#I know there's more to him wanting to help out than just the jingle jangle of the clarity bell but also | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dear-mrs-otome · 2 years

Text

Silvio Ricci - Main Story - Chp 09

Standard Disclaimer: I do this for fun. I don’t, and never would, claim to be proficient at JP. There will be mistakes herein. There will be dialogue I choose to smooth out or change, because it feels choppy just straight translating. There will be the occasional snarky aside and irreverence and just plain summarizing. If you’re looking for 100% pure accuracy, without commentary or localizing, this is not for you. If you don’t mind that…then proceed, and I hope you enjoy! And please, support your local localizer (they make this stuff look easy) and Cybird by playing the games and routes when they come to English.

~~~~~~~~

It’s been a few days since Silvio’s so-called ‘date’, and she hasn’t been tapped to entertain him at any point. Most likely because of RIo, she realizes, who’s been micromanaging her schedule to prevent her from running across Silvio and spending more time in her presence.

But even Rio, as focused as he is on this, can’t spend every moment with her. Taking breaks when he knows Silvio isn’t in the castle, etc - and one of those exact scenarios just happens to coincide with the day and time she’d promised to Prince Keith.

“Thank you for sparing some of your precious time today,” Keith tells her. “I’ve been looking forward to it very much.”

She thanks him for the invitation out, and thinks back on their conversation in the kitchen, where Keith had asked her if she, as a local, would be willing to play tour guide for him as he went sightseeing around the city. Wanting him to see the good sides of her city and country, she happily agreed - and it doesn’t hurt that Keith is the nicest of the three foreign princes.

Rio had wanted to come as well, but she’d convinced him of her trust in Keith and he’d reluctantly agreed to take some time off…but she still can’t quite forget Keith’s strange expression she’d seen for just a moment that first night at the diplomatic ball, when they’d met.

Still, he makes her feel a lot safer than a certain jingling-jangling someone. A sentiment helped along by the knight in attendance, at Rio’s insistence.

“Prince Keith, is there anywhere in particular you’d like to see?” she asks him.

He seems to think on that for a moment, before seeming to suddenly remember something. “You went around the city with Silvio the other day.”

She’s chagrined to hear that even Keith’s heard that, and he tells her it’s because he’d heard the story from the man himself. Elaborating, at her confusion, on how he’d been snagged yesterday by Silvio and roped into a session of drinking troubles away.

Acknowledging how horrible that sounds, she asks why he’d been doing such a thing - speculating to herself that perhaps something had happened. A failed business deal maybe, or even a stubbed toe. Maybe things that were technically her doing, after the way she’d roundly cursed him in bed the night he’d left the mark on her neck.

“You’ve been avoiding Silvio lately, haven’t you?” Keith points out. “He had a lot on his mind about that.”

“That damned woman, she’s supposed to be the hostess, but she’s all over the butler instead of me,” Silvio had complained. “Not to mention, she bit me the other day. NExt time I see her, I’m going to make sure she doesn’t get away with anything.”

Railing more about how hard Rio had been working to keep them separated, and how they couldn’t elude him forever.

“He kept ranting, like curses,” Keith explains, and she realizes in surprise that calling it ‘drinking troubles away’ really wasn’t an exaggeration. “Maybe…he’s lonely.”

“Lonely?” she echoes.

“That’s what it seemed like to me,” Keith agrees.

She scoffs at the very idea, but Keith gently reminds her that he’d just told her how Silvio had recounted their ‘date’ together to him. “He made it sound like complaining, but it wasn’t really like that. It seemed like he’d enjoyed it. I think that for Silvio, spending time with you isn’t so bad at all.”

Keith’s golden eyes are so sincere, it’s impossible trying to deny what he says. She’s rude, and the only thing she does is hassle Silvio every time she sees him…but if Keith says so, maybe it is the truth.

She can feel her heart beat faster, ever so slightly, before she mentally slaps herself and reminds herself that this is Silvio we’re talking about here. Don’t get carried away.

When she shakes her head to dispel those terrible thoughts, Keith smiles a bit. “Silvio said that the sweets at the shop he went to with you were delicious. He recommended that I go there for sure, so that’s the first place I want to visit.”

She starts to speak up…scolding Silvio in her head for being so childish that he’d try on purpose to make Keith feel awkward too. (Because of the girlie girl cafe) She feels bad about taking the kindly prince to a shop that would require him to brace himself to enter, but the sweets were good, and if Keith himself wants to go how is she to deny him?

She agrees to take him there, to his gratitude, and she’s thinking how his smile is so lovely it makes you loathe to disappoint him.

A far cry from her experience playing tour guide for He Who Shall Not Be Named Silvio.

…But she can’t help wondering what else he’s been up to lately, besides throwing his booze-soaked pity party for two. Her day to day life, that had become so hectic, had suddenly calmed down. Offering her the peace and quiet she wanted, ostensibly…but somehow she feels like something’s missing.

Maybe…she’s lonely.

Because she and Silvio had bickered so spiritedly both day in and day out, it might be that she’s a bit sad now that that’s gone.

What are you saying?! She scolds herself. It’s a GOOD thing to not hear his jangling, so quit thinking weird -

“Miss Emma.”

Keith’s voice and arm about her shoulder startle her from her musings, as he pulls her aside. Only barely missing a large man passing right beside her that she almost certainly would have run smack into if Keith hadn’t been there. The man makes his apologies, blaming his distraction on the fact that he hasn't sold many of his gems lately.

She waves it off as being partly her fault as well for not watching where she was going, but his wording piques her curiosity and she wonders to herself if the man is a jeweler. She's puzzling over his strange mood when the man bows and takes his leave, and she shakes those thoughts away to focus on the here and now. "Thank you so much, Prince Keith."

When she turns towards her savior, she finds a grim expression on his face - not the bright and easy smile of before, and she says his name questioningly.

"Yeah," he acknowledges…but she stiffens with alarm at the way his voice sounds much lower, Spidey-sense tingling.

Only for him to offer her his usual kind smile only a moment later. "I'm only glad you weren't hurt. Shall we be on our way?"

She brushes off her concern as a figment of her imagination, and they head to the cafe together. Keith is unperturbed by the shop full of women, but she opts to take their sweets to go to spare him any further discomfort, and when she asks where he'd like to eat them he suggests somewhere quiet given that he's a little tired.

"Do you know a good place, Miss Emma?" he asks.

In the end, she decides to take him to her favorite spot, the overlook just outside town where you can see the entire city. He agrees it's quiet and secluded and the perfect little hideaway spot…but he seems to give the view only a cursory glance before turning his attention elsewhere.

She'd thought that maybe he would enjoy the scenery…but it seems she thought wrong. "There are some benches here, let's eat our desserts there," she suggests.

"Before we do that - may I ask you something?" Keith ventures.

"Sure, what is i-"

The pleasant tranquil peace of soft breezes and birds chirping happily is broken, along with her words, when Keith slips around behind her and puts a hand to her throat. "I would suggest not making any wrong moves. The slightest shove from me and you'd topple down."

"Prince Keith?" is all she can manage in her confusion. And when she tries to turn around to face him, his fingers tighten around her neck just enough to hurt slightly. His gentle demeanor has been wiped utterly away, and she breaks out in a cold sweat.

"Stop this, please, Prince Keith!" the distraught knight accompanying them cries, trying to rush over.

But Keith doesn't so much as flinch or move. "No need to draw your sword. This is all just a bit of fun. If she answers my questions, I promise I won't do her any harm. I have no interest in hurting her by accident either."

It's like he's an entirely different person, and she's kicking herself for letting her guard down. And trying to remove his hand is a futile effort. Her strength is nowhere even close to a match for his.

"I hate beating around the bush, so let me get straight to the point," Keith says.

She can only think of one reason for him to do something like this, but it's absolutely imperative that she keep her existence as Bella secret - so she steels herself and takes a deep breath to stay calm.

"Are you an Obsidian spy?" Keith asks bluntly.

She's struck speechless for a moment before she can echo. "A spy?" Baffled by the fact that he's not accusing her of being Belle, she barely stops herself from letting on as much.

Keith says that he's heard a disturbing rumor going about Rhodolite, and he suspects it has something to do with her.

"What do you mean by a disturbing rumor?"

"I'm the one asking the questions right now," Keith reminds her, and she can't even picture the gentle Keith of prior at this moment. "There's three things I want to know. Your purpose, your relationship with Gilbert…and who you actually are."

Well, she's definitely not a spy, so that should be easy enough to disavow him of, she figures. "What made you think I was a spy?"

Keith brings up the man in the street that had nearly bumped into them, and his odd mention of being unable to sell his gems…and when she's not following, he elaborates - this phrasing is codespeak for the buying and selling of information. "You replied that you weren't watching where you were going. In other words, you said to him that you didn't need his information, you were looking elsewhere for it."

Aghast, she protests that that's an utterly unfair accusation, and that her reply was perfectly normal and something anyone would say in that situation.

"Then, how do you explain the matter with Gilbert?" Keith presses. "He's not the sort to concern himself with some minor noblewoman when there's nothing in it for him. Let alone him going to the kitchen." Keith points out that it seems reasonable to assume there was some secretive buying and selling of intel going on in there that day.

She knows that Gilbert will stoop to almost anything to expose her as Belle - maybe even set something like this up.

"If you claim that's not the case, then you need to give me an explanation that makes sense," Keith goes on. "It's impossible to claim that you're just some Rhodolite noblewoman."

"Why do you say that?" she asks.

Keith tells her that he's done some poking around about her, and that when he asked the Jade socialites not a one seemed familiar with her at all - and no woman capable of staying in the castle could try to say that she simply hadn't made her debut in society yet.

She realizes that not even Sariel and Rio could exert any influence over Jade nobility and social circles…and all these lies have painted her into a corner.

"I think you're lying about your identity," Keith accuses. "And I think that Rhodolite is helping you to do so. If you're a spy with the blessing of both countries, then that means Rhodolite and Obsidian are working together behind the scenes. And if that is true, then as a neutral party, Jade - and therefore I - cannot stand idly by and let that happen."

She knows she's been had…and she wonders if somewhere, Gilbert is laughing his ass off. She's damned if she does and damned if she doesn't here, because she can't just deny being a spy without explaining her 'nobility' either. The only way to make Keith believe she's not would be to own up to being Belle - but obviously, she can't say that.

And the longer she tries desperately to think her way out of this, the tighter the hand at her throat grows.

"Your silence will be taken as confirmation," Keith warns.

"Wait please, I'm confused!" she pleads. "Truly, I'm not an Obsidian spy."

Keith tells her that answer won't cut it, and she's still trying to puzzle through how to handle this on her own - there's no Sariel or Rio here to save her bacon.

"If you refuse to answer, then I suppose I'll have to change how I'm asking," he threatens.

Her breath grows shallow and rapid, nails biting into her clenched fists as she does her best to fight off the trembling that threatens, but she's taken about as much as she can. Her mind has gone blank..and she feels utterly helpless. Realizing she doesn't have a single weapon to fight back with.

Maybe it would be better for her country if she were just to give up the fight here.

Making that decision, she closes her eyes and accepts it, but her heart is still railing against. Someone…help me, she silently begs. Terrified beyond reason, biting her lip so hard she can taste blood.

And that's when she hears the familiar, jingling chime of jewelry.

"Ha, you're up to something pretty interesting."

The grip on her throat loosens slightly. She opens her eyes...and what she sees is Silvio, circling around to peer into her face.

"Prince Silvio…" she manages.

"What are you doing here?" Keith asks.

"Just happened to be in the area," Silvio replies nonchalantly - an answer that has Emma wondering why he'd even be here on some out of the way hill. She's having a hard time even believing her own eyes, that he's really here.

Could it be…that he's actually trying to help her?

That thought is cut short when Silvio speaks again. "You tryin’ to figure out this woman's true identity? Well, count me in then." She blinks at that, and he goes on. "I've been wondering who she is for a while now. It's not fair if you keep all the details to yourself."

He laughs arrogantly, taking a hold of her chin. And she realizes he's not helping - he's making the situation worse! He's absolutely the worst, and she berates herself as an idiot for ever hoping otherwise.

"Well, woman? Why not just come clean, and spare yourself all this unpleasantness?" Silvio presses.

"I don't have anything to confess," she insists.

"That's not gonna be enough for this dour bastard," Silvio warns. "Ah, but…you're not some agent of Obsidian, at the least."

She wonders how he'd overheard that particular conversation, when Keith speaks up and asks how he can know that.

"Do you really think this woman is an Obsidian spy?" Silvio scoffs, pointing out how she looks scared witless just having Keith behind her and on the verge of tears.

"I do not look like I'm about to cry!" she denies indignantly.

"Take a good look in the mirror and try saying that, idiot," Silvio argues back. "Any true agent of Gilbert’s wouldn't remotely resemble this cut-rate woman. You felt something was off about her, didn’t you? Don’t you think that’s suspicious in and of itself?”

Keith is silent, and Silvio elaborates on the fact that any spy trained by Gilbert would never set off any alarms in the first place, and anyone who was that much of a liability would have been disposed of long ago.

“Then, why does Gilbert care about her at all?” Keith poses.

“Other reasons. Seems to me that…” Silvio lets go of her chin, and grabs ahold of Keith’s arm instead. “I don’t know who she actually is, but she’s the favorite mistress of a Rhodolite prince.”

It was a totally outrageous claim - and she can’t believe what she just heard come out of his mouth, given that she knows he knows she’s Belle.

Is he…trying to protect her?

~~~~~~~~

<< Chp 08 - His POV | Chp 10 >> (TBC)

Read this far? Enjoying it? Leave a like at least, please, so I know it’s making someone happy! Thank you!

#spoiler #spoilers #ikemen prince spoilers #ikepri spoilers #ikepri silvio main story #mrs o loves salty seadogs #mrs o's translations of dubious quality

54 notes · View notes

hotliljewishgirl · 1 year

Text

Post-Jangle Ball Ramblings

I saw JB in Philly last night and it left me genuinely speechless. It was my first time ever seeing them live after ten years of obsessing over their content from afar, and it was everything I could have asked for or dreamed of. I HIGHLY encourage anyone who’s on the fence to get tickets. You won’t regret it.

Starkid means so much to me. I cannot begin to list all the ways they’ve helped me and changed me, and last night represented the fulfillment of a dream I’ve had since I was nine years old. I won’t get too corny here, mostly because nothing I could say would do justice to how much I love these artists and this community, but I wanted to say – thank you to everyone who made the past ten years of being a Starkid fan so special.

Bear with me here, because I have a lot of Feelings. Be aware this post does contain spoilers for Jangle Ball. Without further ado, my thoughts:

We been knew, but everyone is SO talented and seeing them perform was a magical, life-changing, incredible, unforgettable experience.

Also everyone looked ridiculously good and I am not ok. The variation in outfits was hilarious though. I’m not sure what they were told to wear, but it ranged from Lauren in a very sexy sheer top to Jamie in a festive red dress to Dylan just chilling in flannel. None of them looked like they were going to the same event and I loved it.

Janaya’s Stutter was iconic and I want to listen to it on repeat. Lauren’s background dancing was equally amazing despite the fact it induced a severe state of gay panic.

I wish we got more Show Stopping Number from Joey and James. I wasn’t sure anyone other than R*bert would be able to pull off that song and I’ve never been happier to be wrong. I actually think either of them would make a great Hidgens if Nick doesn’t want to take on the role.

Dylan blew me away. I knew he talented but tbh he completely stole the show in the first act with the Twisted numbers. Not only does he have an incredible voice, but his stage presence is ridiculous (and I made eye contact with him briefly. My life is complete. Now I can finally lay down and die.)

I loved the Status Quo parody and I was so glad to see JOEY perform it again (no shade to Alex and Mariah but they just can’t compare to the OG). I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – if they pulled a Taylor Swift and re-recorded all their old cast albums I would literally give them all my money. I love the old songs and it was so special to see them performed.

