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yelena-bellova · 3 years

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Safe Haven: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader - Chapter Six

chapter five - Chapter Six: Ten Minutes - chapter seven

Series Masterlist

Plot: Y/n, Sam, Bucky and Zemo investigate around Riga for any sign of the Flag Smashers, Y/n and Bucky spend some unconventional time together.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: spoilers for episode. 4, a little language, flirty Bucky (which is a warning in and of itself, Walker’s an asshole, Y/n is still a badass, sloooow burn, lil’ bit of spice 🔥

A/N: First off, I just want to thank everybody for all the kind messages/asks/comments you've left on this series. I honestly didn’t expect this kind of response when I started writing this and have been blown away with each chapter. Seriously, it means a lot! 🥰 Okay so I’m not gonna lie, this chapter’s a little slower than usual whereas next chapter is going to be...well, if you’re reading this you’ve seen the episode so you obviously know lol. But this chapter sets up some pretty big shit so it’s not useless, enjoy!!

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I felt like a bit of a romantic cliche as I threw myself facedown on Zemo’s living room couch, hot off the heels of my realization about Bucky. But seeing as we didn’t have any leads and the Super Soldier wasn’t back from his “walk,” I felt I had earned it. “Hey,” I felt the weight of a jacket land on my back, “Whatcha got going on in that head?” I chuckled into the pillow, if Sam could see the thoughts bouncing around my brain, he’d have his wings on in a flash and would be flying around the city hunting Bucky down. Luckily, Bucky wasn’t the only thing I was thinking about. I turned on my side to see him sitting on a barstool in the kitchen, “I don’t think I give you enough credit for what you do.” “What are you talking about?”

“I knew that avenging wasn’t some cushy day job but,” I swung my legs over the couch and sat up, “I never realized how hard it actually was and this isn’t even one of the harder missions!” Sam smirked and raised his brows, “An army of Super Soldiers isn’t enough for you? You want more?”

I rolled my eyes, “I’m just saying, you’ve faced a whole lot worse. I tangle with a couple bounty hunters and I’m gonna be aching for weeks,” I rose with a groan, eliciting a chuckle out of Sam, “Don’t get me wrong, I like what we’re doing, but I definitely underestimated how challenging it was.” “You’re doing a better job than you think,” Sam said, “I know yesterday was hard on you, but you’re handling all of the really well. I’m proud of you.” I made my way over to him and put an arm around his shoulder, “Still regret bringing me?” “Nah,” he locked an arm around my waist and pulled me into his side, “It’s nice having you here, it’s like having a little piece of home with me.” Since we were in grade school, Sam had been one of the only constants in my life and sitting in the middle of Latvia chasing down Super Soldiers, I had never been more thankful for him. I knew that becoming Captain America was out of the question but if ever there were a Cap that I would follow, it would have been Sam.

The front door and the bathroom door opened at the same time, revealing Bucky back from his walk and Zemo from his shower.

“Well, the Wakandans are here,” Bucky announced as he came to the center of the room, “They want Zemo. Bought us some more time.”

“Were you followed?” Sam asked, both of us unwrapping our arms from around one another. “No.” “How can you be so sure?” Zemo asked, staring out the stained glass windows.

“Cause I know when I’m being followed,” Bucky replied, coming to stand across from me on the other side of the kitchen island.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least,” Zemo said.

“Hey, you shut it,” Sam turned his attention to the Baron, “No one’s defending you. You killed Nagal.”

“Do we really have to litigate what may or may not have happened?” Zemo replied.

I leaned up against the island and squinted at the man, “There’s nothing to litigate, we all watched you shoot the guy.”

“Sam, Y/n…” We both turned to face Bucky, staring down at his phone intently. “Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

“What?” I said breathlessly, “Were there any casualties?”

“Eleven injured, three dead,” Bucky read the article, “They have a list of demands and are promising more attacks if those demands aren’t met.”

Zemo walked around the island to grab a pack of cookies, “She’s getting worse. I have the will to complete this mission. Do the three of you?” “She’s just a kid,” Sam said calmly, defending the young girl so many saw as a villain.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there,” Zemo waved him off, “You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of a Super Soldier will always trouble people. It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron…to the Avengers.” “Hey, those are our friends you’re talking about,” Sam stepped quickly.

“The Avengers, not the Nazis,” Bucky followed up with.

Sam continued, “So, Karli is radicalized, but there has to be a peaceful way to stop her.”

“The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals,” Zemo said, “Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her,” the room’s silence became a whole lot heavier, “Or she kills you.” “Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo,” Bucky spoke up, “The serum never corrupted Steve.” “Yeah,” I agreed, peeking over my shoulder at Bucky, “But it didn’t corrupt you either.” Zemo picked up a ring shaped cookie on his finger and pointed to Bucky, “Touché, but there has never been another Steve Rogers, has there?” He popped the cookie in his mouth and shrugged, turning away from us to make further use of the kitchen.

“Well,” Bucky made his way to the living room, “Maybe we should give him to the Wakandans right now.” “And you’ll give up your tour guide?” Zemo asked, searching through cupboards.

“Yes,” Bucky answered harshly before sitting himself on the couch, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes.

“From my understanding,” Sam said, “Donya is like a pillar of the community, right? So when I was a kid, my TT passed away-“ “Your-“ Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward, “Your TT?” “Yeah, my TT, yeah,” Sam replied plainly.

“Who is your TT?” Bucky annoyedly and confusedly asked. I chuckled at the exchange from beside Sam, “His aunt. The whole neighborhood had this big ceremony, it lasted like a week.” “Maybe they’re doing the same thing for Donya,” Sam finished.

“Worth a shot,” Bucky shrugged.

“Your TT would be proud of you,” Zemo said to Sam before tossing him a wrapped candy, “Turkish Delight, irresistible.” ——

We were out the door soon after and heading to Donya’s last known location, a refugee camp in the downtown area.

“Shame what’s become of this place,” Zemo commented when we arrived, “When I was young, we used to come here for fabulous dinners and parties. I knew nothing of the politics of the time, of course, but I remember it being beautiful.” It was hard to picture the beige building ever having been beautiful, the setting was so dismal and grey. It was filled with children and workers, refugees, who all collectively looked worn down. The GRC poster that hung on one of the walls that showed smiling families with their mission statement ‘Reset. Restore. Rebuild.’ was a stark contrast to what those words actually delivered.

“We’ll take a look around upstairs,” Sam said, gesturing to me before turning to Bucky, “See what you can find out and keep an eye on him.”

I left with Sam, climbing the quiet building’s staircase and wandering down the hall. Sam headed through an open doorway that led to a sewing room. “Hey, kid,” he called to one of them, “Excuse me,” he approached one of the only ones who hadn’t run out of the room at our presence, “You heard of Donya Madani?”

“Um,” the girl said, rising from her seat and making for another room, “No. Sorry, no.”

