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#like shut UP about the power of friendship he can’t keep his damn promise if he’s dead you morons
thecityonthemoon · 2 years
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I think Exodus (Fantastic Four (1961) #240) deserves its own post, despite being a short story
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Look at their winter clothes! It makes no sense that Medusa is wearing no pants but I love the cloak, and Crystal’s dress and hood are lovely!
Also, Medusa likes flowers!
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: (
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Like I asked before, what is it with Maximus and heroic deaths? Also, her eyes are so beautiful
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The friendship and mutual respect between BB and Reed is so nice to see
Medusa’s reaction to her man fainting is also so cute
Black Bolt was alone using his powers to keep all of his people well. Just. I can’t with this man. I can talk for hours about how he believes he must do everything all on his own to the point he hurts himself and sabotage all his relationships.
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The… doctor? Warned him against it. Why are men like this? And some cute couple stuff with some Sleeping Beauty imagery. I definitely need fic of Medusa taking care of BB
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Idk, Gorgon watching over Karnak is also cute. And “small one”. Karnak doesn’t even protest being called this. It’s nice
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Oh look, my most hated moment of all. Really, if there’s anything I hate more than the cursed comic is this thing the writers did to the Alphas. Misguided altruism my ass. I hate that there isn’t still a satisfying resolution to this plot point.
(And shut up, OAFK, with the “he promised to free them” thing, it’s not making anyone look better, if he did promise he never kept it! Damn, this subject makes me so mad!)
For what it’s worth (not much), there is something about BB going down there personally and alone, but then again he needed to go there to use his powers and he wouldn’t want anyone there for it
Continues in the next reblog
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livingprophecy · 2 years
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@fateviled​  asked:      ❝    honestly  i  can’t  sleep,    so  if  you  wanna  stay  up  with  me?    ❞  (elian  @  aurora  sorry,  already  failed  step  one)      /      staying  the  night  prompts.
          𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐊  𝐀𝐓  the  door  isn’t  a  complete  surprise  —  aurora  can  hear  elian’s  mind  just  as  loud  as  callum’s  and  baz’s.  they’re  all  filled  with  so  much  conflict  and  pain,  and  she’s  the  unwilling  spectator,  try  as  she  might  to  block  the  noise  out.  elian’s  struggles  are  unlike  her  own,  but  still  she  can  relate,  a  displaced  child  with  powers  too  great  for  their  own  good.  she  can’t  imagine  what  it’s  like  to  learn  your  own  father  put  a  tracker  in  you,  but  she  isn’t  ignorant  to  problems  with  fathers  either,  at  least.  the  girl  opens  the  door  with  a  timid  smile,  still  apprehensive  around  all  members  of  the  mansion.      <  i  wasn’t  sleeping  either.  >      she  signs  back,  glancing  back  over  her  shoulder  at  the  bed.  sketchbook  still  open,  with  scattered  pencil  drawings  inside,  aurora  sighs  before  turning  back,  motioning  for  elian  to  come  in.  she  climbs  back  on  the  bed,  crawling  to  the  furthest  corner  from  him  without  even  realizing;      SHE  DOESN’T  LIKE  PEOPLE  NEAR  HER,  and  she  doesn’t  want  elian  to  touch  her,  though  she  hasn’t  given  him  the  chance  to  prove  his  hands  aren’t  evil  like  so  many  were  before.  it  feels  unnecessary  still,  considering  the  massive  bed  she’s  still  getting  used  to  puts  an  ocean  of  space  between  them.      (it’s  too  soft  to  sleep  on,  she  thinks:      when  used  to  concrete,  a  soft  bed  feels  as  if  it’s  swallowing  her  whole).      pulling  her  knees  against  her  chest,  aurora  looks  at  elian  again,  and  she  can  tell  he  feels  like  as  much  of  a  stranger  in  this  place  as  she  does.  she’s  not  ure  if  it  makes  her  feel  better  or  not.  waving  her  hand  to  get  his  attention  again,  she  begins  to  sign.      <  can  i  be  honest  with  you?  i  haven’t  really  seen  too  many  movies,  like  the  one  we  watched  a  few  nights  ago.  and  it  seems  impossible  to  find  a  place  to  start.  >      she  keeps  her  movements  slow  enough  so  elian  can  follow,  knowing  he’s  still  learning,  but  she  can’t  help  the  flush  of  embarrassment  she  feels  after  the  admission.  aurora  doubts  it  was  elian’s  intention  to  set  her  on  this  path,  the  movie  being  a  distraction  for  another  restless  night;      but  she  hasn’t  stopped  thinking  about  it.
          𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄  𝐒𝐇𝐄  goes  exposing  her  naivety.      <  we  don’t  have  to  watch  any,  if  you  don’t  want.  we  could  just  talk.  or  sit  here.  >      her  hands  move  faster  now,  conveying  her  anxiety  far  more  than  she’d  like,  and  the  telepath  can’t  help  but  internally  groan  and  roll  her  eyes  at  herself.  the  last  thing  she  wants  is  more  looks  filled  with  PITY  AND  HEARTBREAK,  received  every  time  she  reveals  something  else  about  her  time  as  a  captive,  and  yet  she  is  the  one  digging  her  own  grave  since  she  can’t  keep  her  damn  hands  still,  thoughts  racing  just  as  fast.  biting  her  lip,  she  manages  an  awkward  smile,  before  continuing.      <  i’m  sorry,  i  really  don’t  know  how  to  do…  >      she  trails  off,  letting  out  a  pathetic  laugh,  dropping  her  head  against  her  knees.  great,  elian  is  going  to  think  she’s  an  idiot.      <  this.  any  of  it.  >      she  signs  without  looking  up,  only  peaking  up  after  she’s  finished,  still  trying  to  manage  the  shy  smile.  she’s  never  had  a  friend  —  sure,  she  had  them  in  elementary  school,  but  those  childhood  friendships  didn’t  exactly  stick  around  in  aurora’s  life  —  this  is  a  completely  new  experience,  SOMETHING  FAR  MORE  MEANINGFUL,  that  she  feels  like  she’s  messing  up  with  every  step.  finally,  she  rests  her  chin  against  her  knees,  wide  eyes  searching  elian’s  for  judgment  and  malice.      (she  finds  none,  not  that  she  expected  to  find  any  in  the  first  place).            <  i  think  i  make  better  company  than  baz,  at  least.  >      aurora  jokes,  another  soft  laugh  passing  her  lips.  the  other  man  had  a  good  heart,  one  she  could  tell  callum  saw  too,  but  he  spoke  without  thinking  sometimes,  letting  his  emotions  guide  him,  and  that  heart  had  been  broken  too  many  times  too  young.  aurora  is  just  an  awkward  mess;      it  has  to  be  at  least  a  little  more  bearable.      <  i’ll  shut  up,  i  promise.  >      elian  certainly  didn’t  come  for  her  nonverbal  babbling,  after  all.
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cakemoney · 3 years
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my roommate after showing me the skating anime: so who’s your favorite ship?
me: i ship the child with love and support from his seniors and peers!!!!!!!!!
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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years
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Raise
Ever since he and Nie Mingjue broke up, Jiang Cheng has only been going through the motions. He’s still fulfilling his duties as a Sect Leader—his pride in his Sect won’t allow him to do anything else—but that’s about it.
There’s nothing in life to take enjoyment from anymore and Jiang Cheng feels a lot like he did right after the war, except with less existential dread. But he’s lost and unmoored and he doesn’t know what to do.
He hates it a little bit that Nie Mingjue still has this kind of power over him, but mostly he’s just fucking devastated.
Now he understands his sister and her tears and her sad smiles a bit better.
Getting your heart broken really is the worse and Jiang Cheng guesses it doesn’t help that at least he knows that Nie Mingjue felt the same for him.
Jin Zixuan was a complete asshole to his sister, which must have made it a little bit easier Jiang Cheng hopes, because he wishes this for no one.
When he realizes that he lost himself yet again in his own head, he scoffs. It’s been happening a lot lately, and usually all of his thoughts turn to Nie Mingjue but he can’t afford to slack off.
No matter what his second in command keeps telling him on a daily basis.
If Jiang Cheng would take a day for himself, he wouldn’t do anything but wallow in his misery anyway, and he prefers working over doing that.
So he goes on, and on, one letter after the other, until he made a considerable dent into the stack that built itself up during his last weeks with Nie Mingjue.
Jiang Cheng grinds his teeth together when he realizes that he’s yet again thinking about the other man and he slams his hand on the table in his rage.
He really wonders just how long this will go on; how long he will be haunted by the thought of Nie Mingjue. Right now, he hears Nie Mingjue’s laugh echo in the hallways they frequently walked together, he feels Nie Mingjue’s phantom touch on his shoulder whenever he sits hunched over some work for too long, and he still feels all the love Nie Mingjue had for him.
But duty comes first, Jiang Cheng understands that. He doesn’t have to like it, but he understands.
“You can’t just—no, wait,” Jiang Cheng suddenly hears from outside and he lifts his head a second before someone barges into his study.
“You fucking asshole,” is what Nie Huaisang greets him with and Jiang Cheng knew that the break-up would throw a little bit of a wrench into their friendship, but he didn’t expect this.
“Huaisang,” he still greets his old friend, but he figures he shouldn’t have when Nie Huaisang glares at him, clearly too agitated to even get his fan out.
“Do not even dare,” Nie Huaisang hisses. “You absolute fucking asshole. You said you would love him!”
“I do,” Jiang Cheng says with a sigh, getting up to close the door behind Nie Huaisang, hoping that not all of Lotus Pier heard him yet.
“Yeah, I can tell,” Nie Huaisang sarcastically gives back. “It’s so very evident in the way you broke up with him.”
“Don’t be unfair,” Jiang Cheng whispers, but he can’t meet Nie Huaisang’s eyes.
It still hurts too much.
“Unfair. Unfair! The only one being unfair here is you!”
“Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng snaps, now slowly getting angry himself.
He can understand the protective instinct of a sibling, but this is really going to far. It’s not Jiang Cheng’s fault, and he didn’t actually want to break up with Nie Mingjue, but since it was what Nie Mingjue had wanted, he had done it.
And it seemed unfair to be attacked over this now.
“No. I’m going to ruin you,” Nie Huaisang lowly says and while usually Jiang Cheng wouldn’t give much thought to a threat like this, he knows that if Nie Huaisang really wants to, he will.
Going by the glare Jiang Cheng gets, Nie Huaisang really wants to.
“Why? It’s not my fault,” Jiang Cheng snaps at him and Nie Huaisang laughs right in his face.
“Right, not your fault. Of course not. How could it be? You’re just the guy who broke up with my brother.”
“Because he wanted to!” Jiang Cheng shouts at him, his heart still hurting so damn much and that at least is enough to shut Nie Huaisang up for a few seconds.
“He wanted to,” Nie Huaisang lowly repeats. “That’s what you’re going with? Really?”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Jiang Cheng asks, suddenly drained of all energy and he goes to sit back down at the table.
He doesn’t want to fight with Nie Huaisang and he doesn’t want to do it while standing up, and all he really wants to do is go crawl into bed with Nie Mingjue and curl up against his chest, but it’s not like he’ll ever be able to do that again.
“My brother finally opens up to you about the qi deviations and your first instinct is to run away and break up with him? And now you’re trying to twist it like it was actually his idea? You’re really something else, Jiang-zongzhu. I thought better of you.”
“That’s not what happened, Huaisang,” Jiang Cheng says with a small frown, because Jiang Cheng remembers that conversation a lot differently, and he was actually present.
“Then enlighten me,” Nie Huaisang hisses. “What did happen?”
Jiang Cheng desperately doesn’t want to speak about it—the pain still too near and fresh—but Nie Huaisang is levelling him with a look that promises pain and absolute ruin if Jiang Cheng doesn’t start speaking like five seconds ago and so he sighs.
“He told me about the qi deviations,” Jiang Cheng says, because so far they are on the same page. “That he’ll die soon and young and violently.”
“And you left him for it,” Nie Huaisang says with a nod, as if there could be no doubt about it.
“I love him. Do you really think that low of me?” Jiang Cheng asks, a new kind of hurt finding its place in his chest.
Jiang Cheng thought he was long over being hurt by people being disappointed in him, but it seems like he was wrong.
“Seeing as he is back home, absolutely devastated and you’re going on like nothing happened, I think the only possible answer can be yes,” Nie Huaisang sneers at him and Jiang Cheng sees red.
“I have to do this,” Jiang Cheng yells and shoots up. “I have to because if I don’t keep busy, if I don’t distract myself, I’ll be a fucking shell. I want to do nothing more than to crawl into bed and cry for a good week but what good is that going to do me? It’s not going to get me Mingjue back and my Sect actually still needs me. I was miserable all through the war and for a good while after and I don’t want to feel like that again. And besides; he made his choice. What use is there for me to cry after him.”
“He made his choice? The audacity you have! And don’t raise your voice at me like that,” Nie Huaisang gives back, clearly unfazed by Jiang Cheng’s explosion and it cuts all of Jiang Cheng’s strings.
It doesn’t matter what he tells Nie Huaisang, he realizes. He has his mind already made up.
“He told me about the qi deviations and that his Sect must come first,” Jiang Cheng still mutters. “He needs an heir.”
Jiang Cheng barely gets the words out, and he hates himself a little for how his eyes well up almost immediately. It’s been almost a week by now and the words still hurt as much as they did when they left Nie Mingjue’s mouth.
In front of him, Nie Huaisang freezes.
“What?”
“He said he needs to prepare, that he needs someone to take over eventually. It’s not that hard to understand his meaning,” Jiang Cheng whispers.
Nie Mingjue needs an heir. And for that he needs a wife. It’s as easy as that.
“Did he say it like that?” Nie Huaisang asks and Jiang Cheng nods miserably.
“That fucking idiot,” Nie Huaisang mutters and finally sits down himself, slamming his fan on the table. “Listen here, Wanyin,” he says and Jiang Cheng wonders when he switched back to being Wanyin again.
“I’m listening,” Jiang Cheng says because clearly Nie Huaisang is waiting for a response from him.
Though he’s not quite sure he can take any more accusations today.
“My brother is an idiot,” Nie Huaisang solemnly says and Jiang Cheng fights the immediate urge to defend Nie Mingjue.
He’s not sure he still has that right.
“Why?” he asks instead, because it seems like the safer option.
“I am his heir,” Nie Huaisang tells him and Jiang Cheng goes very still. “When father died and da-ge decided to not take a wife, they wrote that down somewhere. I’m to inherit the Sect should anything happen to my brother.”
“He—it didn’t sound like that when we talked,” Jiang Cheng carefully says.
It makes no sense. Nie Mingjue had looked sad as he had said that he needs to prepare. Why would he look sad if he already has an heir.
“There was sadness on his face when he said it,” Jiang Cheng weakly goes on, because he still remembers that look and it cuts him just as much as it did then.
“It was probably regret. Da-ge wanted to give me an intensive few months of Sect Leader training, so that he could hand off the reigns sooner, before his qi deviations get really bad. He resolved himself to not see you during those months, because he said you distract him too much.”
“No, he—” Jiang Cheng starts, putting his head in his hands. “That’s not how that conversation went.”
“Clearly, it’s not,” Nie Huaisang says drily. “But we both know da-ge and we know you. Both of you tend to draw your own conclusions. Da-ge thought he made himself perfectly clear—asking for a few months with nothing but letters for contact—and you thought he was breaking up with you. I can see where you would get that idea from, don’t take me wrong—da-ge is horribly bad at wording things—but it’s not what he wanted. He’s moping and heartbroken at home. I didn’t even get any training yet.”
“You hate training,” Jiang Cheng mutters, his head spinning.
“I like logistics and getting people to do what I want,” Nie Huaisang corrects. “And I would like my brother to be happy again,” he tacks on, with a raised eyebrow.
Jiang Cheng swallows.
“He doesn’t want to take a wife?” he asks, just to make sure. “He doesn’t want to sire an heir?”
“He does want to adopt a kid with the guy he had been courting for a while,” Nie Huaisang says, absolutely nonchalant as if it’s not blowing Jiang Cheng’s mind to hear that Nie Mingjue thought about a little family of their own.
“Really?” Jiang Cheng asks, his voice full of hope and his heart hammering away in his chest.
“Really,” Nie Huaisang assures him, finally picking up his fan and flicking it open with the by now so familiar gesture.
“I think I have to cut your visit here short, then,” Jiang Cheng says, already scrambling to his feet.
“You go on ahead,” Nie Huaisang waves him off, draping himself over the table. “The flight here was way too exhausting for me.”
“Sure,” Jiang Cheng says, rolling his eyes, but not actually bothering to convince Nie Huaisang.
If he flies alone he can push himself as much as he wants, and then he gets to see Nie Mingjue sooner.
~*~*~
Jiang Cheng doesn’t bother to announce his arrival and Nie Mingjue’s disciples clearly don’t deem it necessary to do it, either, it seems, because Jiang Cheng simply barges into Nie Mingjue’s quarters without anyone telling him.
“What are you doing here?” Nie Mingjue asks him, his voice rough and Jiang Cheng sees the dark circles under his eyes and how pale he is.
It seems they both didn’t deal well with the temporary break-up.
“Huaisang invaded Lotus Pier,” Jiang Cheng tells him and Nie Mingjue immediately draws himself up.
“Whatever he said, don’t listen to him. I respect your choice,” Nie Mingjue reassures him and Jiang Cheng wants to go to him and hug him and kiss him, but for now he simply rolls his eyes.
“He said there was a misunderstanding.”
“A what?”
“You said you need someone to take over the Sect. You never mentioned Huaisang. I thought you meant you want to take a wife,” Jiang Cheng explains in as little words as possible, because he is dying with the urge to finally get his hands on Nie Mingjue again.
“A wife,” Nie Mingjue repeats and blinks. “If anything she would be the second wife, because I intent to marry you.”
Jiang Cheng flushes bright red at that, but his heart is dancing in his chest. With happiness, for a change.
“Yeah, I should hope so,” Jiang Cheng says and dares to step closer. “But I understand duty to your Sect and so when you said it like that—”
“You thought I would ask you to step back so I can focus on my Sect. You would have allowed me to take a wife?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng shrugs.
“Duty comes first,” he says because if he learned anything in his youth then it’s that. “I understand that. I didn’t like it, but it sounded sensible to me.”
“Nothing about that is sensible, I love you, what the hell would I ever do without you?”
Find someone else to love, Jiang Cheng wants to say, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t let him, because with two big steps he’s right in front of him and he doesn’t hesitate to crush Jiang Cheng to his chest.
“What would I even do without my heart?” he whispers again and Jiang Cheng’s resolve is broken.
He slings his arms around Nie Mingjue and presses himself as close as he can get, his breath leaving him in shuddering bursts.
“I didn’t like it,” Jiang Cheng chokes out. “I missed you so much. I love you.”
“Never think something like this again,” Nie Mingjue begs him. “I would never do that to you, not for any duty in the world.”
“Okay,” Jiang Cheng weakly says and Nie Mingjue presses a kiss to his head.
“Not for any duty,” he repeats and Jiang Cheng nods.
“Okay, alright,” he gets out, his voice choked up with tears.
For once they are tears of happiness because he’s finally back where he belongs.
Link to my ko-fi
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nat-20s · 2 years
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Part 2 of This Fic! Less sad, more friendship in this round!
Martin doesn’t know how long he stands still, but it’s long enough for the wracking sobs to turn to a steady stream of tears to turn to nothing but a sticky, salty residue on his cheeks. As his breaths have become something resembling steady and his grief has been saran-wrapped in the numbness of  survival, a flash of curiosity breaks through.
He’s not..he’s not going to break his promise to live less than 24 hours from making it, but- but Jon said he probably couldn’t. Blinking and bringing himself back to awareness of his physical reality, he takes in the actual sight of the threshold. If he didn’t attempt to go through it, but did attempt to touch it, would it be a barrier or a gateway? He couldn’t always claim the kind of intractable desire to know that Jon had possessed, but he couldn’t claim complete immunity to it, either.
So, he takes a step forward. Then another. Nothing changes. No bolts of power to strike down the impostor avatar or sinkholes opening to swallow him whole or anything like the most fanciful parts of his imagination are conjuring. His arm outstretches, his fingers uncurl, and an inch from learning whether he could follow Jon, right here, right now, he stops.  
He made a promise, and it’s a promise that he’s has to at least make an attempt at keeping. If he can’t go through, if the threshold is as smooth and implacable as its glassy appearance, then the choice of it would be stolen from him. Even though Jon’s not…..
Even though Jon’s not here to call him out on it, the spirit of the thing matters, at least to him.
With a sigh, and eyes shutting against a new swell of grief breaking its flimsy packaging, he pulls back his hand, and goes back to the house he can no longer call a home.
His plan, the second he enters the now cavernous cottage, is to sleep, still present daylight be damned. He bothers with none of the motions of brushing his teeth or changing into a sleep shirt, barely mustering up the effort of kicking off his shoes before falling onto the bed.
Once he’s there, though, everything about it is wrong, wrong, wrong. There’s no heat by his torso or two points of cold pressed into his calves. The sheets shift only from his movements and the springs only dip with his weight and, fuck, all the materials that make up a bed, stuffing and cotton and silk have been replaced with conspicuous absence.
Logically, he knows the absence will extend far past the confines of the bed. It will permeate the kitchen that lacks singing in the morning, the window that has no murmur of book pages turning in the afternoon, the living room with no under the breath swears as someone inevitably stubs their toe in the too late night. In the bed, however, the absence feels concentrated, weighted in a way that chokes out the ability to sleep.