Queen B…I think I briefly blacked out. I honestly don’t listen to that song much because I’m not really one for rap, but I might start now. Lauren killed it. My favorite thing about her as a performer is how versatile she is. Not every one can pull off a number like that, but she did it effortlessly. I was equal parts terrified and aroused, which is exactly what that song should do. Shout out to Brian and James dancing backup. The dancing in this show truly blew me away. I was not expecting that many choreographed numbers given how little they rehearsed, and I’m so glad (and impressed) that they managed to do it. It just brought the energy up and was so fun to watch.

A lil nitpick: I get that Cup of Roasted Coffee, Stutter, Show Stopping Number, and the Wiggly Jingle are technically villain songs but they don’t really give that energy? And Deck the Halls, We Got Work to Do, Climate Change, and Status Quo are straight up not villain songs. I liked the whole “ the villain is capitalism” angle but tbh when I heard they were performing villain songs I was expecting like…Wagon on Fire. Rogues Medley. Kick It Up a Notch. The classic Starkid villain songs, you know? I LOVED the set list as it was and I wouldn’t trade it for anything but I think there was a tiny flaw in marketing. And now I’ll get off my soapbox.

I try to keep my Richpez shipping off this blog but holy shit, I need to freak out for a minute. In person or through a screen, their love, pride, affection for each other is palpable. They way Lauren looks at Joey while he’s performing, the casual touches, the way he kept trying to make her break on stage…it brought tears to my eyes. And that’s not even touching on Priceless. Seeing them dancing together and holding each other like that in front of hundreds of people broke me. I’m so happy for them, not only that they have each other but also that they feel comfortable sharing it with us. The same goes for Breredith (the kiss in Final Ghost was both completely unnecessary and a fantastic addition)

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the band. The music was on point. I don’t know if they wrote new arrangements for the tour, but I did notice it was very “beat-heavy” (is that a thing??) which made it very fun and easy to dance along – perfect for a concert. Also, AJ’s number was fucking incredible and I’m so glad I got to see him sing. It literally gave me AVPSY flashbacks. He’s only gotten more talented since then. I wish we could see him in more Starkid shows. Lastly, I will never stop thanking Clark for writing VHSCC. It’s a energetic, touching, unique take on a familiar story and by far my favorite adaptation of CC. I want him to write more music for Starkid shows.

Thanks for reading my stream of consciousness if you’ve gotten this far. I’m going to post another one for act two (because otherwise this post is going to be way too long).

#jangle ball #Starkid #VHSCC #jangle ball Philly #richpez #breredith #jangle ball spoilers

16 notes · View notes

1990jeevas · 3 years

Note

goth kid headcanons, gimmie. -Batz 🖤💜

cracking my knuckles and snickering gayly lets go

pete:

-ends up being the shortest goth by the time theyre all in high school (with the exception of firkle who is still in middle school, but he is also taller)

-hello trans dude. i see u. he/they/it + neos

-listens to evanescence more than he'd like to admit

-his favorite color is teal but it doesnt look good on him so he sticks with red and purple, both of which he likes and looks good in

-he is absolutely horrendous when it comes to dying his hair despite the fact that his hair is the hardest to dye and maintain out of all four of his friends. you'd assume he wouldve learned at some point after years of having it done but he is just Clueless. henrietta is the one who bleaches and dyes it red, michael helps with buying him stuff thatll maintain the color longer, firkle reminds him when he needs a touch up. his hair would be a mess without them.

-writes to fruitiest poems about michael but like. in the most gruesome ways possible? like they are very gorey but in a romantic way. michael finds them endearing. firkle would be lying if he said he wasnt a bit concerned.

-going off that ^ pete is a hopeless romantic and his love language is gift giving. he's always getting the homies shit they dont need but he knows they want and it's gotten to the point where they have to not say when they like things just so he stops spending money

-has a big sweet tooth (which is basically canon, have yall seen how much sugar he puts into his coffee?) but he pretends he doesnt

michael:

-is very bad with expressing himself verbally so he writes long ass essays when he is upset or needs help or whatever and gives them to the goths

-the groups resident slur sayer. stop calling ur boyfriend a faggot in public before u get ur shit rocked pls-

-is on honor roll and he is embarrassed by it just bc south park gives them like. t shirts and shit as a "reward"? it's weird as fuck.

-wants to be a piercer when he gets older, has given firkle and pete a couple piercings

-has a stick and poke of a cat on his ankle from craig. it was an odd experience but he still likes it.

-his favorite movie is donnie darko. he does not understand the plot At All.

-even tho giving (+ recieving) compliments makes him uncomfortable, he tries to give them to his friends bc he knows they all get shit from other people for various reasons and he doesnt want it to affect them. he hopes it balances out or smth

-him and henrietta have best friend necklaces made out of resin encased bugs

-has broken his nose at least twice in a moshpit

-really likes collecting rocks <3

henrietta:

-is the mom friend but like. an aggressively caring way.

-is naturally a blonde but she dyes her hair black. only her family and the goths really know

-also on honor roll but she is very proud of it <3

-she is tall!! like 5'11" ish!!!

-is the laziest when it comes to doing makeup out of the four of them. literally just puts on bottom eyeliner then Goes. meanwhile pete and firkle are out here doing a full face every morning and michael is color correcting his eyebags just to REAPPLY MAKEUP OVER THEM.

-wears rings on every single finger bc she likes the jingle jangle

-always writes personalized stories for each goth during the holiday season

-really good at math but hates doing it

-resident mean lesbian <3 just wants her boys to shut up so she can think about Girls

-does the whole groups nails every week for funsies

-her room has an oogie boogie shrine that freaks michael out. he is not a fan of the big bag man. thinks the movie mightve given him a lasting fear of Just oogie boogie.

-has somehow befriended kenny wendy and pip. they are her normie exceptions <3

-weirdly good at fps games considering she doesnt like them

firkle:

-threatens everyone. sometimes he means it. he is like the worlds shittiest chihuahua that just barks at everyone and you can never tell when he's gonna actually bite.

-trans dude no2. he/it. maims cis peo-

-listens to n unhealthy amount of metal music in his free time

-very into candles and incense, it drives pete crazy bc he has a sensitive nose

-the other goths have never seen his house bc firkle thinks his parents would be very weird about him having only older friends

-has a soft spot for shows like beyblade digimon and adventure time

-once watched all of switched at birth by himself just so he had something new to complain about everytime he met up with the goths. they offered to watch with him and he gave a very firm no.

-wants a pet opossum more than anything

-love language is being way too protective of ur friends who are way older than you and can handle themselves

-big dnd nerd

-in dire need of a regular sleep schedule but he also hates sleeping bc it feels like "wasted time"

-doesnt like asking for help but he tries to anyways bc he knows it makes the others happy

#shit self #asks #batz anon tag 🖤💜#goth kids #henrietta biggle #pete thelman #michael (sp)#firkle smith #south park #headcanons #kinz

107 notes · View notes

fromiftowhen · 3 years

Text

fic: my aim is so true (a Chenford post-3x11 one-shot)

Instead of my usual post-episode recap, I took ALL of those Tim Bradford feelings and put them into my first completed Chenford fic since July 2020. I’ve very, very much missed writing Tim Bradford, and this just felt like too many emotions to pass up.

Rated G | 1500 words | Title from Soldier by Gavin DeGraw

----------------------------------

Lucy’s waiting by his truck when he makes his way out to the parking garage later that night.

He slows to a stop, pressing his keys into his pocket and keeping his palms there, just watching her for a moment.

“Did I not pay you enough compliments today, Chen?”

She raises an eyebrow at the question, that all-too-familiar smirk crossing her lips.

“Don’t think there’s such a thing as enough compliments,” she says, shrugging with her free shoulder. She leans against his tailgate, and he feels that same edge creeping in, the one that’s told him for the last thirteen months that she has more to say.

He just waits, letting the unexpected emotions of the last two days well in him.

“Listen,” she sighs. “I heard that Barnes put in her resignation memo.”

He starts to shrug, but the way she’s watching him makes him nod instead. “She did.”

“She okay?”

He tries to stop the smile. He really does. The question is just so perfectly Lucy Chen that he can’t help the automatic response.

He’s told her a lot of truths in their time riding together. Some have been intentional, pulled out of him by the situation -- stories about Isabel and his father, and a million things in between. Some have been unintentional, in the heat of the moment, but still entirely true -- about how she’s good at things and how she’s aggravating, and a million other things that shouldn’t have been compliments but were.

But he’s not sure anything he’s ever told her has been as true as the words that had easily fallen from his lips earlier.

You are a kind and insightful person. You see the good in people.

It’s not an opinion. It’s a fact.

He wants to tell her another fact -- yeah, Barnes is okay, because he wants it to be true. He knows it can be, and it’s the reason he’s standing here.

“I hope so,” is what he settles on, because that’s a fact too. “She has a long road.”

Lucy nods, and he mimics the motion back at her, starting to pull his keys out of his pocket again. He expects her to say something, to agree, but she just quietly watches him for a second.

“Tim.”

He just raises an eyebrow, and he knows she reads it as the invitation it is to continue, one of a million silent ways they’ve learned to communicate.

“Are you okay?”

He breathes in slowly, focusing on the feel of the concrete underneath him, the rumble of the ground as a car passes on the level above them, the slight tilt of her head, and the look of anticipation in her eyes.

Now, in this moment, he feels okay.

He thinks about that being something Barnes needs to learn -- that the moments come, and they’re horrible, and it’s okay not to be okay. And eventually, after those moments become minutes, and hours, and days, weeks of not being okay, eventually, a moment will be okay again.

And then it won’t be okay.

And the healing won’t be linear, and it’ll hit you out of nowhere. But eventually, it’ll be okay again.

It’ll come on slowly, or all at once, alone or with a person who feels like home, but it’ll happen. It’ll take more work than you want to imagine, but it can happen.

He nods when he realizes he’s still just breathing in, and she’s still just watching him, careful, like the entire reason she’s leaning against his truck is to make sure he’s okay.

“There was more I wanted to teach her,” he says, and it’s a fact again, but it feels vulnerable, like a million other things he’s shared with her.

“Stuff about being a cop?” He can hear in her voice that she knows that’s not the answer, and he appreciates the out, but he’s spent too many hours in the last two days putting himself out there, opening himself up and grounding himself again, not to be honest with her.

He shakes his head. “Stuff about coming home.”

She just nods. He appreciates that she doesn’t pretend to know exactly what he means, even though she knows so much about a million things and usually has no problem letting him know. Because he could train her for another thirteen months, another thirteen years, and still not teach her the unwanted shared connection that trying to become a civilian again forges between people.

“She’ll figure it out. You helped her find a path, at least,” she says, always the optimist. He starts to shake his head, just a conditioned response to needing to disagree with her, to challenge her, but something stops him.

Something that feels a lot like the familiar look on Lucy’s face, something that feels like the words that had bubbled out of him as Barnes had walked away.

You change your mind, you will always have a home here.

Something that feels like hope, again.

“I tried,” he says, and he believes it.

“Wouldn’t have expected any less,” she says, adjusting the strap of her bag and jangling her keys. It’s her telltale sign, one he’s learned in the last few months of late-night parking garage conversations, one that tells him he’ll sit in his cab in the dark in just a couple of minutes, waiting for her headlights to pass.

“I’ll let you…” she gestures to his truck, standing up straight but not making a move to walk away.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and for a moment, the silence between them is stilted, and he thinks about her fake confession in the shop, about her hand in his, warm, deliberate, later that day, about how not a single part of him had been surprised to find her here tonight.

“Tim,” she says, and his name on her lips again pulls his focus back to the present. “What you said earlier about showing me that the world can be a scary place?”

He nods, waiting for her to continue.

“You did that, in ways I wasn’t prepared for. And that makes you a good teacher, a good training officer. You did good by Barnes, too; you gave her what she needed, just like you did with me.”

He starts to shake his head again, but she shakes hers first, stopping him.

“But you did more than that,” she whispers, her tone soft, but the words still reaching him easily in the echo of the parking garage. “You showed me the world could be good again, can feel safe again, after trauma.”

She doesn’t have to explain -- the silent Caleb is there, heavy in the air between them even when unspoken.

This time, he shakes his head before she can stop him. “You did that. You put in the work,” he tells her, and it’s a conversation they’ve had before and one he’d have a million times if she needed the reminder.

She nods, “I did, yeah. But I did it with your help.”

He shrugs because it’s not a fight he’s going to win. He can tell by the determined look on her face, as aggravating as it ever is.

“You’re a good training officer, Tim. You know how to help people in the way they need it,” she says, glancing away for a second before finding his gaze again. “You want to help people. And that’s what makes you a good man.”

He breathes in slowly again, grounding himself, waiting for the concrete under his feet to make itself known, for the familiar rumble of a car passing again. But all he can focus on is the tilt of her head, the look in her eyes -- but this time, there’s no anticipation there. She doesn’t expect a response because, to her, it’s not open to debate.

It’s simple, and she says it like a fact, and he lets himself just breathe in and out, and in this moment, he accepts it.

And it feels okay.

“Thanks,” he whispers because he’d needed this, a check-in for complicated emotions years in the healing process, for the hope that’s been building, thirteen months in the making.

She nods, a quick quirk of her lips. “For what? Doing my job?”

He just shakes his head, letting himself smile slowly, finally pulling his keys back out of his pocket. If he stands here much longer, he’s going to think about the warmth of her palm against his again, about how dim parking garage light shouldn’t be so flattering, about the way his heart had caught in his throat at her words in the shop on that last day.

“Really.” He nods again, and he knows she takes it as the silent thanks it is.

She smiles and tosses a slight wave at him, her keys jingling as she turns, and he carries that feeling of hope into the dark cab of his truck as he hears her now-reliable engine start down the row.

He breathes in and out and lets a hopeful feeling slowly swell in him until her headlights pass behind him, and he lets her guide the way.

#my fic #chenford #chenford fic #tim bradford #lucy chen #the rookie #the rookie fic #post-ep #the rookie spoilers #tucy

205 notes · View notes

companionjones · 3 years

Text

Santa Claus Is Going To High School With Ethan and Y/n

Fandoms: StarKid, Black Friday, Santa Claus Is Going To High School

Pairings: Ethan Green x Reader, Chris Kringle x Reader

Summary: In the beginning, you were just a loner in high school who had a huge crush on one Ethan Green. You’re a big fan of escapism, and a certain kids movie brings you lots of serotonin. The teenage version of Santa Claus is more attractive than one might think. What happens when you and Ethan get sucked into the kids movie you’ve grown to love, and Chris Kringle starts vying for your attention? Will Ethan actually get jealous?

Warnings: This is long, cursing, speaking of cursed, I AM SO SORRY I MADE THIS

*******

Ethan Green would have rather been at home, smoking weed. Instead, he was at Lakeside Mall with some kid he was babysitting. He took the job because he needed the money for his jalopy that was in the shop. He didn’t mind the kid all that much. The boy, a nine-year-old named Tim, was nice enough. The only problem was that Tim wanted to see a very annoying-looking kids movie in theaters called Santa Claus Is Going To High School.

“Thirty bucks for two tickets? Are you kiddin’?” Ethan griped as he stood outside of the Cineplex. “Fine. But I want a refund if the kid doesn’t like the movie.”

The half-asleep cashier responded detachedly, “We don’t do refunds here, sir.”

Ethan groaned, “Yeah, whatever,” and pulled the kid inside.

In Theater 4, the previews were still playing. All the seats were empty save for one. Ethan recognized the girl in it. He knew her from the hallways at school. It was you.

Silently, you were thankful no one else was in the theater with you. That way, you couldn’t be judged as a teenager seeing a kids movie...for the fifth time. Yes, you were kind of obsessed with Santa Claus Is Going To High School. So what? That was your business, no one else’s. Or, at least, it was until--

“What the hell are you doing, seeing this movie alone?” Ethan Green, the last person in Hatchetfield you wanted to sit next to you in that moment, decided to take a seat.

At a loss for words, you were trying too hard to think of something to say. “Ethan! I...Um...I--”

He chucked, “Relax. I’m not gonna make fun of you or anything. Just because something isn’t my style, that doesn’t mean you can’t like it.”

Completely in shock that someone your age wasn’t going to judge you, you just gaped at him.

Ethan didn’t notice. “Plus, it kinda rocks that you’re here. I thought I was gonna have to watch this movie with just Tiny Tim here. But it doesn’t seem so bad now with you at my side.”