We stood there dumbstruck in the suddenly empty room, it wasn’t until Sam caught the Flag Smasher’s handprint symbol on a sewing box and pointed it out to me that the locked lips made sense. I took the lead and navigated through the crowded rooms, spotting another young person leaving at the sight of us. “Excuse me, do you know the name Donya Ma-“ The boy shut the door on me before I could finish my sentence, I turned to Sam who was close behind me. “Something’s not right,” I mumbled, walking in step with him further down the hall. We finally stumbled upon what looked like a classroom, one man crouched was next to a desk helping a kid and a table with two others who didn’t bolt at the sight of us.

“Excuse me,” Sam announced our presence, “Do you know a woman by the name of Donya Madani?”

The teacher stood to his full height, “We’re not refugees, for we have nothing to seek refuge from. We’re internationally- displaced persons, for what it’s worth, and we don’t trust outsiders.”

“No, I understand,” Sam stepped forward, “I’m not from here, but I have a pretty good track record of helping out.” “I know what happens when people say they’re going to help out,” the teacher tiredly stated, “Nothing. The Global Repatriation Council promised to send more teachers, supplies. That was six months ago.” “What’s your name? I can make a call,” Sam offered immediately, ever the helper.

“I know who you are, but I can’t trust you. I’m sorry,” the man dismissed him, grabbing his other two students and ushering them out of the room, “Let’s go.” The silence was sobering for us both, we may not have found anything about Donya but we’d certainly stumbled upon something of importance. And as we left the building with our heads metaphorically hung, I could feel that he was just as impacted as I was by it. “I didn’t realize it was so bleak,” I said as we went down the stairs, “The government’s done a great job of painting a different picture for people like us.”

“That could be said for a lot of things,” he replied, “But no, I didn’t think it was this bad either.”

We rejoined Bucky who was watching Zemo intently as he sat in front of a grouping of kids, a pile of candy in between them. “This is starting to feel like a dead end,” Sam commented.

“The hell is he doing?” Bucky accompanied.

“And why in Latvia does nobody raise an eyebrow at a stranger offering kids candy?” I observed as Zemo stood, approached the kids once more and came back to us. “Cute kids,” he smiled, leaving the three of us to share an unconvinced look after.

——

We returned to our hideout shortly after, defeated and all too aware of how fast the clock was ticking.

“Well, I got nothin’,” Bucky said as the three of us made our way to the couch, “No one’s talkin’ about Donya.” “Yeah, it’s because Karli is the one fighting for them,” Sam replied, “And she’s not wrong.” “What do you mean?” Bucky’s tone was low and exhausted, but I could have sworn that his eyes brightened for a millisecond when I plopped down next to him.

Sam sighed, “For five years, people have been welcomed into countries that have kept them out using barbwire. There were houses and jobs. Folks were happy to have people around to help them rebuild. It wasn’t just one community coming together, it was the entire world coming together. And then, boom,” he snapped his fingers, “Just like that, it goes right back to the way it used to be. To them, at least Karli’s doin’ something.” “He’s right,” I chimed in, memories of how the world was for five years flooded my brain, “Things were messy but they were…one. Everybody came together because we needed to, there was less room for segregation or prejudice. When things went back, the government made some really bad decisions. And for those of us who weren’t blipped, it was difficult to watch. I’m not saying that I support the Flag Smashers but I do understand why Karli’s doing what she’s doing.” “You really think her ends justify her means?” Bucky’s furrowed brows bounced between Sam and I, “Then she’s no different than him,” he gestured to Zemo who was making tea, “Or anybody else we’ve fought.” “I didn’t say that. She’s different,” I argued, tucking my legs under me and twisting to fully face him, “She's not fighting for word domination or something, she’s fighting for those who’ve lost everything. She’s just...misguided in her approach. ”

Zemo came and set the tray of cups and tea down on the table in front of us, a little too quiet. “That girl,” Bucky addressed him, “What’d she tell you?” The Baron kept up his silence as he thought to himself, eyes flicking between the three of us. “The funeral is this afternoon.” I blinked and awaited the rest of the answer, “That’s all you want to say?” “You know the Dora’s coming for you any minute,” Bucky stated, a bit of amusement in his eyes at the thought of the Wakandan warriors taking him away, “In fact, they’re probably lurking outside right now. Keep talking.” “Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli,” Zemo hummed, “I prefer to keep my leverage.” Exasperatedly, I looked over to Sam who looked just as done with the Sokovian royal as I was. Bucky rose from beside me and circled around to face Zemo, ripping the glass heeled in his hands and launching it at the wall, it shattered upon impact. “You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?” Bucky growled, I had to ignore the pit in my stomach that developed anytime Bucky’s voice reached a low decibel.

Sam and I were up and ready to deescalate the situation, him stepping behind Zemo and me placing a hand around Bucky’s metal arm. “Take it easy,” Sam said cautiously, “Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.” I turned in towards Bucky, the close proximity allowing me to talk softer. “He’s not worth it,” I muttered, his head moving slightly in my direction as I spoke.

“Let me make a call,” Sam said, walking off and slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he left.

My loyalty to Bucky prevented me from leaving until I knew he was alright and wouldn’t pummel our only lead to a pulp. As his stare lessened in intensity, so did my grip till my fingers ghosted over his bicep. “You want some cherry blossom tea?” Zemo awkwardly asked. “No, you go ahead,” Bucky answered with contempt, walking away with me following close by.

“So what are we supposed to do?” I asked as Bucky and I walked through the luxurious apartment, “Sit on our asses until he decides to give us breadcrumbs of information?”

“He’ll talk, eventually,” Bucky grumbled, “Even if I have to make him.” Why I was finding this side of him attractive, I couldn’t make sense of. Shoving that aside, I took the more practical approach. I gripped his arm to stop him from going further, “He wants to screw with your mind, don’t let him.”

Bucky bit down on his bottom lip and dropped his line of vision to the ground, silently admitting that I was right. There was something so strange about how easy him and I had become around one another so fast. I could level with him now like I’d known him for ages and he’d actually listen to me. The oddest part was that it felt so natural.

“Now,” I dropped my hand from his body and went to place it on my hip, “Sam’s on the- ow!”

“What? What is it?” Bucky jumped to attention, his metal hand instinctively reaching for my arm.

The pain had stemmed from my abdomen, radiating down to my waist. I pulled up the hem of my shirt and looked down to see an ugly purple bruise on my side. “Shit,” Bucky mumbled, bending down but quickly popping back up with an innocent gaze, “Can I…?” “Yeah,” I quickly replied, watching him crouch down to get a look at the injury, one of his metal fingers running over the colored skin with a featherlight touch. I prayed that he didn’t take notice of how my breath hitched when the cool Vibranium made contact with my body.

“How did you get this?” he asked with a laser-like focus on my stomach. “Must’ve been from yesterday in the shipyard,” I eked out, we were in close enough proximity that he was starting to cloud my head, “One of the bounty hunters had me in a death grip at one point.”

Bucky shook his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he rose back up. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a bruise,” I said, pulling my shirt back down when a lightbulb suddenly went off in my head, “Although…” “What?” “I think I’ve got an idea on how you can work out your aggression and this,” I pointed to my side, “Can happen less.” I made my way down the hall, trying to find the right door that would lead to the right room. Turning each knob, I finally found a set of french doors that led to a terrace with a view of the beautiful city. Expecting and correctly guessing that Bucky had followed me, I spun around to face him. “Teach me how to fight.” “Are you kidding?” Bucky’s scrunched in disbelief, “No.” “Come on,” I pleaded, “I think we can both agree that I’m lacking in combat skills and if we’re going to end up fighting more Super Soldiers, I need to be more prepared than last time. Plus,” I pointed a finger at him, “You’re pissed and you need to let it out.”