The rest of the house was made of spaces where they sometimes existed without each other. Everywhere else, the silence could still fit with a denial of reality, with the idea that Jon is out for a walk. It’s a lie that will allow itself to be told everywhere but the bed. For the past three years, Martin has never attempted sleep without Jon beside him. For three years, there has been steady breaths or the shaking aftermath of nightmares or the slowing conversation as the insomnia finally gives way to rest. There should be something, someone, and now there’s not.
Martin moves to the couch.
~*~
The three weeks where they know Jon’s upcoming fate but have not yet sealed it, Martin assumes that he’s going to end up in the same place he was during Those Six Months. That time in his life had resulted in a bone-deep desire to Stop that he had thought incurable. One of the few confessions he had left for Jon in Scotland was that his deal with Peter was born less from a desire to answer questions than it was to never ask questions again. Jon had known already, of course, because Jon Listened, but. It had felt right, to tell him directly. Hell, that admission is likely why Jon has specifically asked him to live.
Fuck if it isn’t hard, though.
In some ways, these following non-definite days are worse. Martin knows how to be in survival mode. Martin would say he’s even good at survival mode, not even needing the inherent desire to survive. This..isn’t that. Physically speaking, continuing to exist is easy right now, easier than it’s been for most of his life. The freezer is well stocked with food that can be ready in a matter of microwaved minutes. He owns this house, with monthly utilities being on an automatic payment system. There are no threats knocking on his door, no monsters after him. Theoretically, he could live for months on a simply rotation of couch-kitchen-bathroom, years if he utilized the one restaurant that delivers out here.  He does not have to try to exist, and he does not have to help anyone else try to exist.
So, for the first week, and for much of the first year, he doesn’t. He spends as much time asleep as he can, for while the awakenings are so very cruel, sometimes his dreams allow him the false company of his husband.
Very much to his surprise, however, is that this period of grief is gentler. He is not carrying the burden of ‘could have beens’ or ‘should have dones’, of one kiss full of potential that would never have any follow through. There are no bastards whispering in his ear to enunciate his fear for their own ends. Even though he is mourning the love of his life, even though the limits of his loss do not seem to exist, it is much simpler to actively grieve one person than three.
The real difference between Then and Now is two fold.
One he had known even before Jon’s leave of absence: he is going to see Jon again, eventually.
The other comes to him seven days After: Melanie King is a deeply stubborn person, who has decided, for some reason, to care about him.
He thinks he’s dreaming when he first hears the knocking; despite the terrors that he’s experienced since, the ghost of Jane Prentiss is still the most likely to haunt his sleep. Scrunching up his face, he flips over on the couch and tries to block it out until a familiar voice calls out, “If you don’t answer the door in thirty seconds I’m assuming you’re dead and kicking it down.”
Assuming he’s dead probably wouldn’t be that bad, but he really doesn’t feel like getting the door fixed, so he stumbles over and opens it with an entirely pointless glare. Before he can ask any questions, Melanie chirpily tells him, “You look like shit.”
He tries to reply with an admittedly dickish, “How would you know,” but a week without speaking makes his first attempt to do so come out as, “Hurugh.”
“Mm, yeah, I hear ya. Hey, you don’t drink, do you?”
“I, um? No, I don’t.”
Without any further discussion, she steps inside, hangs her cane on the coat hook by the door, and pulls her backpack around to rummage in it. With a raise of an eyebrow that mostly lands the mark, she asks, “Would you like to start?”
“Not...particularly?”
Melanie apparently finds what she’s searching for, and tosses him a can. “Looks like the flavored seltzer was the right call, then. I can’t stand the stuff and am glad to be rid of it in my home, but I think I remember that being your go-to at parties?”
It was, generally, but he had no idea that she knew that. He gets out, “Melanie, what-” before deciding that that’s fully sufficient. Just. What?
Melanie heads over to the bay window, still packed to the brim with pillows and blankets, and Martin has to bite his tongue in order to not tell her that’s not her spot. She makes herself comfortable before answering, “So there’s this wild concept that you may of hear of called friendship? It’s-”
“Melanie-”
She lets out a sigh and starts to drum her fingers on her stomach. “Look, if Georgie had disappeared out of my life a week ago, I’d be pretty fucked up, and something tells me that leaving the super weenie hut jr Lonely avatar by himself isn’t the best of ideas. I would’ve brought a casserole but cooking and me have never really gotten on, and Georgie hates them with a surprisingly deep passion.”
On a conscious level, he’s protesting her being there, the presence of anyone grating against him when he’s in a depressive state. Yet, even as he replies, “Thanks, I guess, but I really don’t need you here,” he moves to go sit on the floor beside her.
She tilts her head towards the motion before wiggling her shoulders to get more comfortable, which is very much the opposite of the response he hoped for. “Huh. Heard that one before. Hell, said that one before, which I why I know it’s horseshit.”
Martin shrugs, and tries to carry it into his voice when he replies, “I’m fine.”
“Does this place have AC?”
The question is left field enough to lessen his fugue state, forcing him to blink rapidly as existence becomes a bit more focused. “No? I mean, we bought a little portable one last summer, but I think it’s shoved to the back of a closet right now.”
“Yeah, thought so. Why’s it about 10 degrees colder in here than outside, then?”
Fuck.
“It’s..it is a well insulated house, so sometimes it-”
“Piss off. That was a hypothetical and you know it.”
He hadn’t noticed. There hadn’t been fog, nor had he noticed any fading of extremities, so he assumed he was in the clear. Glancing out a window, however, reveals a bright sun that should speak of a pleasant spring day, rather than the goose bumps inducing chill they’re sitting in. Instead of responding, he wraps his arms around himself, body unhappy to be made aware of temperature at all.
They sit in silence for a few moments,before Melanie continues, “I have to confess, I didn’t come up here to keep you company.”
“Oh? Here for the various thrills of semi-rural life, maybe wanna try your hand at planting potatoes so they’ll be ready in the season?”
“Ass. What I meant is that I didn’t exclusively come up here to keep you company. It was also some recon to see if you were still here at all.”
“Yeah, um, haven’t, er, exactly had the wherewithal to try and move, so..”
“No, like, here as in this plane of existence. I know only Jon said his goodbyes, but I sort of assumed you’d be going with him anyway.”
“Ah.”
Curling tighter in on himself and shrinking down his voice, he elaborates. “He. Um. He asked me not to.”
That causes Melanie to sit upright as she replies, “Wait, really? I thought if anything he’d be the one that be like “ohh martin I can’t go on without you there please come with me” and you’d be all “I’m sorry my love but I actually don’t feel like sort of kind of dying but not really at age 32 can you ever forgive me” and there’d be some, I dunno, deeply tragic kissing or something.”
With an already drowned second of laughter, he says, “I don’t..know if that’s flattering to me or insulting to Jon or vice versa.”
“It was an accurate impersonation, any judgment in it is up to interpretation by the listener, actually.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously though, why did he ask? That doesn’t really seem like Jon “codependency” Sims’s MO.”
“He said..he said he wanted me to try and have a life without him, which,” oh, fantastic, he’s crying again, “you know, is kind of fucking ridiculous, considering by the time I was ever..ever able to imagine a future, to look forward and not just see a, a, a gaping void, it was with him. It was always supposed to be with him, even...even after I knew it wasn’t going to be.”
He takes the tear-smudged glasses off of his face, setting them aside on the floor so he can shove his palms in his eyes sockets and rub at the constant soreness present there. In a slight show of indulgence, he also lets out a soft, “fuck,” because the only thing worse than grieving is grieving embarrassingly. To Melanie’s credit, she doesn’t call him out for..expressing emotions, he guesses. Instead, she gives him enough space to oh so loosely stitch his personhood back together before she asks, “So? Are you?”
Bleary-eyed and browbeaten, he pulls back his hands so he can settle his chin on his arms. “Am I what?”
“Going to try?”
More of a sigh than a word, Martin tells her, “Yeah,” then elaborates, “I don’t..I don’t really, um, know how to, but. I did make a promise, and if I do get to see him again, it’d..it’d be nice to not have failed?”
When Melanie doesn’t immediately respond, he turns his head so that he’s actually able to see her face. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, mulling on his words before settling with, “I don’t know if this is what you want to hear, but let the record show that I’m, ah, glad that you’re sticking around, at least for a while. We...expected to mourn both of you, and it’s just. Kind of nice. To still have you. Sorry if that’s, I dunno, selfish or-”
“-No, it’s...thank you, Melanie. I appreciate it and, I think..maybe that was sort of where Jon was coming from as well? I’s not..it’s not a death sentence to cross that threshold, but it certainly is a loss of..of possibilities, and I don’t..I don’t think he wanted to have my losses compounded with his. So I..I think I get it, from a, um, intellectual standpoint or whatnot. It feels pretty fucking awful though.”
Before Melanie can respond to any of that, he tacks on, “Are you hungry? I have some pork buns in the freezer that heat up nicely.”
It’s an obvious deflection, but Melanie is very distinctly not his therapist, so she’s gracious enough to let him get away with it. “Mmm, sounds good actually. You can even use the instant pot that you wouldn’t shut up about for the first month after you got it.”
Getting up from his spot on the floor, Martin tells her, “Careful, King, keep talking like that and I’ll get Georgie one for her next birthday.”
Joining him, Melanie whines, “Noooooooo we don’t have the counter spaaaaace.”
“That actually doesn’t sound like my problem so-”
Melanie swats him on the arm and aims her most withering glare in his direction, which, if he didn’t know her, would be rather withering indeed.
They keep up lighter chatter as he makes them food, actually putting effort into making it good in the presence (and, to some degree, judgment) of someone else. It’s wrong, to be in there and have petty debates or book recommendations or whatnot, and not have Jon chiming in with his own gripes and assurances. This whole damn house is wrong, Martin thinks it never will be fully right again. But, it’s easier to bare with another person around. It’s easier to exist, wholesale, with Melanie here, and as they’re finishing dinner, Martin notices that the air is momentarily warmer. When Melanie, with a two hour train ride still ahead of her, sends herself off with, “See ye next week, same bat time, same bat channel,” he’s find himself meaning it when he says, “Looking forward to it.”
She stays true to her word. Every Sunday, she shows up to the house for a few hours, distracts him into being a person for their time together, and leaves him feeling slightly more tangible every time.
Three months into this arrangement, an audiobook neither of them are paying attention to spooling away, she says, “I think you should move. Specifically, I think you should move closer to me and Georgie.”
It’s...something he’s considered. Not something he’s followed through on in anyway, not even doing the bare minimum of apartment searching, but considered nonetheless. “Oh?”
“Yeah. There’s the selfish reason and the rational reason, which do you wanna hear?”
“Both, I guess?”
Pausing the narration coming from her phone, she tells him, “Well, rationally, not to pull out the ol’ ghost hunting credits on ya, but I’m pretty good at telling when a place is haunted, even in this case it’s less literal.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Entirely true, but dramatic nonetheless.
“Remind me how many times you’ve slept in the bed since Jon left?”
Point taken. “And the selfish reason?”
Melanie takes in, lets out a deep breath, and Martin can practically count the seconds. 4 in, 7 out until the anxiety once again feels manageable. “Me and Georgie have been talking about it for like a year, but we’re planning on finally, uh, adopting a kid!-”
“-oh, wow-”
“Which is great! I’ve never been so excited and I’m scared shitless and it think it’s going to be incredibly hard and incredibly rewarding but. Well. Neither of us have much family left, and I’m kind of hoping that you’d be a part of this kid’s life? Both because I think you’d be infuriatingly good at it, and because as much as I want to claim complete independence here, I think we both could really fucking use the backup.”
When Martin agrees with “Fuck, Melanie, I’d be honored,” he finds that the agreement seems an awful lot like that ‘”living” he’s supposed to be doing. When he follows that up with, “Christ, you’re going to be an incredible mom,” and Melanie replies, “Oh I’m gonna kick ass,” the sentiment creeps even further in. When, four months later, he’s bouncing a toddler on his leg that is, for all intents and purposes, his niece in his new apartment, he knows for the first time that he can truly keep his promise.
And he does. He sticks it out for 25 years. He had planned on 30, when he finally committed to keep going, but he’s found himself fulfilled with his life. He had gotten to share much of it with, in his unbiased opinion, the most perfect niece in the world, including handing her the keys to the old cottage that held only happy memories for her. He had made friends, knew the names of all his neighbors, and got on with the regulars of his small bookstore. He’d never fully embraced writing poetry again, but pottery took its place, and he was delighted with what he could create. He’d even gone on two whole dates, before recognizing that he was more than content to only be in love with Jon for the rest of his life, and firmly kept his ring on his finger.
And now, he’s ready to go home, as unknown as that home might be. After his 57th birthday, he ties up all loose ends. He finalizes his will, everything going to the Barker-King family, cleans his apartment, and makes one last visit to the cottage that no longer belonged to him, but had housed the few peaceful years him and his husband had gotten to share.
Then, much to his shame but not to his deterrent, he Feeds.
It’s a gentler god to contribute to, the Lonely. He does not have to throw them in like a Lukas would, instead he just asks. He asks strangers why they are alone, bites his tongue from offering comfort, companionship, and after a few repeats, he can call the fog once more.
It is with translucent hands that he first presses against the threshold. There’s no resistance, him having shed enough of his humanity that he can go Elsewhere freely. As he crosses the boundary, he holds his breath, and simply hopes to see him again.
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hanibalistic · 3 years
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#5B52AD | NA JAEMIN. NCT DREAM.
genre | fluff, friendship
word count | 2835
warning | a fever, mention of pain
note | i got kind of sick after my first dose of vaccine and i think about is my mother used to sit and rub my tummy whenever i get tummy ache even when it’s 3am.
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your body felt heavy, you could not walk without an awkward arch of your back and at an annoyingly slow pace. you haven't gotten a migraine in so long that the gentle ringing in the back of your head now felt like a gradual decomposing of your brain. your tummy gurgled obnoxiously from time to time, confusing your body and mind with hunger and pain.
long story short, you were sick. you got sick, unfortunately, after a streak of good health for the past years, and you barely knew how to take care of yourself now because of how unusual the occurrence was.
you suspected it was the pouring rain you walked under the other day, or the multiple cold nights you've stood through in the unorganized tent area backstage during award shows this past few weeks. either way, since there weren't any other possible reasons, bad weather was the only thing you could blame your sickness on.
you had contacted the team manager about taking a few days off, leisurely estimating your return date while the manager told you to take your time and make sure to only work once you have fully recovered to avoid spreading your sudden fever to the dreamies when you get back. another thing you also asked of, with more grit and firmness this time, was to make sure the manager leak not a single word of you being sick to the boys.
it was true that you have not been sick in a long while, but so far you have gotten a grip on how it works and adapted to being uncomfortable and alone. reminding yourself to take those over-the-counter medicines was annoying but doable. moving around the apartment so you could cook and clean was exhausting but also doable. you did not need an extra pair of hands; it would definitely be good to have one, but you could survive without one.
you knew very well if the boys knew that you caught a fever, they would insist on visiting and taking care of you.
they would probably try to pull up to your apartment with some homemade soup and old movie discs, rambling on and on about sneaking out and forcing the driver to come to your apartment estate, complaining about you keeping everything a secret from your friends. then they'd get unreasonably mad at you for not visiting a doctor, and they'd force you to stay in bed while promising to take care of everything. they would be loud, and destructive, and annoying and—ugh! everything you do not need when you have a fever burning on your head!
"oh, finally!" you groaned in tired delight when you heard the doorbell ring. you have been waiting on the jajangmyeon takeout you ordered about fifteen damn minutes ago (to be fair, it felt like two hours with that migraine in your head).
shaking the shiver off your back when you stood on the cold wooden tiles with your bare feet, you grimaced at the pair of fuzzy socks you previously pulled off out of spontaneity, not wanting to bend down to get them from the ground. you stepped on then as you moved begrudgingly from the messy couch, where your blanket and tons of pillows resided, to the front door.
you unlocked your door with some trouble, finding it hard to stand on your legs and twist the lock. when you slowly swung open the door, you muttered, "sorry for the delay, it's kind of hard to–huh."
you cut yourself off when you saw the sight of renjun handing cash to your delivery man and patting him on the back as he bowed and left your house with your jajangmyeon. your eyes pulled back to look at the bigger picture—four people present before your apartment door, all wearing the same reaction to your figure uncared for.
renjun has turned his attention back from your delivery man and his grimace deepened when he saw your red face. donghyuck pulled a face at you when he saw your terrible posture and dead expression, and he tightened his grip on the small bag in his hand. jeno was frowning in disapproval with one brow raised as if you were spreading the bacteria to him but he was too polite to cover himself up. jaemin looked like he didn't want to be here, like always, but for a moment you saw his eyes flicker with soft concern over your visibly sick posture.
you sneered. that bastard! the manager snitched on you and here came the power rangers of the 2000s judging you at your front door! you would not take this absurdity!
"goodbye," you muttered blandly before you went ahead to close the door on their faces, but a hand swiftly reached out and blocked the door frame from meeting its end.
jeno smiled casually at you from the side, his arm muscle flexing as he, with no effort against your sickened strength, pushed the door open. you attempted to struggle against him, but obviously you were of no match for him, riddled with a fever or not.
"lee jeno," you warned.
"[full name]," he returned.
you clicked your tongue. you were too dizzy to get angry, but the rumbling inside your chest sounded anyway so you wouldn't be so overwhelmed by the boys' relentless care that you forget you didn't like this nor want this, that this wasn't ideal for you.
"please leave," you asked. "i don't need help."
"no. we're coming in whether you like it or not, [name], so give it up," donghyuck mentioned as he gently brushed past you into the apartment. "and before you ask–no, we are not leaving. we got our phones, and we brought movies. we also have to take care of you, so we got plenty to do here. we won't get bored."
you rolled your eyes as the rest of the boys followed behind. kicking their shoes off and placing them neatly to the side, they slowly began acting as if they were back in their humble abode.
donghyuck headed over to the coffee table before your couch. he grimaced at the sight of falling blankets and unorganized pillows as he placed the bag on the surface, then he turned to renjun, "renjun, where do we put the soup?"
"not on the coffee table, take it to the kitchen!" renjun exclaimed as he pointed aimlessly at a spot.
donghyuck listened. as he made his way to your open kitchen, he began rambling off. "you know, i can't believe you didn't tell us you were sick. i knew something was up when you were absent for more than a day!"
renjun nodded in agreement as he crossed his arms, looking to you with a semi-displeased expression. "he is right. we are all friends here, you should tell us if you need some help."
just having them around your apartment was enough to make you want to jump out the window. it was nothing personal against the boys, though. you would have felt the same with just about anybody who dared enter your territory when you felt uncomfortable. but the way they never stop talking—ugh, it made you want to end it altogether so you didn't have to listen to their voices overlap each other in such annoying frequency.
"if i needed help, i would have asked," you dragged out through gritted teeth.
donghyuck snickered from the sink, rolling his sleeves up and getting ready to do the unclean dishes. "oh yeah, that's why you have no clean bowl and spoon to use!"
"also, why are all your stuff here on the couch, [name]?" jeno complained as he picked up your heavy blankets in his arms. he popped his head out from the side and eyed you. "i'll take them back to your room, you should stay in bed!"
jaemin leisurely approached the coffee table, his face was bland with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants. despite acting like he didn't want to be here, his curiosity to know whether you were doing well alone was killing him inside; you weren't, it appeared. he gazed around your apartment with feign disinterest before an opened box caught his eyes.
bending down to pick up the medicine, he furrowed his brows and turned to you. "these aren't doctor prescribed medicine."
ignoring the drowsiness in your eyes, you looked at the displeasure on jaemin's face before you sighed, "i didn't see a doctor."
"you what?" jaemin exclaimed in disbelief while the rest of the boys gasped in what sounded to be disapproval.
there it went. there came the wave of complaints and disagreement piling out of their mouths like rainwater flooding into the ditch. the migraine in your head magnified the more frustration built up inside you, trying to force you to explode on the boys who only meant well.
"yes, i didn't visit a doctor. stop making a big deal out of it," you retorted, straining your voice to make yourself heard. "do you know how expensive an appointment at the clinic is?"
"still! it's always better to visit a doctor!" renjun pointed out softly.
the others agreed with him like dominos, opinions falling on top of each other in the form of noises. you closed your eyes in hopes to cancel their presence, but they've been talking nonstop it felt impossible to ignore them.
their voices were adding to your nausea, too many words to understand and to process that you felt useless not being able to retain their words as quickly as usual. it made you want to vomit, it made your chest tighten, it made your tummy hurt.
"god... please... shut up," you muttered under your breath as you glared at the floor. "shut up... stop talking... stop talking!"
the heat burst.
"[name]..." jaemin began cautiously, dropping the empty box of pills on the table as he eyed you sturdily.
you grimaced; your lips quirking down in guilt and your eyes darting elsewhere but their faces. seeing their innocent, good-intentioned, widened eyes would just make you feel like a bad person more than anything. shaking your head, you waved your hand at them dismissively and proceeded to turn away.
"thank you for coming, but please leave because i don't need your help," you said, "i'm gonna go to bed. lock the door when you leave."
the boys watched you move back to your room slowly, still surprised at your sudden outburst. they half-expected something like this to happen, but not exactly the way it turned out. they did come here fully prepared to be kicked out kindly knowing well your inability to accept aid from others, but the event has taken a turn for even worse, it seemed. they had not expected you to yell at them.
donghyuck turned away from the sink, his confused gaze darting between the door to your bedroom and the rest of his friends. "we're not actually leaving, right?"