You cursed yourself for giggling. It was always like that with Ethan. You two would get paired together on a school project or something, and he would casually flirt with you like it was nothing. You would fall for it, you two would get really close, then the project would be turned in. After that, whenever you would go up to Ethan in the halls, it would be like the two of you had never spoken before. You hated it, especially after you developed a huge crush on him.

And it was all starting again.

When the movie began, you watched out the corner of your eye as Ethan fought to stay awake. He lasted ten minutes into the movie. Honestly, you were exhausted, too. You were just getting out of a double shift of waiting on tables. You thought you could get through the movie before crashing at home. You fell asleep not three seconds after the leather-clad boy.

Ethan was woken up by a school bell ringing. He found himself sitting in a desk. Disoriented, he looked to his right to find you staring at him in alarm.

“What the hell...” Ethan was able to mumble before the teacher called out to him and you to not be late for your next classes.

He and you stumbled out into the hallway.

Once out there, you whispered to Ethan in distress, “We’re in the movie. We’re in the fucking movie!”

“No. Fuck. No,” Ethan adamantly disagreed, “We’re dreaming. This is impossible. This can’t be real--” Ethan immediately went to help you up when you ran into one of the other students.

The boy you ran into beat Ethan to it, however.

“Oh my god...” you voiced, completely in shock, as the stranger helped you to your feet.

Right in front of you, holding your hand was the reason you came back to watch the kids movie over and over again. There was your #1 comfort character, your biggest crush since Ethan.

He smiled warmly at you. “Hi there. Sorry about bumping into you...Say, you must be new here. What’s your name? I’m Chris Kringle.”

“I know,” you blurted. Upon seeing Chris’ slight confusion, you backtracked, “I mean...You’re all people talk about around here. You must be the most popular kid in school, and you’re almost as new as I am.”

Chris responded charmingly, “Well, that just means that you have a chance at becoming just as popular as I am, and probably even more so because you seem like you’re at the top of the nice list.”

You felt your moth fall open and cheeks heat up from the flattery.

Ethan cleared his throat in an attempt to get Chris’ attention off of you. He didn’t particularly like that Chris Kringle thought it was appropriate to be that friendly with you upon only just meeting you. Chris was also yet to let go of your hand.

He didn’t let go when Ethan got his attention, either.

Ethan had also gotten your attention. “Um, I’m Y/n, and this is my friend, Ethan. This is our, uh, first day.”

“Oh, well you two probably need some friends around here, huh? You’re both welcome to come sledding with us. We’re heading off now,” Chris cheerfully invited.

Ethan answered, “Uh, we actually have something--”

“We’d love to!” you interrupted.

Chris beamed, “Great! Let’s go! Oh, and don’t worry, people always bring extra sleds.”

“What the hell are you thinking, Y/n?” chastised Ethan. “If this isn’t a dream, which I don’t think it is anymore, ‘cause you seem pretty self aware to me, then we gotta figure a way outta here!”

“I don’t think we can get out of this until the plot of the movie plays out to the end, which is this Friday at the championship game against South Heights. I think all we can do is wait it out.”

Ethan blanched, “Friday?! But I left Tim alone in that theater!”

“Haven’t you ever seen a movie like this?” you questioned, “Jumanji? Teen Beach Movie? I’m almost positive no time will have passed once we get out of this.”

“So what? You just want to go sledding with Chris Kringle until the game on Friday?” Ethan questioned.

Lamely, you answered, “...Yes.”

Ethan was rendered defeated by your hopeful eyes. He huffed out, “Fine.”

Happiness overtook your face. “Thank you!” you celebrated.

Ethan avoided your gaze due to how adorable he thought that was. Then, a new idea caused him to smirk, “Wait, how do you know how the movie’s going to play out?”

“I...might’ve seen the movie more than once,” you explained. It was your turn to avoid your friend’s gaze. “...Four times, not including this one.”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up, “Four times?! Why the hell do you like this movie that much?” Just then, he followed your gaze to Chris Kringle. It clicked in his head. “Oh...”

Your gaze dropped to the ground. You bit your lip, embarrassed.

Both you and Ethan followed Chis to a large hill where a bunch of students had gathered to go sledding. You were able to borrow two extra sleds from a couple of students. After the first few trips down the hell, you and Ethan finally got used to the fact that the two of you were sledding in a Christmas movie with Santa Claus. Or maybe, you two had finally given into the insanity.

You were standing at the top of the hill, waiting your turn with Chris when he asked you, “So, what’s the deal with you and Ethan?”

“Me and Ethan?” You were shocked that someone besides yourself could see you and the Green boy like that. “Oh, no. We’re just friends.”

Chris wondered, “Is there a chance at something more?”

“Definitely not. Sorry. I guess I fucked up my Christmas wish, huh Santa?” Fuck. You did not mean to say that.

Kringle panicked, “Wait, you know I’m Santa?!”

“I, uh--Yes. I do, but you didn’t tell me, so Father Christmas’ spell is still intact. Tell Jingle and Jangle that before they freak out.”

“YOU CAN SEE MY ELVES TOO?!”

“NO! No, I can’t!” you assured, trying not to stress out Chris anymore.

He furrowed his brow, still breathing heavy. “Then, how’d you know I’m...”

“I...just got that vibe from you?” you lied, cringing because you couldn’t think of a better explanation than that.

Somehow, Chris bought that, but he still had another question. “Then, how’d you know about Jingle and Jangle?”

“Well, I see you talking to them all the time.” That actually wasn’t that much of a lie. Chris was pretty bad at talking his elves on the downlow all throughout the movie.

Chris bit his lip. “Oh. Um, you won’t tell anyone about my secret, will you?”

He had stepped closer, and your heart had sped up in response. You gazed into his eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I won’t, Chris.”

“Are you two going to actually sled, or just stand up here talking?” Ethan asked as he approached you and Chris.

Chris, oblivious to the pissed off look on Ethan’s face, laughed and answered, “Sled.” He hopped on his sled and flew down the hill.

“What the hell was that for?” You angrily questioned Ethan.

He played dumb. “What are you talking about?”

“Interrupting us like that? We were...in the middle of something, Ethan.” You were glad you stopped yourself from saying ‘We were having a moment.’ That would’ve been embarrassing.

Green argued, “Didn’t you say the plot of the movie’s supposed to play out?”

“Yeah. So what?”

He wondered, “Doesn’t Chris have a love interest somewhere?”

“Her name is Noelle,” you answered.

Ethan sighed, “Of course it is...Y/n,” he got your attention again. “Are you sure you want to get in the way of that?”

Your mouth slammed shut and your jaw clenched.

Chris got you to turn to him by shouting your name from the bottom of the hill. He motioned you to join him.

Glancing between him and Ethan, you chose to ignore the latter for the moment. You sledded down the hill.

You successfully steered clear of the leather-clad boy for the rest of the time you spent sledding.

That annoyed Ethan, but he knew you couldn’t avoid him forever.

When everybody headed back home late that night, you and Ethan didn’t have a home to return to. The two of you decided to head back to Northville High. You and Ethan got lucky. The window to the staff lounge was open. The two of you slid in, and the school was yours.

“Okay, so we have to find a place that we can sleep in where nobody will accidentally find us tomorrow...” you thought out loud.

Ethan was still hung up on your conversation earlier. “Are we not going to talk about--”

“Can we just worry about where we’re sleeping tonight?” you urged.

Ethan sighed, knowing that talking about it was also something you couldn’t avoid forever.

Eventually, you and Ethan found the boiler room. Ethan agreed with you that it was secluded enough that no one would catch you. The two of you got lucky again when you found that there were enough sweaters and blankets in lost-and-found for makeshift beds.

At one point, you asked Ethan, “You cold?”

He was shivering. Ethan was probably the least prepared clothing-wise to spend hours sledding on a hill. He was feeling the effects of that then. Not that he’d ever tell you. “N-no. I’m g-g-g-good.”

“Yeah, right.” You rolled your eyes before waling over to the boiler and turning it on.

Ethan’s cheeks tinged in pink. “T-thanks.”

“No problem, Ethan.” You approached your bed again and covered yourself in blankets. “You know, you’ve always had issues with asking for help.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Ethan didn’t mean for that to sound as mean as it did.

That didn’t seem to affect you though. “The school projects we worked on together,” you explained, “I always had to find all these covert ways to help you out ‘cause you wouldn’t let me do it directly.” A faint smile was playing at your lips, like you were remembering those things fondly.

Ethan never noticed how much you’d helped him. He didn’t like to admit it, but he had a really tough time in school. As he thought about it, however, Ethan realized that when he did projects with you, the material he was learning didn’t seem as difficult as it normally was. You made things easier for Ethan to understand. That was really nice of you, he thought. He felt bad for never thanking you before for all you did. “...Thanks for turning on the boiler...” Ethan tried. He figured it was a start.

“Any time, Green,” you smiled before turning away from him and settling into bed.

The next morning, you and Ethan snuck into the halls when school started. Chris quickly found the both of you. He’d brought you both pumpkin spice hot chocolate.

“Oh, wow,” you commented when Chris handed you the beverage. You were truly surprised and flattered. “Thank you so much, Chris! This is so nice!”

He brushed it off. “It’s really no problem. I got them from the cafeteria. We’ve got pumpkin spice for days here at Northville High.”

You actually giggled at that. Then, you promptly got lost in Chris’ eyes again. You would’ve been embarrassed if you were even paying attention.

Well, apparently Ethan was. He scoffed, causing you to look at him, and he grumbled, “I guess I should leave you two to it. I...gotta get to class.” He practically stomped off.

Your eyes followed Ethan as he went. You wondered what in the world was wrong with him.

Chris got your notice again when he asked, “So, what’s your first period class? I’ll walk you to it.”

“Um...what’s your first period class?” you asked quickly.

He shrugged, “Statistics--”

“No way! Me too!” you lied. “Let’s go,” you suggested before he could become suspicious.

“So tonight, everyone figured we’d go ice skating. You wanna join us?” he offered, “Ethan can come too if he’d like.”

“Uh...thanks! We’d love to go,” you smiled, cursing yourself in the back of your head for speaking for Ethan again. You bit your lip, knowing what you had to ask. You weren’t exactly looking forward to knowing the answer. “Is Noelle going to be there?”

He furrowed his brow. “You know Noelle?”

“Um, yeah,” you lied, “I’ve seen her...in the halls.”

He believed it. “Oh.”

“She’s um...pretty. Isn’t she?” You hated that you were talking up someone else to your crush, but you also knew that Chris was destined to end up with her.

Chris’ eyes widened in slight realization. “Oh. I didn’t know you swung that way. Do you...like guys?”

Huh. Santa’s an ally.

“Um...” Shyly, you nodded. You felt your cheeks thinking about the implications of his question.

He just smiled. “Good!”

You spent the whole day following Chris to his classes. It was a dream. Chris kept freezing your desk with his powers and doodling little snowflakes and Christmas trees on it. It reminded you of Jack Frost in Rise of the Guardians. It was really cute too. The teacher had to tell you to quiet down several times because you were giggling too much.

At the end of the school day, you ran into Ethan again.

He’d spent the day mostly in the boiler room. He figured that he was spending enough time in regular school. He wasn’t about to spend more time in a fictional one.

When he saw you again, and you awkwardly brought up that you had signed both you and him up to go ice skating, he said, “Whatever,” which meant he’d go. The main reason he agreed was because he preferred anything over the blank cement walls of the boiler room.

He just didn’t consider one thing.

“Ethan, do you know how to skate?” you wondered, skating over to the boy hugging the wall.

“Psh, of course I do,” he lied shakily, tightening his grip on the solid, non-slippery surface. “I just, uh...like it better over here.”

You laughed. “Come here.” You took his hand.

Ethan panicked. “Whoa, whoa. What’re you doing?”

“Relax. I’m not gonna let go of you,” you assured. “Just one foot after the other, like this.”

Slowly, you started leading him around the rink.

For a little while, Ethan felt like he was actually getting it. One bad step though, and he started to freak out again. “Whoa, whoa!” he shouted.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” you tried to say, but it was too late. You stayed true to your word, though. You didn’t let go of Ethan. You went down with him.

He was mostly scared of the act of falling down, so after that part was over, he was mostly concerned with the pain in his backside.

Ethan looked over to you to complain that you had let him fall, but he found you losing yourself in laughter. He forgot what he was going to say. Watching you, Ethan felt his heart speed up and a smile growing on his lips. Soon, both of you were laughing your asses off.

Eventually, you and Ethan had gotten your shit together enough to stand up. The two of you went over to customer services at the rink to get ice packs for your fresh bruises.

“Sorry, I guess I should’ve told you that I...uh...” Ethan trailed off.

You finished for him, “You’ve never been ice skating before in your life?”

“Yeah...” Ethan smiled because you started laughing again.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged off. “I guess I should’ve asked you if you knew how to skate before volunteering you for something against your will...again.”

Ethan was about to say he didn’t mind. He was about to say that the past couple days with you had been the most fun he’d had in a long time.

But then, Chris approached the two of you. “There you guys are! I’ve been looking all over for you! Y/n, I was wondering if you’d like to skate, um...with me for a bit.”

“Oh! Um...”

There it was. Chris was going to come along, yet again, and sweep you off your feet. You were going to say yes to Santa Creep, and Ethan would be left alone for the rest of the--

“Ethan and I are actually gonna head back home,” you replied to Chris, interrupting Ethan’s thoughts. “We’ve been skating for a while, and we’re both pretty tired. I’ll see you tomorrow though, okay?”

Chris seemed a little disappointed by your words. Ethan tried not to become too happy from the look on Kringle’s face.

“Oh...okay,” Chris replied, “I’ll see you tomorrow...”

Back in the boiler room, Ethan was still stuck on what had occurred at the ice skating rink. “You know...you didn’t have to come back with me...”

“Hmm?” You turned to Ethan and furrowed your brow.

He went on, “You didn’t have to come back with me ‘cause I don’t know how to skate. I coulda come back by myself. You could’ve kept having fun at the rink...with Chris.” Ethan had to physically push those last two words out.

“Nah, I didn’t really feel like it,” you answered with a shrug. “I’m probably not going to be skating for a while with these new bruises you gave me,” you teased, but your voice grew softer. “Plus, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Ethan’s heart stopped. He looked away from you in an attempt to hide the growing blush on his cheeks.

“Goodnight, Ethan,” you bid before turning over in your makeshift bed, and laying down to rest.

Ethan’s last thoughts as he fell asleep that night was how the four concrete walls of the boiler room didn’t seem that lifeless with you there.

The following day was Friday. For the students of Northville High, it was the last day ‘til Winter Break, and the championship basketball game was that night. For you and Ethan, it was the last day of the movie. Santa Claus Is Going To High School was supposed to end after the big game against South Heights.

You and Ethan ran into Chris in the cafeteria during breakfast. He had more pumpkin spice hot chocolate for the both of you. “Hey guys! I forgot to tell you last night, but since it’s the last day of school, there’s caroling in the halls today. Students who join don’t have to go to classes. Do you guys wanna carol with me?”

To prevent yourself from immediately responding “Yes!” you bit your lip. You looked to Ethan. You didn’t want to speak for him again.

He glanced to you, and it looked like he was about to reject the offer, but then he thought about it for a second. “You said it gets us out of classes?” Ethan asked.

Chris nodded.

Ethan sighed, “Yeah...okay.”

A smile broke out across your face. You couldn’t help but hug Ethan. “This is going to be so fun!” You felt Ethan’s body stiffen, and to it to mean that he thought it was weird that you were hugging him. You quickly separated from him.

You dismissed the pink painting his cheeks as you seeing things.

The actual singing part of caroling was pretty boring. The group of students you were with would just stop at random places in the hallway for a song or two. People in nearby classrooms would come out to watch you guys and get a little time off from class.

What made caroling so much fun though were Chris and Ethan. Between stops, the three of you would mess around in an effort to make each other laugh. Well, while you were trying to make both Ethan and Chris laugh, it had turned into a bit of competition between the two of them to get you to laugh. Personally, you didn’t notice any malice between the two of them, but you were too busy laughing to notice much anyway.