Bucky scoffed, “I’m not going to let it out on you.” Rolling my eyes thoroughly, I created a force field to separate the two of us, “I’m pretty sure I can handle myself. But if you want to let me get my ass kicked, that’s fine…”

I watched as he let out a single chuckle, “You’re really gonna be like that?” “Yes,” I replied, trying to contain my smile, “I’m really gonna be like that.

He took leisurely steps toward me and started to circle me. I turned with him to keep the force field between us, smirks spreading across both our faces. “Alright, fine. As long as you promise not to go full throttle on me,” he gestured to the hands that had blue energy flowing from them.

“Fine,” I thinned my eyes at him, absorbing the force field back into my body, “But you better keep that arm in check.”

We separated from each other and I walked to my corner of the terrace to remove my jacket. When I turned to see Bucky doing the same, my eyes fell to his fit torso that was threateningly to bust the seams of his tight black t-shirt. In the Latvian sun, you could see the outline of each muscle of his chest and each vein that bulged in his arms was highlighted. Since the first time I’d gotten close enough to admire him, I’d had no shame in admitting to myself that Bucky was attractive. Now that I was actually starting to fall for him, there was a nervousness that came with appreciating his roguish good looks. I shook my head and dragged my gaze away from his body, trying to focus on his eyes as we walked towards one another. Not that I was any better off, they were just as enticing as the rest of him was… “Do you know how to punch?” he asked, I held up a fist and he examined it, “Okay, so that’s a no.” He placed his hands on my hips gently as to not disturb my bruise and turned me around, “Bring one of your feet back and out a little,” he instructed, I listened and he took a step back to accommodate me. “Now,” his hands moved to lightly grasp my arms, “Tuck your elbows into your body.” I swallowed hard as I followed his directions, his chest was now almost flush against my back and it was more than distracting. The closer Bucky and I got, the more muddled my thoughts became until he became the only clear one. With him pressed against me, his hands gently holding my arms and his breath fanning my shoulder, it was a miracle I could remember my own name.

“Now squeeze your abs, as long as it doesn’t hurt too much,” he said softly, inching a little closer as if to make sure I could hear him properly. Goosebumps I hoped he didn’t see erupted across my skin, I did as he said and ignored the pain it caused me. Bucky could have given me any instruction and I’d have followed, I was completely under his spell.

His hands left me and he came around to stand in front of me, “When you swing, you want to move with your whole body. You’re gonna push off with that foot,” he nudged my furthest ankle with his boot, “And turn your hips with it, but don’t over exaggerate or else you’ll lose your momentum. Your hand,” he took my improper fist into his palm and positioned my thumb below my fingers, holding onto it as he looked back up, “Should look like this.” My lips parted as I watched him mold my hand to his liking, my heart rate picking up as our eyes met. Bucky let go and held out his flesh arm to act as my target, smirking once again, “Alright, give it all you’ve got.”

I swung my fist forward and met his hand, only succeeding in making contact and nothing more. For a second I forgot that I was fighting a Super Soldier.

“Good,” he commended me nonetheless, “Again.”

I readjusted my stance and brought my fist forward again, I still couldn’t move him.

“Again.” Smack.

“Again.”

Smack.

“Again.” Smack.

“Again.” With hardly a thought, I focused my energy out of my fist as it collided with Bucky’s palm and sent his arm back in a mist of blue. I pulled my elbows back into my torso, gasping at what I’d done but not entirely unhappy with the results. Bucky looked just as surprised, turning to me with widened eyes and his pouty lips shaped in an ‘o’.

“Did you know you could do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know, the idea just came to me,” I answered, “Can I try that again?” Bucky held out his palm again and I repeated my attack, his arm jolting back upon impact once again. “I think I may have just made this a fair fight,” I said slyly, challenging him with one raised brow.

“I think you’re exaggerating a little,” he shot back, I could see the mischievous gleam in his eye that accompanied his words.

I shrugged innocently, “Guess we won’t know until we test it.”

Bucky’s wandering tongue darted out to the side of his mouth as he smiled, “I only taught you how to punch, but alright.”

He took a step closer to me, slowly and playfully putting out a hand towards me to act like he was going to attack me. I held my hand up and built a small force field to block him. Going a little faster, he raised his metal hand and I repeated the action of shielding myself. We kept going until him and I were moving across the terrace with me creating force field after force field to block Bucky’s attack. When my back hit the ledge, I shot up into the air and landed a few feet behind him.

“Is that a fair fight?” Bucky asked as he approached me.

“No, it’s not,” I sighed and lowered my head, looking back up with a smile, “It’s actually a little too easy.”

Bucky started throwing punches, me blocking each one with my palm radiating energy to lessen the impact of his hits. I was so focused that I didn’t see him lift his foot until I had landed on my back with a groan after he’d swept my leg. He pinned me, holding my arms above my head and gripping my wrists so I couldn’t attack. I squirmed a little, unable to move underneath his weight that simultaneously crushed me and sent a thrill through me.

“You were saying?” he smirked, our faces only inches apart and his lips just a little too alluring to continue ignoring. This was a different Bucky than I had become used to, he was playful and flirtatious. We were getting down to who he really was when we weren’t dealing with such serious circumstances.

Taking away the temptation to close the distance between our mouths, and eager to point out he’d made a mistake in pinning my wrists, I lifted and aimed my hands at him, firing two blasts at his shoulders. The grip he had on me was lost as his full weight landed on me, I quickly locked my legs around his and used my energy to flip us so Bucky landed on his back with me on top of him. I pinned his hands at his sides, two steady blue streams flowing from my fingers. Bucky tried to wrestle out of my hold to no avail, I took great joy in leaning over him and giving a shit-eating smile.

“You’re right,” I shook my head, “It’s not fair.”

Bucky breathily chuckled and stopped fighting, instead letting himself be defenseless underneath my body. At some point, the laughter and grins faded and the reality that I was straddling Bucky became very real. If I released my hold on his hands, I wondered what he would do. Would he scurry to lift me off of him and leave as quick as he could? Or would he dare to put his hands on my waist like he had in Madripoor, pulling me into him as close as he could? Nervously, I absorbed the energy back into my fingers and freed him, his hands laying limp where they were but his blue eyes held no intention of looking away. We rested there, trying to catch our breath and not daring to make a move that would shift either of our bodies or the moment. “Bucky, Y/n, where you at?” I heard Sam’s voice drift down the hall.

Stolen moments, that was all I could get with Bucky. I had only just discovered how I felt about him, I didn’t know how to handle it but I knew that when I did get time with him, it never lasted long enough. I unhappily levitated off of him and landed on my feet nearby, leaving him without a word to open the door and find Sam.