"no, but we will leave them alone," jeno mumbled, fiddling with his fingers. "for now, at least."
jaemin's eyes trailed after your steps and they have yet to tear themselves away from your bedroom door.
he knew you well, better than the rest of his friends if he could say so. even though you might have meant what you said, you wouldn't do anything if they refuse to listen. and the consequences of adhering to your request and leaving you alone when you just did something you didn't want to would outweigh those of them not listening to you.
you don't need help, you never ask for them, whatever reason that was. but you do want them when they were presented to you. he knew that much, at least.
"jaemin, where are you going?" jeno asked when he saw his friend shuffling across the small living room.
nobody talked when jaemin moved to your room and knocked on your door. he pushed it open without waiting for your permission, and the stifled cries stayed beneath the walls unknown to the outsiders. he softened at the sight of you helplessly rubbing your tears with your forearm, wanting nothing more than to coddle you, but he leaned against the door instead.
"feeling bad now, are we?" jaemin said to catch your attention.
your head hurt, the pain was piercing. but nothing shattered you more than realizing you were a bad person for refusing help from good people who cared about you, realizing the mortifying cycle of loneliness you cannot thrust yourself out of because you could not accept any form of good social interaction. you were never one to cry from those whimsical things, you were used to it, but the thought of your friends shuffling out of your apartment and leaving the area dead cold made you cry.
you still have them now, but for how long, really? how many more "leave me alone" and "i don't want your help" would they take until they truly leave you alone for good?
you sobbed out breathlessly, your words continuously getting cut off against your will. eventually, you made out a sentence.
"jae-jaemin, my head hurts."
like a sharp shot through his heart, jaemin wavered and crumbled. he wasn't sure if this kind of melting was good, but he was taking the ache along with him. he approached you swiftly and sat down on the edge of your bed, a spoiled gaze dawning within his eyes while he moved his hand to your head, threading his fingers through your hair and messaging your scalp.
"try going to sleep, it'll help," he coaxed.
the more you cried, the more he sunk himself onto your bed. he kept his head high up against the headboard of your bed, and he let you snuggle close against his side for comfort. your head hastily leaned against his chest, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you tried to focus on the rhythm of which he scratched your head dotingly.
"shhh, it's okay," he hushed, reaching his free arm over you to pat your back. "it's going to be okay."
jaemin was always so kind. everyone was always so kind. with their homemade soup, their refusal to abandon you at a tough spot, their snark remarks against your constant attacks, their nagging and coaxing—they were your friends.
you never knew why it took so much effort to get it into your head that they were going to be here whether you wanted them to or not. when you pushed them away, they would push back ten times harder, however many times they needed to. they knew you hated blatant affection so they never show it, nor do they make you show it, but it was here. flowing between their heads was love, discreet love, love that sat in patience, understanding, and stubbornness.
you pack a mean punch, but they could take it.
"jaemin... how are they doing?"
jaemin looked up from your sleeping face to find donghyuck at the door. his hands were wet from messing around in the kitchen, and he wiped them clean on his pants as he quietly approached the bed to take a peek at you. he raised his brow when he saw your face smushed against jaemin's chest and hidden under your arm, then he signed.
sleeping, huh. good. he heard you cry from outside a while ago, everyone did. nobody said anything about it and the living rooms were hushed quieter until your sobs gradually calmed down.
"are you going to stay here?" donghyuck asked after he pulled away. "you might get sick."
"yeah," jaemin nodded down at you, "i might."
donghyuck pursed his lips together, then he shrugged. "alright, i'll leave you then. do you want me to turn the lights off?"
"no, i don't want to fall asleep," jaemin said, stroking your head gently. then he nudged his chin toward donghyuck. "i do want my phone though."
donghyuck scoffed when he was by the door. he was only gonna turn the lights off because it would help you, so if that wasn't needed...
"interesting," he said. "i'm not your errand boy, though. you can stay bored."
jaemin held back a hiss when donghyuck ran out to the living room. he grimaced after the opened door, eyes wide in annoyance that donghyuck left the lights on and the door open, that irresponsible bastard! and he wouldn't even run to get a phone, which would only take a couple of steps!
turning his attention, he glanced down at you instead and breathed out a sigh. he wasn't going to be on his phone for long anyway, he just wanted to tell jisung and chenle you were doing okay. other than that, he has the plan to stare at you until you wake up—your scrunchy nose and closed puffy eyes were abnormally adorable, he has to admit.
"yeah, i'll get him," jaemin whispered playfully down at you. "we'll get him when you wake up."
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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years
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you’re the one that i want (part 25)
word count: 5k
fluff
(part 24) (series masterlist)
almost every summer of your life, you spent at the beach.
and while you loved it each and every year, a place that served as a safe space you always so desperately needed, a part of you also knew it wasn’t a choice.
you came here because your parents sent you, because they didn’t want you with them and you didn’t have anywhere else to go. 
you’d spent those years feeling completely unwanted and terrified of everyone and everything; thinking at any given moment, someone was gonna hurt you. that no one cared about your thoughts or feelings or even your existence.
and you’d grown used to that mentality for so long. you were sad and hurt and just living day to day with that knowledge because what else could you do?
but now, you don’t even get the chance to think like that. because you have so many people around you as a reminder that you’re not alone anymore. 
you have your aunt who, from day one, you always knew was there for you. 
you have yunho and san who served as the people who were patient and caring from the second they met you, made you feel at ease when you were so obviously uncomfortable in a new environment. 
you have hongjoong and jongho who always make you smile and laugh despite whatever mood you’re in. 
you have wooyoung, mingi and yeosang who, while you might’ve gotten off to a bumpy start, have proved time and time again how much they care about you. how they’ll ruin anyone who tries to mess with you now and have seen the error in their ways. 
you have seonghwa who, despite everything he’s done, has always loved you. made you the happiest a person could be but also maybe the lowest; though even with that, you were able to get past it. 
he showed you how to love but also how to be loved, a concept you truly never experienced until him. how much power that feeling has over a person and once you see that it’s something completely pure and real, it could help heal a person.
but that’s not to say it completely healed you because you know that’s just not how it works. you still have your doubts and anxieties and some long-lasting trauma that you’ll have to work through. but he makes it easier, everyone makes it a little easier because you know they’re there to listen. 
you know seonghwa could take one look at you and just know you’re having a bad day, place a kiss on your forehead and comfort you in the form of your head on his chest and his hand rubbing your back. 
but for the most part, these long summer days have been amazing. even seonghwa thinks so, despite the way his friends have been staying at his house, stealing his food and giving him a headache more often than not.
“can someone please go on the ferris wheel with me!”
the loud bustling of the summer carnival truly rivaled the youngest boy’s whines, sick and tired of them all standing around and attempting to win a giant teddy bear for the past thirty minutes.
“jongho, if you ask one more time i’m gonna-”
“can someone PLEASE go on the ferris wheel with me!”
you let out a small sigh as you look at the boy, his eyes focusing right on you when he sees he finally has your attention. 
“please, y/n, we’ve just been standing here. they’re never gonna win.”
“yes we will!” mingi, wooyoung and hongjoong blurt out, causing you to snort and jongho to shake his head; it takes just one more look from him, one of pure and utter devastation, for you to give him a small smile and nod. 
an excited yelp leaves his mouth and he grabs your hand, fully prepared to pull you away and lead you to every ride possible. but then you stop in his hold and his head snaps back to see seonghwa’s arm wrapped around your waist, his mouth in your ear asking where you think you’re going. 
“she’s coming with me!” jongho says, “we wanna go on rides, not wait around for a stupid teddy bear.”
“it’s not stupid, you’re stupid,” hongjoong snaps, eyes narrowed as he aims a dart at a purple balloon. 
“seonghwa, please,” jongho whines, tightening his hold on your hand and attempting to tug you away from him. but the dirty blonde only narrows his eyes at his friend, eyes moving to see you looking at him in amusement. 
“come with us,” you say sweetly, despite the way you’re being pulled, almost painfully, in two different directions. 
“you know i get dizzy, baby,” he whines, a giggle leaving your mouth as you cock your head to the side. 
“ah, that’s right, forgot i was dating an old man,” you quip playfully, his eyes narrowing and his hold on you tightening. he tugs you closer and your hand gets pulled out of jongho’s, the boy behind you letting out a groan as he flails in a circle.
“y/n! apologize to him, god damn it, and let’s go! seonghwa, she didn’t mean it.”
“oh, i think i did though,” you tease, the smile pulling at seonghwa’s lips making you bite down on your lip. 
“you’re pushing it, you know that don’t you?” 
but you only roll your eyes as you turn in his hold, lifting on your toes to peck his lips sweetly. he meets the kiss and keeps it as chaste as possible, smiling against your lips before you pull back and look at him with one of your own. 
“we’re gonna go now,” you say, “are you sureee you don’t wanna come old man?”
his eyes narrow at you, about to pull you into him again when jongho, now teamed up with san, pull at your hands and charge away.
“we’re going on rides! fuck you lover boy!”
seonghwa shakes his head as he hears your parting giggle, smacking wooyoung in the back of the head when he misses the balloon for the 40th time.
“you are terrible.”
“you are terrible!” you squeal to jongho, watching as he shakes the cart of the ferris wheel and sends san screaming.
the blonde had been hesitant to go on this ride in the first place, a fear of heights that has made him have mental breakdowns at amusement parks before.
but you promised that he’d be okay, and it took a little bit of begging on the line to really convince him, just for jongho to mess it all up within the first ten seconds of being secured in.
“i’m gonna scream for wooyoung to beat you up if you don’t stop,” the blonde whines, his hand clutching onto the edge of the ride desperately.
“i’m not scared of that short little man, i could easily take him.”
“i don’t know, it’s usually the small ones that are crazy,” you reason, overlooking the calm evening sky despite the vigorous shaking beneath you.
“stop!” san yelps.“please, you little shit!” and now you can really hear the anxiety and fear cracking in the blonde’s voice.
“no more!” you scold, pinching jongho’s arm and watching his face pull into a pout. “stop! or we’re not going on anything else.”
and even though your threat was empty, because you wanted to go on more, it did the trick. you three bounced around to every and any ride you could get on, even the ones that weren’t san approved; he just shut his eyes tightly and screamed directly into your ear.
but you and the youngest had your heads thrown back in laughter, your hair zipping through the wind with your arms up in a sight seonghwa watched with a smile.
he was leant against the side of a booth, blueberry slushy in hand drowning out the sound of the boys arguing over who gets custody of the giant teddy bear.
“i was the one who popped it!”
“but we all paid for it!”
“you only popped it because we loosened it.”
“you can’t loosen a balloon dickface.”
your happy squeal rips him away from the nonsense bickering, your eyes finding his as you immediately run to him. 
“you should’ve came, it was so much fun!”
“yeah?” he says, offering you a sip from his slushie. you take the straw between your lips with a smile, sucking down the sugary blueberry before pulling back.
“that’s good.”
he smiles when he sees a blue speck on your lip, wiping it off with a delicate swipe of his thumb and soft look in his eyes. he knows you have your good days and bad days, the former more often than not during these past few weeks, but he can’t help but love the good days.
when he gets to see the smile he was robbed of for the first few weeks of knowing you and then again the first few months after reuniting. but now it’s like he makes it a personal mission everyday to see it; not even for his own enjoyment but to know you’re genuinely having a good, happy day. 
“your hair’s a mess,” he chuckles out, voice deep and amused as he runs his fingers through your knotty hair. but you only narrow your eyes at him and take the slushie from his hand, pecking his cheek quickly before running over to see the $100 carnival prize you eventually get custody of.
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you remember how uncomfortable you felt at the first bonfire you went to, when yunho’s bright smile or hongjoong’s charisma or jongho’s funny antics did little to calm you. 
you remember being scared of seonghwa, the way he watched you with emotionless eyes and nearly threw a water bottle in your hand with demands for you to take it. you had usually felt out of place but it really stuck out that night to you, watching everyone talk and laugh and bond around a crackling fire. 
you never would’ve thought that, just a year later, you’d be around one of your own. laughing and giggling and kissing your boyfriend around a fire with people you felt comfortable and safe with. with people you went to, what felt like, hell and back with but came out okay. 
more than okay, really. 
because you watch wooyoung and san shove each other lovingly, two people who also overcame struggles in a strained relationship. you watch all of the boys with the blonde, once tumultuous and non-existent friendships that were able to blossom again. 
you watch from mingi’s shoulder seonghwa and yunho play cornhole, giggling when you see that after a year, yunho’s skills with the game still haven’t quite improved - and that’s obvious in the way the four boys charge down to the ocean.
“okay, honestly, he might’ve gone worse,” you mumble to mingi, the boy scoffing lightly and pushing you off his shoulder playfully.
“leave him alone,” he whines, a soft smile on your face that causes him to roll his eyes in embarrassment. you giggle and knock your arm into him, looking around the dark beach with a sense of tranquility. 
you always loved the beach at this time, that solitary part of you itching to feel the cold sand between your toes and hear the gentle lull of the waves with no one’s presence but your own.
but you wait until the boys are occupied, until mingi eventually sneaks over to yunho and defends him against everyone’s harsh insults; you also saw san and wooyoung go down to the ocean a few minutes ago, the blonde not having learned in his lesson from back in febuary.  
so it’s then that you quietly sneak away, catching your boyfriend’s eye and he already knows where you’re headed off to.
you make your way to the cliff you became well acquainted with during these types of events, watching your feet in the sand before you climb your way up and shimmy toward the end. 
you watch the waves crash under the bright moonlight as your pelt with memories, good and bad. how this beach marks almost every journey you and seonghwa went on together from first meeting, 
“you don’t talk a lot.”
his eyebrow raises at your comment, turning to look at you and the close eye-contact causes you to sharply inhale; he smells good, like the beach and cologne.
“neither do you,” he counters, “i don’t even know your name.”
your eyebrows furrow together, turning your neck to the side as you realize you haven’t told any of them your name yet. “i thought it was seonghwa,” he finds himself saying with a smirk, your confused gaze prompting him to speak again.
“you looked back when yunho said it yesterday.”
“oh,” you giggle awkwardly, remembering turning around in your flustered state and seeing him looking at you from your front yard. “no. my name isn’t seonghwa,” you tell him before telling him your real one.
he hums at the information, eyes roaming your face before his eyebrow quirks up again.
“so, why’d you come tonight, y/n?”
to your first kiss,
“...so i’ve never done this before.”
he hears the way nerves and embarrassment seep into your voice, looking at him wide-eyed with pink cheeks and now he’s really never wanted to kiss someone more in his life.
it’s why he takes your face in his hands, his palms cupping your cheeks and causing a breathy exhale to leave your mouth. “good,” he says, his thumbs stroking your face as he leans down and presses a feather light kiss to your lips.
it feels almost like nothing but still shocks you, not even having the time to close your eyes before you’re looking at him again; because that was one thing you knew, you knew you weren’t supposed to kiss someone with your eyes open.
“g-good?” you squeak after a few seconds, not even sound enough to feel embarrassed by the shake and waver in your voice.
“good,” he confirms and if the look on his face and smirk on his lips didn’t make you weak enough, his next words absolutely do.
“i wanna be your first.”
to your first confessions and vulnerable moments,
“i…don’t really know why you like me,” you say with a hiccup, “you could probably be with any girl ever who’s a lot prettier and more…experienced and-”
“don’t,” seonghwa growls lowly, his thumb running over your face sweetly. “no one’s prettier than you.”
your eyes widen and you want a laugh to bubble out of you but for some reason you can’t. you can only pout and look at him with your glossy eyes, your stupid little self feeling sad and insecure all of the sudden.
“that’s a lie,” you tell him softly as you shake your head. “no one thinks that. no one ever really likes me, actually.” you wanna say that not even your own parents or classmates like you, that no one has ever looked your way and actively cared about you felt.
“i do,” seonghwa hums, his heart hurting because he hates that you feel this way. “i liked you the second i saw you.” you look up at him and feel your eyes water, the softness and sincerity in his words causing a lump to form in your throat.
to even the heavier stuff, when you really weren’t sure if you two were gonna make it this far. 
“i don’t know what i want,” you admit quietly, confused because there’s the matter of trust at hand making this process incredibly daunting. but you also can’t escape the one fact you knew was true this whole time, no matter how much you didn’t want it to be because you were so sad and hurt.
“but i know that i’m still yours.”
he doesn’t think he’s ever felt the feeling that rips through his chest when you say that, an overwhelming, all consuming feeling that would’ve knocked him on his ass if he didn’t have some sort of hold on you.
he has to stop himself from completely breaking down in front of you, shaking his head and holding back a cry as he pulls you into his chest.
“you really shouldn’t be fucking saying that to me,” he mumbles against your head, his voice tight and throat constricting as he tries to keep his shit together. “i don’t deserve to hear that.”
you pull away and meet his gaze, his eyes wide and teary and full of such love you can see clear as day. you reach up with a small, sad smile and brush your hand through his hair, longer pieces of dirty blonde on the top such a contrast to the short, shaven ones he had during the summer.
“maybe not,” you say quietly, head cocking to the side as your wide eyes meet his. “but it’s how i feel.”
but you think that’s maybe why you’ve grown to love this beach town just a little bit more. 
because it not only shows the story of you and him but also of you as a person. someone who came here sad and lonely and a shell of a girl but was able to blossom into someone who, for the most part, was genuinely happy and content with life.
and you never thought you’d be able to say you were happy with your life. that you felt like you belonged anywhere or with anyone because you were just always in the way. 
but you see now that that’s not the case. you see that you were never the issue but your environment was. an environment your mind still drifts back to and makes your heart sink, wondering what went so wrong in your parents lives for them to act the way they do.
to never, not once, contact you or your aunt ever again to see if you were okay or adjusting well; but you try not to dwell on that. you try not to think about and dwell on things like that anymore. 
because you’re in a better place and have more than enough people who care about you and-
“you have a death wish?”
your head snaps back to see seonghwa standing a few feet behind you, his tall frame looming above you as he cocks his head to the side teasingly. you can only smirk at him with pink on your cheeks, your arm reaching out for him to come over and sit next to you. 
but he plops down behind you until you’re right between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and his lips mumbling into your exposed shoulder. 
“you okay, baby? i saw you sneak away.”
“yeah,” you hum lowly, taking his hand in yours so you can play with his fingers absentmindedly. “i just like it up here.”
he smiles against your head, pressing a kiss to your hair lightly as he watches you intertwine your fingers together. it’s something so small but it makes him bite back a smile, remembering when you were too scared or shy to initiate things.
but he’s watched you become more confident, not only with him but in general. the way you can hold eye contact now and your voice doesn’t always have a tremor. how you’ll kiss him sweetly before running off, like the action was so natural and immediate you didn’t think anything of it. 
he can only describe everything as easy; nothing is ever forced or feels fake. if you guys have problems now, you talk it out right away. you don’t throw his past mistakes in his face and he doesn’t ever push you to talk about something until you’re ready.
it’s at those moments you guys find yourselves here a lot, enjoying the usual quietness and tranquility of the dark beach. tonight, however, that’s not the case because even from this spot, you hear the distant screams and shouts coming from your crazy group of friends. 
“they’re so loud,” you hum quietly, seonghwa laughing against you as he nods his head and mumbles a string of expletives. 
you giggle softly and crane your neck backwards, looking at him upside down to see him already staring at you. you raise your eyebrows playfully and his deep chuckle sends your heart fluttering, his face meeting yours to place a soft peck on your nose. 
you giggle and pick yourself up, turning around so you can crawl into his lap. his arms wrap around your waist as he holds you to him, tucking a stray piece of your windblown hair behind your ear.  
“so...did you think about what your aunt said the other day?”
you bite down on your lip as you let out a sigh, knowing that you need to come to a decision but your heart hurting at both prospects. 
because when she first mentioned you transferring to the school here, you knew it made the most sense. it was only a seven minute drive and you already would have a small group of friends, hongjoong and yunho in your class and jongho in the year below. 
but then you’d have to sacrifice the school and environment you just got used to. you’d have to sacrifice your time with seonghwa and the other boys, your job at the cafe where you can’t imagine not ever working again. 
because who would work with san? you can’t let the blonde work there alone again, after seeing the after-school crowds and knowing how much he loved having someone to talk to there.
but the hour commute back and forth is rather taxing, depending on the day and traffic sometimes making it longer. and you can’t help but feel bad for seonghwa and your aunt’s gas bill - both of who never allow you to pay them back.
your aunt also thought it’d be a good idea to get a fresh start - away from a town and school full of bad memories and reminders of how life used to be.
“i don’t know,” you say quietly, pulling back from seonghwa’s shoulder to meet his gaze. “i know it makes sense to and i wouldn’t mind it,” you tell him honestly, “but...i’d miss it. i’d miss working with san and seeing the other boys everyday.”
“i know, love, but you’d still see them,” he says sweetly, “they’d probably drive out every fucking weekend for you.”
you giggle softly as you shrug, wrapping your arms around his shoulders before you look at him with the smallest of pouts. “but i wouldn’t go to school with you, either. i’ll reallly miss seeing you every day.”
a low chuckle leaves his mouth before he places a firm kiss right on your lips, the way in which he does it so surely and easily still surprising you after all this time. 
“like i’m not gonna stay here every night and make the drive,” he says lowly, amused that you think he’d actually go a week without seeing you.
“then i might as well keep going,” you whine, his look hardening because he’s truthfully with your aunt on this one - he thinks being away from that town littered with bad memories and trauma, some of which he himself contributed to, would be better for you. 
but it’s your decision after all. it’s gonna be you going through the two years, not anyone else - not him or your aunt or your friends. all of them can only give gentle encouragement and be supportive of what ever decision you make. 
“it won’t matter what you pick, we’ll be okay,” he says when you two stand up, his hand in yours as he runs a hand through your hair. “and if you’re scared about starting a new school, don’t. because you’ll have yunho and jongho and hongjoong and they’d be way too fucking excited to help you and show you around.”