Throughout the day, everyone held their own books that had in them all the carols everyone was singing. Chris stole your book, and you had to go through the whole song and dance (no pun intended) of trying to get it back. Chris easily dodged you every time you went for the book.

At one point, you tripped over your feet while going for your book. Chris caught you before you fell, and for a second he just gazed at you with wide eyes. Then, something insane happened.

Chris Kringle kissed you. The boy, the fictional character you’d had a crush on since his movie came out, liked you enough to actually kiss you. You were frozen to your spot.

Kringle must’ve taken that as a negative reaction. He parted from you.

“Y/n...”

You heard a shocked voice behind you before you could say a word to Chris. You turned around and saw Ethan’s highly concerned face.

Suddenly, the bell rang. It was signaling the end of the school day. The sound made you jump.

“...I...I have to go, Y/n,” Chris told you. “Coach said he wants us in the gym as soon as the bell rings.”

You were reminded of the championship basketball game. “Right. Go,” you encouraged.

“Come to the game later. We can talk there,” he offered.

“Okay,” you nodded.

Chris left. You and Ethan were suddenly alone in the hallway.

Ethan stated, “I can’t believe he just kissed you.”

“I can’t believe he just kissed me either.” You exhaled for probably the first time since Chris’ lips were on yours. You couldn’t stop a small smile from forming.

“You don’t want to kiss him again, do you?”

The question made your smile vanish. You avoided Ethan’s gaze.

“Y/n, you can’t want any of that. None of this is even real!”

Your face started burning from embarrassment and anger, but you fought back anyway. “So what?” you shouted. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen?”

Ethan clearly hadn’t expected your voice to raise as well.

“Dammit, Ethan,” you really didn’t care anymore, “I’ve liked you for such a long time, but you never noticed me! The only reason you sat next to me in the theater was because I was the only person there. You had no other option. But Chris, he had all the options! And he chose me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”

You had shocked Ethan into silence.

“Look, I’m going to the gym to watch Chris practice. Come, don’t come, I don’t care.” It was true. You didn’t care. At that point, you didn’t care that the movie was supposed to play out a certain way. You left Ethan alone in the hallway and headed toward the gymnasium.

It took Ethan about a minute to even move. So many thoughts were running though his head. He was right to be mad at you, right? The movie had to end a certain way, or else you and him ran the chance of never going home. But then, there was the revelation that you had just unloaded on Ethan. You liked him? Like, liked him, liked him? The more he thought about it, the more obvious your crush became to him, and worse he felt about how he treated you in the past.

Ethan also started to realize that, maybe he liked you like that, too. Maybe he wasn’t just worried about the movie’s plot. Maybe he was so concerned about Chris’ behavior around you because he was jealous.

And that brought Ethan back to how he had acted around you in the past. Had he really been so bad? Yes. He’d been so concerned about his bad boy image that he pushed you aside whenever the two of you were around other students. He couldn’t imagine doing that after all you two had gone through in that movie. Ethan didn’t want to be away from you at all anymore, and that included right in that moment as well.

Ethan knew he was going to have to admit a lot of things to you to get a chance at getting you back. He only hoped it wasn’t too late. He glanced up at a clock in the hallway and realized he only had ten minutes ‘til the game started.

Meanwhile, you were looking at the same time on a clock in a hallway outside the gym.

“Y/n.” Chris came jogging up to you. “Thank you so much for meeting me here.”

“Uh...Hey, Chris,” you swallowed, dread filling you. You’d had some time to think since your argument with Ethan. You were still very angry with the leather-clad boy, and you still cared about Chris a lot, but Ethan was right about one thing. The movie needed to play out a certain way. You had no choice but to get out of the way of that.

Chris noticed your unease. “Are you alright, Y/n?”

You took a deep breath, preparing to let Chris down easy. “Um, we need to talk, Chris--”

“Wait,” he interrupted you, “I know what you’re going to say. Y/n, I’m sorry I kissed you. It was pretty naughty of me to get in the way of the movie.”

You blinked. Completely disregarding that ‘naughty’ line, you asked, “How’d you know that?”

At that, he just smiled, “I’m Santa Claus, remember? It’s also how I know it was your Christmas wish to start dating Ethan.”

“Wait, you’ve known this whole time that we’re in a movie? Why didn’t you tell me?”

He chuckled, seemingly embarrassed. “I was trying not to mess up the plot. Stay in character, you know? I guess I really fucked that up, kissing you.”

“Wow, I never thought I’d hear Chris Kringle curse,” you laughed.

“You just came out of no where, Y/n. Quite literally. I had no idea I’d...like you this much when I brought you here.”

Eyes nearly popping out of your head, you almost yelled, “You brought us here?!”

There was an echo. It was Ethan, who had just arrived on the scene. “Why the hell would you do that?” he frantically asked.

Chris just smirked, “You two will find out soon enough.”

The buzzer in the gym sounded, signaling the game was going to start soon.

Chris turned to you. “Y/n, I want you to hang onto my jacket for me.” He handed you his letterman. “Don’t worry about the plot of the movie, I’ll take care of it. I’m...really going to miss you, Y/n. Ethan, you got very lucky with this gift. Be very nice to them.”

He kissed you on the cheek and ran off before you could say something in return. You absentmindedly put on Chris’ letterman and turned to Ethan. Your plan was to try and explain away Chris’ leading last words to Ethan, but before you could:

“I really like you, Y/n,” Ethan blurted.

Your words got caught in your throat.

Ethan quickly continued, “I’ve only really noticed how I feel in the past couple days in this movie, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t liked you for a long time. I’m sorry for acting like such an asshole. I really don’t know how you continued to be nice to me after all that...”

He continued to ramble on, but some twinkling above your head caught your eye. You smiled when you looked up and saw it. “Hey, Ethan?”

Your voice immediately shut him up as he gazed at you.

“Look up,” you quietly prompted.

Hanging above the two of you was a beautiful little mistletoe.

“I...uh...” Ethan swallowed. “Does this mean you’ll forgive me?”

You smirked, “Well, I guess that depends on whether or not you’re a good kisser.”

Ethan’s face broke out in a grin as well. He hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you close enough where your heads barely had to move at all to kiss.

You were woken up in the movie theater by the kid Ethan was babysitting—Tim, as Ethan had called him—cheering because Chris Kringle had successfully used the ‘Santa Swap’ to win the championship game against South Heights. At least, you thought Ethan had called him Tim. Did Ethan only say that while you and him were trapped in the movie? Was any of that real at all?

Dread filled you when you started to think that Ethan had never actually kissed you, it had been a dream. That dread doubled when you realized that you had fallen asleep on Ethan’s shoulder.

You slowly started to raise your head because you had a feeling that Ethan had fallen asleep too, and you thought maybe you could save yourself some embarrassment.

However, as soon as he could, and at the same time Chris kissed Noelle in the movie, Ethan kissed you too. “I just had the most amazing dream,” he whispered to you once you parted.

Several thoughts raced through your head. Was it a dream? Is it possible for two people to have the same dream? Yet, you quickly realized that it didn’t matter because Ethan had just kissed you. He liked you! You finally got your Christmas wish.

As you and Ethan walked out of the theater hand-in-hand, Ethan asked Tim, “So, nothing seemed weird about that movie, kid?”

Tim shrugged it off. “Nope.”

“Huh,” Ethan turned to you, you guessed probably to ask you how much you remembered, but Ethan gasped when he saw what you were wearing. “Holy shit.”

Following Ethan’s eyeline, you spotted what had freaked him out so much. “Holy shit,” you repeated.

You were still wearing Chris’ letterman.

*******

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it! I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have more fics over on my page. You should check it out. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

#starkid #black friday #black friday starkid #santa claus is going to high school #ethan green #ethan green x reader #chris kringle #chris kringle x reader #robert manion #santa claus is going to high school with ethan and y/n #companion jones #i really have to go to the bathroom atm

62 notes · View notes

writersrealmbts · 3 years

Text

All I Want for Christmas

Description: You’re ready for another Christmas at the shelter, but Taehyung has other ideas, and brings you home with him instead. You never thought you’d receive this many gifts.

“For the Christmas request, can I please request a human!Taehyung x Calico cat hybrid!fem!reader where he adopts her and brings her home on Christmas? It’d be so cute because she’d be so happy to have a home and it’d honestly be the best Christmas for both of them🥰🐈💜”

Warnings: Fluff and stuff

Posted: 12/17/2020

Tags: taehyung x reader, hybrid au, hybrid reader, calico cat!reader

1,779 words

A/N: For @kpopgirlbtssvt

You stared out your window at the glittering, snow-covered scenery, while you played with the Christmas-bells bracelet that your secret Santa had gotten for you. You loved it. You liked the gentle sound it made instead of the harsh jangle of the bells that someone had hung on your door, a cacophony of dissonance that made your tail curl.

You winced, turning toward the door as it opened. You weren’t sure why it would be opening, you’d just returned from breakfast and it wasn’t time for activities yet.

A stranger stood in the doorway, holding papers and a small gift bag. And while he didn’t look familiar, he smelled very familiar.

The one that had been observing everyone for adoption purposes for the past two weeks.

He smiled softly at you. “Hello, y/n. My name is Taehyung. I got you a Christmas present.”

You felt excitement bubbling up within you, and you slowly moved toward him.

He met you half-way, holding out the bag.

You carefully took it, bowing slightly, then carefully pulling the gift from the bag.

It was a charm bracelet, pretty and gold and shiny and it had three charms. One was a sleigh, carefully and intricately made with a bag of presents in the back. Another was a cute, but realistic looking bear. The last were simple mark-tags, ones that displayed your basic information and your owner’s….

You slowly looked back up at him. “You’re adopting me?”

He shook his head. “I have already adopted you. I’m bringing you home. I have more presents for you at home. I hope you can accept my first gift, though,” He said, looking hopeful.

You grinned and eagerly put it on behind your jingle-bracelet, admiring it in the morning light. You were being adopted!

He laughed a bit. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” You agreed, vibrating with excitement. You were getting the best Christmas present ever! You had an owner! You were being taken to a home!

“Y/n, your things?” The shelter worker prompted.

“Oh! Right!” You bounded toward the closet and grabbed your two dresses, your socks, and your shoes, putting them into the laundry sack, then got your 2 pairs of pants and 2 sets of pajamas and 3 shirts. “Ok!”

“Pillow? Friend?”

You squeaked in alarm and raced to the bed to grab the pillow and your stuffed calico kitty that had ears and a tail exactly like yours, then hesitated, hand on the old, worn blanket that you kept carefully folded over the end of your bed.

The worker nodded, smiling softly. “It’s yours.”

You grinned again and shoved those things into the sack as well. “Ready!”

“Uh, you might want to wear some shoes instead of slippers,” Taehyung suggested gently, looking just as happy as ever. Not scolding.

You stared down at your slippers for just a minute too long before diving into the sack and grabbing your shoes.

“Relax, kitten. We’ve got time to get home, it’s not going anywhere,” Taehyung said in a soothing tone as you fumbled with the straps of your shiny, black shoes. They looked cute with your red Christmas dress with the pretty white furry lining. You didn’t care what that know-it-all tabby three doors down said, you thought the shoes were cute. And they fit you, it was rare for shoes to actually fit properly, though the shelter tried their hardest to make sure all of you had at least one pair of shoes that fit properly, outside of the slippers which were bought in the proper sizes for everyone.

“Y/n! I found the…sash….” The other hybrid peered into the room, swallowing hard. “Oh…are you….”

“I’ve been adopted, Jiyoung!” You squeaked happily, dragging your sack over to her. “What did you find?”

“The sash, to the dress,” She said eagerly, grinning in happiness for you and then whipping the white sash around your waist and tying it in a big, fancy bow behind you. “There! Now it isn’t just a sack! I will tell you again, though, it was made to be a costume.”

“It’s pretty and soft,” You argued, hugging yourself.

She kissed your cheek. “Good luck in your new home, y/n. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” You responded, voice a choked whisper. You were leaving your friends.

Someone gently took your sack of belongings from you. “Come on, y/n. Let’s go show you your new home.”

You looked back at the gentle, understanding expression on Taehyung’s face and melted a bit. “Okay.”

Jiyoung patted your arm and hurried back down the hall to the donations room where she helped out. She was one of the owner’s hybrids, so at least you knew she was loved.

“Everyone else is in the main room, they’ve been told you’ve been adopted and are waiting to say goodbye,” The shelter worker said gently, noticing your hesitation.

You nodded and took Taehyung’s offered hand, going to the main room.

And maybe you gave your jingle bracelet to the grumpy tabby from three doors down because you knew she’d been jealous of it and you wanted her to be happy and your secret santa had given you an approving smile.

You sort of bet that Taehyung might get you another if you asked really, really nicely.

Taehyung’s car was very nice, nicer than any vehicle you’d ever been in before, and he played Christmas music softly on the radio as if knowing you were nervous as well as excited.

“I understand the sleigh, because you’re adopting me on Christmas, right?” You asked, attention on the charm bracelet again.

He nodded, smiling.

“But what about the bear?”

He looked a little sheepish. “Um…well, I have this song. It’s called winter bear, so I thought after a while if you look at the bear charm you’ll think of it as part of me.”

You were purring before he even finished speaking, holding your wrist and the bracelet close to your heart while you stared out the windows at the Christmas decorations the people all bundled up.

He parked at a large apartment building, grabbing your things and offering to hold your hand again. “Anyway, I do sometimes travel for work. And I was hoping the charm might remind you of me if I’m not able to take you with me. I’m going to make sure to try and get you in every trip, because you’re my responsibility now, but there will be times even when you’re with me on a trip that you might be at the hotel while I’m working. If you can’t go with me on a trip, you’ll probably stay with my parents, and they’re really nice so I think you’ll like them and I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And—”

“Taehyung-ah,” You whispered, trying to be respectful since you weren’t sure how he wanted you to address him yet. “It’s a little cold outside.”

He blinked at you, then his eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. “You don’t have a coat!”

You shook you head.

He hurried you into the building then ran back and grabbed the sack when you pointed it out, before punching the button to the elevator and muttering about warming you up so that you wouldn’t get sick and how he was a terrible owner.

You patted his arm. “You’re not a terrible owner, and I’m not that cold. See, I’m not shivering. We can still have a nice Christmas.”

“Right,” He breathed, sounding relieved. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, smiling up at him.

“Right, oh, and you can just call me Taehyung.”

You nodded again, smiling and blinking up at him.

He led the way down the hall once the doors opened, holding your hand again, unlocking the door to his apartment (it had a pretty wreath on it). “It isn’t much but this is home.”

You stepped in and took off your shoes, then realized you didn’t have your slippers out.

He caught your panicked looked and smiled gesturing to two pairs of slippers, one pair smaller than the others that looked adorable and comfortable. Like fairy slippers. “I got those for you. They told me your sizes so I could get you some things.”

You felt warm all over and you carefully tried on the slippers, purring at how soft they were.

He looked relieved that you liked them.

Then you saw the rest of his apartment and gaped. Not because of the Christmas tree, which really was delightfully decorated, but because it was very large. You’d seen other apartments before, for home visits before adoptions that fell through at the previous shelter you’d been in as a child. This place was…expensive.

“Wow,” You breathed.

“Like I said, it’s not much, I don’t really even have that much furniture. I just sort of moved in a couple months ago.” He rubbed his neck.

You stared at him, then at the apartment. “It’s huge. You lived here alone?”

“Oh…well…yeah. That’s also why I got you, I’m not used to living alone and the others drop by now and then and I drop by their places now and then but…it’s not the same as what I’m used to and then I saw the shelter and I just got curious and…I didn’t want to be alone anymore and you were so bright and lively that I thought…you’d help me liven the place up. Help it feel warm in here instead of empty.” He looked embarrassed.

You smiled. “I can certainly try.”

He smiled back at you. “Ready for your presents?”

“I feel bad, I don’t have presents for you,” You replied, worried.

“You being here and enjoying what I’ve gotten for you will be enough,” He reassured you, looking happy again.

You nodded and let him lead you through the apartment to a door with a ribbon stuck to it.

“This is your room, y/n,” He whispered, then opened the door.