I looked down the hall and spotted my brother walking down the hall in search of us. “Hey,” I called, he turned around and changed his course, “Any leads?” “Sharon’s got access to a satellite, she’s gonna keep an eye on the camp,” he said, “And Zemo agreed to take us out to meet someone who’s got information on the funeral. Where’s Buc-“

Bucky appeared at that moment, his jacket back on and covering his build while carrying mine in his hand. He handed it to me, his eyes darting up to meet mine with some sort of meaning in them, “Did he say where he’s taking us?” “No,” Sam answered, “But at least he’s talking.”

The three of us headed down the hall and out to the living room where Zemo was waiting on us like a parent waiting on their children to get ready to leave. We left and entered the city once again, me trying to keep a little distance between Bucky since my cheeks were still burning. The memory of how he’d felt under me was still all too real and I needed to have a clear head for what was about to go down.

We hadn’t been walking for more than ten minutes when an unfortunately familiar voice sounded off in our vicinity. “Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.” “Ah, how’d you find us now?” Bucky called across the street, John Walker and Lemar Hoskins hurrying down a set of steps toward us. “Come on, you really think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Lemar replied.

“No more keeping us in the dark,” Walker seethed, “You could start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” I over animatedly shrugged my shoulders and looked between Sam and Bucky, “You told us to stay out of your way so that’s what we did. Can’t have it both ways, Walker.”

“And he broke himself out technically,” Bucky answered Walker’s original question.

“Oh,” Walker was practically spitting with rage, “This better be an unbelievable explana-“

“Hey,” Sam stepped in and placed a hand on his chest, “Take it easy before it gets weird.” Walker promptly stepped back and took a breath.

“I know where Karli is,” Zemo offered, stepping to the side along with Bucky and ready to continue on our path, before being stopped by Walker.

“Well, where?” “All we know is, it’s a memorial,” Sam answered, “So we’re gonna intercept her there.”

Zemo gently moved Walker’s hand off of him, and led the way, Bucky, Lemar and I following. “That means civilians,” Lemar said, “High risk of casualties.” “We won’t let that happen,” I replied, “And if they’re fellow funeral goers, neither will Karli.”

“All right,” Walker said, joining us along with Sam, “We’ll move in fast, take her by surprise.”

“No, I wanna talk to her alone,” Sam protested. As much as I wanted to stop my brother in the street and question the validity of his sanity, we were a united front against Walker and I couldn’t drop it. I’d wait for my turn to voice my concern.

“I’m not losing her again,” Walker pushed back. “Look, the person closest to her died, she’s vulnerable,” Sam argued, “If there was ever a time to reason with her, it’s now.” “What?” No. Wait, no! No! Stop. Hold on,” Walker jogged to get ahead of us, his sidekick following suit, “Stop, okay? I think we’re way past reasoning with her, unless you forgot that she blew up a building with people still in it.” “Sam, you walk in there cold, she could kill you,” Lemar may have had a problem with the plan, just like Walker, but he came at it from a different angle. That I could give him credit for.

“And if I go in hot and the op goes wrong, more people will die,” Sam countered confidently. “You’re gonna let him do this?” Walker addressed Bucky, “Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier alone?”

“He’s dealt with worse,” Bucky replied, “And he’s not my partner.”

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay?” Sam stated, stepping around us to stand in front of Walker, “This is my wheelhouse.” “Yeah, I know. And I know those soldiers, which is why I know this is a bad idea,” Walker shot back. “Wait, John,” Lemar stopped him from going any further, “If he can talk her down, it might be worth a try.”

We stood, anticipating whether or not we’d have to fight harder or if Walker would agree to let Sam handle the situation his way. He scoffed and shifted his weight between feet before turning to Zemo, “We’ll deal with you later.” “I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion,” Zemo replied and gestured down the path, “My associate is just up ahead.”

We looked ahead to see the same little girl the Baron had been offering candy to earlier in the day. I fell in step alongside Sam and lowered my voice, “Are you sure about this?”

“Did you act like you agreed with me just to piss of Walker?” he asked, equally quiet.

“…Maybe…”

He pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket and we bumped fists, “Trust me, this is our best option.”

The five of us watched Zemo approach the child, handing her something and guiding us to follow where she was leading. She took us to an older factory, bringing us in through the back door of the boiler room. “Karli’s in there,” Zemo said.

Sam broke from our group and headed for the doorway while Walker slammed Zemo up against a furnace. “Hey,” he called to Sam, “You got ten minutes,” he handcuffed Zemo, “Then we’re doing things my way.”

With Sam gone and me not there to protect him in case things took a turn, there wasn’t anything to do but wait. Walker paced, Lemar stood and Bucky stared. I was leaned up against the brick wall that held Zemo, trying not to think of all the ways the plan could go wrong. Karli was young, quick to help but also quick to fight and the sight of Sam may be enough to trigger her into attacking before listening. But Sam wasn’t usually someone to get cocky about something he knew he couldn’t handle and I trusted his judgement. I just wish that I was trusting it in a less dangerous situation.

“Y/l/n.” I turned to Zemo, “Huh?” “In Madripoor, you said your last name was Y/n Y/l/n,” he continued in a hushed tone so nobody else would hear.

“So? What’s so interesting about my name?”

Zemo paused like he had just come to some conclusion I wasn’t going to be made privy to. “It simply sounds familiar.”

“What does that me-“ “Hey!” Walker exclaimed, staring me and the Baron down, “What’re you two talking about?” Zemo turned away from me like we’d never been speaking, the confusing conversation dissolving in the already tense air. “Nothing,” I lied, pushing off the brick wall and brushing past Walker, “That concerns you at least.”

I landed at Bucky’s side, he nodded his head towards Zemo and looked back to me. “What was that about?” “I’m not sure,” I answered, there was something unsettling about how Zemo’s gaze rested on me, “But I don’t think it was nothing.” We waited in another thirty seconds of silence before an antsy Walker spoke up again, “No, no, no, no, no, this is a bad idea.” “It hasn’t been ten minutes John,” Bucky said, “Just sit tight.”

“Don’t do that,” Walker looked over his shoulder at us angrily, “Don’t patronize me.”

“Then don’t start whining because you’re getting fidgety,” I replied, annoyed with his lack of patience, “Sam knows what he’s doing and if you let him do it, this could all go a lot smoother than Munich.”

He walked away, staring at the wall in deep thought before coming towards us. “I’m goin’ in,” he stated, punctuating his words with a punch to the shield.

Bucky stepped forward to block his path, I quickly stuck a hand in between their two bodies and created a force field to further state our point. My apprehension about leaving Sam to handle himself had lessened when he’d assured me he had it under control but I wasn’t sure if there was anything that would get Walker to back off.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it?” Walker grumbled, staring Bucky down, “All that serum runnin’ through your veins. And you,” he skimmed his hand over the unpierceable shield I’d made, “With that X gene of yours. Your brother,” he pointed at Bucky, “And your partner need backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?” The images that Sharon had planted in my head were filled in by Walker, it suddenly became all too easy to picture Sam’s lifeless body on the ground. Just like the one I’d left in the ship yard. No, Walker was not in my head, I wouldn’t allow it. The man who had threatened me with the accords, who waved the name of Captain America around like a free ticket to do whatever he wanted. He could manipulate whoever he wanted, except for me. “You’re not getting past us, Walker,” I firmly stated, bringing his widened eyes to me, “Sam’s got this.” There weren’t many people that stood up to Captain America without a second thought, and the irritated expression on his face reflected that. “So that’s how it’s going now? You’re giving the orders?” “If it means giving Sam a better chance of ending this, then yes,” I countered, digging my heels further into the ground.