“but what if i meet a mean, bad boy there?” you tease lightly, eyes glinted with amusement and a smirk pulling at your lips. “like right in homeroom or something, i don’t know.”
you watch his tongue poke into his cheek as he narrows his eyes at you, a giggle leaving your mouth as you wrap your arms around his waist. 
“just kidding,” you squeal, his eyes rolling before he pulls him into you. 
“not funny,” he says despite the humor laced in his voice and then his lips on yours. he slips his tongue in and you smile against him, only breaking away when you hear shouts and gags from directly below you. 
“can you stop making out for five fucking seconds and play with us!” 
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everyone took the news of your decision to transfer schools...differently.
whereas jongho, hongjoong and yunho tackled you in a group hug and cheered in amusement, wooyoung, yeosang and mingi resembled children who just found out santa isn’t really.
seonghwa and san watched from the side, the two boys you consulted with most and eventually shared your decision with not all surprised by these reactions.
because despite how hard it was, despite how many factors you had to consider and people you couldn’t help but think about, you felt as if this was the right choice.
it was a fresh start and closer and just made more sense. even though you’d miss the familiarity of the other school and working with your best friend every day, you know it’ll be like you’re barely gone.
because seonghwa was correct in saying the boys would come every weekend to see you, the first idea coming from their mouths after their initial heartbreak and whines.
but it didn’t lessen the blow when the last day of summer did eventually come, when you sat around the pool with seonghwa and your friends and uttered dramatic goodbyes. 
“it’s only an hour away,” seonghwa grumbled, watching san and wooyoung cling to you for the past fifteen minutes. 
“you can say that because you’re-” 
“just shut up,” seonghwa says, a sense of urgency and warning in his tone that goes unnoticed to your ears. because the whole time you say your goodbyes and hug the boys, you’re holding back tears.
tears that don’t surface until you’re back in your room with seonghwa, watching from the balcony as yeosang and mingi stick their heads out the window and wave goodbye until the car is completely out of sight.
you turn around and seonghwa’s eyes soften upon seeing your expression, wide teary eyes and lower lip threatening to wobble from holding back cries. 
“baby, it’s okay,” he mumbles against your head, tightening his hold on you when you fully slump against him and let out a few quiet whimpers; because tomorrow, he’s gonna be gone too.
the feeling isn’t as gut wrenching and consuming as it was the last time you two separated like this but you still feel sad and a little scared. you still have to face a new school tomorrow, adjust to all the different teachers and classmates while also getting used to not having your familiar circle of people. 
you’re not gonna see him everyday when you first wake up, fall asleep to him kissing your head or the sound of his heartbeat against your ear.  
“maybe it’ll be good,” seonghwa mumbles against your head, the two of you now laying in your bed under the covers. “maybe you’ll like getting a break from me.”
“no,” you immediately whine against him, a small smile on his face as you push yourself up and straddle his waist. your fingers trail down naked his chest, making figure eights on his abs in a way that makes him groan lowly. 
“why?” you ask, cocking your head to the side with a pout on your face. “will you like the break from me?”
“fuck no,” seonghwa growls out, grabbing your hips roughly so he can put you on your back. “i’ll be surprised if i make two weeks before transferring.”
you didn’t even have time to think about that being a possibility before his mouth is on yours and he’s sucking hickies into your neck. trails his lips down your stomach until he’s slipping off your shorts and you’re moaning into the crease of your elbow. 
moans that turn to muffled cries into one another’s mouths, his cock steadily fucking into you until you both come in unison. your sweaty bodies and labored breathing fill the room, you on your back and seonghwa making his way into the bathroom to get a warm rag.
you hum at the feeling of it between your legs before you’re back in his arms, your head buried in his chest as you fall asleep to the sound of his deep “i love you.”
the same one that wakes you at five a.m., his hand softly running through your hair as your eyes fluttered open. 
“i gotta go, baby,” is all he says. but it immediately makes you frown and bury yourself further into him, mumble words he can’t quite make out besides little whines of “no.”
but you do eventually pry yourself off of him, after he presses soft kisses on every bit of your face until your nose is scrunching and you’re pushing him away from you playfully.
“okay, okay,” you whine, morning grogginess still in your voice and on your face. “please call me when you get home.”
“of course, baby, how ‘bout i come back after school? to see how your first day went?”
“mm it’s okay,” you mumble tiredly, knowing you have an hour and a half left before you have to get up and get ready. “just stay till i fall back asleep, please.”
and that tiny, whiney request almost makes him wanna drop the act entirely. but he sees your heavy eyes already threatening to shut and shakes his head, waiting until your breaths even to peck your cheek and he sneaks out of your room.
you wake later to the sound of yunho’s voice, his head peeking in your room before a sigh leaves his mouth.
“y/n! we have to leave in twenty minutes!”
he watches, and is totally not helpful, as you rush around your room to get ready quickly, his head thrown back in laughter in a way that makes you smack his arm lightly. 
but you all eventually get there with a few minutes to spare, the boys walking you through your schedule and introducing you to a few more people they’re friendly with.
“everyone’s really nice,” hongjoong tells you, hoping to ease your obvious anxiety. “you’re gonna think it’s suspicious but they’re all genuinely pretty good.”
“okay that makes me feel better,” you say with a smile, the five minute warning bell making your eyes widen and stomach knot even more. “oh no.”
“it’s fine,” yunho smiles softly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. “i’ll walk you to homeroom, c’mon.”
he guides you through the halls until you’re standing in a doorway, the teacher in the front of the room greeting you with a small smile and saying hi to yunho. 
“this is my friend, y/n. she’s new and a little nervous so please be extra nice to her.”
the teacher rolls her eyes as she waves yunho off, warning him that he’s gonna be late just as the bell rings; she doesn’t even say a word as she walks over and grabs him a late pass, shoving it in his hand before telling him to move his ass. 
“so, y/n, was it?” she asks, looking over the paper in her hand with a curious gaze. “that’s funny, we were supposed to have two new students.”
your eyebrow raises at her statement and you think maybe you could befriend them. they’re probably just as scared as you, if not more because they don’t anyone at all. 
you think that would be nice, having another friend to get to know and help feel as ease and-
“oh, are you the other new student?” you hear the teacher ask, hearing footsteps slowly come up from behind you.
there’s a few beats of silence before chatter erupts from students, quiet mumbles about how he looks familiar and they’ve all definitely seen him before.
“yeah,” you hear the boy say and you immediately whip around at the deep voice you know so well, the handsome face that woke you this morning looking at you with soft eyes full of amusement. 
“i’m seonghwa.”
you can’t even hear the teacher welcome him or tell the other students to settle down, biting back a smile at the the way he so cockily and teasingly mouths ‘hi baby.”
complete
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ashtifers-ballpit · 3 years
Text
of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)
ao3
Hugo does not believe in soulmates.
To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.
Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?
Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.
Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.
“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.
She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.
Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.
Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.
He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”
Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”
She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”
“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.
“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”
“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”
“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”
“I don’t have a soul.”
“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”
___
“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.
Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”
“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.
Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.
“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”
Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”
Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.
“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.
“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”
“The Snip?”
“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.
Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”
Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.
“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”
“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.
Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”
___
“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.
Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.
The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.
He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.
Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”
When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.
He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.
“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”
He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”
“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”
Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.
“You could say that.”
“How do-how did you know they were-”
She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”
___
Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.
Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.
So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.
“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”
The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.
So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.
“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.
Hugo had scoffed.
Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.
“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.
Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.
“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”
Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”
The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”
Hugo swallows.
“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”
___
At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.
It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.
Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.
So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.
“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.
The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.
“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.
Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.
But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”
The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.
“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.
Varian turns back to the stars.
“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”
Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”
“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”
“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”
“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”
Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”
“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”
He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.
Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.
“Yeah? What would I do?”
Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”
He lets go of Hugo.
Hugo immediately misses his warmth.
“And what would be the smart thing.”
“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”
“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.
Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”
“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.
“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”
“Varian.”
Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.
Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.
“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”
Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”
“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.
Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.
___
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patchofsunlight · 4 years
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i’m reposting bc it’s not showing up in the tags and I’m mad about it lmao!! hope you like it!!
check out my 800 followers event!
warnings: cursing because uh. this is bakugou katsuki. and this is so long. i put so much more effort into this than into any of the others i can’t do anything if i’m in love with him i’m sorry
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Katsuki definitely did not think he would fall in love with an extra like you. In fact, he did not think he would fall in love at all.
Yet he did. Like an idiot.
You were friends with fucking Deku, of course, and almost as annoying as him. He always saw you around with him and the Half-and-Half Bastard and he promised himself he would never give you more than a glare because you simply did not deserve to be in his thoughts, and he succeeded at that
at first.
You decided to live rent-free in his mind after the Sports Festival. That was the first time he actually payed attention to you and it was safe to say he was slightly impressed
He was sure you would’ve ended up on the final battles if you hadn’t had to fight Icyhot before you got there
even then, you gave the idiot a run for his money and Katsuki was surprised with how long you held your own, getting a bunch of good hits and losing only because Todoroki was, well, Todoroki.
He respected you a bit after that
but he did not respect the way you were always plaguing his thoughts and dreams like a fucking virus of sorts
It was irritating as fuck and he wanted to kill someone over it.
Whenever he saw you his heart sped up to ten miles per minute and it made him see red with anger. He wasn’t sure what made you so important, anyway. Yes, you were powerful and somewhat pretty but still an idiot and Deku’s friend so how good could you actually be? Certainly not much
Still, there he was, thinking about you like a fucking stupid dumbass
He hated it, despised it, it made his blood boil. This was probably caused by some secondary quirk bullshit you had that no one knew about and he was tired of losing his damn time over it.
And you were always talking to him. For some god awful reason your seat was close to his and so you would ask about his day and about what he had for lunch and about his studies and a bunch of ridiculous shit he didn’t give a fuck about
“Shut the fuck up, Y/N, I don’t wanna talk to a fucking extra like you.”
“Why so grumpy, Explosion Boy?”
“I’LL KILL YOU”
he obviously didn’t.
It was weirdly comforting to have someone interested in his life, if he was honest about it.
But not much. It’s not like he liked you or appreciated you in anyway, of course not. That would be absolute bullshit and he was not willing to deal with it.
Getting kidnapped by the League of Villains was one of the worst things to ever happen to him.
Even though he fought his way through survival and didn’t get hurt or anything, it was still pretty terrible and, well, with everything that happened with All Might later... It’s safe to say it didn’t leave him feeling exactly good about himself
Besides, damn Deku was the one to help him escape and it pissed him off.
Specially because you were there too and how much of an idiot did you have to be to get caught up in something like that?
Did you want to die or something? Fucking extra. It made him so mad.
And worried, too, because what if you had gotten hurt? What if something bad had happened and he couldn’t help? Not that he cared, of course, but the thought of you being anything but healthy and fine made his heart jump uncomfortably in his chest and he didn’t like it one bit.
After that, you suddenly decided you wanted to be his friend or some bullshit, and it was the most annoying thing he had ever had to go through.
Talking to him randomly during class wasn’t fucking enough for you? Did you really have to walk with him to the dorms and invite him to have lunch with you? God, you were really insufferable.
But he found himself appreciating your company, sometimes. It was nice to have someone by his side like that, even if he couldn’t stand you
And maybe the fluttering of his heart whenever you smiled wasn’t all that bad.
You suddenly became a part of the Bakusquad after inviting him to have lunch with you multiple times and being rejected all of them until Mina started inviting YOU to have lunch with THEM instead and he wasn’t sure how to react to it
Kaminari was always fucking babbling with you about something and it got on his nerves
It was still better than seeing you running around with fucking Deku though. Deku did not deserve your friendship.
Sometimes, when you are too invested in conversation with someone else during lunch, he can’t help but steal glances at you and bite back a smile.
You’re cute when you’re excited.
He slowly stops complaining about you walking him to his dorm
You keep playfully saying you do it in case someone tries to kidnap him on the way and he screams at you for it everytime, but something tells you he goes easy on you for some reason.
There’s this one time when you call Kirishima “cheap ass red rock candy”
You’re only joking around and Kirishima knows this, so he only rolls his eyes and lightly punches your shoulder
but, for the first time ever, Katsuki laughs. He tries to hold it back like he does with every smile you bring to his lips, but he can’t, and the way your eyes sparkle at the sound sends his stomach in a frenzy
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before,” you tell him quietly while you walk towards the dorms later that day, curiously avoiding his glare as you blush. He furrows his brows. It’s not like you to do that, but his heart does sommersaults in his chest at your bashfulness and he hates it.
“So fucking what?” his voice is aggressive, but there’s a hint of warmth rising to his face.
“It’s a nice sound,” you smile ever so softly and he stops breathing for a moment, “you should laugh more.”
“Whatever,” he mutters, hiding away his own red cheeks from your questioning eyes and walking a bit faster.
After that, he tries less to bite back his laughter. It’s almost subconscious and no one comments on it, but Kaminari, Kirishima, Mina, and Sero exchange knowing looks while you excitedly tell him about the last movie you watched and he grunts in acknowledgement, his full attention on you even as he avoids your eyes and stares at his lunch.
There’s this one time when you go to his room because you can’t sleep and it makes him so angry because he was already absolutely knocked out
yet he can see how much you’re fidgeting and something about the fact you came to him of all people causes his stomach to flutter, so he lets you in and listens while you tell him you’ve been having nightmares lately.
That’s the first time you ever sleep in his room, but neither of you acknowledge the way you’re holding each other when you wake up
It becomes kind of a tradition for you to go see him when you can’t sleep. He always complains about it and tells you to grow the fuck up, but lets you in anyway.
He likes to hold you while you sleep. It calms down his erratic heart and it’s nice, he figures. It’s nice to have someone to wait for, specially if that someone is you.
Katsuki tries not to think too much about what the feelings he gets when he’s next to you mean. After all, you’re still some annoying extra he couldn’t care less about, right?
Right?
It happens one cold night in the dorms’s common room.
You are just hanging out with him and the Bakusquad, watching some movie about something Katsuki doesn’t care about. He’s just looking through his social medias and ignoring all conversation going around him
You’re seated on the other couch, next to Sero, and he knows there’s a spot just on your other side, and a part of him longs to occupy it and be next to you, but he knows that’s stupid, so he stays put, even when you suddenly glance at him and smile when you notice how his eyes were already on you
He rolls his eyes and scowls, feeling his face heat up, but keeps quiet.
Then fucking Deku comes around and sits beside you. He’s obviously upset about something and Katsuki wants to kick his ass for simply being in close proximity to you
Yes, he knows you’re his friend too, but still. Deku can get fucked.
Deciding just being next to you isn’t enough, Izuku leans his head on your shoulder.
Katsuki sees fucking red. He’s ready to get up and punch his nose, but that was before you lifted your hand to play with the boy’s green hair, quietly asking him if everything was alright before you engaged in a whisper-filled conversation.
If looks could kill, Deku would’ve been dead in a second.
Kirishima is the first to notice how absolutely rageful he is.
“Hey, Bakubro, are you okay?”
“Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair.”
He follows Katsuki’s glare and widens his eyes at the sight of you and Midoriya, smirking.
“Are you worried, Bakubro? Don’t worry, they’re just friends! She only has eyes for you!”
“I’m pretty sure I told you to shut up, didn’t I?”
“Come on, Bakubro! Your crush is definitely not in love with Midoriya, okay?”
“I don’t have a fucking crush, Shitty Hair!”
all eyes turn to his fuming figure after he screams. Izuku takes his head away from your shoulder, brows furrowing in confusion. You stare at Katsuki with concern, silently asking yourself what could have brought him to this outburst.
He groans in anger before standing up and leaving the room, unable to stay around you and fucking Deku any longer.
Mina sends you a look and you’re on your feet, telling Izuku you would be right back and running after the angry blond.
He was sitting on the stairs just outside the dorms, trying to control his own fury. You sit next to him and he scowls.
“What happened back there, Katsuki?” you question softly and his first name on your lips has him on the verge of an emotional breakdown. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he groans, looking at the ground as so to avoid your sharp eyes, “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Did I fucking stutter?”
You smile lightly at his manners, moving your head so you could watch him more attentively.
“Well, I heard you talk about having a crush. What about that, huh?”
He blushes immediately, scowling even harder and turning away from you so you can’t see his face, “I said I don’t have a crush, you idiot.”
You hum in acknowledgement, “that’s too bad.”
Katsuki moves his neck so fast it almost gives him whiplash, and he blushes harder when he notices how close to him you are.
“What do you fucking mean by that?”
“I wouldn’t mind you having a crush if it was on me.”
He melts on the spot, heartbeat speeding so much he can barely feel it beating.
You two stare at each other and he absolutely loves the cheeky grin on your face.
You look so pretty when you smile.
He kisses you before he can overthink it, chest fluttering at the feeling of your smile against his lips. He ends up smiling too, just a bit.
Katsuki definitely did not think he would fall in love with an extra like you. In fact, he did not think he would fall in love at all.
Yet he did, and he could begrudgingly admit it wasn’t actually that bad.
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dottiechan · 3 years
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ICEBREAKER Pt. 2 & 3
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Read on AO3 (link in bio)
Part 1 | Part 2&3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter
Wordcount: 2060 (Pt. 2); 2050 (Pt. 3)
Summary:
Pt. 2:  Three are awake on the Marauder. Two are holding onto one another. One is barely holding on. (Hunter-centric chapter)
Pt. 3:  You can only keep saying no to your old addictions for so long before they return with full force. (Crosshair-centric chapter)
Warnings: cursing, smoking & implied nicotine addiction
Part 2
The stars streak and melt against the abyss of space, unsteady and bleeding. You miss the stationary points of light, precise and dependable and easy. Stars make constellations that guide you, that show you the way even when you're lost. Hyperspace just confuses you, chills you to the very bones, makes you feel more lost than you already do. Which, to be fair, is not too difficult right now.
Having left the ice planet behind after the successful elimination of a remote Separatist research centre, you're en route to Kamino once more. What's more, you have the cockpit all to yourself, and you sit with your knees up, head rested back, throat exposed, undone by the comfort of solitude as you allow yourself to lower your guard. It'd be peaceful on any other day.
But your mind is plagued by Tech's revelation.
Your rational side knows he must have made a mistake. After all, what's the chance of either of them liking you? And why would they? You're fighting together, and you're bleeding, and sweating, and trying, and maybe even dying together. But that's nothing more than what's expected of you, of each soldier of the GAR, clone or otherwise. You're coexisting now, but you could be reassigned at any moment really. You try to convince yourself that you wouldn't feel the change, that working with a squad other than the Bad Batch wouldn't chafe you terribly, but you see through your own lies.
Of course you'd hate it.
Where would you be without Tech's advice and sage-like aura? Without Wrecker's enthusiastic support? Without Crosshair correcting your stance when you shoot, without him always watching your six? Without Hunter's hand on your shoulder, saving you from dangerous situations, but also, and maybe most importantly, even from yourself?
It would be easy to answer those questions. But you don't have the power to do so now.
So you sit back, wishing for simpler times, times when your greatest worry was Bracca and thinking they hated you. You'd rather they hate you than... than what Tech said. Somehow the idea of either of them liking you in an unprofessional way, even remotely, sends your head spinning. It makes your throat constrict, it makes you feel unworthy and angry and confused beyond belief. The idea of both of them liking you at the same time - as outlandish as it sounds - just makes you absolutely lose your mind.
So you try not to think about them, you try not to think about Hunter's softness, and Crosshair's piercing gaze, and what it would be like to let them close to you. They already feel closer than what you're comfortable with. Maybe they are already closer than you know.
But they can't get any closer. You can't let them, and you promise yourself to shut them the fuck out. No, you don't deserve this, you don't deserve them fucking up whatever respect you've built up with the squad. And you don't have the right to mess up their friendship either. They belong with each other, all of them, and no matter how much you like calling them your boys inwardly, they'll never be yours. They'll always be a family, with or without you. And just who are you to tear it apart?
You try so hard to fit in, but it all seems too much, as if the four walls around you were pressing closer and closer until you suffocated, and you breathe in shakily, afraid of your doubts manifesting into anxiety.
But the slight tremor in your fingers is a telltale sign you can’t ignore. You are good at repressing emotions in the heat of battle, but you weren’t engineered to feel no stress. Nature formed you to thrive on it.
...
He's been awake ever since you refused to turn in and insisted on staying in the cockpit. Hyperspace en route to Kamino is the safest possible space travel for the squad, but he doesn't argue with you. At some point, Crosshair is up - he knows it's him from the very specific way his feet touch the ground. He skulks about the ship for a while before returning to bed. And then it's just you.
He's trying his very best to ignore you, he presses his pillow over his head and bites down on his lower lip so hard it almost draws blood. He hates the power you have over him, he hates how he can't have anything to himself anymore that isn't tainted by thoughts of you. And apparently, he can't even fucking sleep without knowing you're okay, calm, quiet, dozing off, hopefully dreaming about him.
But your next breath, it really sounds disturbed, almost gasping, and his heart clenches in his chest. He'd protect you from your very own thoughts too if he only knew how, but he grows shy whenever he sees an opportunity to really be there for you. All he ever wanted was to make you happy, and he doesn't know how it ended up like this, how his own happiness ended up being intertwined with yours so irreversibly. His own breathing grows a little more restless, chest rising and falling with your anxiety, throat tightening with your worry, mouth running dry with your confusion. And he'd take it all from you if he could, he'd drain you of all of your worries and pains if he knew you'd feel better.
He says he hates the power you have over him, but what he really hates is his inability to fight it.
He slips out of his bed, carefully and quietly to not wake the others, for once in his life grateful for Wrecker's loud snoring as it covers the sound of his footsteps on the metal flooring.
