeping into his writer’s motivation.

He didn't dream for the time he was asleep. He was only able to get around two hours of silent sleep before an odd noise woke him up. The shattering of glass.

Grayson sat up straight in bed, his covers still draped over his shoulder. The crunching of footsteps on broken glass came from his kitchen. It couldn't have been the mafia, they trusted him. A serial killer? Was that the only option? Or was it an arsonist, dousing his home and readying for a burning?

He threw off his covers and got out of bed, not bothering to put on the gray slippers at his bedside. He treaded quietly towards the kitchen, peering in to at least catch a glimpse of the intruder.

Unsurprisingly, the face of the towns most suspicious suspect was what he saw. Suspected for being a serial killer, this claimed escort, supposedly named Peter, was now stalking around in Grayson's kitchen. A shining knife was in his hand, looking eerily similar to Grayson's own steak knives. Obviously, he was chosen for an attack.

Usually, Grayson wouldn't be so worried. His night immunity would protect him from death. However with the tense council, his night immunity may make him a suspect for the second serial killer. Or an arso, at least. Executioner claims were never believed, unfortunately for the very true executioner.

Grayson slipped behind the wall to avoid being seen by the intruder and stepped off to the side. He picked up the closest thing to him, one of the many vases in his home, and carefully removed the flowers from them. The water still splashed at the bottom of the glass vase, but Grayson ignored it. He listened to the light footsteps of the intruder and followed them parallel in the other room. He lifted the vase over his head, ready to bring it down the moment the killer was visible, however he never got the chance.

A gunshot cracked through the near silence, disrupting the quiet hunt and startling Grayson enough for him to drop the vase. The blue glass shattered the second it hit the wooden floor, and broken glass was thrown about. Peter fell through the door, a bullet hole in his chest, but seeming near unfazed. He caught glimpse of Grayson and almost immediately sprung into action.

“Grayson!” Grayson heard a familiar voice yell from the other room as he held back the attacking murderer. He socked Peter clean across the jaw and kicked him in the gut, throwing him back far enough so that he could run into the other room. He was greeted by Gordon, the small mafioso he’d taken such a liking to.

“Gordon! What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here! You do not have night immunity like I do!” Grayson grabbed hold of his arm and moved him quickly out of the way of a thrown vase, which crashed and shattered against the wall, “You could be killed!”

“Listen to him, kid. I don’t wanna have to leave here with an extra kill!” Peter, who had brought his knife out again and looked ready to pounce, yelled with a full toothy grin.

“That’s a lie, Peter,” Grayson growled a reply.

“You’re right! That is a lie. I would LOVE to leave here with an extra kill!”

“I’m not going anywhere, Grayson. Godfather told me to watch over you and that’s exactly what I’m going to do!” Gordon was clearly determined, and Grayson simply swept him behind, moving an arm in front of him defensively.

“You’re not dying for this old executioner.”

“Why would he attack you? Doesn’t he know you have—“

“Obviously not.. I believe he thinks I’m lying just like the townies. Even if I didn’t have it, you’d still need to stay behind me. I’m more capable of taking this fight-“

Grayson’s words were cut off by a knife lodging itself in his ribs, getting stuck between two ribs and just nearly missing his heart. He didn’t cry out, instead only a light wheeze escaping him as he almost took a knee to recover.

“Grayson-!”

“Don’t worry, Gordon,” Grayson pulled the knife from his ribs, stifling a strained grunt as he attempted to keep Gordon calm. He was already bleeding terribly, but he knew he wouldn’t die. He wasn’t worried.

Peter huffed at the sight. Night immunity? Or just high pain tolerance? He didn’t want to figure it out. He didn’t particularly want to discover that his target was unkillable.

“Peter, don’t be an idiot,” Grayson tossed the knife back over to him, “Leave right now, and I’ll keep your little secret to myself. We’re all anti townie here.”

“That’s a lie. You pressing your role is just leaving me more of a target, even though you’re just lying. The Executioner claim is such a common claim,” Peter snapped back, snatching the knife up from the wooden floor and wiping the fresh blood onto his pants.

“Look at me, Peter!” Grayson held a hand to the bleeding wound in his chest. It was painful, he’d admit, but he didn’t feel any weaker. He was still standing strong. “Tell me I’m not who I say I am again. I am night immune! I am just an executioner who’s target is already gone! We can work together on this.”

“Work together?! Even if you actually ARE the executioner in the town, you’re already sided with the mafia! And you know us serial killers aren’t too kind with mafia guys,” Peter was clearly distressed, and fiddled with the end of his knife before seemingly coming to a decision.

“If I cant kill you, then I’ll just kill everyone else. Starting with the mafia.”