He looked me over, debating his options, “Fine.” After observing him for a few cautious seconds, I dropped the force field and stepped to the side of Bucky. No sooner than when my hand fell to my side did Walker shove past Bucky and storm up the stairs, the two of us quickly rushing to draw him back. “Walker!” Bucky shouted.

I aimed my hands out to pull him back in, the blue energy barely leaving my fingertips when Lemar came up behind me and pulled my hands down to my sides. I tried to wrestle out of his grip but he didn’t let me go until Walker had safely gotten up the stairs to a point where I couldn’t see him. “Are you serious?!” I cried as Lemar shot ahead of me up the stairs leaving me to follow pathetically. “Captain’s orders,” he replied over his shoulder as we hurried to catch up to the heated, impatient joke of a Captain.

“Karli Morganthau, you’re under arrest,” I heard Walker announce, spotting Bucky taking the stairs two at a time behind him.

As I entered the room, my hopeless eyes met Sam’s surprised set. Karli was just as shocked, the redhead asking Sam if it had been the plan all along to bring us in. Lemar pushed in front of me and Bucky, acting as a barrier to prevent us from interfering any more than we had. Bucky attempted to shove his arm away just as Karli landed a punch to the shield, sending Walker and Sam flying back into a table. I used my energy to shove Lemar back, freeing Bucky and I to jump into the fight. Bucky bolted after Karli who was making a run for it while I helped Sam to his feet. “We said ten minutes!” Sam exclaimed, glaring at Walker’s retreating form.

“I tried,” I said as we made for another staircase to try and catch Karli on the other side of the building. We went through a series of various halls, there was no way to make heads or tails of which way was right. Sam tugged me and led me up another set of stairs with no luck in finding her. “Shit,” I mumbled. On the opposite side of the landing was Bucky, looking just as confused as us. “I lost her,” he said defeatedly. “This place is a maze,” Sam panted.

I took a look at our surroundings, spotting a window and quickly forming an idea. “She could be out of the building by now. Bucky,” I ran to the nearest window, “Help me out.”

Catching on quick, he raised his metal arm and landed a whopping punch, shattering the glass and leaving a gaping hole. I took a few steps back and took a running start, ignoring the sounds of Sam’s protests and diving out the window. I threw my hands out to my sides and expelled energy, ceasing my fall and allowing me to shoot up higher in the air. I landed on the building’s roof, taking a look at the city below me and trying to spot Karli’s mop of red hair. I stayed atop the ledge searching until I heard gunshots from inside the building, dropping and flying back in through the broken window immediately. My blood ran cold with fear, Sam and Bucky weren’t where I had left them. I rushed down the closest hall, hearing a commotion from a room somewhere in the building and praying desperately that they weren’t in the middle of it. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been so relieved to see the two of them as when I’d spotted them after turning a corner. Upon hearing my boots slapping against the ground, Bucky and Sam turned, both their faces showcasing the same relief. “Thank God,” Sam breathed, waiting for me to catch up with them before tearing off again.

We ran through the building until we found the one hall we hadn’t been down yet, we entered to find quite the scene. Walker was standing over an unconscious Zemo, vials of the super serum smashed on the floor and no sign of Karli.

“What did we miss?” Sam asked, still a little breathless from our chase.

I wasn’t a naturally angry person, but the irateness I felt with John Walker was enough to make my face warm with rage. He had proved that arrogance and impatience were his main modes of operation. He had no problem giving the orders but following someone else’s lead was nearly unbearable for him. His eagerness to jump headfirst into battle may have served him well in aspects of his career, but in this case it had ruined everything.

“You said ten minutes,” I gritted out, staring down Walker from our position on the stairs. His eyes didn’t carry an ounce of remorse for what he had done. Without another word, I turned on my heels and stormed out of the room without waiting for Sam and Bucky. We’d come so far only to lose to a completely preventable situation. I’d never worked with Steve professionally, but I knew that he would have never have sabotaged a mission because of his ego. Just one more reason why John Walker could never truly be Captain America.

----

A/N: I find myself having to reel myself in when writing Walker or else I’ll let my hatred of him show through a little too much lol. Let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged :)

Safe Haven taglist: @tanyaherondale @wanniiieeee @asoftie4bucky @edencherries @i-reblog-fics-i-like @ttalisa @gcfty @withyoutilltheendofthismess @rinaispunk @weirdowithnobeardo @felicityofbakerstreet @godlypotterwhodiaries @eternalharry @voguesir @mizz-kraziii @okayline @smellmymisunderstoodfluff @wanderin-stories @nicklet94 @intricate-melody @aesthethickks @stumbleonmywords @simplybarnes @21bruhs @lostinwonderland314 @superbookishhufflepuff @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @zozebo @fandomxreaders @kittengirl998 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @i-know-i-can @x-judyjude-x @thebi-valkyrieofvalhalla @buckverse

#bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x platonic!reader #marvel imagine

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ladykissingfish · 3 years

Text

Under the Mistletoe with the Akatsuki // Part Six // Hidan

Hidan

“Ah; you fucking lucky bastards! I should charge you all for this; to kiss an elite follower of the mighty Jashin is a privilege you assholes don’t deserve. Except you, Konan. In fact if you want to move the mistletoe to my bedroom then — ow! OW!! Kakuzu let go!! I was only kidding; can none of you take a fucking joke?!”

Konan

She sighs before she goes to him. He’s made a big deal all day about kissing her in particular, although she doesn’t get why. She feels nothing other than friendship for him, and, despite his ramblings, she doesn’t think he feels anything stronger either. Nevertheless, it’s her turn. She steps up to him and he reaches out and takes her small hands, giving them a surprisingly gentle squeeze. “You ready for this, gorgeous?” But something about that, about the word “gorgeous”, sets off the normally calm Konan. She yanks her hands out of his and plants them on her hips. “Gorgeous, beautiful, sexy — that’s literally all you ever say to me. I’m more than a pair of tits; I have a fucking brain in this head!” Hidan blinks, startled. “That’s - the first time I ever heard ya curse, Konan.” He grabs her hands again. He speaks in a soft voice and apologizes, and tells her that he has nothing but respect for her. “I only wanna kiss you so bad ‘cuz you’re beautiful INSIDE and out, and you bring lots of light to my shitty darkness.” She blushes and thanks him, and he takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss her lips. Just a soft touch, but both of them are smiling afterwards.