Before opening the door leading to the cockpit, he looks down at himself in his blacks, bandana abandoned with his gear back at the crew's quarters. He runs his fingers through his long curls in vain, fighting the urge to turn back and make himself more presentable, someone you could like. He's not doing this for himself, he scolds himself, but his insecurities keep buzzing in the back of his mind as he presses the button on the control panel and enters.
You've been crying.
The red rims around your eyes shatter his heart into a million pieces almost instantly, and he struggles to say anything for a second as you stare back at him wide eyed, startled. You're beautiful and sad and Hunter just wants to undo your pain any way he can. He'd be your collateral damage if you'd only let him.
"You should be resting," you say suddenly, the heels of your palms flying up to your tear streaked cheeks in a futile attempt to hide the fact that you've been crying. He wishes you wouldn't, he wishes you were comfortable with just being unapologetically yourself around him, sharing whatever sorrows and joys you had in your heart with him.
"I couldn't... You..."
"I'm fine." The little lie is so soft, almost like a caress against his cheek, a plea to let you wallow in your own misery. He'd never forgive himself for walking away now, and he can't understand why you want him to treat you so shitty.
"As your superior, I have a duty to make sure you're alright." He wants to wince when his words escape his mouth - he sounds so strict and stuck up and distant, and he wants to take it all back when a sour smile appears on your lips for a split second.
"I'm not crying as a soldier."
Hunter wills himself to sit, and forces himself to keep holding your gaze even though he wants to retreat. He's afraid, he's never been so close to breaking around you, but that damned shine in your bloodshot eyes doesn't let him back down. He knows he's already started down his road. Maybe it was time to commit to it.
"Well, I'm not asking as your sergeant then. I'm asking as your-"
"Friend?"
"I'm whatever you need me to be."
"I can't talk about it," you say after a short pause, looking away, leaving Hunter wonder whether that flush on your cheeks is because of him or not. He's disappointed you don't trust him, but he can't really be mad at you. He probably wouldn't trust himself in your place. And yet he can't stop yearning and wanting and tripping over his damn feet to make you feel better.
"That's okay. I'm still here, if you need me."
But maybe you don't need him, he thinks, his heart sinking, as he watches the colours of hyperspace reflect in your silent eyes. He stands, a hand stretching out towards you. He grabs the leather of your seat, digits sinking into it with helplessness before letting go completely, of the headrest, of your sadness, of you, and allows his own hell to swallow him up completely. He'll go back to his cot, and Wrecker snoring, and Tech mumbling in his sleep, and he'll listen to your misery in silence, suffering along mutely with every hitched, disturbed breath of yours. If that's how you want it to be, then he doesn't have the strength to change your mind.
You grab him in the corridor, catching him off-guard. He's always been off-centre around you, but so far it was only your retreats that unbalanced him. Your proximity is another intoxicating distraction, and for a moment, he feels like he can't move, he can't swallow, he can't reach out to touch you.
But you're hugging him, and how could he not return it?
Change comes slowly for him. First, it's his fingers that find your hair, and they tangle themselves in it at the nape of your neck tentatively. Your face is turned away from him, but your cheek is pressed firmly against his shoulder, and your arms have him locked in a tight hug, your ice cold fingertips seeping in his own heat. Hunter can't think straight, but he knows he's your lifeline now, and he slowly warms up, and tightens his embrace around you, and eventually holds you as if the world was ending, and you seem to need it. If only he could make your problems disappear simply by squeezing you against himself tightly enough.
It's unprofessional, so unprofessional, and yet nothing felt more natural to him than you in his arms, his nerve endings singing with the joy of your proximity. Now that he knows how sweet having you this close can truly be, he doesn't know how he's ever going to go entire days without your embrace. As if he needed anything else to prevent him from sleeping peacefully. He doesn't think he's slept well ever since you joined his team, and he doesn't seem to find it in his heart to regret it. It's bad, and destructive, and unhealthy, but it's also out of control, and Hunter promises himself not to stand in its way anymore.
No more swimming against the tide.
He just wishes, so desperately wishes he didn't have to hurt Crosshair in the process.
...
Fucking hell, he knew it'd hurt, he knew it'd come, inevitable and destructive like a tsunami, but he never actually believed it would be this bad, this paralysing. He hates it, he just wants it all to stop, he just wants to get out. But loving you doesn't seem to have an exit, and just like with breathing, the only way he'll stop doing it is when he dies.
But what's even worse than all the repressed anger and helplessness and loneliness is the hope, small and fragile but blinking steadfastly amidst the darkness of his feelings. The hope that - despite you being in Hunter's arms right now - somehow you'll still end up falling in love with him. It's false hope, Crosshair knows, but he just can't help holding onto it like a fucking lifeline.
He leans his head against the doorframe for a second, dizzy and momentarily overcome with sickness. Then he turns and lays down, curling up alone. Crosshair can't watch another second of this, of Hunter acting out all his forbidden fantasies until there's nothing left for him anymore.
He squeezes his eyes shut, but all he sees is Hunter's fingers tangled in your hair.
Part 3
You glance sideways, head propped up on your hands. He's surveying the street once more through the scope of his rifle. You consider yourself a rational person, someone who's not gross and would never violate any lines of decency, but there's something so unbelievably attractive about Crosshair as he aims his sniper rifle that you have a hard time restraining yourself from staring too much. Well, maybe you're willing to cross a few lines for him, but what the hell.
This stakeout is lengthy and has you stretched a little too thin anyways. Might as well pass the time with something.
Crosshair seems bored as well, more restless than usual. He lowers his gun and slings it over his shoulder, and you observe his lazy but meticulous movements, hoping to catch his attention before the silence drives you absolutely crazy. He comes to sit beside you on the rooftop as you watch the busy streets below you. You both know the rhythm of this place by heart now. First, there's a great bustling crowd in the late afternoon, mostly the poor workers of the adjacent factory fighting their way over to the beaten up shuttlebus station, and the merchants packing up shop and going home, leaving their stalls behind for the night. Then there are a few odd stragglers later, mostly seeking out the cheap watering hole on the other end of the street. And then around midnight, your separatist spy would finally show up to drop off his intel in the form of old, harmless looking datacards in a seemingly abandoned alley that ends in a cul-de-sac.
And then of course you'd alert the squad before the intel was retrieved, and Tech would make copies and start tracing the spy's sources, while Hunter would inform Commander Cody about the developments. Because there's a war on the other side of the planet that your information can help win, and while things look sad and boring here, at least this dusty city hasn't been bombed into oblivion yet.
"I can't wait to finally get the jump on this guy."
"Tech says we ought to wait a few more days," you remind Crosshair as you stretch your feet out in front of you.
"We're wasting our time here. There's a battle to be won on this very planet. So why are we stuck with this boring job?"
"Don't you like spending time with me?" you tease him, but you're scared of his answer, so you don't give him enough time to respond. "This is important. We're saving lives, Cross."
He bristles at the nickname, but nods reluctantly in the end. You hope it's the job he can't stand, and not you, because deep down you like this, you like not being shot at, you like having the upper hand, you like spending time with Crosshair, away from Hunter's suffocating lingering heavy with expectations posed towards you. You're none the wiser since you had that conversation with Tech some time ago, but you're all the more confused, and you're trying even harder to get back to how things were before. So maybe taking a page from Crosshair’s book and outright ignoring Hunter wasn’t the smartest idea, but you don’t have a better one yet.
"And who's going to save us before we die of boredom?"
From somewhere he produces a cigarette, and he flicks his toothpick off the roof before placing it between his lips. You raise your eyebrows, and he catches your eyes and smirks. He knows you've been trying to beat your own addiction, he knows how Hunter fucking hates the smell of smoke lingering about you, and maybe at this point he's only doing this to spite him, but he lights it, takes a drag and offers it to you.
"I really shouldn't," you wince, your rekindled craving suddenly running rampant in your veins. "I've been off it for a few months now."
"I've only got the one. But suit yourself," he shrugs, and takes another drag, smoke curling past his parted lips so enticingly that you lean closer involuntarily.
"I can't let you ruin your lungs alone." You break, and extend your hand. He chuckles, his fingers brushing against yours as he passes you the lit cigarette. You inhale the smoke, and you remember why you used to be so hung up on this shit as the nicotine soaks in your blood. Then you look at Crosshair, sweet and angry and oh so bitter Crosshair, and you soak him in too, unsurprised when he triggers the same reaction in you as nicotine does.
You remember why you used to be so hung up on him and you swallow hard, because all you can think about is what Hunter would say if he knew.
...
"I think I'm getting some sleep."
"Knock yourself out."
"I don't get how you're not tired."
"I am." If only you knew just how tired he really is, with all the pretending he has to do, with all the looking away whenever Hunter is by your side, hands drawn to you as if you were magnetic. But you are magnetic, you fucking are, he knows, he has a hard enough time to tear his gaze away from you constantly. He dreads to even think of what it would be like to have to keep his hands away from you too. He'd probably go mad.
That's why he never touches you, he avoids you, he withdraws like the losing party he is.
"Well, spyboy has already made his appearance tonight. It wouldn't be characteristic of him to come back again," you shrug. “Maybe we could both turn in for the night.”
"You really don't understand the concept of a stakeout, do you?" A snort and an adjustment to his posture later he's back to being mean to you because he needs to reinforce those walls he's pulling up between you. He'll be as cold as ice and you will burn your fingers and pull back and never come close to him again. Or at least that's the plan, he can't account for all times he's slipped out, all the times you made him laugh, made his heart race, made him wish he was more bite than bark with you. "There's a reason why we need two people here, remember? Someone needs to watch the street while I'm resting. Otherwise it'd be pretty difficult for me to do my job properly."
You take the bait so easily, and the pout and the crossed arms almost makes him smile. "Oh, so that's all I am here? Your backup? Your sidekick? Number two?"
"Pretty much." It clearly hurts you, but you deserve it a little. After all, he's your number two as well.
"It's such a joy working together with you."
Satisfied, Crosshair turns back to the street, ignoring the ache in his heart. He goes against his own wishes, but he's always taken care of himself, and he knows what's best for him. And pining after you like a lovesick cadet is not it, he can do so much better than that. You'll go now, probably pick a spot on the roof that is far away from him, you'll curl up on your mat and fall asleep, angry with him for the rest of the night.
But damn you, you're probably right, and the spy's not coming back again.
When you sit next to him, he's blinking in confusion, blank, nothing witty coming to mind. You sigh, annoyed but already letting it all go. Your elbows are touching, and he's too afraid to move.
"Do you have another cigarette?"
"You think I was lying when I said I only had the one?"
"Yeah. I think you were planning on waiting for me to fall asleep and then smoke them all alone."
"Smart girl."
The praise awakens something feral and primal in you, but Crosshair is too busy fishing out his pack of smokes to see it. You're sitting under the stars soon, ducking behind the half wall to hide the burning tips of your cigarettes, arms pressed together as you lean into his side more. You flick the ash off absentmindedly, and he watches your fingers, knowing he couldn't possibly look into your eyes now without feeling things he shouldn't feel.
"I don't mind being your sidekick."
And there you go again, fucking up his plans once more as he has nothing smart to say. He just sits, and smokes, and ignores the drumming of his heart in his ears as he focuses on you being so close to him. Just one last slip-up, and he'll do better tomorrow, he'll chase you off, he'll make you fucking hate him. But tonight is his, selfish or not. Tonight he will steal from Hunter, and then he'll never insert himself into your life again.
By the time you've put yours out, he's already lighting a second cigarette, and you blink slowly, exhaustion creeping up on you. Crosshair is about to shove you, about to tell you to fuck off finally and get some sleep, but then you put your head on his shoulder and he shuts up.
He's too scared to move, to ruin this moment. Tomorrow, tomorrow he'll stay true to himself, but tonight, he'll stay true to you.
...
"They've missed their check-in."
"Actually, they haven't. Crosshair gave me a status update not long ago. Looks like it’s all quiet - we won’t be seeing more of our spy tonight.”
While Tech is busy tracing the origins of the spy’s latest intel, Hunter paces up and down the abandoned cellar they established as their momentary camp. This temporary imprisonment has them all restless and stupid and twitchy, and he blames his own jumpy nature on being so understimulated. Listening to nothing but Tech’s datapad and Wrecker’s whining all day in the dark and damp confinement of these four walls is enough to drive him positively mad.
It has nothing to do with not seeing you or hearing your voice for days on end, no. Nothing to do with not catching a whiff of your scent in the mouldy air underground. Nothing to do with knowing you’re up on a rooftop, exposed, with no other than Crosshair.
Hunter trusts him to keep you safe. But he’s being irrational and jealous even though it is totally unwarranted.
Because he loves you.
It was a hard labour, to give birth to that internal confession, but he’s never felt so relieved ever since he’s done it. He finally has a name to put to all the yearning and pain and hope he’s harboured for seemingly endless months. But you’re not ready, he knows that. And maybe he isn’t ready to say those words out aloud either, and yet he knows the day will come. Because in the corridor of the Marauder those few weeks ago, while the rest of the ship slumbered, the two of you shared a moment that meant something.
You’ve been careful not to repeat it again, and he’s respected your wish, but he sees the way you look at him. Sees the purposefulness in your avoidance of him. Hell, he can practically smell your confusion. So he backs up as much as he can to give you the much needed time and space to hopefully figure out how him wanting to be close to you makes you feel.
But he likes to keep an eye on you nonetheless, not necessarily just to keep you safe, but also for that. And allowing you to tag along with Crosshair on a stakeout doesn’t exactly help him do that.
So he paces, dragging along his love for you with every step, ignoring his festering jealousy. Crosshair doesn’t even seem to like you anymore, he’s been vocal about it lately too, so there’s nothing to worry about. Despite it being an irrational fear, he still dreads leaving you alone with him, but he won’t have it. He knows you and his brother better than this. He knows. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him.
And as Hunter paces, Tech occasionally glances up to check on his sergeant, his friend, heart heavy with worry not just for him, or you, or Crosshair, but for the future of the whole squad in general.
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cobaltusami · 3 years
Text
Tropical Vacation pt. 2
Hey hi hello! This Is the last part for the day, I felt bad since the first one was so short and uneventful.
This one was funny to write, I liked writing Monokuma and Monomi's 'fight' scene xD
Characters In this part: Lee!Gundham, Lee!Kazuichi, Lee!Nagito, Ler!Nekomaru, Ler!Chiaki, Hajime, Fuyuhiko, Mahiru, Sonia, Hiyoko, Akane, Mikan, Peko
Words: 3,083
PT 1: [Click here], PT 2: [You are here.]
“KAZUICHI, I AM GOING TO DESTROY YOU!” Gundham yelled after his friend, chasing him down the beach in a full on sprint. The chase didn’t last very long though before Nekomaru quickly got In the middle of the two and held the breeder back.
“Easy Tanaka!” He barked. “What the hell Is going on?!”
“Yeah, Why are you so worked up? You guys sparrin’?” Akane asked..
“He’s trying to kill me!” Soda accused, pointing his finger at the angry boy in front of him.
“This fiend used some kind of powerful unseen force to send me flying into the water!” Gundham responded angrily. “You are lucky my Devas were not with me!”
Now that he mentioned It, Nekomaru did notice that Gundham was soaking wet.
“Easy dude! I was just playing around, I saw Sonia had your scarf and your zhu zhu pets!” Kazuichi retorted.
“THEY ARE NOT ZHU ZHU PETS!”
Nekomaru sighed in exasperation, why can’t It ever be something… normal with these two? “Y’know what, fine.” The larger student pushed both of them to the ground and proceeded to pin them both and tickle them. “If you’re gonna fight with each other… Then you’re gonna laugh with each other!”
Kazuichi shrieked as he felt his ribs being attacked, he cursed himself for not changing out of his swim attire back into his jumpsuit before launching Gundham into the water.
“NEHEHEHEKO NOHOHOHOHO!”
Gundham wasn’t much better off, Nekomaru was mercilessly tickling his exposed neck and collarbone. “FUAHAHAHAHAHA! F-FIEHEHEHEHEND STAHAHAHAP IHIHIT AT OHOHONCE!” He tried bringing his shoulders up to protect his neck but as soon as he would, Nekomaru would then attack his belly and hip, making his arms instinctively shoot back down to protect his body.
“Not until you two agree to stop fighting.”
“NOHOHOHO WAHAHAHAY! HEHEHE’S THE ONE WHO TRIHIHIHIED TO KILL ME!” Kazuichi cackled, flailing uselessly.
The Ultimate Team manager narrowed his eyes at the pinkette, he leaned down and blew a raspberry against his belly whilst vibrating his fingers into his ribcage.
Kazuichi exploded with screaming high pitched laughter, throwing his head back in the sand as he frantically shoved at Neko’s head and kicked at the sand.
He pulled back grinning then turned to Gundham, whose belly he was still tickling with his other hand. “Don’t think I forgot about you!” He teased, leaning down and blowing a raspberry against his neck.
Gundham burst into loud laughter, rivaling Kazuichi in volume. He tried to push Nekomaru away but this only seemed to encourage him, his other hand left Kazuichi giving him a chance to breathe and instead began poking at Gundham’s ribs and underarm teasingly.
He delivered another deadly raspberry to his sensitive neck, this time drawing a loud squeal followed by booming belly laughs. “GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”
“Do you agree to stop fighting with Kazuichi?” Nekomaru asked, after a moment of no response he gifted him yet another raspberry.
“EEEAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FUAHAHAHAHAHA!” Tears were in the Supreme Overlord’s eyes from laughing so hard already.
“I’ll ask again, Are you gonna stop fighting?” He repeated, speeding up his tickles.
This time he was met with frantic nods. Nekomaru stopped tickling Gundham and turned back to Kazuichi. “Now, Will you stop fighting with Gundham?”
“As long as he doesn’t fight with me…” Kazuichi said nervously, sitting up.
“I don’t think that’ll be an issue, If he does, He knows what will happen to him!” Nekomaru laughed in amusement.
Gundham shakily sat up. “D-Do you also… vow… not to… push me Into anymore… water?” He panted.
“I dunno man, That’s kind of a hard one. The look on your face was hilarious!” Kazuichi grinned.
Nekomaru glanced at Gundham, upon seeing the somewhat downcast expression on his face he grabbed Kazuichi and held him down.
“ACK! Hey hey hey! What are you doing?!” He panicked.
“Promise you won’t throw him In anymore water.” He ordered.
“Okayokay! Jeez! I promise I won’t throw him In the water again!”
“And apologize to him.”
“What?!”
“You hurt his feelings, apologize for pushing him in the water.”
“No way! He didn’t apologize to me for chasing me!” Kazuichi fired back.
Nekomaru sighed. These damn kids never learn do they? “Gundham, C’mere.”
Gundham shuffled closer, looking questioningly at the larger student. “Yes?”
“There’s something I want you to do.” Nekomaru replied.
“What Is It, Fiend?”
“Hey, I don’t like where this is going…” Kazuichi squinted at Nekomaru, suspicious.
“Tickle him without mercy until he says he’s sorry.” The muscular student grinned at the horrified shriek that came from Kazuichi.
The Mechanic began frantically squirming, though he wasn’t able to move very much thanks to Nekomaru being freakishly strong. “Nononononono!” He didn’t much care for the dark look in Gundham’s eyes, nor the evil smile that followed.
Meanwhile further down the beach, the rest of the students were just chilling and enjoying the day. Or trying their best to.
“Are you sure we should not go check on Kazuichi and Gundham?” Sonia asked.
“Nah, I’m sure they’re fine.” Chiaki replied, building a sandcastle version of Princess Peach’s castle.
“Or one of them has finally killed the other and we’re going to have our first trial.” Hiyoko smirked. “I’m betting on Kazuichi being the dead person.”
Sonia looked horrified.
“Hiyoko!” Chiaki and Hajime chastised.
Mahiru approached the mischievous girl. “Okay, That’s a timeout.”
“What? But I--”
“Go sit on the steps!” she pointed to the steps leading to the beach, Hiyoko pouted and complied silently, crossing her arms as she sat down.
“Listen, I’m sure those two dumbasses are fine, Hiyoko’s just a bitch.” Hiko tried to reassure the blonde, Hajime tried not to laugh at that, but a chuckle slipped out. Mahiru wasn’t as amused.
“Hiko!”
“Where’s the lie?” Hajime whispered under his breath.
“Both of you get a timeout too.” Chiaki said as she stood up, she pointed to a second set of stairs. “Go sit until you can be nice.”
“Why? It’s--”
“I’m not going in fucking timeou--”
Chiaki squeezed Hajime’s side and poked at Fuyuhiko’s ribs, making them both immediately shut up. “Steps.”
They both complied, muttering under their breath as they sat down on the steps next to each other.
“You guys worried about Kazuichi and Gundham?” Akane asked, coming from the direction of said two students. “‘Cause they’re fine, Coach Nekomaru Is helpin’ them.”
Sonia let out a sigh of relief, her hand resting over her heart. “That Is good to hear, Gundham was quite mad when--”
She was cut off by a blood curdling scream that sounded vaguely like Kazuichi coming from the other side of the beach, followed by laughter. Sonia giggled. “I think I will go check on them anyway.” She said as she stood and walked off.
“Nekomaru Is wrecking them, Isn’t he?” Nagito asked amusedly.
“Oh totally.” Akane grinned. “I kinda forgot how vicious of a tickler he is, kind of makes me wanna challenge him to a tickle fight.”
“I think you’d lose.” Mahiru smiled in exasperation.
“For some reason, I get the impression that’s what she wants.” Hajime chuckled.
“Goodness! Whatever was that horrible scream?” Usami asked, appearing out of seemingly nowhere.