You squeaked in surprise as you looked around the absolutely plush room. Big bed, lots of pillows and blankets, and pretty pretty furniture. Gentle colors, pretty colors. A lamp, a ceiling fan. And he had some clothes in the dresser and the closet, and some books on the shelves.

He was watching you hopefully, waiting to see if you liked it all.

Your eyes filled with tears and you raced over you hug his waist tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” You breathed, locking your arms around him.

His lips pressed lightly to your temple. “Merry Christmas, y/n.”

“Merry Christmas,” You whispered back.

#Christmas story madness #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #calico cat hybrid!reader #hybrid!reader #cat hybrid!reader #bts #kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #bts v

184 notes · View notes

itsjustemmett · 2 years

Text

for: andrej ( @candydrippings ) location: their home time: evening hours

here was the thing with emmett blackwood, the guy loved the holidays. he loved spreading cheer throughout the year, giving as much as possible, having a whole month of being able to celebrate that was like heaven for him. every day of December, he would set out to spread even more joy in moorbrooke, volunteering at the local animal shelter, knitting random sunflower plushies to leave around town, buying gifts that nobody needed but ememtt couldn’t help himself, and above all, decorating. he LOVED to decorate. after the first year of living with his roommates and hearing no protests, emmett did not spare them a single jingle or jangle during the holiday seasons. this year he was even more excited to decorate because he had, somehow, managed to get andrej to come home early from work. well, at least, emmett assumed it was early as the guy honestly had no idea what hours andrej worked at delia’s cafe. it was before one in the morning, and that’s all emmett could honestly ask for.

things were not any less confusing for emmett than they were before he had told andrej how he felt. in fact, it felt as if things were even more confusing now. whenever he was around andrej, everything made sense, though it was like all the puzzle pieces clicked. but when he found himself alone, everything hit him like a million tiny bricks. he had no idea what he was supposed to do going forward with andrej. heck, emmett wasn’t sure if they even would go forward, and he had zero intentions of asking about it too. the last thing he wanted was to make andrej feel pressured in any way. it was hard to be around andrej with people around now, though, because he didn’t know how he was supposed to act. could he still lightly flirt with him like before? would it make andrej feel weird if he tried to hold his hand when they were alone? if he did make the first step and kissed him, would the other mind? he was one hundred percent willing to take things slow for many reasons, emmett just wondered how slow they would be taking it.

the door opening and aristotle rushing towards it with a new christmas tree hat on, snapped emmett out of his thoughts and back to the hot chocolate he was finishing up. “in the kitchen, andrej!” he happily calls out, lowering the christmas music he had blasting, “i’m setting up some hot chocolate for us. i even bought the little marshmallows!” as he was yelling out to the other he’s also filling the cups and tossing the mini marshmallows in them. he was currently wearing starwars pj pants and an iron man santa shirt with a santa hat on because he felt rude if he made aristotle wear a hat and emmett did not. as he finishes sprinkling a bit of cocoa powder on top of the hot chocolates, he turns to see andrej entering the kitchen, “hi, handsome,” he warmly greets, fighting the urge to go over and kiss him, “i hope you’re ready to be festive. i might have a christmas movie also lined up for us to have in the background while we decorate the tree. can you believe i got grayson to help me put it up? he even helped with the lights! i mean, he was grumpy throughout the entire time, but still.”

#c: andrej #interactions.

11 notes · View notes

lu-undy · 3 years

Text

New Sniper/Spy long story!

Aaaand I am back with a new Sniper/Spy story!

It’s called “Un-alone” and can be found here!

Hope you enjoy! :D

"I need a minute, if that is possible." The French accent would have sounded pleasant and exotic if not for the circumstances.

"Of course. If you need a drink, help yourself. I will be back to give you more details."

The man in the suit nodded and the notary left the room. He waited for the door to click shut before sighing and loosening his tie. He looked around him, the wooden and serious walls seemed to close on him, as the walls of his skull pressed painfully on his brain. He lowered his head and held his hair in his hands.

After a sigh, he slid on the sofa to the table at the corner of the room. He pushed the flower vase aside and looked at the tray with bottles and glasses. Water? Wine? Non, he needed something stronger. That whiskey would do. The glass cap yielded with a pop and he poured some in the glass. He didn't add any of the ice cubes. Non, he felt cold enough.

The bitter whiskey burnt the back of his throat down to his knotted stomach. The Frenchman held his head low. What should he do? Cry? Punch? Destroy?

Not yet. The notary gave a short knock before entering the room again. His eyebrows jumped when he realised that he had left a proper and prim man, to come back to what he could tell was a man barely holding himself back, to protect his dignity. He was used to being the bearer of bad news, he was used to seeing people cry, shout, get in all sorts of states. But experience also taught him that those who remain like marble are the most dangerous to themselves.

"You mentioned details?" The French accent asked.

The notary nodded, a distraught expression on his face, before he sat back at his desk.

"She left a letter for you." He put his glasses on. "I understand you were married?"

The man sitting on the sofa took another quick yet generous swig of his whiskey, the burning liquid making him almost gag.

“Oui.” He simply answered after taking a deep breath to soothe himself, his fingers only ending up clenching harder on the glass he was holding.

“But you were not living together, if what I heard is correct.”

The man on the sofa nodded, his head still lowered, his grey front tuft of hair waved in the air.

“I also understand that only her family was at her side in the end.” The notary said and the poor man frowned. “They were surprised to learn that all along she was actually married. They did not know of this union.”

“Non, they did not.”

The notary knew he was dealing with no ordinary man but this…? This added up to the exception.

“The ceremony will take place tomorrow. Her family will be there.”

The Frenchman nodded and stored this somewhere in his mind before asking what he had been burning to.

“May I see the letter?” A shaking voice asked before the man lit up a cigarette, his gaze still evading the notary’s.

“Of course. Here is a copy.”

“Do you have the original?”

“Yes but I cannot let you see it, it is-”

The notary’s voice stopped when the man sitting on the sofa finally raised his eyes to him. His face was dark, furious, boiling. His light blue eyes sliced the shadow cast by his front tuft, a menacing curtain falling on his forehead, and the tip of his cigarette shone in a more fierce shade of orange.

He handed him the original.

Instantly the man took it to his nose and smelt it. Tears came to his eyes that he prudely closed for a moment. Rose water and a hint of jasmine. Oui, that was her. Thank God the perfume hadn’t faded yet! He smiled, but his body and his face were screaming bittersweetness, nostalgia and deeper down, something he hated to show, like a weakness.

Love.

He loved her with all the fibres of his body. There wasn’t a sight more pleasant than her smile, a song more melodious than her voice, a taste more forbidden than her lips’.

He raised a shaking gloved hand to his forehead and opened his eyes to read the will. The handwriting was unmistakingly hers. He recognised it. It was a bit more shaky than when he last saw it, but it was hers.

“My sweetheart Lulu,”

The man clenched his jaw further, feeling the strain on his cheeks and grinding his teeth to hold back what he would let out later, in his own private time.

“I am sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier. I didn’t know how to, I didn’t know where you were, how you were. But I knew you never forgot about me. As long as I received the flowers, the gifts for Jay, the chocolates and sometimes, the cassettes, I knew you were alive and well.

The last letter I received from you dates back to my birthday and I kept it under my pillow until the very end. If you are reading this, my family then knows about you, they must be wondering about a million things. But I didn’t answer anything. I couldn't tell them that Jeremy’s father is a French spy, that we got married in secret more than twenty years ago, that when Jeremy came into our lives, we decided to live separately with as little contact as possible to protect the boy, now a man. I couldn’t tell my family that I miss you everyday, yet I love you more by the day.

My Lulu, I am not leaving you at all. I might even be closer to you now than before, who knows? Maybe the warmth you feel in your cheeks now is my touch? Maybe the tears you are hiding right now, I will dry, when you finally let them go.

My love, everything I have, I have left it to our son. It isn’t much and I am afraid it is more debt than help…

I ask of you two things, please, my sweetest of hearts. The first is to help Jeremy. Help him with a job, please. He still doesn’t know you, I never told him who you were. I think it is your call to make. If you ever decide to know him, I know you will see how much he got from you...

The second is please, never stop singing. Promise me to sing more, I want to hear you now, more than ever.

Je t’aime and goodbye,

Your little flower, Marie.”

The Frenchman’s heart was in his throat. He was on the sofa, in this wooden room where the sun didn’t shine, where the flowers in the vase next to him where fake, where he wished he could bite in his glass of whiskey and chew on the glass shards, crush them and let them slice through him, let the pain be physical, anywhere on his body, his face, anything but this. It was harder to bear with each second.

He didn’t realise it but his hands were trembling on the letter. He stared at it a bit more and cleanly folded it before putting it in his inner pocket.

“Sir, I-”

Again, the sheen of the light blue eyes left very little room for discussion.

“I am sorry but I must ask you to give me back the original, it is an official document for this procedure and I can hardly-argh!”

In the blink of an eye, the Frenchman had leapt in the air from the sofa to the desk, overlooking it. His face was less than an inch away from the notary’s astonished one.

“I will keep her letter.” The French accent threateningly said, his teeth clenched like a furious panther’s.

“B-But Sir-argh?!”

Something cold was against the notary’s throat. Something cold and pointy. It was pressing against his fragile column of air.

“A-Alright, y-you can keep it…”

The Frenchman backed off from the desk and the notary watched him flick some sort of blade between his fingers before he dropped it in one of his pockets. His jaw dropped. He had just been threatened with a knife.

“I was not asking.”

“W-well…” The notary pulled on his collar to have a bit more air come to his lungs. He wiped the sweat off his brow. “W-why threaten me then?”

The Frenchman took his jacket again and put it on before heading to the door. He left without adding a word.

It was still the afternoon of that late September day and in Boston, the weather started to get colder but was still very bearable.

Lucien took a deep breath and sighed when he was finally out of the notary’s practice and into the street. The light breeze did not help get more oxygen to his lungs. Or maybe it did, but no amount of air could help. He slipped back into the taxi and the driver took him back to his hotel.

As soon as he set foot in the five-star establishment, a young man in a red and golden uniform came to him.

“Sir, there has been a phone call for you, they said it was urgent and you should call back, here is the number.” He was holding a tray on which was a card. Lucien took it and read the number that he recognised only too well. He nodded and headed to the elevator.

As it took off and hovered higher and higher, Lucien could see more and more of the city underneath him through the windows. He saw it all. The restaurant they had met in, while undercover as a singer, the park he had taken her to, the movie theatre he had invited her to, where they had shared their first kiss, the streets of her city, the roads, streets, avenues that were once so familiar. They now looked like grey, narrow valleys dug in the concrete of buildings, slithering like the bed of dead rivers.

Ding ding.

The jingle of the bell in the elevator broke his train of thought.

“Here we are, Sir.”

Lucien turned away from the windows to face the doors that slid open. He entered the carpeted corridor and soon found his door. The keys jangled as they exited his pocket and the next thing he knew, he was inside.

He had rented an en-suite room with a double bed - habits die hard - and went straight to the minibar to help himself to some more strong alcohol. He didn't mind the taste and just wanted the burn and bitterness; anything really to move his pain from his heart to his body.

He grabbed a bottle of God knows what and poured some before drinking, chugging the entire glass down his throat in one go, before the glass hit the counter again loudly. He hissed under the unpleasant feeling of the alcohol scorching as it glided through his oesophagus and stomach.

Lucien removed his jacket and threw it on the coathanger before he undid his tie. He only fished out the letter and slipped it in his trousers' pocket.

“Mon Dieu…”

He grabbed the bottle and the glass, and headed to the sofa. On his way, he kicked his shoes off and frowned. He hated seeing people do that - remove their shoes with their feet, damaging the leather. But he couldn't be asked to do it properly with his hands. For all he knew, those shoes could go to hell.

He flopped down on the sofa and poured himself some more whiskey. The glass and the bottle shone under the flames of the fireplace opposite him. It caught his eye for an instant and blinded him. He grumbled and looked away, to his left and - oh, the bedroom door.

His eyes hung there for a while, the bottle and glass hanging in mid-air.

From where he was sitting, he could only see the bed, large and empty, cold even, he could feel it.

He would have killed for one more night with her. He would have…

Lucien sighed and drank some more before lighting another cigarette and sucking his anger away at it.

His eyes came back in front of him, and he saw the letter. His mind rolled back more than two decades ago. Meeting Marie, falling in love with her, falling in love for the first time.

But his job as a spy was way too dangerous for her, for him, and soon, for the little boy that Lucien was delighted to hold in his arms for the first time. And it was soon decided. A wedding, in secret, just him, her and two witnesses, people who happened to be in the church praying that day. They didn't even know them. They got married and Lucien stayed long enough for baby Jérémy to have a vague souvenir of his father.

He loved them. Lucien loved Marie and Jérémy. He loved them so much that he left them, and it broke his heart. Everyday he wished he could hold them in his heart. But he was too good at his job and wanted to keep it. It paid him a fortune and he could send some money to help.

Another sigh that failed to take his frustration and his guilt out of him.

Lucien stood up and walked to the window that he opened wide. He looked at the tiny city, busy underneath him. To all these people, today was a normal day. Some of them might even be happy…

But for him, today felt awful.

His eyes swept across the streets as he walked back in time to where he had met her. Mary, his Marie. It had been a busy night in the restaurant he was working at. He was undercover, a singer, trying to get closer to a frequent client. He had worked hard for months to approach his target. But that night wasn’t the one he managed to sit and dine with that shady nobody. Instead, an angel crossed his path.

Marie.

She wasn’t shy and he liked her boldness. He thought it was very American of her to be this way, to think that she could get whatever she wanted, if only she worked hard enough for it. Mon Dieu… She had come to his changing room, backstage, with her blue dress and matching headband, her lips were glossy red and her eyelashes, more beautiful than a butterfly’s wings in summer, fluttering to half hide the deep blue irises that he saw too vividly now.

She had knocked at his door and the moment he had opened it, the sight of her seized him like a hand to the throat. She raised her eyes to him and gave him a smile that still burnt his insides. Without hesitation, she started talking as if they had known each other for a long time, asking him a million questions.

Of course, back in those days, Lucien was quite valued on the market of love. Tall and slim, his hair still all black and combed back, light blue, almost grey eyes that looked in the deepest corners of one’s mind, impeccable manners, a smirk that weakened the knees of any woman in sight and a French accent that made them fall in his arms effortlessly…

He remembered that she kept coming to listen to him night after night. They would enjoy something to eat together. She had tried to invite him but he always insisted.

Une aussi jolie fleur que toi ne paie pas.

Such a beautiful flower as you are does not pay.

It had started as a distraction, a pleasant surprise in his life. But soon, Lucien found himself waiting for those knocks at his door, in the changing room backstage. He realised that on the few nights she wouldn’t come, he would feel uncomfortable. Something was odd, something wasn’t right, like a pebble in his shoe, something he could live with but…

And looking inside him he understood that in fact, he was missing her. Him, the man with more love conquests than there were stars in the night sky. He had fallen. In love oui, but he had fallen. Fallen under those eyes, fallen on his knees for her, always looking for her when he sang now. His eyes would frantically scan his audience, the crowd who came to applaud him, he did not hear them! Of course not! Oh! There she was! Ah, Marie…

His eyes would stop on her and from the moment he found her, his secret flower, he would sing and dance for her. Oui, he would even stand up from his piano and dance, make a fool of himself in front of a full room of guests. He would smile only after he would see her grin and wished oh so dearly the whole room would fall silent to hear only her beautiful laughter...

Oh he remembered how they stayed so late in the restaurant that countless times, they had to be pushed out of it. It had happened a few times before Lucien one night asked her to stay.

“Marie?”

“Yeah?” She raised her round eyes to him.

“Stay, please. Don’t walk back home so soon.”

“It… It’s very late, Lucien.” She chuckled and wrapped her arms around herself tighter against the cold.

Oui, with Marie, he had given her his real name straight ahead. Something in his guts had told him that it was safe to do so. He knew it was wrong and dangerous, foolish even! But non, with Marie, it felt wrong to lie.

“Please, ma petite fleur.”