Deidara

Both of them are hesitant to do this, to say the least. Hidan won’t ever admit this, but he’s held a small physical attraction to Deidara since the day they met. Very small, and *purely* physical, but still. He doesn’t like thinking about it, because to do so would be him admitting to himself that his own sexuality isn’t as black and white as he’d thought it to be. He tells himself that if he likes Deidara at all, it’s simply because the guy looks ridiculously similar to a woman. Deidara doesn’t wish to kiss Hidan because, although HE will never admit to it, Hidan scares him. The man’s proven immortality throws a wrench into Deidara’s long-held ideals of what life (and art) are ultimately about: beauty made greater by virtue of being fleeting. But Hidan being able to live forever — could it be that Deidara’s partner Sasori has been right this whole time? That art really is eternal? Still, everyone is watching, so the two shake off their feelings, and Deidara approaches him. “Keep your tongue in your mouth, okay?” “Same goes for you, blondie.” Hidan gives himself very quick peck to the lips, but both men are blushing quite hard regardless. And even as brief as that was — Hidan makes note to ask Deidara what kind of shampoo he used later, because he smelled absolutely incredible.

Kisame

After the last kiss between them, when it was Kisame’s turn, Hidan is hesitant to get close to this guy again. But Kisame is grinning, and appears to be in a good mood. “Ah, come now, Hidan; surely we can let bygones be bygones?” Hidan starts to curse at him, but catches himself just in time: after all, his mouth was what got him into trouble last time. So he merely nods and stands still, while Kisame approaches him. “Are you afraid, Hidan?” “Ah? Why would I be —“ “I can smell the fear coming from you.” Hidan folds his arms in front of his chest and demands to know who wouldn’t be afraid at the thought of possible dismemberment. Kisame just laughs and promises he’ll behave himself. He leans in, locks eyes with Hidan, and flashes his teeth — before giving Hidan a closed-mouth kiss on the forehead. Hidan let’s out a shaky sigh of relief, and Kisame walks away, laughing.

Itachi

Like Deidara, Hidan has a bit of a grudge against the raven-haired Uchiha. He’s fallen victim before to the power of Itachi’s sharingan, and the calm, quiet way that Itachi reacts to Hidan’s jabs and wheedles always serve to irritate. But even so — Hidan has to admit that the guy isn’t all THAT bad (certainly not the hell-spawn that Deidara makes him out to be, anyway). There was a time once when Hidan caught a cold, and Itachi braved going into his room to bring him a cup of sinus-clearing tea. Itachi steps up to him and nods, and Hidan leans forward and kisses him on the cheek. An oddly sweet gesture, and one that Itachi seems to like, as he actually smiles before he leaves. Hidan watches him go, thinking (and not for the first time) that having a talent like the sharingan is completely wasted in someone who isn’t immortal. Maybe he should talk to him later about joining the Jashinist movement ...

Pein (Nagato)

If the Akatsuki is a family, and everybody (save Konan) are Pein’s children, then Hidan is undoubtedly the problem child of the group. The loudest, the most foul-mouthed, definitely the most violent ... but still. When Hidan could find an ounce of maturity, and focus, he was one of the best members of the team. And Nagato finds his regenerative abilities to be amazing, and, if there was ever the time and opportunity for it, would love to study Hidan in-depth. Pein approaches him and Hidan bows his head, an act of respect he gives to the Leader ... and ONLY the Leader. Pein delivers a light kiss to the forehead and walks away. He can hear Hidan mumbling behind him about “those damn piercings could kill somebody” but chooses to ignore it.

Zetsu

Oh, God. Hidan smells like human blood most of the time (thanks to his many gory sacrifices), and Zetsu is attracted to this scent like a bee is to a flower. He’d hang around this guy all day if he could, if not for the smell then to act as clean-up for the bits and pieces of his victims that he leaves behind. But Hidan doesn’t quite care for the plant man, to say the least. He didn’t sign up for the Akatsuki to be made to work alongside non-human freaks of nature. When Zetsu walks up to Hidan, the gray-haired jashin lover is nervous, to say the least. Zetsu puts his hand on Hidan’s face, leans in, and kisses his nose. It should only take a second, but Zetsu lingers over the spot for an abnormal amount of time ... and Hidan realizes it’s because he’s sniffing him, like an animal. “Okay, freak; get the hell away from me!” But Zetsu doesn’t move, in fact tightening his grip on Hidan’s face. Hidan is surprised; Zetsu is quite a bit stronger than he’d realized. His surprise turns to fear when the expression in Zetsu’s eyes shifts, and Hidan hears a very noticeable stomach-growl come from him. Hidan is seconds away from fight or flight (he hasn’t quite decided yet) when Tobi comes into the room, seemingly breaking the trance Zetsu had been in. Hidan breathes out a sigh of relief as zetsu keaves, giving silent thanks to the moron in the mask.

Tobi

After “scaring” Zetsu away, Tobi gleefully announces that its his turn with Hidan. “Ohh boy, Hidan-san! You and Tobi are gonna have fun!” Hidan is actually quite eager for this; not so much for the kiss itself, but for his chance to see this freak up close and unmasked. Tobi looks behind him; nobody else is around. He turns back to Hidan and slides his mash halfway off his face, revealing his pale skin, dark, long-lashed eyes, and full lips, pursed into a grin. Getting closer, Hidan can detect faded, jagged lines extending from the right side of his forehead to the bottom of his mouth. Still, even with them — “Fucking hot”, Hidan mutters, the words slipping out before he can stop them. Tobi grins and cups Hidan’s face, staring into his eyes. “So are you,” he murmurs, and is it Hidan’s imagination or is his voice ... different, somehow? Well, no time to think about it; suddenly Tobi’s (unbelievably soft) lips are on his own, and for the first time since this encounter started, Hidan feels a feather-touch of unease. The way Tobi’s kissing him ... this isn’t how an idiot kisses. What in the name of Jashin — and then just as quickly as it began, it ends. Tobi slides his mask back into place, and skips off to the kitchen. Hidan has to take a few moments to collect himself, and in the way-back of his mind is a small voice urging him to warn Deidara to watch himself around Tobi. About what? Hidan doesn’t know the specifics. All he knows is those two are alone a LOT for missions, and if Tobi really is more than he seems, then — But then again, why should he care what happens with the blonde jerk, anyway?

Sasori

Another person that annoys Hidan. He was in the Akatsuki for almost an entire year before he’d realized that the ugly body that he was in, wasn’t even his own. His surprise when he witnessed a hatch open and a childlike-looking redhead step out was unprecedented. Learning that he was in his 30’s meant that Hidan should have shown him the proper respect, but Hidan just couldn’t take orders from somebody with the face of a young boy. Sasori seems to know this, and therefore avoids interactions with him as much as possible. Now, however, contact is unavoidable. “Can you even reach my face, shorty?” Sasori tilts his head and seems to really be considering Hidan’s question. Suddenly, without warning, Sasori’s wooden arm detaches itself from Sasori’s body, and hits Hidan full-force in the center of his stomach. Hidan curses and doubles over, and while he’s bent Sasori takes the opportunity to go to Hidan and kiss his forehead. “I can reach you just fine, brat,” he murmurs, before leaving. Hidan has a quick recovery time to all forms of pain, and he’s quickly back on his feet, staring after Sasori with anger — and a tiny bit of admiration.