“Oh hey Usami.” Chiaki greeted the pink and white rabbit with a small smile. “It was the sound of Kazuichi getting tickled.”
Usami let out a small sigh of relief, then giggled. “Oh, That’s a relief. I am glad It was the sound of friendship, I thought for a moment that Monokuma had reappeared.”
“You rang?” Monokuma asked, suddenly next to her.
“Uwaaah! Where did you come from!?” Usami cried out in surprise.
“We could ask you the same thing…” Hajime said quietly.
“Wha? Has no one ever explained the bears and the bees to you?” Monokuma asked, tilting his head. “Alright I guess. Well, when two bears love each other very much--”
“Nooo! That is too mature for this audience!” Usami protested, putting her little hands on Monokuma to stop him.
“She does realize we’re not kids… Right?” Nagito whispered to Chiaki.
“For some reason, I don’t think she’s talking about us…” She whispered back.
Monokuma growled, his red eye flashing briefly before he shifted and threw all of his weight into his shoulder, promptly sending Usami flying from the force. “Keep your dirty pure hands to yourself, Monomi!”
“Uwaahh! It really hurts when you shoulder tackle me!” she cried, hitting the ground next to Chiaki.
“Anyways! I have an announcement for you Goody goody losers!” Monokuma said loudly as Nekomaru, Gundham, Kazuichi and Sonia all rejoined the group.
“Oh great, I get back just In time to listen to the homicidal tanuki.” Kazuichi frowned.
“For the last time, I am not a tanuki!” Monokuma snapped, raising his hand to threateningly show off his claws.
“He Is right, Children! Monokuma Is a bear, and--” Usami was cut off by Monokuma stomping over to kick her In the head.
“I don’t need your help!”
“Oogh! It hurts when you punt me too!” she sobbed, curling up in the sand. Chiaki got down on the ground next to her to comfort her.
Monokuma cleared his throat. “Now that Monomi Is done interrupting me, I have an announcement. As you know, I am the headmaster of Hope’s peak. That school, just like this island, Is currently full of students!”
“What?! There’s more than just us trapped by you?!” Kazuichi asked, shocked.
“Why are you telling us this?” Peko asked, crossing her arms.
“I’m glad you asked!” Monokuma bellowed. “Because, I think my students are starting to get depressed… So I think they might benefit from a change In scenery!”
“You don’t mean…” Hajime trailed off, nervous as to where this was going.
“Are you going to let those students out of the school??” Usami asked, surprised.
“Yup! Only for a while though, I wouldn’t want you all conspiring against me once you get acquainted with each other! I just hope those cold blooded killers can behave themselves for a few minutes...” Monokuma replied. “Puhuhu, Oops, did I say that out loud?”
“Acquainted with each other…?” Mahiru repeated. “You mean you’re…”
“You’re going to let them loose, Here!?” Kazuichi finished for her.
“You guessed It! Sharkboy Is today’s winner! Tell him what he’s won, Monomi!”
“W-What? What are you talking about n--”
Monokuma jumped into the air and elbow dropped the rabbit. “Nevermind! My joke Is ruined now, you’re so useless!”
“Uwah! It hurts when you elbow drop me!”
Hajime sighed at the scene before him. Is anything ever normal with these two?
After that, Monokuma left saying he had other business to attend to, After Usami had calmed down from getting a third strike from Monokuma she stood up and dusted herself off.
“What was he talking about? There aren’t really other students… Are there?” Mahiru asked apprehensively.
“No way, He’s clearly lying to us!” Kazuichi answered.
“There’s one way to find out…” Chiaki mumbled, looking at Usami. “Usami?”
“Y-Yes?”
“Was he telling the truth? Are there really more like us?” The pink haired girl asked softly.
Usami nervously looked away, stammering as she spoke. “W-Well, I don’t… i’m not…”
Chiaki frowned. “So It’s true. Is what he said about them true too?”
“N-No! I don’t… Think so…” Usami sighed softly, sitting on a beach towel. “Yes there Is more like you. I didn’t want to leave them, Please believe me! But I didn’t have time to grab any more of you before Monokuma showed up again.”
“Why didn’t you tell us before?!” Hajime snapped.
“Uwah!” Usami jumped In surprise, her ears drooping sadly. “I-I couldn’t! I felt too guilty and horrible for having to leave them behind! I can only imagine the horrors they’ve had to endure because of Monokuma.”
Chiaki gently petted the rabbit’s head. “It’s okay, It’s not your fault. It’s Monokuma’s fault.”
Usami sniffled, her ears perking back up. “Th-Thank you.” she cried. “But, I am at fault too. I should have fought him at that point, But I was scared and worried about what would happen to you all if I were to lose… I guess In the end It didn’t matter anyway.”
“So just to confirm, there’s a whole other group of students about to be released onto the island and we have no idea if they’re participating in the killing game or not...?” Mahiru asked quietly, fear prominent in her eyes.
Hiyoko got up and went over to her girlfriend, wrapping her arms around her to comfort her. “It’s okay, Mahiru! I won’t let them hurt you!”
Mahiru blushed. “I-I wasn’t scared!”
“I am afraid so.” Usami confirmed grimly, though the next moment… “However! This could be a very good thing too, Perhaps they are like you and refuse to play his game!” She suggested brightly.
Hajime felt a pit In his stomach, It took him a while to warm up to and trust the students trapped with him... he was definitely nervous and untrusting of this.
“Usami Is right!” Nagito spoke up. “We have to stay *Hopeful!”
Oh here we go…
“They are Hope’s peak academy students, after all! I’m sure they’re as reserved and strong willed as all of you Ultimate’s!” Nagito smiled, getting that look In his eyes again.
“Nagito…” Hajime said warningly, not wanting to listen to his speech again. “Remember what happened last time you droned on about Hope and Ultimates?”
“Oh, Right! Sorry, I guess even trash can be forgetful too, I’ll try to stop.” He smiled sympathetically at the Tsundere student.
“Stop calling yourself trash.” Chiaki frowned.
“But…” He stopped himself as Hajime and Chiaki both folded their arms and glared at him warningly. “O-Okay… Even though I am…--”
“Say It, and you’ll be sorry.” Chiaki puffed her cheeks in annoyance.
Nagito blinked, weighing his options. “Why are you so upset about me calling myself trash? I am trash. Do you get mad at everyone for speaking the truth?”
Unfortunately as he usually does, He chose incorrectly. Chiaki threw herself at the taller student, knocking him over into the sand. She then began squeezing his sides in rapid succession, avoiding his attempts to dislodge her hands quite easily.
“W-Wahahahahait! Chihihiaki!” Nagito squealed, trying to protect his sensitive sides from her merciless wrath.
“I warned you.” She deadpanned.
“Usami, Do you think we should be worried about these students?” Nekomaru asked over Nagito’s laughter.
“I don’t think so, I think we should welcome them with open arms! Who knows what horrors they’ve seen? We should treat them with kindness and love!” She answered.
“Then that’s good enough for me!” Neko grinned.
“Yes, I think It will be nice to make some new friends!” Sonia beamed, her eyes glittering happily.
“And who knows? Maybe there’ll be some cute girls In the class…” Teruteru said slyly.
“If you make any unsavory advancements towards the new mortals, I will put a curse so vile on you that even your future spawn will be cursed!” Gundham threatened, making Teruteru immediately shut up and shrink back with fear.
“I guess It doesn’t hurt to have some new friends…” Kazuichi reluctantly agreed with Sonia, no one was surprised.
“Ibuki thinks It’s a great idea! Maybe Ibuki will meet a musician to rock out with!” Ibuki’s eyes became starry at the prospect.
“Hey guys…?” Hajime spoke up hesitantly.
“Maybe there’ll be a gamer I can play with…” Chiaki smiled, still mercilessly tickling Nagito. “Or y’know… A therapist for Nagito…”
“Whyhyhy would a-ahahaha therapist wahahahaste their tihihime on sohohomeone lihihike mehehe?” Nagito laughed.
Chiaki narrowed her eyes at the Lucky student, attacking his belly with clawed hands. “You’re just asking for It, Aren’t you? Do you enjoy being tickled, Nagi?”
“NOHOHOHO!” he squealed, trying to curl In on himself.
“M-Maybe I-It won’t be s-so bad.” Mikan said hopefully. “I’m sure they a-are nice!”
Mahiru glared at Hiyoko, sensing she was about to say something unpleasant, The blonde girl immediately shut her mouth and snuggled more into Mahiru.
“Perhaps there will be someone who is knowledgeable with swords…” Wow, even Peko seemed enthusiastic about this-- well, as enthusiastic as Peko can be.
“Ooh! Maybe there’s someone strong I can fight with!” Akane’s face lit up excitedly.
“Guys? Aren’t you the least bit worried? What If they’re just like Monokuma said…?” Hajime asked.
“What’s to be worried about? If they step outta line, We can just beat ‘em up.” Akane grinned.
“We are NOT going to beat them up!” Nekomaru argued. “There are other ways of dealing with violent students than fighting!”
Akane put her hands on her hips and looked questioningly at Neko. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
Nekomaru glanced at Kazuichi and Gundham, who both seemed to blush at his gaze. “Things…” was his vague answer.
“I’m with Hajime on this one.” Fuyuhiko spoke up, standing up. “The thought of people we can’t trust coming on to the island makes me… kind of nervous.” he admitted.
Mahiru nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I agree too.”
“I’m kind of indifferent.” Hiyoko shrugged. “Maybe they won’t be as lame as you guys… but on the other hand, I don’t want Mahiru to be afraid.”
“I-I told you I’m not afraid!” The tsundere girl stuttered.
“It’ll be okay, guys.” Chiaki said softly, her tone contradicting her ruthless tickling. “As long as we stick together, We’ll be fine.”
“YEHEHEHEAH! WHAHAT SHE SAHAHAHAID!” Nagito cackled as she squeezed his hips. “YOUHUHU GUYS ARE ULTIMAHAHATES, THERE’S NOHOHOHOTHING YOU CAHAHAN’T HANDLE!”
“You’re an Ultimate too.” Chiaki reminded, pausing her ticklish attack. “And you’re valuable. Not trash.”
Nagito giggled tiredly as he caught his breath. “But compared to you guys… I’m not all that special…”
“Neko, He still hasn’t learned.” Chiaki called over her shoulder. Nekomaru sat down next to them and cracked his knuckles.
“I got this!” He chuckled, The next moment the air was filled with Nagito’s shrieking laughter as Chiaki and Neko proceeded to destroy the man with low self esteem.
Hajime was silent as he thought about the possibilities, It just wasn’t sitting right with him. But If Chiaki could look on the bright side… Maybe he was overreacting…?
He felt a hand rest on his back, looking to his left he saw Fuyu offer a brief reassuring smile, showing that he was just as nervous as Hajime but more worried about comforting him. Hajime faintly smiled back and put his arm around Fuyu’s shoulders, pulling the Yakuza into his side.
Mahiru gently punched Hajime’s shoulder affectionately. “It’ll be okay… We just gotta stick together like Chiaki said…”
Hajime sincerely hoped she was right about this…
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jmeelee · 3 years
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The Boy Next Door written for @averysterekfall​
“Go burn that anger off doing something productive!” His father’s words squeaked past the front door before it slammed. Stiles flew down his porch steps, out onto the walkway, acorns cracking under his stomping sneakers. He halted in front of the garage, stabbed every number into the keypad.
“Why won’t you just let me get my license?!” He’d yelled moments ago. What more did his father want?  Stiles had passed his permit test with flying colors, logged over 100 hours of practice driving, rocked driver’s ed, and taken three private, professional driving lessons.  He was more than ready to get his provisional license, and his father's hesitation was downright insulting at this point.  The garage door rolled up, exposing baby-blue paint inch by inch.
“Hey. What are you doing?” Stiles wheeled around, arms windmilling and heart racing.
The boy next door, Derek Hale, plopped a garbage bin at the curb in front of his house.  Derek and Stiles lived next door to each other for years, since Stiles and his family moved to Beacon Hills when Stiles was five. Only a year apart in age, they’d been close friends once upon a time.  Derek sat with him on the school bus and taught him how to play touch football.  An extra place setting was always available at the Hale family dinner table for when Stiles showed up like an only-child moth drawn to Derek’s large-family flame. But when Derek left Stiles in junior high to move up to Beacon Hills High School, he’d left their friendship behind too. He’d grown muscles and facial hair and a social life that had no room for Stiles anymore.  They still hung out occasionally at neighborhood barbecues, but it wasn’t the same. 
“Jesus, dude. Someone needs to put a bell on you.”
Derek looked down at the bulky garbage can—the kind Stiles knew damn well sounded like rumbling thunder on it’s trip to the curb—and back to Stiles, raising one dark bushy eyebrow.  “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing,” Stiles spit, breathing hard. “Don’t worry about it.”  What would Derek care, anyway?  He and his older sister, Laura, shared custody of a sleek black Camaro.  No one forbade him from taking his road test. And middle-child Derek Hale had no idea how it felt to be the sole beneficiary of an overprotective parent’s ridiculous restrictions.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Derek pressed.  “You stomped out here like you were going to kick someone’s ass.”
Anger and grief settled in Stiles’ lungs like cement. “I’m just out here, admiring my car—” Stiles waved a hand at the 1980 CJ5 Jeep parked in his garage—“which I’ll never be able to drive because my father is a controlling prick.”
Derek cut across his yard until he stood in Stiles’ driveway. “He’s worried about you.  In his line of work, he’s probably seen some terrible accidents, seen the cost of teenagers driving before they were ready.” Stiles rolled his eyes.  “You’re all he has, Stiles. Soon you’ll go away to college, and he won’t see you every day, and a car means he’ll see you less now when he’s probably trying to soak up as much time together as he can. Try not to be too tough on him.”
It wasn’t like Stiles didn’t know those things.  He did. But his mother had left Stiles the Jeep when she died.  She wanted him to have it.  She taught him about the clutch and the gear shift when he was seven years old.  He just wanted to roll down the windows and hear her laugh on the wind again. 
Stiles didn’t have the words to say all that to Derek, so he said, “Ew.  I don’t want to hear your logic, Hale.” He reached into a dark corner of the garage, swatted away some cobwebs and grabbed two rakes with worn wooden handles, and a couple of pairs of work gloves.  “Put up or shut up. I’ve got rage to burn.”
Energy spilled from him like oil from a smashed tanker. Leaves flung into the air.  Within minutes Stiles stood in the center of a thigh-deep pile; immense, immediate progress. It felt good.  He raked on and on, across the yard and back, until a multicolored mountain stood in front of him, the lawn a green swath behind.
Derek came and stood before Mt. Stiles, surveying it thoughtfully.  Then he turned and, without catching himself, fell backward into the leaf pile.  He sprawled comfortably, sinking to the ground, brown, red, orange, and yellow leaves sliding over his handsome face.  Stiles stepped into the pile, sat down cross-legged.  They were in a nest, hidden from the world.  
He looked at Derek and said, “Every day I don’t have my license feels like another day I don’t have her.” He shrugged. “It might be stupid to feel that way, but it’s true.”
Derek’s eyes softened at the memory of Claudia.  “Not stupid at all.” Derek put both hands around Stiles’ waist and pulled him down flat into the leaves with him.
The kiss was long.  And serious.
Stiles stared awestruck at Derek’s stubbled cheek, which pressed against his, and with amazement, brought his lips together to kiss Derek again. To start their second kiss, and choose when to end it.  Derek’s heart raced under Stiles’ palm, and his own picked up speed, keeping pace.
Very slowly, Stiles’ hand crept around Derek’s face, finding the back of his neck where his dark hair lay thick over his pulse.  Derek’s hand, rough-surfaced, gently touched his face.  He brushed the hair from Stiles’ forehead, traced his profile with the pad of his thumb.
“Derek!” Shouted his little sister, Cora, from the porch steps.  “Derek, where are you? Isaac Lahey’s on the house phone.  He says you aren’t answering his texts.” She waited a few moments, and when she didn’t get a response, she reentered the house and slammed the door.
They fell apart, each lying back on the crinkling leaves, staring up a blue, early October sky. “I’d better go take that,” Derek said.
“Sure.  Yeah.  Gotcha.” Stiles agreed.  “That guy’s pretty needy.” Derek huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. He stood first, brushing leaves off an ass that perfectly filled out his jeans.  He reached down, grabbed Stiles’ hand, and hoisted him to his feet.  Stiles could feel bits of leaf in his hair and down the back of his flannel shirt. 
Derek kept his fingers intertwined with Stiles’, reached out with his free hand, and picked an oak leaf from Stiles’ shoulder. “Can I ask you something, Stiles?”
“Uh.  Sure?” The words came out breathless.
“When you do get your license—and you will—could I be the first person you drive with in your Jeep?”
Stiles ducked his head, overcome, and stared at his feet for a few seconds. He looked back up at Derek from under his lashes.  “Yeah.  I think that can be arranged.”
Derek smiled.  “Can’t wait.” He squeezed Stiles’ hand before letting go.
Stiles’ heart and lungs were working hard enough to power the entire county of Beacon Hills.  Once Derek disappeared inside his house, Stiles picked up his rake again.  Their two bodies had left imprints in the leaf pile, like angels in the snow.  He raked the pile back together, until the prints were hidden, the evidence gone.  Their little secret, at least for now.
If Stiles’ dad found out, he’d probably never let Stiles leave the house, let alone take a road test.
The boy next door, Stiles marveled, touching a finger to his kiss-swollen bottom lip.  Who would have thought he’d be such a cliche? 
Stiles stored the rakes back in the garage and briefly rested his forehead against the Jeep’s spare tire.  “Soon,” he whispered.  The word, the Jeep, and Derek, all held the promise of happiness. “Soon.”
He closed the garage door and went back inside. 
__________
Thank you to @novemberhush​ for reading this over.  This ficlet is based on the first kiss scene from The Face on the Milk Carton 
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negotiations of home
Pairing: TOS!McSpirk
Summary: Spock takes the time to examine his thoughts (and feelings) towards the Enterprise's captain and chief medical officer. He decides the most logical course of action is to address his findings.
Rating: G | Word Count: 1862 | also on ao3
Spock had long since learned not to say thoughts tied to emotion. Such ruminations had to be examined critically and in such a time and location so as to not interfere with his work. Only in this way could he put logic first, by making a habit of it. He was not sure if this was the process other Vulcans applied, but it was the one that worked best for him.
He knew he was successful when he was able to apply this method around members of his family; with positive emotions and negative. Only in absolute private he might tell his mother he loved her, tell his sister he missed her, or tell his brother that they were still, always, family.
It was best not to think about the emotions that came up involving his father. Or the feelings around the fact that his family was two and a half parts human and two and a half parts Vulcan. Of not being a whole.
Those walls had begun to slip, of late. And that was because he was faced with emotions that were not tangled up in his Vulcan upbringing. Feelings that included a sense of being held together, a chance at healing his two halves.
Which brought him to the matter at hand.
"You're you, Spock!" Leonard snapped, though the anger was not directed at Spock himself. The doctor was pacing about Jim's quarters, while Spock sat at the Captain's desk observing him. "You're not broken! All you have to do in this life is be honest with yourself."
Spock raised a brow. "Is this a time for the old anecdote, physician heal thyself?"
Leonard managed to scowl deeper. "Damn it, man, at least I'm trying. Talking about these sorts of things with someone you trust and care about is important."
"Is that not what I am attempting to do?" Spock asked. Before Jim had been called away to deal with a potential issue among the Enterprise's current guests, Spock had gathered both Jim and Leonard together with the purpose of working through a line of thought that had followed him around for the past 30 days.
Leonard deflated a bit, rubbing his hands together in a nervous manner. Spock attempted not to stare, as the emotions that evoked were ones he had not yet begun to speak of.
"Do not worry, Leonard, I will not continue until Jim has returned," Spock said in a tone he hoped would be reassuring.
"How am I supposed to do that, with you calling us by our names?" Leonard protested, now tossing his hands up in the air.
"It is a personal matter, so it would be illogical to use your professional titles."
"And that's why I'm nervous! Last time you had a personal matter that you had to involve me and Jim in, you were dying or your father was dying." Leonard didn't return to pacing, instead, he crossed the room and kneeled beside Spock. His blue eyes were wide and filled with concern.
"My apologies. I did not mean to raise alarm," Spock said, reaching out towards Leonard. He wasn't sure what he'd do, but he needed such dramatics to end. It brought an uncomfortable warmth that was tempting to lean into. To drown in. “Please, stand.” Spock stopped himself before he actually could touch Leonard’s elbows.
Leonard seemed to take a long enough time pondering this request as to border on his usual teasing. He finally stood, pressing a hand against Spock’s knee as he did. He settled then into Jim’s other chair so that they were now directly across from each other. “So you’re not dying.”
“Not that I am aware of. Though as my doctor, I believe you are to give me such status updates.”
This returned Leonard to a... huffier state. “I’d be able to do that if you didn’t lie to me.”
“Vulcan’s do not lie,” Spock reminded him.
“Oh really? Then it seems like I’ll need a copy of whatever definition you’re using for the word.”
Jim returned to catch that last exchange. “Gentlemen. I see I haven’t missed anything.” He was smiling, coming to lean against the partition that divided his quarters.
Spock found himself calmed by Jim’s presence. “The Andorian ambassador is settled?”
“Yes, Scotty was able to change the climate control settings for her quarters to something comfortable,” Jim said, as he looked from Spock to Leonard and back. “Where were we?”
“Spock was telling us something that is a “personal matter",” Leonard provided. “I’ve got him to promise no one is dying.”