[my little flower]

She had blushed. He could barely see it in the darkness of the night, but the street light was enough and he did see it!

“Fine,” She yielded and Lucien never knew, but of course she wanted to stay. “What is it?” She asked.

“Let us wait for a few minutes. Are you cold?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Here.” Lucien removed his coat and wrapped her in it.

“Aren’t you cold?” She asked and he smiled.

“Jamais quand tu es près de moi.”

[Never when you are near me.]

“You know I don’t get French, right?”

“Oui, I do.”

“Then say it in English.”

“Non.” He chuckled and blushed, turning slightly away to hide himself.

“Come on…! It’s unfair!” She pulled him back from the panes of his jacket.

“I cannot.” He confessed, still looking away from her.

“Why not? I’m sure you know the words and all. Your English is perfect, c’mon!”

“Non, Marie, please, don’t make me say it…” He looked down and his front tuft of hair, the same one that is grey now, it fell on his forehead.

“Lucien…”

The Frenchman closed his eyes when he felt her cold hand on his cheek. He raised his eyes to her.

“Please…?”

And for the first time in his life he understood what it felt like to be the one who is in love, to be the one who feels ill when the other one isn’t here, and to feel blessed when they were together.

“My little flower, I’m never cold when you are near me.” He yielded eventually and to his greatest delight, her grin widened before she hugged him, like that, unexpectedly. She had just leapt to him and held on to the panes of his jacket dearly, with her head and her black hair right below his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and kept her close. He was freezing but he didn’t feel it. All he knew was that he held in his arms the first and only person he ever loved.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

23 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Sic Semper Monstrum, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @vfordii‘s birthday which was....five months ago. BUT LISTEN, it’s still better than last year’s six months so like...improvement. IMPROVEMENT.

“You know why I called you here.” The Marshal’s voice is soft, barely louder than the hum of the fluorescents. “I presume.”

Shirayuki catches herself at the edge of her seat, chest pitched forward, neck craning to decipher every word and--

She settles back with a frown. Even a PhD isn’t a defense to the cheapest tactic on the pop-psych bookstore self-help shelf, it seems. Worse, Izana knows it, his mouth tipped so subtly toward a smile. And now he knows she knows it, and--

Her mug has gone cool, but it’s at least a credible distraction, a convenient way to buy some time and save face. Not something she ever expected she’d care about. Doesn’t mean she won’t take the opportunity.

“Zen.” The ceramic clacks like a shot as she sets it down. “You want to talk about the drift.”

“Yes.” He breathes, long and labored. “And no. I want him back in the cockpit.”

Come see me at your earliest convenience, his email had said, practically polite by PPDC standards. Manners atrophied when a body spent so much time in the higher altitudes of the chain of command. I’d like to discuss a few things with you.

She’d known what this would be about. What it was always going to be about. And still--

Shirayuki is still disappointed. “You have to be joking. It took him three years to get him into a jaeger at all, and you want to just...push him right back in.”

“No,” he hums, fingers still and steepled over his desk. “I want you to do it.”

There are rules of engagement for tangling with the Marshal. Voices are to be kept low, steady. Think before speaking. Don’t react. Showing an emotion in front of Izana Wisteria would be as good as handing him a rope to hang her with. “I’m not his commander.”

His fingers knit, knuckles popping in the silence-- “I know that, Doctor.”

Her own are curled into fists; at least then he can’t see them shaking. “Then I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

“I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job,” he tells her, with only a pause for breath before he does. “I am merely suggesting that it is far past time to remove the kid gloves you have been handling him with.”

Her fists clench, hard enough to leave vivid crescents in the meat of her palms. “I believe I’m the judge of that.”

“Of course.” Every word drips with insincerity. “But I’m sure a little encouragement from you would--”

“I’ll do what’s necessary for the health of my patient,” she informs him, words clipped. “You’re not my commander.”

Izana stills, gaze riveted to her. “I am well aware of that, doctor. But I need him in a jaeger yesterday.”

“You’ve needed him in a jaeger for the past three years.” Shirayuki bolts to her feet, and oh, if only she could locate at least another foot of height, she might be able to finally have the high ground in one of these arguments. “I don’t see what the rush is now.”

His voice doesn’t raise above a pleasant chat, but bitterness weighs down every word. “You should.”

Shirayuki doesn’t believe in violence. Or rather, violence is a choice, and she doesn’t believe in choosing it unless no other option remains that causes less harm, but, well--

She’s got a very short list of people who deserved a black eye, and Izana Wisteria sorely tempts her to put his name on it. “What do you mean by that?”

The Marshall is all tense lines behind the battlement of his desk, a buttress against the fall. “Aren’t you a part of K-Science?”

The only distinction that mattered in the dome was between combatants and non; that a licensed therapist fell more into the ‘administration’ box rather than ‘research scientist’ was the least of their concerns. At least as far as the placement of her office. “Tangentially.”

“Well then.” His tension washes away like debris after the storm. “It’s all in the numbers.”

Shirayuki has been trained extensively in conflict resolution, in effective communication, in managerial manipulation, and still, still-- annoyance dogs her every step, nipping at her heels as she loses herself in the dome’s labyrinth of corridors. For once it would be nice to leave the Marshal’s office with something more like a sense of purpose and less like a reprieve in shoving boulders up a muddy hill in Tartarus, but this far into her tenure with the PPDC, she knows better than to hope for impossible asks. It’s not a new feeling by any means-- there’s certainly a hole worn in her heart for just this sort of fruitless anger and a monkey on her back with Izana Wisteria’s face, but he’s certainly devised an entirely new way to get her hackles up today.

Long limbs insinuate themself next to hers, a white-clad arm weaving its way around her elbow. She looks up-- not far-- into a pearl white, movie star grin.

“Well, well,” Yuzuri lilts, halfway between a drawl and singsong. “Someone’s looking stormy.”

Shirayuki doesn’t know how tall a person has to be to be considered thunderous, but if the crinkle to Yuzuri’s eyes are any indication, she’s well below the mark. “I was meeting with the Marshal.”

Yuzuri swings a single, impressed note. “Yeah, that’d do it. Or, I’d imagine it would. Not like he asks to see many of us in K-Science.”

Funny, she doesn’t say, since he’s so comfortable quoting your data. “You should probably count yourself lucky on that one.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yuzuri waves a hand, bangles jangling down her wrist. “Garrack handles him. Honestly, I think she enjoys the aggravation.”

Knowing Garrack like she does, Shirayuki certainly wouldn’t discount it.

Slender fingers flick out a sharp snap. “Hey, maybe you can send her the next time you need to deal with His Majesty. I’m sure she’d kill for a distraction just about now.”

“Oh, no! I’m-- I don’t need any help, it’s just...” She frowns, rifling through the satchel slung over her shoulder. She hardly has anything in it-- lip balm, her notes, a pack of tissues, her civilian identification, her wallet-- but still, her keys are shifted underneath the whole of her life, jingling just out of her reach.

It’s a metaphor, probably, but her love affair with literature is at too much of a standstill these days for her to bother unpacking it. Not when it’s probably going to end in her storming back into the Marshal’s office and demanding he show her some form of respect if he expects her to do her job.

Yuzuri’s mouth curls into a sly smile. “He’s top brass that’s used to having full grown adults ask how high rather than why?”

“That’s part of it,” she admits begrudgingly. “But it would also be nice if he could say what he means, instead of--youch!”

Metal teeth digging painfully into her palm, but she holds on anyway, dragging the ring right out, hair ties and all.

“Instead of...?” Yuzuri prompts, far too amused.

She heaves a sigh, plucking rubber bands off her hand. “Making it all some sort of...logic block word puzzle.”

Blonde brows slant skeptically. “I thought you loved those things.”

“For fun. Not for...” She waves a hand, keys jingling and brightly as Yuzuri’s bangles. “...Professional conversations. I’m not here for his entertainment. I don’t have time for-- for games!”

“Not when you could be doing your actual job.”

“Right.” Her actual job, which has almost exclusively been managing Zen’s feelings regarding Izana for months now. “And now he wants me to...“

She hesitates, teeth sinking into her lip. Outside the dome, patient confidentiality is the backbone of her profession, but here, when everyone eats and breathes and lives on top of one another--

“Lemme guess,” Yuzuri drawls, “get that boy in a pilot seat?”

-- it’s impossible. “I just wish he would show some faith.”

“In you?”

“No.” That’s asking far too much from a man who has only ever trusted as far as the drift could take him. She heaves a sigh, flyaways fluttering in her peripherals. “In Zen.”

A laugh huffs out of Yuzuri. “That’s asking a bit much from an older brother, don’t you think?”

Shirayuki has never, strictly, had a sibling. Ryuu certainly straddles the line between friend, colleague, and family, but she’s never doubted his drive, or the rigorous course of his research. He wouldn’t be her first choice to stand in front of the PPDC committee and defend her findings, but in a pinch, she would trust him wholeheartedly, with no reservations, to do the job.

That does not seem to be the unifying sibling experience. “Is it?”

Yuzuri grins. “You are definitely an only child.”

She restrains her scowl to a disapproving frown. “Maybe, in this case, that’s a good thing.”

They turn down a corridor, and relief floods into her-- this is it, the hall that holds her office at the end. She takes a step forward, but Yuzuri holds her back, gaze fixed leagues away.

“Do you really think he’ll do it?” She blinks, eyes finally focusing down on Shirayuki. “You really think he’ll get back in that jeager?”

“Yes.”

Yuzuri recoils, blinking. “Wow, no hesitation on that one, huh?”

“None,” she agrees, a smile lingering at the edge of her lips. “I know Zen might be hurting right now after--” the most disastrous drift she’s witnessed in her entire career-- “everything, but he...”

She takes in a breath, putting her back to her door. “No matter what happens, Zen always does the right thing.” It’d been that unwavering moral compass that had drawn her to him, a shining bright light among the downtrodden heart of the dome. “He may need a little time to pick himself back up, dust himself back off, but he knows that one day, he’ll have to sit down and talk this out, not run--”

“But not today, it looks like.” Yuzuri’s hand darts right over her shoulder, plucking something off her door.

Shirayuki blinks, letting the yellowed square of paper come into focus.

Something came up. Rain check ~Z

She stares, fingers numb as she swipes the scrap out of Yuzuri’s hands.

“That sunovabitch,” she grits out, paper dinting beneath her grip. “He’s avoiding me.”

“So.” Yuzuri cocks her head, mouth stretching wide. “Wanna grab some grub?”

“I’m just saying.” Suzu’s hand scribbles across a napkin, dropping symbols more arcane than any rift. “If I could just get any of the brass to take a good look at this, things would be different.”

“Different how?” Kazaha drawls, accusation dripping from every word. At least, that’s how it sounds-- it hadn’t taken Shirayuki long to realize that’s just how the man speaks, every phoneme meant to cut glass. The asshole accent, Yuzuri calls it. “Does this somehow improve the quality of life in the dome? The world? The--?”

“It’ll certainly improve my quality of life if I don’t have to hear about it,” Yuzuri deadpans. “C’mon, we’re eating dinner. Let’s put the toys away.”

“It’s not a toy, it’s a tool,” Suzu grumbles, finishing it with a flourish. “And if we used it, we’d know when the kaiju would show up, instead of just waiting for them to wade into the Sea of China or whatever.”

That, at least, gets the team to bow their heads over it, passing around frowns and furrows alike.

“If that was the case,” Kazaha sniffs, pushing it away. “Garrack Gazelt would have already put this in front of the Marshal.”

Suzu scowls, yanking it back. “You know that none of those jarheads appreciate good science! Until I get this paired up with some pretty little graphs, I might as well be speaking Japanese.”

Izuru perks up at that. “Doesn’t the Marshal speak Japanese?”

“That’s besides the point.”

“Hm.” Ryuu squirms next to her, craning his head over the napkin. “I think you’re missing a variable.”

“Impossible.” Suzu stares down at it. “Just look here--”

Shirayuki glances down, letters and numbers do-si-doing between roots and over fractions. Izana might shove her office all the way down in K-Science, but that certainly didn’t give her the training to decipher this little bit of mathematical prognostication.

Suzu pitches forward, felt-tip pen rolling across his knuckles in a bit of sleight-of-hand she would have never thought him capable of. “--you’ll see that by putting ‘a’ over ‘n’ squared--”

“All right.” Yuzuri’s fingers knit in the cotton of his button-down, dragging him back down onto the bench with a thump. “I think we’ve had quite enough of that.”

With a lift of his brows, Suzu’s face shifts from fox to puppy in eight muscles flat. “But, Yuzuri--”

“No buts.” Her fingers pluck the pen out of his, dropping it back into a pocket with a firm, warning pat. “Now, as I was trying to say: His Highness is avoiding you.”

Shirayuki blinks, gaze dragging up to where Yuzuri waits with an impatient smirk. “N-no! That’s not it at all. Something probably came up--”

“Izana’s avoiding you?” Suzu swings a wide, gaping stare at her. “Didn’t you just have a meeting today? What did you do to him?”

Her hands fly up, waving off the accusation. “Ah, no, I didn’t--”

“No, not His Majesty, His Highness,” Yuzuri corrects, blowing on a spoonful of the mess’s finest chicken noodle. “And he is avoiding you, which is bullshit.”

She has to bite her cheeks to keep her lips from peeling back into a grimace. “Zen has lots of work to keep him busy--”

“What work?” Kazaha scoffs, meticulously cutting his chicken into bite-sized pieces. “He’s a ranger without a co-pilot. It’s not like he can just jump into a jaeger and fight kaiju with half a working mecha.”

Yuzuri swivels toward him, hands held out with a level of emphasis Shirayuki can’t help but feel is more than the situation truly deserves. Especially since some of the rangers are starting to peer over their way. “See, even Kazaha knows it’s bullshit.”

His mouth purses into a tight frown. “I don’t know why it’s even Kazaha--”

Yuzuri’s brows make a dubious stretch toward her hairline. “I’m pretty sure you do.”

“--I’m very socially astute, even Shidan--”

“--just because he lets you out of the lab doesn’t mean you don’t offend people by breathing--”

“I dunno.” Suzu’s forehead furrows, tapping a spoon on each of his oyster crackers, drowning them in broth. “Zen seems like a real upright guy, you know? Forthright. If he had a problem, he’d say something, not just ghost you.”

Yuzuri stares at him. “He buys you one bubble tea, and now he can do no wrong.”

“Do you know how hard those are to get out here? He had to go all the way out to--”

Whatever else Suzu means to say, it’s lost in the siren.

This isn’t Shirayuki’s first time in the dome-- far from it-- but it’s never easy.

The siren’s moan shivers through the air, something she feels rather than hears. Her teeth rattle in her mouth, and there’s nothing she wants to do more than curl up beneath the table and ride it out, eyes squeezed shut and hands over her ears. She wouldn’t be the only one; already half of K-Science is on the ground, tears streaming down more than one ashen face.

Man’s worst enemy is fear. Grandpa had told her that, letting her dip her toes into the bay. She’d been small, young enough that she still wondered if kaiju might lurk under the surface, waiting to pull tasty little girls beneath the depths. Kaiju can only kill you once, but fear kills a hundred times. His hand sits heavy on her shoulder, a comfort, a cage; and she--

She gets up.

Pilots and personnel scramble; one tech stands up too fast, boot hooking on the bench’s edge and sprawling face-first into the floor. It’s only ranger reflexes that keep her from getting trampled, dodging around the splay of her fingers with a dexterity that would make Shirayuki’s jaw drop if she wasn’t trying to keep all her molars from jittering out of their sockets.

There’s a hand on her shoulder. She hadn’t just imagined it, a goad to get her standing. She traces the hand back, up ranger fatigues to dark hair, brows raised, and beneath them--

It’s violet eyes, not gold. Not Obi, but a ranger she’s never seen before, his mouth quirked with cold consideration.

“It would be safer,” he says, voice somehow Altantic-crisp over the cacophony, “if you stayed in your seat.”