Kakuzu

“Hey old fucker; you’ve been waiting all day to get a taste of this, eh?” Kakuzu just rolls his eyes at Hidan’s comment. He’s not sure what he did, either in this life or another one, to be partnered with a creature as odious as Hidan. Normally with people that Kakuzu finds no value in, he kills, plain and simple. But Hidan is neither plain nor simple; no matter what Kakuzu hits him with, he keeps getting back up, just as loud and irritating as ever. But ... even someone as gruff as Kakuzu has to admit that Hidan isn’t all that bad. It’s actually a bit lovely, to have found another person (besides Sasori, who has made it clear that when everyone else expires, his complete solitude is something he’s looking forward to) to be with to share the blessing (and curse) of immortality. He walks up to Hidan and grabs him by the forearms, forcing him into stillness. “What the hell, old man?! Let go of me before —“ but Kakuzu interrupts him by inclining his neck and kissing his lips. Hidan’s mouth is soft, and he has a taste to him, something akin to cinnamon or pumpkin. Kakuzu let’s go of him and starts to walk away, when suddenly Hidan reaches out grabs him, pulling him into another kiss. Kakuzu is surprised, but he makes no attempt to break Hidan’s hold on him because ... this is nice. This feels good, this feels natural. Almost like — and then a sudden explosion makes them both jump; Tobi comes running past them, with Deidara (and his bombs) on his heels. “Get back here you little shit!!” Kakuzu sighs, and this time when he turns to go, Hidan doesn’t stop him. But Kakuzu can feels Hidan’s eyes on him, following him all the way to his room.

#the akatsuki #under the mistletoe #kissing #hidan #kakuzu #deidara #sasori #tobi #zetsu #pein #nagato #konan #kisame #itachi uchiha

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yaya-does-things · 4 years

Text

Raihan x reader: Wonderful

Oh geez. Here we go. So like this is my first fanfic on here? I’m just vibing with Pokemon right now and Raihan is my man, soooooo yeah, hope this is entertaining enough oop

Word count: 5053

Warnings: just some suggestiveness???

Warm rays of sunlight flowed into the bedroom from a single window, hitting the dresser with a glow of yellow. The crystal bottles filled with fragranced liquids lining the countertop shone pastel blues and yellows, reflecting those colors through them onto the wall. The rest of the room wasn’t as bright, the small desk and chair still basking in the darkness in the corner. The bed radiated only a slight amount of the light, only the bottom edges filled with its warmth.

Perhaps this was a reason for the sudden stirring from underneath the blue sheets of the bed. The slight warmth could be felt on their toes, legs shifting to be tucked closer to their cool form. Their torso flipping from one side to the other, arms moving above their head to be tucked under a plush pillow. It wasn’t until the shift of their face from the darkness to the rising light that their features also moved. A bat of their lashes. A twitch of their nose. The move of a hand to run through the messy tresses of their hair would let tired eyes open. A blink or two, then closed again with a scrunch of exhausted annoyance. Their torso moved again, shifting to the darker side, hoping to fall asleep once more.

A few moments. A sigh. Then, the dark eyes of the girl lying on the bed opened. She rubbed at her face, moving her hair from her eyes as they started to focus. She was facing a wall, her eyebrows furrowing at this knowledge. She quickly sat up, instantly regretting her decision as soon as a pounding headache came flooding into her skull. She flung her hand to her forehead with eyes squeezed shut. The pain was unbearable, but the unfamiliarity she possessed was her priority. She slowly opened an eye. Then the other. Her hand was still in place, the pounding in her head not easing in the slightest. She looked around the room. Slowly. Nervously. She saw a grey dresser sitting near the bed, the light streaming in from the window across from it, allowing the dresser to bask in its brightness. She looked across from her, noting the posters and picture frames lining the wall. The glare from the light made the glass frames impossible to see through. She noted the desk with papers scattered across it. Then to the chair, tucked neatly into the desk, and yet, saw something that made her head ache much more than it already did. A bright red bra hung from the edge of the chair.

Her bright red bra.

The one she had been wearing the night before.

Then the fuzziness in her head cleared up for a moment as it finally dawned on her.

“Oh no.”

With a swift snap of her head to the right, disregarding the pain in her skull, she finally acknowledged the figure soundly sleeping beside her. The blue bed sheet was draped up to his chin, his dark face looking peaceful with his eyes shut. To be frank, she found him beautiful.

But that didn’t change anything.

She had slept with him.

Of course she couldn’t remember the previous evenings events. She must have been drunk out of her mind. Which brought her to the conclusion of the unceasing headache. She groaned, rather loudly, and quickly covered her mouth. She looked over to the sleeping man beside her, hoping her sound was not loud enough to cause him to stir. She waited for at least a minute. After what felt like eternity, she decided he would not wake up, and sighed in relief. She stared at him for a while longer, wondering how in the world she could have ended up in this position.

How did they meet?

Why could she have agreed to be taken home?

Was he at least good?

Her mind yearned for answers, but the pounding did not help as she searched for any possible memory of the night before. Then a decision was made. She needed to leave.

She unwrapped herself from the, quite honestly, soft covers, her naked form disgusting her as she carefully moved a leg over the edge of the bed. The other soon followed, and slowly, she slid herself off of the bed.

Now. For the harder part. How to find her clothes as quickly and quietly as possible.

She headed straight to where she saw her bra, swiftly grabbing it from its hanging position and fastening it to her body. She looked to the rest of the room, noting the mess it was in. A pair of socks near her foot. A black shirt on the dresser. Blue boxers with small dragons on them lying near the foot of the bed. Then she noted her own pair of underwear, seeming to have been thrown on the lamp shade without a care. The only problem, it was right near the man on the bed, who she quite honestly did not want to wake at all.

She slowly tiptoed over, feeling as if each step was getting louder and louder the closer she approached. She stopped once she was right near him. She reached for her important article of clothing, carefully sliding it off without making a sound. She deemed herself successful when it was in hand, but forgot the small detail of the man beside her. He flipped his body to face where she was standing, her half naked self still presented in all of its glory. She released a small yelp from her mouth and quickly threw a hand over her lips in horrified surprise. She glanced down at him, seeing that he was still, in fact, asleep. Yet another sigh of relief was released as her hand slid down to her chest. And here, she could get a good look at the stranger.

He was what anyone would call the embodiment of “tall, dark, and handsome.” From what she could see from the parts of him that wasn’t covered with the blanket, he was fine as hell. A toned chest, arms that definitely showed his muscles, and the sharpest jawline she could ask for. His hair was long, but tamed, simply pulled back into a bun where an undercut was also visible. She noticed the small hole on each earlobe, noting the fact that he most likely wore earrings.

To say the least, she had no idea why she would run away from such a fine specimen. He was an ideal man that she would love to wake up to every morning. How she ended up tangled with him was a puzzle she still needed to piece together, but seeing him sleeping so peacefully made her think over her decision of leaving.

Perhaps staying wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe something could start between the two of them. Maybe, if she slid back into bed with him and he woke up, something could spark up. Obviously, it would start as an awkward encounter, but perhaps it could lead to something. Something real.