“Statistically in the breadth of the universe and even just among life as we know it, at this moment-”
“Shut it!” Leonard’s tone was supposed to be sharp, but it was too rounded by his own laughter.
“Very well,” Spock turned towards Leonard, both eyebrows raised, and remained silent.
“Jim, look what he’s doing now!” Leonard complained, leaning closer towards Spock, as close as he could get with the desk between them.
Jim’s laughter filled the silence, and he crossed the room to sit on the corner of his desk. “Spock, Bones, come now.” His face was in that easy grin of his, the one Spock associated with times when all was well. “Spock, what did you want to talk to us about?”
Yes, the mission at hand. One that he had set for himself because, given the nature of their work and luck, it seemed best to share his thoughts sooner than later. Spock had planned the words he would say carefully, trying to predict what response he might get. He would not call himself nervous, as that emotion tended to be one of the most illogical.
“Yeah Spock, sorry,” Leonard smiled kindly, leaning back again. His foot nudged Spock’s under the table in what must have been encouragement. Leonard rarely apologized for their mutual antagonization of the other, another sign he was taking this seriously.
“It has come to my attention that I hold you both in strong regard.” Spock thought that was as good a place to start as any, even as his practiced words seemed to fall away. He should have written them down... But that would have no doubt brought Leonard’s amusement and possibly ire. “I also know, while it is not the practice on Vulcan, for many cultures it is customary to let those you care about know of your regard towards them.”
Both Leonard and Jim were silent, which was not one of the responses Spock had anticipated. It was Leonard who finally spoke and said, “Are you sure you’re not dying? Because you just admitted to having an emotion. Several, in fact.”
“Indeed. It was our last away mission that brought me to further examine my feelings towards both Jim and yourself.” Spock had been the one, after 27.8 frantic hours, to find and rescue the captain and chief medical officer. Between coordinating the rescue effort, Spock found his thoughts consumed with things he wished to tell them both. “I... care for you both. My existence is greatly improved by your presence in it.”
He hoped that they could understand all he was not able to say. ‘Don’t leave me, I need you, I missed you, I-’
“Spock,” Jim’s voice was soft, and when Spock looked up at him, so was his expression. “I feel the same.” He then looked towards Leonard, and Spock followed his gaze.
Leonard looked between them both, and his blinking grew more rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Damnit, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of you. You’ve both managed to pick up my pieces and put them back together. I can’t remember the last time I felt complete.”
Of course, Leonard, who was better with emotions than either Spock or Jim, would put the words to it: that there existed between them something that exceeded a friendship bond. They had become family. Partners. A tension settled then, the question -
“What do we do?” Jim voiced it. “It’s not as if we can stop going on dangerous missions. That’s not the life we signed up for.”
“I know neither of you could be happy sitting by,” Leonard agreed. “You’re explorers to your cores. And someone who asks you to change your very nature isn’t worth keeping.”
Keep. Spock turned the word over in his mind. “It seems that what is in our power to change is the parameters of our relationship.”
Jim let out a breath that sounded like ‘yes.’
“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, that’d be against regulation.” Leonard pointed at Spock. “Would you be okay with that?”
“Affirmative.” Spock had to focus to keep his tone even. This was not one of the outcomes he had let himself ponder. His desire for it would have become overwhelming.
“What about the ol’ needs of the many over the few?” Leonard said, and Spock knew he wasn’t arguing because he was against the possibility now hanging heavy in the room, more tangible than it had ever been before because it had been named. Leonard was making sure Spock was sure; that he was comfortable.
“You are both professionals, whom I trust not to let the personal adversely interfere with the running of the ship.” It was an easier answer than he thought. “I even theorize that such a change in our relationship could improve personal performance.”
“Now that is a theory that I want to test.” Jim moved to stand, so he could face them both fully. His smile was back and wider than Spock could recall seeing it. “I’d like to very much.”
Leonard was smiling now as well. “Why am I surprised that this has been the weirdest way I’ve ever been asked out?”
“Come on Bones, for science,” Jim’s eyes twinkled, and he reached out to catch one of Leonard’s hands. “But more importantly, for... love.”
Spock watched the way their fingers fit together, and almost missed that Jim had spoken the final unspoken word. He looked back towards their expressions, before standing himself and coming closer, to stand between them both.
“Of course I will,” Leonard said. “Spock?”
“Affirmative,” Spock said again, and added, while carefully watching Leonard’s expression. “It should prove fascinating.” Before Leonard could offer a retort to that, Spock held out his index and middle finger to him. A gesture he knew the good doctor had picked up the significance of.
Leonard’s eyes went wide once more, but he didn’t hesitate before reciprocating the gesture. Once he had, Spock felt a wave of affection he could not pinpoint as his own emotion or Leonard’s. Spock then offered the same to Jim, who looked like he had been given a gift to rival his captaincy of the Enterprise.
When Jim’s finger’s met Spock’s, the three of them stood visibly connected in a way Spock knew their lives had already long been. This, then, was proof that he would not lose them. At least, not without making sure they knew what they meant to him.
It spoke of a new beginning, a new adventure, shared between the three of them.
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pillage-and-lute · 3 years
Text
Thicker Than Water (Part 8)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, (here)
Ao3 link HERE
Please note, this is pretty heavy, it deals with a lot of common insecutiries for adults with ADHD and Jaskier blames himself for a lot of things, but it’s not triggering in the traditional sense. Much of this fic has been about the ways Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria and other ADHD symptoms can cause self-destructive actions, this focuses on other insecurities, common blames, and then the self-isolation that can come from guilt, even unfounded guilt.
Please remember, in this fic’s world Geralt and Jaskier actually do have a loving and pretty healthy friendship, albeit with communication issues. People fight some times, these are just ways in which RSD can mess with healthy relationships.
OTHER TW: Mentioned child abuse.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Yennefer and Ciri asked Jaskier to come down for supper that evening. Between lunch and dinner he’d napped, evidently passing out wasn’t the same as actual good-quality rest and his body was demanding it’s due. Evening came around, though and Yen took his elbow to help him stand.
They walked at a slow pace down the hall, Jaskier’s body not up for much more. Ciri stuck behind them, but the pace was embarassingly painstaking.
“Ciri,” Yennefer said. “This is a lot for Jaskier, and will take some time, why don’t you go see if they need help in the kitchen?”
Ciri gave one more concerned look at Jaskier, then bounded off. 
Yennefer steered Jaskier to an alcove in the stone of the hallway. He was embarrassed to find himself out of breath.
“What are you going to do?” She asked him. She wasn’t asking about his lungs.
“Eat supper I suppose.”
“I mean about Geralt.”
He knew she meant Geralt, and sighed. “I don't know, Ciri says I'm angry and I am...”
“But?”
“That day on the mountain I didn’t give him space,” Jaskier said, feeling a lump grow in his throat, blocking off his already small air supply.
“I never know when to give people space, I never have, I've been working on it my whole life and I still don't understand.” His chest ached. With emotion, with pneumonia, with tiredness. With shame.
“I’ve always been different, you know?” He looked up at Yennefer. He was taller than her but she sat regally, and he was hunched over, conserving his air.
“In stories being different is usually a good thing, you get cool powers and people love you, but life isn’t like that. And being different is...it’s so much worse when you’re a kid.”
“I know,” Yennefer said. Those purple eyes...she knew. She understood, probably better than anyone. There were parts of her story that Jaskier didn’t have, wasn’t entitled to, but she understood.
“I cant do things I'm not interested in, not don’t want to, can’t. Even if I am interested, they don't always get done,” Jaskier whispered, like he was confessing to a priest, not a barely-friendly witch in a cold hallway.
“I’m nothing but a ball of loose ends, tangled up and bouncing around, running into people and making them as tangled as I am,” Jaskier said. It came out half-sobbed, which upset his breathing and he began to wheeze, then cough.
“If I’m not interested in something, if nothing lights up my mind, I get so sad and tired it’s like this horrible weight.” Jaskier kept talking, feeling the emotions fighting to get out. “Being around people helps, I can get things done, be more normal. And interesting people, oh they’re the best, of course. They keep that awful sad, tired feeling away because they’re always interesting.”
He looked down at his knees, wrapped in their battered trousers.
“But I need to be around them so much,” he whispered. “And I’m too much for anyone to want around long.”
He leaned his head against the cold stone of the alcove wall, staring blankly and watching as his field of vision blurred with tears.
“I’m dramatic,” he said. 
“You’re a bard.”
Jaskier shook his head. “Dad called me a pansy, among worse things. He tried to beat it out of me. I just, I seem to feel more than other people. Happy is more happy, but sadness, fear, rejection, they’re all so much worse. I overreact and it makes me hard to deal with.”
He felt a tear roll down and get caught in the scruff on his chin. “I need people though, and I need people to like me. Crowds come and go I just needed one person to like me so I forced it to be Geralt.”
Jaskier was crying in ernest now, full tears falling and shoulders shaking, clogging up his breathing so his cries mingled painfully with coughs. Yennefer reached out and pulled at his shoulder, bringing him up from his hunched over position.
“I’m angry at him even though it was my fault,” he said, wretchedly.
“I followed him and took advantage of the fact that he doesn’t talk because he wont tell me to go away. I took advantage of his patience like that so someone could keep me around and I let myself believe that he actually wanted me around, that just one person could bear being around me. And being with him left me time to go seek out other interests, go ahead or stay behind, I never got bored and it was perfect for me and probably hell for him.”
Jaskier sniffled, looking away and studying the wall because he couldn’t bear to see the condemnation that would surely be on Yennefer’s face.
“And I fell in love with him. Which was stupid because I've been using him this entire time,” he whispered. 
“I used him for music and money, then I used him to bandage my self esteem and its all my fault.”
Jaskier finally managed to look at Yennefer and saw that she was actually rolling her eyes.
 “It’s not your fault, he was on a horse, you were walking, he could have left you behind anywhere.”
“He’s too kind to leave me to die on my own.”
“What about towns?” Yennefer asked. “What about the djinn?”
“The djinn was my fault.”
“The djinn was his fault,” Yennefer said, stubbornly.
“The djinn was my fault, I thought he was joking. He’d do that, you know? I’d ask him what he was doing and he’d say ‘cooking a unicorn’ or ‘hunting a gabledegook’ so I just thought he was joking again because I thought surely a djinn was only a story. Even if they weren’t there was no reason Geralt would want one. I made horrible wishes, they could have ruined lives, can you imagine?”
“I can.”
Of course she could. It had been stupid of him to say that, Yennefer knew better than anyone how a careless wish, or even a not so careless one, could turn out.
“I have to ask,” Jaskier said, since Yennefer didn’t seem in the mood to turn him into a salamander. “Did geralt wish for you to love him?”
“He wished for me to be bound to him the sex was just...adrenaline, magic, wanting another outsider, a little bit of the djinn. I won’t do it again.” She said, fervently.
“You don’t have to promise that, I have no claim to him,” Jaskier said.
“No one has claim to anyone,” Yennefer snapped. “But you love him. Anyway, I wasn’t telling you, I don’t want him. I don’t want sex with him I want his destiny, our destiny, nothing more.”
“I love him very much,” Jaskier said, after she settled from her outburst.
“Have you ever told him?”
Never, he might think he owes me something.”
“I think you think he’s more self sacrificing than he is. He wouldn't date you out of obligation, he’s not that sort of man.”
Jaskier tilted his head back against the stone. “But he feels guilty, for everything, all the time. What if he did it as an apology.”
“Geralt wouldn't do you the disservice of a pity relationship.” 
“We had a pity friendship.”
“You didn't.”
“We did.”
Yennefer peered at him with those strange eyes. “You love him though.”
“I do.”
“I don’t think its a lost cause.”
“I do.”
Yennefer shifted, pulling her hair over one shoulder. “When I asked earlier, I meant what do you want to do after this? Do you even want to see Geralt?”
“Oh gods I rambled and --”
“Shut up, you needed it off your chest.”
Jaskier sighed. “I always want to see Geralt, but I don't think I should be around him. He needs more space than most people and I need less. I do want an apology, I don't want him to grovel, I don’t want him to beg for me back in his life because that's a choice I want him to make on his own. I don’t even need him to tell me through speech because I know that can be hard. He could write a letter.I just...”
“And if you got an apology?”
“I intend to apologize first. I’ll apologize, maybe he’ll apologize, and that way we can at least be friendly, if not friends. And then in the spring I’ll leave, take a different path and it won’t matter anymore.”
I won’t be able to hurt him anymore, Jaskier thought, darkly.
“Nilfgaard wants you,” Yennefer warned. 
“I know,” Jaskier sighed. “I may have to fake my death or... oh!” He looked up at Yen, smiling even as he wanted to cough. 
“You can wipe my memory!”
Yennefer actually recoiled. 
Jaskier’s excitement had set off the coughing and he felt it tear through his throat and squeeze at his ribs until the fit eased.
“I’m not wiping your memory,” Yennefer said, severely.
“Why not? Yen, it’s the perfect solution, and Nilfgaard couldn’t get anything out of me.”
“And Geralt get’s his damned wish,” Yennefer snarled.
Jaskier looked down. “I know he didn’t mean it, he’s a good man, he wouldn’t wish anyone gone in that way, but yes, that wish would be granted and I’d never bother him again.”
“Geralt has a habit of making stupid wishes that he doesn’t actually want granted,” Yennefer snapped.
“You’re supposed to be on his side,” Jaskier said, smiling wetly. “It’s my fault, remember?”
“I don’t think even Geralt’s on Geralt’s side,” Yennefer said. “I won’t take your memories. You wouldn’t remember anything.”
Jaskier deflated. “I guess I’m as good as dead if I can’t remember songs or how to play the lute.”
Yennefer shifted uncomfortably.
“I would forget how to play, wouldn’t I?”
“Well...” she said. “No. You would remember anything you’d learn, knowledge isn’t memories, you know? You’d even know your songs, just not why you knew them or that you’d written them.”
“If you won’t do it, is there a mage who will? I’d only need to get to a city, how much do you think a spell like that would cost?”
Yennefer groaned. “No, bard, I’ll do it. If it’s what you still want, if you’re sure at the end of winter, yes, I’ll take your memories. It’s better than some quack doing it, or worse, turning you in to Nilfgaard but...I don’t like it.”
Jaskier was surprised to see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I won’t take that choice from you,” she said, blinking hard. “But I hope it’s not the one you make.” She sniffed, she tried to make it seem disdainful but it was definitely tearful. 
“Anyway,” she said. “What about Ciri? She adore’s you, if you didn’t remember her it would break her heart.”
Jaskier waved a hand. “I”m only a storyteller,” he said, wishing bitterly that it wasn’t true. “She has a whole marvelous family full of stories they can tell her.”
“Didn’t you hear her, she doesn’t feel like this is a family,” Yennefer said, sharply. 
“We’ll fix that.”
“So that you can abandon her, you mean?”
Jaskier grimaced. “It’ll be safer for her. Even if I traveled with Geralt, there’s no guarantee Nilfgaard wouldn’t take me, wouldn’t read my mind and put her in danger.” He looked Yennefer right in the eyes. “I won’t let myself hurt her.”
Yennefer hung her head. “We’ll discuss it at the end of winter,” she said. “Do you still feel up to dinner?”
Jaskier thought about it. He felt lighter, in a way, unburdening himself of the guilt he’d been carrying was better, but he was exhausted, and his chest felt raw. 
“I think I’d rather eat in my rooms,” he said sheepishly. 
He ate dinner alone, wishing he wasn’t but he was practicing giving people space, and he felt proud of himself for it. He only had to continue it, apologize, and get through the winter.
Then he’d never remember he had problems to begin with.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They will get there. Please read the note at the top, these are all very common ADHD insecurities and relationship problems. Remember, Geralt is not the villain. He needs to apologize, and he’s trying, but the villain is the insecurity.
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bloody-bee-tea · 3 years
Text
JC Love Month 2020 Day 2
Power and Pride
Day 2 of JC Love Month brings some fluff where the kids (mostly JL) tell JC that they admire him a whole lot, and even WWX is not exempt from that. Thankfully, that admiration goes both way. 
Jiang Cheng isn’t quite sure how he came to feel like an outsider in his own home, but it’s happening, and his otherwise empty table is probably playing a big part in it.
Especially compared to the cramped one, where Wei Wuxian and his gaggle of ducklings are seated.
It’s not often that Wei Wuxian brings them around after a night hunt, but they were close to Lotus Pier and Wei Wuxian at least knows that Jiang Cheng would skin him alive if he did a job in Jiang Cheng’s territory and then didn’t even have the good grace to drop by.
It’s just a bonus that he brought the kids with him, because Jiang Cheng would never admit it, but he missed Jin Ling. It’s not often that he gets to see him anymore, not with how he’s now Sect Leader himself, and it’s good to see that Jin Ling still takes the time to do something educational but at the same time gets to spend an night with his friends.
And it only stings the tiniest bit that Jin Ling didn’t come to visit Lotus Pier before, but Jiang Cheng pushes that thought far, far away. It’s important for Jin Ling to spend some time with people his age, and not just his family.
There’s an especially loud laugh from Wei Wuxian to something Lan Jingyi said and Jiang Cheng almost feels the urge to go over there and sit with them instead of a few tables further away, but he guesses he would ruin the mood.
He’s not pleasant company, he knows it, and he would hate to ruin the good mood of the kids. They deserve some time to celebrate after their successful night hunt.
So Jiang Cheng sits alone with his tea, and keeps half an ear on the rambunctious group. It has to be enough.
“So, let’s say,” Wei Wuxian’s voice carries over and Jiang Cheng might listen in a bit more closely at that, because he still remembers that tone of voice and it promises mischief.
“Let’s say what, Senior Wei?” Ouyang Zizhen asks, leaning expectantly over the table.
“Let’s say you’d have to choose the most powerful cultivator,” Wei Wuxian says, a laugh playing around his mouth. “Who would you choose?”
“Easy,” Lan Jingyi immediately says and Jiang Cheng has to hide his snort in his tea.
He would always bet his entire fortune on the loudmouthed Lan to be the first to answer a question.
“Zewu-Jun,” Lan Jingyi then says, full of conviction, though he only gets surprised glances at that.
“Why him?” Wei Wuxian wants to know, and Jiang Cheng is unsure if he has a higher goal in mind with this question or if he is just playing around with them.
“Because he’s ranked first, of course,” Lan Jingyi confidently says, and Jiang Cheng has to admit it’s solid reasoning.
Zewu-Jun is still ranked first, despite the fact that he went into seclusion, and the list is not only about looks. It’s also about the level of cultivation after all, so Lan Jingyi made the easy, obvious choice.
“But I don’t think he’s the most powerful,” Lan Sizhui carefully says, clearly trying to not offend his friend and while Jiang Cheng admires the effort, he thinks it’s entirely impossible to offend Lan Jingyi.
“Then who do you think, huh?” Lan Jingyi wants to know, clearly more curious than offended and Lan Sizhui shrugs.
“Hanguang-Jun,” he says, very predictably if you ask Jiang Cheng.
Not that anyone seems to be even thinking of Jiang Cheng.
“How come?” Wei Wuxian questions and then he gets that dreamy look on his face that Jiang Cheng learned to abhor so much. “I mean, you’re right of course, there is no one with more power in this world than my Lan Zhan, but explain it?”
“No one with more power over your already limited awareness, maybe,” Jin Ling mutters under his breath and Jiang Cheng almost chokes on his tea when Wei Wuxian lets out an enraged yell.
There’s chaos for a while at the other table, because it seems like the kids are entirely too comfortable to roast Wei Wuxian over his sickeningly sweet feelings for Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng is very content to stay out of that train wreck.
They do settle down eventually, and they even get back on track with the question.
“It should be kind of obvious,” Lan Sizhui says finally. “He is the Chief Cultivator after all, and that means he holds the most powerful position.”
It’s just as solid reasoning as Lan Jingyi’s pick had been but Ouyang Zizhen shakes his head.
“You all got it wrong,” he says and leans a little bit closer to them as if he’s going to tell them a secret. “The most powerful cultivator is of course the Ghost General!”
“He doesn’t even count!” Lan Jingyi cries out. “He’s a ferocious corpse, and not a cultivator anymore!”
“But you have to admit that he is more powerful than both of your picks,” Ouyang Zizhen says and Jiang Cheng forces to unclench his hand.
He is still repairing his relationship with Wei Wuxian, he gave up entirely on every reaching anything but polite distance with Lan Wangji, but he will probably forever have some animosity for Wen Ning.
In the very darkest hours of the night Jiang Cheng can admit that it’s unfair to hate Wen Ning like that, that he wasn’t wrong about what he said to Jiang Cheng during that cursed reveal of just whose golden core is inside of Jiang Cheng, but that is only in the dead of the night.
During the day, Jiang Cheng reserves the right to still be fucking mad at Wen Ning for accusing him like that when it was him, Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian who decided to go along with the medical procedure without even so much as asking Jiang Cheng about it.
It doesn’t change the fact that Wen Ning is a rather powerful being and Jiang Cheng would hate to have to go up against him if he’s really furious. Jiang Cheng is aware enough of his own strength to know that it would be a damn difficult fight; and he couldn’t even confidently say that he’d win.
“You all don’t know anything,” Jin Ling suddenly speaks up, and Jiang Cheng is moderately curious, he’s not going to lie about that.
Jin Ling doesn’t like Lan Wangji—Jiang Cheng is more than aware that it’s his fault—but he admires Zewu-Jun and he is starting to build something of a friendship with Wen Ning, so Jiang Cheng is honestly curious to hear who Jin Ling thinks of as the most powerful cultivator.
Not to mention that Wei Wuxian is sitting right there, and for all that Jiang Cheng wishes it would be different, he doubts that there is anyone who could match Wei Wuxian at his Yiling Patriarch high.