Her mouth opens, working around the sounds to thank him, but he’s already gone, disappeared into the crowd of PPDC personnel around her. Shirayuki’s eyes shift over the mob, trying to-- to find him, maybe, or at least a face she knew, someone that she could talk to, someone to memorize one last time--

She finds one, silver-blond hair shimmering at the door, too pale to be anyone else. Zen. It’s Zen looking right at her, those deep blue eyes inscrutable, mouth carved into a line more grim than he’s ever shown her.

He turns away.

“It’s too soon, though,” Suzu murmurs, staring down at his napkin. The screens are on now, muted by the siren’s wails, and there’s a Kaiju on it, frill rigid around its reptilian face as it tears a city to twisted metal ribbons. It’s just buildings, streets, impossible to tell which one, but all that matters right now is not here.

“As I said,” Ryuu says, only just audible over the drone. “You dropped a variable.”

What hurts most, once her teeth stop rattling and her heart ceases to pound in her chest, is that Yuzuri is right-- Zen is avoiding her.

“The sessions are his choice.” Labeling tubes isn’t quite how Shirayuki had envisioned her evening going, especially with her mind half-away, pondering over the Pacific, but it’s something to do. “No one can force him to come.”

“Sounds like that’s half the problem,” Garrack mutters, forehead pressed to the hood, leaving a faint, oily smear across the glass. “Free will. Foils gods and men alike, doesn’t it?”

Her mouth pulls down at the corners, a bow stretched too tight, just like her patience. “I don’t want him to be forced. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change.”

Which, by Zen’s conspicuous absence, tells her he doesn’t. He’s happy as he is, wearing the fatigues but never getting in the cockpit, waiting for a copilot that’s already shown how little he cares about anything but lining his own pocket.

“Of course. You can lead a horse to water, but you’ll never make it drink.” It’s impressive to watch Garrack work; even in rubber sleeves, her grip never trembles, never slips. In the same position, Shirayuki can barely close a fist, but Garrack’s got the same dexterity in the hood as she does out of it. “Good thing you get paid regardless.”

Shirayuki flushes, heat pricking at her pride. “I’m not worried about that.”

“No, I wouldn’t think you are,” Garrack murmurs. “I’m just saying it’s nice. Salaried, with room and board to boot.”

Her frown falls further, flirting with a glower. “I’m aware that I’m in the unique position of not having to care in an official capacity if he bothers to come back. But personally--” her breath catches, stomach doing one, solid somersault-- “I do. I want him to want this.”

Garrack hums, not an agreement or judgement, but an acknowledgement. Tactic permission to proceed.

“Izana wants me to tells him to climb into a jeager, to use my-- our personal connection to manipulate him into the cockpit, regardless of what his personal feelings are.” Her breath rushes from her lungs, suddenly ragged, frayed at either end. “No, encourage. That’s what he told me. That it’s my job to do it for humanity.”

One thick eyebrow arches under Garrack’s cap, her eyes bright with interest. “And how do you feel about that?”

It’s strange being on the other side of this question, to be the analyzed instead of the analyzer. She squirms, teeth worrying at her lip, mind racing with possibilities.

“C’mon now,” Garrack chides, mouth hooking into a smirk. She picks up her rack, rattling the small tubes in their holes. “I gave you those for a reason. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, you know-- at least, that’s what people say when they’re afraid of what you’ll get up to if you start thinking.”

She tosses her a wink, ejecting the tip of her pipette into the trash before fitting on another. “Too bad they don’t know that drudgery clears your mind. Have all my best ideas when I’ve got a sharpie and a hundred two-mils to get through. So come on--” she grins, all conspiracy-- “tell me. What do you think of our illustrious leader’s idea?”

Her teeth click shut around her first opinion-- saying Izana Wisteria should go suck eggs would not only please Garrack far too much, but would be around the rest of the base by morning. The last thing she needs is the Marshal inviting her into his office and reading that off one of his hundreds of emails. “...Think that’s beyond my professional scope to comment on.”

“Oh please.” Garrack waves her off, one rubber arm flailing behind the glass. “I’m not asking you to issue a formal complaint about the marshal’s policies. I want to know if you think that kid should get in that steel coffin and kick the closest kaiju in whatever passes for their balls. If throwing another body at the breach is what’s best for humanity.”

“I...”

It shouldn’t be. There’s more rangers on this base than jaegers to fit them; one career pilot pulling back to fill the ranks shouldn’t be more than a drop in the bucket, a chair to fill. But this is no ordinary jaeger-- this is Rex Tyrannous, the most advanced piece of machinery to roll out of a PPDC facility before or since. Rebuilt from the same blueprint as the Mark I, reconfigured with the best technology the Mark III could offer, the Mark IV’s older, more deadly brother, and--

And the money for it hadn’t come out of Defense Corps coffers. No matter how many hopefuls washed up at the dome, the King of Kaijus wouldn’t come out of its box for anyone less than a Wisteria, not as long as at least one was still standing.

“Yes.” She spits the word out like poison, but still she feels unclean. “There’s no one else that can do what he needs to.”

Garrack’s mouth twists in a wry curve. “Then there you go.”

“It’s a conflict of interest!” Shirayuki insists, the sharpie in her hand shaking as she tries to form a 4. “If there was anyone on this base that had the credentials, I’d-- I’d put in the referral myself. He deserves someone that’s impartial--”

“Shirayuki.” With exaggerated care, Garrack pulls her arms from the hood, letting her hands fall down to her lap. “Do you think there is a single soul in this dome who could do the math you did and not be partial?”

Her mouth works, opening once, twice, before settling shut with a snick.

“I didn’t hire you because you lacked bias.” Garrack’s voice pitches low, softer than she’s ever heard her, knuckles white where they clasp her knees . “You wrote a paper about PTSD in rangers that lost a partner in the drift. A paper, might I add, that showed a great deal of knowledge in jaeger production and use. The sort of thing no one learns unless they’ve been locked up under a dome for years before being released in the wild.”

It’s not an accusation, not yet, but Shirayuki’s hands still anyway, clammy beneath latex.

“Because of that useless wall, we’re years behind in jaeger production. We need new mechs, and Rex Tyrannous is the best model we got left, whether it’s been sitting in its box for half a decade or not. ” She settles back, brow arched. “But I don’t need to tell you that, now do I?”

No. Her fingers clench hard around the sharpie. She doesn’t.

“Shirayuki, I know you’re a good kid, but you do get to be selfish sometimes.” Garrack grins, too pleased at the prospect. “You’re human, just like the rest of us. There’s no one who doesn’t have skin in this game.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “But it’s my job to do what’s best for him as my patient, not just--”

Garrack snorts. “Oh, is the discontinuation of the human race not going to affect him?”

Shirayuki frowns, opening her mouth to-- well, to say something quelling, no doubt. But-- “Oh.”

Garrack hunches over her lap, forearms braced on her thighs. “I know the Wisterias put on a good show of being gods, but they’re flesh and blood like the rest of us. It doesn’t do anyone good for them to sit out the apocalypse. Not even themselves.”

“But, I...” She sets the tubes down, gloves crinkling into fists. “I don’t know what happened in the drift, just what the readouts said. It could have been a failure on Obi’s side just as much as his, and if they’re not compatible--”

“Then just ask him,” Garrack sighs, swiveling back toward the hood. “You don’t need to try to read minds.”

“But he’s not talking--”

“Not that Wisteria prick.” She chucks her chin toward the door, toward the vague direction of the dome beyond. “The other one. Seems like the real problem there might be getting him to stop talking.”

“Obi?” She blinks. He’s friendly, sure, but she wouldn’t say he’s been one to volunteer information.

“If that’s the one that’s down here every other day, talking my ears off with Suzu, then yes.” One rubber arm flails at her through the glass. “Now get out of here, and get those two little shits inside their tuna can before a Cat 5 can make it down the coast and make us regret it.”

When she steps into the hall, Shirayuki has every intention of following Garrack’s advice. It’s solid, after all; in a two-sided problem where one solution makes itself unavailable, the obvious answer is the best approach-- especially when in this labyrinth of a dome, there’s only so many places where he can hide.

She stops by the mess for a peace offering. Obi might be disposed to be friendly toward her at the moment, but she knows all too well how far good will will get her if she’s going to start rummaging around in things he’d rather keep cooped up behind that smile. Quality coffee and some contraband cookies might not mend the bridges she burns, but it’ll at least keep them standing while she’s walking over it.

It’s a good plan, a solid plan; she just doesn’t anticipate the company.

“Shirayuki.” Dark circles ring dark eyes, but Mitsuhide smiles just as warm as he always does, sprawled stiffly on the bench. “It’s good to see you.”

“I should be saying the same thing!” she gasps, her and her tea sliding in across from him at the formica table. “I thought you’d be out...” in your tuna can.

She bites her cheek, just hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. Sometimes she really, truly wishes she didn’t listen to Garrack quite as much; her mouth and Garrack’s words made a volatile mix. The sort that would get her a dishonorable discharge, if she weren’t a civilian-- or careful.

“We were. I mean, I was. Both Kiki and myself.” His body twists with a good, solid shake, eyes clearing. “Sorry, just had to exorcise the ghost. You know how it is.”

She doesn’t, but she does. There’s papers on the subject; reams of them-- Longevity of neural imprints in active rangers had been a favorite when she’d been in undergrad, as well as the far more entertaining, Ghost Drifting: How does one leave a ghost while still alive? It’s still novel to witness it, to see that spectral presence cling to the neural stem so long after--

“We just got back a little while ago.” He shifts, his right leg stretching long across the floor, knee bucking stiffly. “Kiki hit the rack, but I needed to, ah, take a walk.”

That’s his-- his good leg, as Kiki likes to call it, the half of him that becomes Redwood Dancer to pair with her left. That’s what makes them first line defense, even in an older Mark III; Kiki’s a real lefty, not one made by the drift. When Dancer throws a punch, both sides come full powered.

That’s what you get being the best of the best, Zen would say, envy and wistfulness thickening his voice, everyone knows they can count on you to serve.

That seems less like a good thing as Shirayuki sits across from it, watching the shadows shift in Mitsuhide’s eyes.

“Did you see it?” she asks, voice a whisper in the cavernous lair of the mess. “The kaiju?”

Mitsuhide grunts, shaking his head. “No, we were kept on standby. Got there after some of the boys in Hong Kong did, and they handled it.”

He doesn’t offer how well; she doesn’t ask.

“Ah,” she hums instead, hunching over her mug. “So it was out that way?”

“When they get that far down, yeah.” One of his large fingers wraps around the handle of his mug, bringing it to his mouth for a long, steady drag. “Not many wander out this way.”

“Alaska--”

“Yeah, there’s a few up north, and I think Seattle always has a good sweat when that happens, but...” His brows furrow, just a small wrinkle in the center of his forehead. “Not so much down here. Not anymore.”

Her palms press against warm ceramic, lips curling into a thin smile. “I guess we don’t have what they want. Whatever that is.”

His mouth gives a wryly twitch. “Thank God for small blessings.”

It would be nice to let the silence between them mellow, to allow herself a companionable respite after swallowing around her heart for half a day, but--

But there are things that won’t keep, no matter how much she’d like to set them aside, set them down even for just a moment. “Mitsuhide...”

He stiffens, the way a dog does when it hears its name shouted in the key of trouble. There’s two ways to respond to conflict, they used to say, fight or flight; years later they added freeze with as begrudging a reception as any change to common wisdom was given. But Mitsuhide does none of those; he just hunkers, eyes warm and dark and wary when they meet hers, hedged by hunched shoulders. The sort of man who grew up in a place where natural disasters are weathered in bathtubs and basements, or else watched from afar on front porches.

“I meant to talk to you.” Her fingers knit into the natural ridges of her mug; the only way to keep them from trembling. “After...after. I mean, not this, but before. The, um...”

It’s ridiculous how many calamities can cluster in a few hours. She’ll need to start numbering them to keep them all straight.

“The drift,” he rasps wearily. “Zen's talked about it with you, hasn’t he?”

Her mouth works; her duty to her profession says to keep it shut, to keep her patient’s business confidential, but her duty as a member of the human race, of a species that is growing more endangered by the year-- “He skipped his session.”

Shirayuki couldn’t have moved him if she hit him, but this rocks him back in his seat. “I’d been hoping...” He shakes his head, mouth curling into a rueful smile. “I thought I’d be the one trying to work something out of you.”

“Ah.” She bows her head, watching the leaves swirl in her tea. “So you haven’t had any luck either?”

Her shakes his head, disappointment stark in every sway. “He won’t talk about it. After he got out of the hanger he went and locked himself in his rack. He only agreed to come to the mess if we promised to drop the whole thing.”

Shirayuki winces. “I’d normally never ask, but when he didn’t show up to our usual appointment...”

Mitsuhide lets out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I don’t know why he’d do that. I’d give some of my teeth to let someone else listen to my head sometimes.”

She blinks. “You’re always welcome, if you wanted to.”

“No.” His mouth rucks up in a rueful curve. “I really couldn’t.”

“But--”

“The thing they don’t tell you before you get into that cockpit is--” he takes a deep breath, the air emptying out the tension in his shoulders-- “is that the second you hit the drift, all your secrets aren’t your own anymore.”

“Oh.” The drift is two minds laid bare to one another, the deepest form of trust, but in all her studies, she’d never thought what that meant. How tangled and deep a mind could become in things that weren’t theirs to know, weren’t their secrets to carry. “Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows ruffle up an inch, curious. “Of course. Anything I can answer.”

“When you first came to the dome, you were...” Shirayuki bites her lips, considering. “You were Zen’s copilot. But then Kiki came...”

The PPDC might be the one that’s stamped on the letterhead, but the Wisterias are the spine of the jeager project as well as its face. Their neural net stretches far and wide through the Corp’s hierarchies, fingers in every pie, and although Zen might not be in the upper echelons of leadership, the sort of state secrets someone might glean from the casual details rattling around in his head...

Well, it’s a good thing the Seirans were just as entrenched.

“Why did you do it?” she asks finally, though it’s miles away from what she means. “Why change when you already...?”

“Ah, well...” Mitsuhide’s shoulders heave awkwardly. “It was an emergency, at first, and then...I don’t know how to explain it. We just fit. Not that I didn’t with Zen, but this was...”

He hesitates, smile edging towards a kind of self-deprecation that doesn’t quite fit him. “It was different. If that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. Not to her, at least, someone who has never been in a cockpit, who has never drifted over a set of pons and tried to make a connection. But to someone who has, who has spent the last half decade rotating through a list of hopefuls and throwing them all in the trash-- “But I think...maybe it could.”

Shirayuki would love to say that she’s experienced a perception shift, that a few words with Mitsuhide gave her a clarity that she needs to pore over before acting on, but the fact of it is-- she’s too anxious to approach Obi, pure and simple.

Not that he’s given her much cause; he’s scarce after that failure of a drift, but his absence lacks the marked purpose of Zen’s. It’s hard to find anyone after an attack; everyone’s on high alert, hypervigilant, waiting for another call to come like an aftershock. It’s never happened before, but to assume that means a double event is out of the question--

Well, humanity stopped making assumptions about what lurked beneath the Pacific the day Trespasser ripped the Golden Gate off its moorings.

She catches a glimpse of him every once and a while, always going the wrong way but with a smile to share before he disappears. He’s not avoiding her, he’s avoiding everyone else, and she’s just too much of a cog in the dome’s machinery to not be a casualty of it. It’s nothing personal, she’s sure, but with all the people giving her a wide berth lately, it’s hard not to feel that his absence is pointed.

Still, there are things that just won’t keep. She can’t just keep avoiding this because she’s afraid of one more rejection.

And that’s how she finds herself in the middle of the dome’s combat room, on the business end of Obi’s smirk.

“Doc,” he hums, kicking the end of his staff up to yoke his neck. He makes it look easy, like the jo is an extension of him rather than a separate piece. She can’t help but think of what he might do with a hundred tons of jeager strapped to him, how easy he might make it move. “Funny seeing you here.”

She nods, rocking on her toes. “It’s been a while.”

He swaggers toward her, stopping barely an arm’s length away, hip cocked. Sweat dews along every inch of him, his tank damp and clinging to the hard planes of his stomach, tighter than the lycra in her own gear. His pants swing low, leaving a sliver of skin between it and his shirt, and she--

She should really be looking elsewhere. He’s not a giant, not like Mitsuhide, but when she looks up, it’s a long way to meet his eyes. They’re laughing at her when she does.