The rest of the night was almost a blur. Grayson remembers pushing back against Peter, he remembers the hand to hand fight, the knife cutting multiple other holes in his skin. He remembers the noises; screams and shouts, shattering glass. He remembers the feeling of dread as he fell unconscious by the body of a mafioso who’d just barely missed his escape. A mafioso who died trying to protect the already protected executioner.

And he remembers waking up the next morning. The bleeding had stopped, the sun had risen. He was in a new bed, bandaged and sitting up. It was a shoddy job done on the bandages, but that was because the real doctor had been lynched in the middle of town the previous day. He couldn’t complain, it was better than nothing.

He pulled the covers off of himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. When he placed his feet on the ground, an unexpected pain shot through his legs. He looked down, only to find that they were heavily bandaged and had already bled through a bit. He’d forgotten about the broken glass. He must’ve stepped in it quite a lot during the fight the night before for his feet to be so torn up.

As he was sitting up, the door into the house swung open, and the towns sheriff was there, as well as the mayor. The sheriff didn’t even wait for Grayson to speak. He only pulled him to his aching feet and lead him out the door, ignoring the obvious limps. When the sheriff let Grayson go again, he simply collapsed onto his knees, desperately trying to stay off of his feet.

He was outside, the sun was right overhead, the town meeting was going on, and the townspeople were all watching him suspiciously.

The mayor spoke first through the unnerving silence.

“Grayson Vernichtung. We have reason to believe that you are one of the killers that plague our town.”

“Are you serious?” Grayson huffed a reply, “I’ve told you, I’m only an executioner with no target. I am neutral in this town.”

“A mafioso was found dead in your household last night. A lookout has claimed that you were the cause of this death. The stab wounds suggest that this mafioso came to your house to murder you, and you sprung back on him, killing him instead.”

Grayson went quiet, the memories of the night flooding back to him. He’s been in this situation before. But never in a situation where another person was killed in the crossfire. It left him with a sort of secondhand guilt.

“You don’t deny it?”

“No! No that is not at all what I intended by silence,” he hesitated for a moment, “What.. Was the mafioso’s name?”

He knew the name in his heart, but his mind told him to hope for some kind of miracle.

“Gordon.”

A light sob escaped him at the verbal mention. He couldn’t save him. He caught a glimpse of The Godfather’s expression drop, almost in a sort pity, and he caught all of the emotion he needed.

“What is your defense?”

“Who is your lookout?”

“They remain anonymous. “

“Was it Peter? I bet it was Peter. Tell me, was it?”

The mayor went quiet this time.

“Was it?!”

“I said they remain anonymous! Enough! What is your defense, if you have any!” The Mayor snapped.

“Peter is the killer! He came to me to kill me. He didn’t know I was night immune! Gordon came to me to protect me, I knew him, he was my friend! Did I know he was a mafioso?” he glanced to The Godfather, “No. No I did not. But do I like him any less now that I do? Absolutely not! Are you going to lynch me, because I tell the truth? Because I knew a mafioso? I can help you. I can tell you the truth! I can reveal the killers!”

The town was silent after his protest. Not a voice spoke, and suddenly, there was an uproar of murmurs and whispers. The Mayor looked shocked.

“Alright! Enough! We vote then, you’ve heard the man’s defense. Make your decision.”

Grayson watched Peter shoot him a nasty look, one seething in anger. His truthfulness was believable, his voice sincere, and it terrified Peter. After a few minutes, the Mayor spoke again.

“Voting is over.”

Silence.

“He lives. The town vote is 7-2. Jailor, keep him barricaded until tomorrow. Make sure he doesn’t leave, and no one visits.”

The Jailor nodded, and dragged Grayson back to his feet. The townspeople dispersed, and Grayson was taken back to his home.

After a couple hours of rest for his aching body, he reached for his journal and quill again.

‘Day 7. The last day of the week.

‘I need to go. If I stay they will question me on the mafia, and I cannot betray the ones who’ve kept me safe for this measly week in the town. Though I’m jailed for tonight, I can still escape while the Jailor sleeps. I will need to ignore the wounds if I hope to escape this soon, but hopefully I can move fast enough.

‘As long as I can get far enough away on my journey, I should be safe. They make take the dogs out to search for me but it doesn’t matter, I can cover my scent. I need to find the closest town. I’ve looked over maps, and there’s a small town called Salem that I may need to stop at, but there’s been no word on Salem’s development recently. People believe something dreadful happened there, but I myself haven’t caught up.

‘Unfortunately though that little cryptid town may be my only hope to recover. Who knows, I may find something there I like.’

#With Regards Grayson #Retired Executioner #Story #not an ask #town of salem #tos oc