“Who is it then?” Lan Jingyi asks, chin stubbornly set and Jin Ling glares at him.
“The most powerful cultivator is of course my jiu-jiu,” Jin Ling says, absolute certainty in his voice and everyone goes very quiet as they dart glances at Jiang Cheng.
“Why do you think so?” Wei Wuxian asks yet again, but his voice is soft in a way that Jiang Cheng can hardly stand and he has half a mind just getting up and fleeing.
But then Jin Ling turns around to him and pins him with his look and Jiang Cheng stays right where he is.
He didn’t know his nephew had already perfected that glare.
“Because he survived,” Jin Ling says. “Because he lost his parents and his home, and then his siblings. He had a destroyed Sect and a tiny baby to look after and he did it,” Jin Ling says and Jiang Cheng can’t hold his gaze any longer, but Jin Ling mercilessly goes on.
“He rebuild his Sect; and not only that, but he made it the most powerful of the Great Four. He raised the kid, that wasn’t even his own, and all the while he still managed to get the respect of the people he leads.”
“Jin Ling, you are my pride and joy, but would you please shut the fuck up?” Jiang Cheng bites out, feeling just a little bit choked up, but no one is listening to him.
“And he did it all without his own golden core,” Wei Wuxian chimes in, voice still so horribly soft, “because he even survived losing it.”
“He did a decent job at raising the little mistress, too,” Lan Jingyi says and even though Jin Ling turns to glare at him, it’s clearly meant as very high praise.
“He doesn’t just have the respect of his people,” Lan Sizhui suddenly says and shrinks in on himself, just a little bit when Jiang Cheng starts to glare at him.
It’s still not enough to shut them all up, but Jiang Cheng has to try at least.
“They adore him; they love him so much, all of them, and it’s so easy to see, too.”
Jiang Cheng doesn’t think it’s easy to see at all, but Ouyang Zizhen speaks before Jiang Cheng can get a word in otherwise.
“Oh, yeah, did you see how they all practically light up when he walks through the market? And they all give him samples of their stuff for free, too, and not because they are afraid of him or they want to show off. They just genuinely want to show him their appreciation!”
“Ah, but that’s not a new thing,” Wei Wuxian says and smiles slightly. “People always fell over themselves to make Jiang Cheng smile.”
“That’s not true,” Jiang Cheng says, because he remembers the times he and Wei Wuxian went to the market.
The people fell all over themselves to please Wei Wuxian, not him.
“Don’t be stupid,” Jin Ling bites out, and Jiang Cheng is taken aback at how mad he suddenly seems. “Do you even know how often people ask me where you are when I go to the market alone? No one cares about me, they only want to see you. I bet it was the same with Wei Wuxian.”
“He’s right,” Wei Wuxian nods immediately. “I couldn’t take two steps without people crowding me in, asking where their favourite was.”
“Shut up!” Jiang Cheng gets out, though he’s aware that he’s blushing bright red.
He knows he has the respect of his people, but their love? He never dared to hope for that.
“So, yes. My jiu-jiu is the most powerful, because he survived all kinds of tragedies and still came out on top.”
“You’re right,” Lan Jingyi nods and then everyone is suddenly agreeing with Jin Ling.
Much to Jiang Cheng’s embarrassment.
“Shut up, all of you,” he snaps out, “you’re all wrong.”
“Get over here then, and tell us why,” Wei Wuxian very eagerly says and winks him over.
The kids make space for him immediately, and they are all looking expectantly at Jiang Cheng, too, so really. What else can he do but go over there and join them.
He refuses to think about the warm, fluttering feeling in his chest at the thought that he gets included in this.
“Tell us who you think is the most powerful,” Wei Wuxian says, excited like a little kid, and when he leans forward, Jiang Cheng pushes him away with a hand to his face.
“Hey,” Wei Wuxian protest, but the kids all laugh and even Jiang Cheng has to bite back a smile.
“If you think I’m going to name you, you’re mistaken,” he tells Wei Wuxian who gives him an almost devastating pout.
“But I was so powerful back in the day,” Wei Wuxian whines and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.
“And then you died, so really, how powerful can you be?” he wants to know. “And don’t even get me started on the fact that you made it back, because you had nothing to do with that! That was all Mo Xuanyu.”
Jiang Cheng is aware that the kids are staring at him and Wei Wuxian and it occurs to Jiang Cheng that they have never seen them banter like this.
Like they used to do before everything went to shit, and it gives Jiang Cheng hope that they can repair their relationship.
“But who else could it be?” Wei Wuxian whines as he slumps over the table and Jiang Cheng flips his forehead.
“Sect Leader Yao, of course,” Jiang Cheng says, smug as anything when he sees dropped jaws all around the table and then he laughs.
“No, no, you have to explain,” Jin Ling suddenly says and Jiang Cheng calms down just long enough to do so.
“Think about it. He’s mediocre at best but he’s still around. It’s been almost twenty years and he still aggravates everyone at the Cultivation Conferences. No one killed him yet and he still didn’t die. Clearly, he is more powerful than any of us.”
“That’s right,” Wei Wuxian gasps. “He survived the Sunshot Campaign, and I remember he was amongst those who called for my blood, too.”
“And then he survived all of Jin Guangyao’s scheming, and every fight that happened since,” Jiang Cheng adds and it’s only then that Jin Ling smacks his arm.
“Stop this, you hate Sect Leader Yao, you would never vote for him,” Jin Ling says and Jiang Cheng has half a mind to ruffle his hair.
“But I mean it!” Jiang Cheng says but now Wei Wuxian also caught on to the fact that he was just fucking with them, and he narrows his eyes at Jiang Cheng.
“No. Tell us the truth.”
“Fine,” Jiang Cheng says and rolls his eyes at him, mostly so that he doesn’t have to look when he says his next words. “I always thought that my brother was the most powerful,” he mutters and this time the silence that falls over the table is a very expectant one.
When Jiang Cheng finally does lift his gaze again, he sees that all of the kids are looking at Wei Wuxian instead of him, and so Jiang Cheng does the same.
“A-Cheng,” Wei Wuxian says and Jiang Cheng is startled to see tears in his eyes. “I love you, too,” Wei Wuxian cries out and then throws himself over the table to hug Jiang Cheng.
“Let go of me, you gremlin,” Jiang Cheng complaints, but he doesn’t push Wei Wuxian away as hard as he maybe could.
“I always thought my brother was the strongest, too,” Wei Wuxian then mutters and Jiang Cheng has to close his eyes against the sting of tears.
“Ah, fuck,” Jiang Cheng whispers.
“No swear words at the table,” Jin Ling says, clearly out of habit but also way too late, and Jiang Cheng is thankful for it, because it breaks the weird tension.
“There,” Ouyang Zizhen says with great satisfaction. “He did a very good job raising the little mistress.”
It sets off a new round of roughhousing, this time between the kids, mostly, and Jiang Cheng takes the break to compose himself again.
But when he catches Wei Wuxian’s still somewhat misty eyes over the table, he figures it’s not entirely necessary to be his usually grumpy self.
He can let loose a little bit, with his family around.
Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!
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fallout4reactsblog · 3 years
Note
I was wondering if you could do an ask for those of us who don't have family to celebrate the holidays with. Companions react to Sole being upset spending their first holiday season without their family.
Cait: “Do you wish you had someone this holiday, Cait?”
It’s a weird question to come out of nowhere, and she leans around the curio she’s searching through to eye them quizzically.
“Why do you ask?”
They shrug. “I was just thinking about my family and everything, and how I miss them, and I thought I would get your opinion.”
She chews her lip thoughtfully and returns to rifling through drawers. “The way I see it, this is the one holiday I actually do have someone to spend it with. Before you, nobody gave a shite about me, you know?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it like that.” They laugh a little. “What an odd pair we make.”
“At least you’re not completely alone. You’ve got me, after all. Think of how much worse it would’ve been if you were by yourself.”
“That’s a surprisingly adept observation coming from you, Cait.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She chucks a loose snack cake at them.
They dodge, laughing. “It’s just strangely philosophical, you telling me to focus on what I have instead of dwelling on what I don’t. I guess I can learn a thing or too from you, huh?”
“Damn straight. You should listen to me more.”
“If I did, I’d end up dead.”
“Probably just maimed.”
“Brutally maimed.”
She waves a hand through the air. “Details.”
When they’ve quieted for a moment, she murmurs, “But for real, I am glad to have you, sole.”
Quietly, she hears. “I’m glad to have you, too.”
Curie: She taps the end of her pencil to her cheek as she searches for the right word. It’s not “impossible,” and “improbably” sounds too formal, but the word she wants escapes her. Frustrating.
“Curie?”
She glances up at sole, who’s sitting on the other end of the couch. In the middle, their legs have tangled together, and she looks past them to look them in the eyes.
“What is troubling you Madame/Monsieur?”
“Nothing, nothing. I just noticed you’ve been a lot more affectionate lately. I mean, you’ve barely left my side.”
She flushes. “Is that a problem?”
“No, not at all, I just thought it was strange.”
“I simply thought you would be feeling more lonely this time of year. Holidays can be a difficult time of year for those of us without family to celebrate with, non?”
They narrow their eyes. “Why were you even thinking about that?”
“I was simply reminiscing on my time with the other scientists before the war, and I remembered how lonely it was all by myself in the lab. They were always so happy around the holidays. And I thought to myself, sole is not in a lab, but they are also missing their family. I thought perhaps you would appreciate a little extra support.”
“That’s...” they shake their head. “That’s really sweet, Curie. Thank you.”
“Oh, do not mention it. It is merely a gesture of our friendship. You saved me from my loneliness, and I wish to return the favor.”
“Still, it’s kind. I appreciate it.”
“You are more than welcome, Madame/Monsieur. Anytime.”
Danse: He finds them out on the deck, wind whipping past them as they stare over the Commonwealth. They’ve been distant for days now, giving nothing but short answers, eyes far away when they talk. If he’s honest, he’s worried about them. It’s why he’s ditched the power armor in his bay for the moment; right now he wants to be a person, not a Paladin.
“Evening, Danse.”
They don’t turn to him when he approaches, and he doesn’t know how they can recognize his footsteps outside power armor, but he doesn’t question it. He just leans against the railing beside them.
“Something has been troubling you,” he says.
They sigh, and he can almost see them deflate against the railing. “You know, Danse, I thought that it would be easier than this.”
“What?”
“The holidays. I thought, you know, even though my family wasn’t here, maybe the Brotherhood would help fill that- that emptiness, if even just a little. But I guess it just doesn’t look like that.”
Their words hit too close to home, and he deflates a little, too. “I’m afraid you’re a year too late. With the war, there will be no holidays onboard the Prydwen.”
“Did there used to be?”
He nods, not trusting his words. He can’t tell them that, even though he understands why it’s necessary, it still hurts. They’re still new, still building their trust. He can’t sabotage that.
His silence means nothing, though, as sole seems to read his mind. “You must miss that. In a way, you don’t have a family for the holidays, either.”
Gently, they lean their shoulder to his, and he allows himself to lean back against them, just this once.
“At least we have each other,” they whisper.
He nods. “At least there’s that.”
Deacon: He doesn’t want to say it in such direct terms, but the truth is that sole’s house is a little... sad.
To be fair, they’ve only been in the Commonwealth a few months, and a lot of that was spent trying to figure out what the hell had happened to them and the world, but still. Sole’s place feels entirely like a house, and nothing like a home.
“You know, boss, you should just spend the holidays with us.”
They look up from their coffee mug from their place at their sad table with its sad, lone chair. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, just come live at HQ a while. It’s gotta be better than spending the holidays alone out here.” Slowly, he turns in a circle, as if to emphasize how empty (and sad) the walls are.
“But my memories are here, Deeks.” They blow on their coffee. “This is where I should’ve spent the holiday.”
“Yeah, with your family, if the world hadn’t gone to shit and blown up. But it did, so you should just come celebrate with us. Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier.”
He doesn’t mention the number of holidays he spent in an empty farmhouse for the sake of memory, and thankfully sole doesn’t ask.
“Deacon, are you actually... worried about me?”
“Oh, you bet, boss. I mean, look at this place. It doesn’t even have electricity. You couldn’t have holiday lights if you wanted them.”
“Do you guys do holiday lights?”
He shrugs. “Do you want to?”
For a brief moment, there’s a spark of life in their eyes. “Would it be okay?”
“Who’s gonna complain? Carrington? Just tell him that he doesn’t have to look at them.”
They hum and say, “I guess I’ll consider it.”
That’s his cue to hit him with the ace up his sleeve. “We do a game of Secret Santa, too.”
They try to hide their smile, but they’re bad at it, and Deacon breathes a sigh of relief, knowing they’re sold.
Gage: “Fuck do you mean, you miss them?”
“I mean I was fucking married and had a kid, you eyeless prick. I actually cared about my family, and it sucks that they’re not here. I’m sorry that you cut ties with your family completely, but not all of us can or want to.”
He huffs, because he can tell he’s pushing a little too hard, and if he keeps going he’ll end up wishing he’d kept his mouth shut.
“Well, Overboss, trust me when I say you won’t even remember them. We got a bit of a tradition here, ourselves.”
They eye him warily. “Do tell.”
He shrugs. “Not much to say. It’s a party, we get drunk, fuck around, light some shit on fire. It’s a good time. Can’t lay around feelin’ sorry for yourself when you’re lightin’ something on fire.”
“So, Yule. You’ve reinvented Yule.”
“Call it what you want. As long as you have a good time, who cares, right?”
Their face is still doubtful.
“At least give it a shot, boss. You’re gonna have to be there anyway to keep up appearances. Might as well try to have a good time while you’re at it.”
“Alright.” They sigh in resignation. “But if I end up drunk and crying in a corner, it’s your fault.”
“I promise to hide you before you can embarrass yourself.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for.”
Hancock: “Hey, sister/brother, what do you think of these?”
He holds up a couple strands of garland and tosses them over to a waiting sole, still perched on a ladder.
“Shockingly good condition,” they say. “But I think this stuff usually goes on the tree.”
He waves a hand. “You put it wherever you want. I’m just helpin’.”
“Well, do you have a tree?”
“Somewhere around here.” He glances around, but realizing it’s not within direct line-of-sight, shouts, “Fahrenheit!”
“What?” Her voice is muffled by the distance, but her irritation is not.
“Where’s my tree?”
“Wherever you put it last year. I don’t keep track.”
“Damn,” he huffs. “ I thought for sure that’d work.”
He heads into the other room to rifle around for his tree. There’s a beat of silence before sole says, “You know, I never have properly thanked you.”
“For what?” He glares down at the wreath in his hands, which had tricked him into thinking it was a tree, before shrugging and tossing it to the side to get hung up anyway.
“For giving me stuff to do like this. Staying busy really helps me feel less... alone, you know?”
He rocks back on his heels, peering into the other room to make eye contact with them. “Sure thing, sunshine. But I’ll warn you, it wasn’t all my idea.”
They laugh a little. “I figure Daisy had a hand in things, but still. It’s nice of you.”
“I appreciate you assumin’ that I’m not just using you for free labor.”
They laugh again, for real this time, and he can’t help but smile.”
MacCready: He wants to say something. He wants to tell them that it’ll be alright, that he’s been there and it hurts, but you make it out in the end. He wants to be able to comfort them somehow as he watches them duck their head and pretend to not see the decorations in Diamond City, but he’ll be damned if he knows how.
Fortunately, sole has the words where he does not.
“This sucks,” they declare, holed up in the corner of the Bobrov’s bar.
“I’ll drink to that.”
They clink their beers together, sip, and lapse into silence before sole says, “I really miss my family, Mac.”
He closes his eyes, pictures his boy back in D.C., and agrees. “It’s a tough time of year to be without them.”
They reach across the table and grab his hand. “Next year, we’ll go down to D.C. We’ll have found the cure by then. We’ll go see Duncan.”
“Would you really want to go?” His heart is thrilled to hear their words, but his head tells him that might only hurt them more.
“Of course. I want to see you go home and see your kid. I wish we could’ve done it this year, but...”
“That didn’t work out,” he finishes.
They nod.
“You know,” he says, taking another sip of beer, “next year we’ll have a big family celebration to compensate.”
“What, you and Duncan?”
“No, all three of us. We’ll go the whole nine yards. Lights, presents, everything. The real deal, all three of us. Family.”
That brings a smile to their face, and he smiles to see it. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but for a moment he can see the whole thing before him. The three of them together, laughing, making a family out of nothing.
Just make it through this year, he promises sole silently, and I’ll make sure you have a family holiday again.
Nick: He eyes sole in the corner of the agency, where they’re talking to Ellie about some case they’re working. They’ve been talking about leaving these past few days, about heading up to Sanctuary for the holidays. It doesn’t sit right with him. He knows sole, and he knows that only bad things await them at their old home this year.
“Well, I’m headed out.” They breeze by his desk to grab their hat. “Have a nice holiday, you two.
He looks them dead in the eyes and asks, “Why?”
They freeze right where they are. “Why what?”
“Why are you leaving? Got somethin’ real exciting up north?”
Their expression tells him they don’t have a good answer, and he sighs.
“Look, kid, I get it. You think you wanna be alone to mourn and cope with your loss. But I’m tellin’ ya, you’re not coping. You’re just making yourself miserable.”
Under their breath, they mutter, “Damn detectives. Always analyzing you,” before turning to him directly. “Well, you and Ellie already have your thing going on. I’d hate to intrude...”
“You’re not intruding,” Ellie pipes up. “In fact, I already bought you a present. In a way, it would almost be ruder to leave.”
“I bought one, too,” he says. “How about that?”
They hesitate. “Are you sure?”
“Bed upstairs is all yours. Stay a while. It’s not like ya can’t change your mind and leave later.”
They turn to Ellie, but she’s just nodding along. “I freshened up the sheets just the other day, actually.”
“Well... alright.”
He lets himself smile.
Piper: “Damn, Blue. This place looks worse than the Glowing Sea.”
Her eyes scan Sanctuary Hills. Even Preston has headed off to the Castle for the month, so the place looks well and truly abandoned. The breeze kicks up as if on cue, scattering a few leaves across the road.
“Isn’t it great?” They kick a pebble across the street, bitter expression on their face. “No family for the holidays, and nobody else, either.”
“You can’t stay here,” she says, staring at the bleak, run-down houses.
They shrug. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go. I could stay at one of the other settlements, but that just feels weird. My home is here.”
Piper shakes her head. “No way, Blue. I won’t allow it. You are not spending the holidays here and that is final, you hear me? Final.”
They glance over at her with a bemused expression. “Then where am I going?”
“Home, with me, to Diamond City. You’ll spend the holidays with Nat and I, not here in, well, this. I mean, at least Diamond City decorates.”
They laugh a little. “Piper there is no room for me in your house.”
“We will make room. This isn’t up for debate, Blue. And don’t start with the ‘Oh, I’ll be intruding’ stuff, either. Nat’s gonna be thrilled to see you, and I’ll be thrilled you aren’t moping around this place that could probably make Takahashi depressed.”
“What, the noodle bot?”
“The very same. Now, go make yourself a sleeping bag, get whatever else you need, and let’s go.”
They salute her mockingly, “Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
Better to be mocked than leave sole here.
Preston: He knows without sole saying a word. He knows that pain, the haunted look that trails them, the way they linger just a moment too long in the doorway of their home before sighing. He can’t help but feel for them, too, because he still feels like he’s in those shoes, lonely around the one time of year no one should be lonely.
Maybe that’s why he does what he does. He tells himself he’s crazy, even as he treks across the Commonwealth, searching out their companions, inviting them to Sanctuary so sole can be surrounded by this new, found family they’ve made. He can’t let sole suffer alone, not this time, not ever. He knows what that loneliness does to a person, and he refuses to ask sole to face it on top of everything else.
He reminds X6 that, if he doesn’t play nice, he probably won’t live to regret it.
He meets Gage at neutral territory and, even though it disgusts him beyond belief, they make a temporary armistice for the next few months.
He tells Danse that if he makes so much as one comment about ghouls, synths, or anyone else, he won’t be able to get all the sand out of his power armor for months.
It’s not the most glamorous job in the Commonwealth, but he is bound and determined to make this thing work, no matter the cost or consequence.
X6: “I don’t think I understand. Your family is here.”
They sigh. “But they’re not, X6. Sure, I found Shaun, but he’s hardly the child I thought I was looking for, and my spouse is still dead. My own son doesn’t even know me, much less would want to spend the holidays with me. I may have found Shaun, but...” They sigh. “Did I find my son?”
He takes a moment to contemplate their words. “You’re quite distressed about this.”
“I guess?” They shake their head. “I’m just lonely, X6. That’s all. I miss my family and having someone to spend the holidays with. It just doesn’t feel the same.”
He looks at them, takes in their tired, beaten expression and their slumped posture. Quietly, he evaluates a series of options and outcomes before leaning in and whispering, “Do you want to know a secret?”
“What?”
“A secret. Do you want to know a secret?”
They slide toward him, dropping their voice to a whisper, too. “Yes.”
“Us coursers aren’t supposed to have holidays. We are not supposed to have a sense of family. You know this.”
“Of course.”
“Perhaps you would like to join us, who also have no family, for a small celebration, then. It isn’t much, but there are snack cakes.”
They look at him, almost impressed. “X6, you know that’s not allowed. Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I trust you, and I think you need us as much as we need each other. I only ask that you don’t report it, if for no other reason than our bond as friends.”
“I- X6, I’m not going to tell anyone. I’d love to go.”
He nods. “It’s settled then. December twenty-second, one in the morning, the abandoned areas behind biosciences. Bring snack cakes, and bring lots if you want to make friends.”
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