“You’re not gonna get anything out of me, you know,” he says as if he’d like to see her try; a challenge rather than a defense. “What happens in the drift stays in the drift.”

Her mouth works; this time stuck less on the sweat crawling over his skin and more on how quickly she’s been made. “I didn’t say I was going to.”

“You had the look.” He shifts, hips drawing her gaze with them. When she glances back up, he seems to find that funny too. “Besides, why else would you come in here? Most shrinks I meet aren’t, hm, combat ready.”

“I-I work out!”

His eyebrows raise, mouth following suit. “That so?”

She flexes arm, baring what, in her humble opinion, is no small bicep. Kiki might have her beat, but in K-science terms she’s practically buff. “See?”

Obi slinks close, hunching over, jo and all, to give her offering a good squint. With a hum she’d like to think is at least mildly impressed, he straightens, suddenly so close she can smell the sweat on him and the faint whiff of his deodorant.

“Well then, I stand corrected.” His smile stretches Cheshire-wide as he steps aside, sweeping out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Shirayuki peers past him, fighting to keep the grimace from her face. She works out, sure, but more along the lines of slow and low. Yoga. Tai chi. Pilates. Things that promote mind and body balance. But even in the gym, all the equipment is meant for bulking muscle, for building the sort of bodies that can bear up a skyscraper. And the combat room...

Well the only equipment here is the jo in their rack and the tatami on the floor. This isn’t for people looking to do a pull up, it’s for rangers looking to spar.

“Tell you what, Doc,” Obi says, no small amount of amusement or pity in his voice. “I could use a cool down.”

His jo whips down from his shoulders, lightning fast, hands thrusting out in the air, and she--

Her hand rises to match, catching the jo mid-air. She sags under it, a little heavier than she expected from a stick that size, but keeps her feet under her. She glances back at Obi, wide-eyed, but he just lifts his brows, impressed. “How about we go a round, you and me?”

It’s a normal request-- maybe not to her, but the rangers certainly aren’t shy about taking conversations to the tatami. But Obi’s voice does something with it, pushes it down into a register that feels more mattress than mat, and she shivers as she lets the jo drop more naturally into her grip. “Me?”

“Well, I really thought you wouldn’t catch it.” His chin juts toward her staff. “But it looks like you at least know how to hold it.”

Her finger flex around the wood, settling against its smooth surface. “I’ve done it once or twice.”

A half dozen years ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.

His mouth twitches. “Great.”

Obi’s not a mountain of a man, not like Mitsuhide, but when he falls into stance, he could make himself one. It would take an earthquake to move him, and she has the world’s smallest lever. “Come at me.”

Shirayuki shuffles awkwardly on the mat, twisting the jo to rest on both her hands. It feels like she’s got two left ones holding it-- neither one of them are as good as Kiki’s-- but muscle serves her better than memory. Center yourself, Grampa told her, yanking her chest above her hips, feel the earth come to meet you. You’ll be part of it one day, and it’s ready.

Morbid, but it works. Her spine jolts into a straight line, weight teetering between her feet, and she takes her swing.

Obi doesn’t try to dodge. He could-- even in that split second, his muscles twitch, goading him to flee-- but he just raises his staff, a jolt she feels right down to her shoulders. The puny clack echoes in her ears. It’s nothing even close to how him and Zen were sparring.

“Go ahead.” He shifts his weight as she recovers, bracing himself. “Again.”

Right. Her feet flatten against the mat-- or at least they try to, pressing instead against the foam of her sneakers. Her sneakers that she’s still wearing, since she came in here thinking there would be an elliptical, or weights, or not this.

That won’t do at all. She toes them off, setting them at the edge of the tatami, the only spectators to her impending humiliation.

She hesitates, fingers peeling socks over her heels. Obi’s already said she won’t get any information out of him; she doesn’t need to do this. She could walk away right now, and the only consequence would be his teasing. And yet--

And yet, Shirayuki walks back, feet grounding against the weave beneath them. The jo settles between her hands. Obi grins.

When she moves again, it’s with more confidence, memory fueling her strike. He catches it again, but this time it doesn’t rattle her. At least, not until he moves too, viper fast, and then she’s scrambling again. She’s no noodle-armed K-science geek, no matter what Obi might say, but when she thrusts her staff up overhead to meet his swing, her arms tremble, teeth jangling in her mouth.

Obi retreats, amusement clinging to his lips, and she huffs. Maybe she can’t take the same sort of beating Kiki can, but she isn’t about to be some pushover.

She comes at him again, lower this time, on the outside. He’s not prepared-- she can tell the way his eyes widen-- but reflexes smooth his response, drawing her back with a few of his own strikes, and then--

Then it’s just trading blows. Not like his spar with Zen; he’s too skilled and she’s too inexperienced for this to be anything but a planned draw, for him to do anything but go easy on her. But still, still-- there’s a strange electricity every time they meet, more than just their jo rising to meet each other, an anticipation--

Obi steps back, brow furrowed. “Hm.”

Shirayuki’s panting, drenched, and he’s barely broken a sweat. “Is something wrong?”

It certainly doesn’t feel wrong to her.

“N-no.” He plucks her jo from her grip, the swagger gone from his hips as he mounts it on the wall beside his. “Just. Interesting.”

“Interesting?” she prompts hopefully.

Obi shrugs, like there’s an itch between his shoulders. “Did you need anything else, Doc?”

“I...” She bites down on the impulse to ask, to demand to know if he felt it too. “No. I should, um. Get going.”

“Nowhere to go but people to see, huh?” he laughs, but it’s weaker than his usual, stilted.

“Yeah,” she breathes, turning away. “Something like that.”

We just fit, Mitsuhide said with that strange look on his face, a yearning she knows now. If that makes sense.

“Obi?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from another mouth, not her own. Maybe it’s just because she’s bent in half, working cotton over sweaty toes. Maybe it’s because it feels like she’s only working with half a body.

His head swivels, chin peeking over his shoulder. “Yeah, Doc?”

“It wasn’t you, was it?” He blinks, head tilting with confusion, and she clarifies, “It wasn’t your failure.”

His breath tumbles from his like wind over water; she swears she can feel the ripples of it even where she stands. “No,” he says, so soft it’s nearly lost over the rattle of the vents. “Not yet.”

The static fizzles on her skin, belly rocking as she bends to slip on her sneakers, and oh, Mitsuhide’s words might not have made sense before, but--

But she’s worried they’re starting to now.

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #pacific rim au #my fic #this chapter ended up being much more of a beast than i thought #and this is WITH some scenes getting moved to next chapter for like...SPACE #but that's pretty much what took this so long #trying to rearrange this to cover some of the big points that HAD to be covered by Shirayuki POV #so that this was only like...6K instead of 8K and double the chapter length of any one before it #DEEP SIGH #this is a hobby i choose to do for fun

18 notes · View notes

fvckyouimaprophet · 3 years

Text

lights low, flames high

5x11 alternate ending where tabitha and betty "vibe" while they're on shrooms, and by vibe i mean make out | read on ao3

The music bounces off the bunker walls—small and insulated as it is—and melts into Betty until she’s not sure where it ends and she begins. Then again, she supposes the shrooms are partly to blame. She’s never been good at relinquishing control, and Jessica’s words loop in her head. Let the trip take you wherever it may go. She’s certain that the budding anxiety in the pit of her stomach is not what Jessica meant. It doesn’t help that the last time she was drugged—

Her nails dig into her palm, cutting off that thought. Deep breaths.

“What is this?”

Tabitha’s question makes her jump—the thought of anyone else in the room long out of Betty’s mind.

“What?”

“This music.”

“Oh, it’s from Hair,” Betty says.

“That’s that anti-Vietnam musical?” Her lips betray her, quirking upwards in amusement, but nonetheless, Tabitha sways along with it and drags her finger along the edge of the table.

“Most of my musical theatre knowledge comes from Kevin,” Betty admits. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers along the bed. So many memories for a hole in the ground—and mistakes too.

She pushes the thought out of her mind and focuses instead on the feel of the fabric and the pilled polyester of the pillow cover. Its touch is strangely satisfying and absorbing.

“Can I lay down too?” Tabitha asks, and Betty blinks her eyes open and back into focus as the room swims around her—the red of the lava lamp making the walls look aflame. Betty nods her head before she recalls the spare mattress and hobbles up.

“Wait, I have a better idea.” She tugs at the edge of the mattress, but her grip slips and tugs the bedsheet off instead. It’s hard to focus with her body floating, and she stumbles backward.

“Careful!”

Before Betty can fall into the table, Tabitha places a hand on each of Betty’s arms and steadies her with a light squeeze. As unexpected as it is, the sudden warmth of someone beside her feels nice, and her breath catches in her throat. With Tabitha this close, Betty notices—not for the first time—the scene of her perfume. It’s oddly comforting, if unfamiliar. She breathes in slowly, careful not to give herself away.

“Thanks,” Betty says, and when she turns around, Tabitha’s hands drop. The sudden lack of contact is inexplicably disappointing, but her mind can’t focus enough to linger on it. The music swells around them, swallowing them both, judging by the look on Tabitha’s face.

“What were you trying to do?” Tabitha asks.

“There’s a spare mattress. We can just move them to the floor if I can just…” She tugs at the mattress again, careful this time not to grip it by the bedsheet. And when it starts to budge, she grins.

“Let me help.”

They make quick work of pushing the table to the side and getting the mattresses to the floor, especially considering how much of a chore it is to move at all. It’s not the most graceful she’s ever been, but here in the comfort of the bunker, there’s little to worry about.

And the shrooms—Betty has to begrudgingly admit they make things a little softer at the edges. The moment Betty thinks she’s grasped a thought, it's out of reach. With everything that’s happened with Polly and the chaos of Charles and Chic, it’s a relief to be floating, untethered.

“You know this music isn’t half-bad, but I don’t know how Jessica had time to prepare it when we weren’t paying attention,” Tabitha says, and Betty rolls on her side to face her.

“I still can’t believe she drugged us. And then left us here with some music like that makes it all okay!”

They look at each other, the intensity of Jessica’s actions washing over them before Tabitha bursts out laughing. “I have to admit, this isn’t how I imagined spending my night, but it’s not so bad. You’re not the wet blanket Jughead made you out to be.”

The words linger between them for a second, Jughead’s name harsh and unforgiving.

“I shouldn’t have brought him up,” Tabitha quickly adds.

“It’s fine,” Betty says and is surprised by the fact that she means it. The silence draws out for another moment, and Tabitha rolls over onto her side as well. With their mattresses on top of one another, it means that Tabitha’s face is inches apart from hers.

It’s an intimacy Betty’s nearly forgotten. Glen hardly counts; half the time, Betty doesn’t remember him—which says something considering his role in recent events. And her training hasn’t lent itself to many new friendships. But now, with Tabitha so close that Betty can smell the artificial sweetness of a strawberry milkshake on her breath, it feels reassuring.

“What do you think of Riverdale so far?” Betty asks.

Tabitha laughs and puts a hand under her head, propping it up. “I’ve… never seen a place quite like it.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“What’s yours?”

“Haunted. Or… Sometimes I wonder what I’m fighting for. I grew up here, and I have all these memories, but it feels like I’m holding onto something that’ll never exist. I used to think the town would heal itself—that the bad things that happened were the exception, but I’m not so sure I think that anymore. When it was just Jason and Mr. Blossom, that felt like an anomaly. But then it turned out my dad was a serial killer and Veronica’s was a power-hungry egomaniac, and Jughead’s mom came to town and rallied the Ghoulies to sell Jingle Jangle, and—”

“Jughead’s mom did what?” Tabitha asks and stares, horrified and wide-eyed.

The absurdity of it all hits Betty until she can’t help but smile. “Oh yeah. And that’s hardly the highlights reel.” Her filter’s too far gone to stop herself, so she adds, “You know, we set her drug lab on fire.”

Tabitha shakes her head and laughs in disbelief. “Holy shit.”

“And I haven’t even told you about the cult, or the creepy video store that sold pornos and illegally filmed sex tapes.”

“My grandfather told me some stories—mostly about Hiram and Veronica, for obvious reasons.” She hangs her free hand over the mattress, close to Betty, and Betty glances down, distracted by it. “And hey, maybe you’re right that this place is cursed, but I gotta believe in it. I’ve invested everything into Pop's, and as fucked up as Riverdale is, I don’t think it’s a lost cause. And I don’t think you’d have chosen to stay here if you thought that either.”

Betty bites her tongue, ignoring the automatic urge to argue. “Maybe,” she says, but her voice doesn’t sound entirely believable, even to her own ears.

Tabitha reaches out prods Betty’s shoulder with her two fingers—light and teasing. “I can practically see the effort it’s taking you not to disagree.”

There’s no use lying. The shrooms have made sure any knack she has for it is out of reach. “Sorry.”

“It’s a little rude, but I suppose I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” She smirks at Betty, and it strikes Betty that Tabitha must be as at ease as she feels. The Flesh Failures—her favorite song from the soundtrack—starts to play, and Betty adjusts herself, dropping her hand just slightly until her fingers touch Tabitha’s.

It’s silly perhaps. But she can’t stop the thought of Tabitha’s hands on her arms from flickering through her mind. It’s been so long since she’s found a touch that she hasn’t wanted to pull away from but, instead, lean into. She waits for Tabitha to move her hand back to her mattress, but she doesn’t. The realization takes a second to settle in as Betty watches, her stomach tightening in anticipation.

When she glances up, Tabitha is staring at her.

“I can—” Betty starts, pulling her hand back, but Tabitha reaches out, her fingers hooking around Betty’s to stop her.

“You don’t need to.”

Her world feels fuzzy around the edges, and Betty can’t stop herself as she lets out a breathy oh. The sound of her own heart rises over the music, and she’s suddenly aware of how hot the room is. Next to her, Tabitha inhales sharply through her nose and leans in.

Betty’s hit with a brief moment of clarity just before they kiss. It cuts through her, all the emotions she’s kept curled inside spilling out. They wrap around her as the song starts to wind down, and their lips meet. It’s tentative and gentle, careful to give Betty room to move back if she wants.

But she’s tired of overthinking. Her body aches from near-sleepless nights punctuated by nightmares. All she knows is that Tabitha’s lips feel soft and inviting, and, for once, she isn’t going to question it. Betty leans in, sinking into the kiss as she reaches out and wraps her fingers around Tabitha’s shirt.

Tabitha cups Betty's jaw, and the feel of her skin against hers is electric. Betty’s eyes close, and a small whine leaves her lips as she tries to steady herself against the rush of blood in her head and the dip in her stomach. The high is still riding full force, amplifying each little movement they make, and it’s all too much.

Betty pulls back, breathing deeply and quivering.

“You okay?” Tabitha asks. She squeezes Betty’s hand as her brow furrows with concern.

“Yeah, I—” Betty struggles to find the right words, so she just nods her head and concentrates on her breathing until she settles into her body once more.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have done that,” Tabitha says, although she doesn’t look like she quite believes it.

“This,” Betty says, motioning to herself, “has nothing to do with you kissing me. Or, if it does, it’s in a good way.” A cautious grin spreads across her face. “Can’t say I saw that coming from you, though.”

“Well, you should know better than to underestimate me.” Tabitha grins back.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

The sound of the needle in the runout groove fills the silence, and Betty sucks in a sharp breath before pulling herself up with some difficulty, aware of how heavy her body feels. The mattresses, even just on the floor, look appealing.

“How do you feel about sleeping?” Tabitha asks, echoing Betty’s thoughts.

“I feel great about it.” Betty steps over to the record player, lifting the needle up and turning it off before making her way back. She half-falls as she sprawls back out.

Against the scratchy fabric of the mattress, her body feels weightless. It doesn’t take long for her to start to drift. She focuses on the sound of Tabitha breathing beside her until her mind starts to wander half toward dreams.

Just on the precipice of sleep, a hand brushes against hers, warm and familiar. Betty smiles, and the dreams overtake her.

#tabitha tate #betty cooper #tabetty #babitha #riverdale #riverdale fic #my fics

9 notes · View notes