She stared for a few moments longer, a hand subconsciously reaching out to stroke the side of his face. Her index finger was only a few inches from his cheek when she retracted it. She sighed. She knew better than that. Knew better to not expect anything to come from this. They both were most likely too drunk to know what they were doing. They were strangers anyway. She didn’t even know his name. So how then could she stay? No. That’s why she knew she made the right decision. She had to leave before anything she didn’t want to encounter would jump out at her.

So, she quickly found the rest of her articles of clothing, each one seeming to be in a different room of the apartment. Her bag was thankfully hanging on a hook on the wall near the front door, all of her belongings thankfully accounted for. She slipped on her heels, opened the front door, and exited the apartment, leaving without a second glance.

~~~

Arriving home was the easy part, but entering… Now that would be hard. As a person who lived with a roommate, she would not be let off easy for staying at someone else's home. She didn’t want nor need her roommate to ask stupid questions, especially not while her brain was still a painful mess. But, once that front door was opened, dread already entered her system. She entered slowly, poking her head in first, then swung the door open to let herself in. She felt slightly better as she saw no sign of her roommate. Kicking off her painful heels, and placing her purse on the kitchen table, she smiled to herself in triumph in avoiding her roommate.

“What’chu smiling about?”

She jumped in shock, finding her roommate leaning against the stove with a coffee cup near her lips. An eyebrow was raised as well, waiting for an answer.

“Noth-nothing. I’m not smiling. Why would I--” A groan left her lips as a wave of pain re-entered her head. She raised a hand to rub at her forehead. Her eyes were squeezed shut. An annoyed sigh could be heard from her roommate. Then footsteps, a sound of a cabinet opening. Objects being moved around, and then the closing of the cabinet.

“Here.” She was handed a pill as she reopened her eyes, her roommate filling up a glass of water to also give her. She flushed down the pill gladly, hoping her headache could ease up with its help. “Geez (nickname), you really need to take care of yourself.” Her roommate sighed as she passed her to sit in the living room. (Nickname) followed, her water in hand.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know.” She sat across from her roommate, looking down into the glass.

“So. Are you gonna tell me or not?”

(Nickname) looked up to her roommate, who gave the same questioning look as before.

“Well, I mean, I would Ness, but….”

“But what?”

(Nickname) gulped.

“I don’t really know what happened myself.”

Ness shook her head in disbelief.

“Are you being serious right now (Name)? You got so drunk that you can’t even remember? I looked for you like crazy. I called you I don’t even know how many times. I worried about you, and now you’re telling me you can’t even remember where you went?”

(Name) looked back down at her glass, feeling ashamed, but allowing herself to start to get upset as well.

“You didn’t need to worry about me Nessa! I’m a big girl! I can make my own decisions, okay? And…” a snippet of the events from the night before flashed in her head, “and it’s not like you even cared about me when we were out!”

“Excuse me?”

“You were doing your own thing! You left me alone to dance, especially when you know I wasn’t in the mood to be there last night! So of course, I had a few drinks, and-and when that-that guy, when he offered me another drink, I couldn’t say no!”

“Yes you could’ve!”

“No! I really could not have.”

“And why not?!”

(Name) paused. She remembered the beautiful sleeping face of the man from earlier, then regained a blur of him from the night before.

“Because... He was the most attractive person I’d ever seen.”

She turned, her face filled with a look of wonder. The image of him was returning from last night. She recalled his smile being rather charming. And how his eyes contrasted his dark skin in the prettiest hue of aquamarine. And how his outfit accentuated his lean figure, giving off a sophisticated look that also left room for the imagination of what could be underneath. She remembered sitting alone at the bar, a hand holding her chin as the other circled the brim of her martini glass. He had politely asked if the seat beside her was taken, waiting before she nodded to sit. She had sat quietly for some time before he turned to her and asked if she would like another drink. Turning her head to him in confusion and blinking twice with large eyes, she responded with a rather awkward yes, receiving a chuckle from him. Showing his lovely smile.

With this short glimpse, she looked back to Nessa, who was leaning forward and looking at (name) as if she was trying her hardest to imagine what she was thinking. (Name)looked up at the ceiling, then back to her roommate, all the while opening and closing her mouth several times before she finally spoke.

“I’d never seen him before. We’ve been out so many times, that usually there is always the same type of uninteresting guys,” her eyes moved back to her glass, “But… he was different. He had this weird vibe. I noticed him when he first walked in, and just brushed him off, thinking he was definitely way out of my league. I mean, come on. Did you see him?”

(Name) returned to look at Nessa, who shook her head in response.

“No? Oh… well that’s beside the point. The point is, he looked like he was just another one of those arrogant assholes that always walk in a bar. The ones that are hoping to find some random dumbass chick who’ll be too ditzy to realize all they want is to get in your pants. But, that wasn’t how he was. You know what I mean?”

Another shake of the head.

Then an annoyed sigh from the hopeful party.

“He was different is what I mean. He didn’t just take the seat next to me like any other guy who didn’t want to pay me any mind. He was polite. He asked me. He waited for a response. And I was listening to his conversation with his friend,” -- Nessa shook her head in disapproval -- “and he didn’t sound like such a jerk. In fact, it seemed like he was uninterested in being there in general. Most guys are there to check out girls and to get slammed! But, he just sat there, sipping his drink. And then, he turned to me.”

She tucked her legs beside her, a slight smile playing on her lips as she traced the rim of her glass. She continued.

“He looked like he was bored,” -- she chuckled-- “but he asked if I wanted a drink. And it surprised me. And I guess my reaction was funny because I mean, he laughed. And, may I say, it was the nicest laugh I’ve ever heard.”

Nessa smiled at this with a shake of her head. She put her hand out in a stop motion.

“How is that even possible?”

“What?”

“It being ‘the nicest laugh you’ve ever heard’?”

(Name) covered her face from slight embarrassment. She laughed again.

“I don’t know!” she said, her voice becoming noticeably higher. She bit her lip. “It… It just was!”

“Okay, okay,” Nessa laughed. “Continue.”

“Okay. So… hmm,” she pressed her lips together in thought, trying her hardest to remember what happened after that. “Well, I mean, it’s obvious I got a drink. And…”

She looked to Nessa, her memory returning in slow glimpses.

“I remember him being incredibly sweet. We just sat there and talked for a while. I can’t remember what about… but I do remember him being rather funny, and frankly, I don’t think any guy made me laugh as much as he did.”

She smiled brightly, but was slowly replaced by a frown.

“And then, his friend insisted on leaving, saying something about being pretty tired. He did look extremely out of it, but it seemed like the guy I was with didn’t want to go… and I didn’t want him to either. So, he excused himself and left. And there I was alone.”

(Name) stopped. She changed her attention to the outside, the curtains just open enough to see the bustling of the city. Nessa’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Then how did you end up with him?”

She slowly turned her head back to Nessa, but her eyes were still trained outside.

“I followed him out.”

Her eyes returned to Nessa.

“How? You said he left.”

“I sat there for a few minutes, contemplating on whether I should have gone or not. He did offer to take me home.”

“And he was still outside when you left?”

“Yeah… because he was waiting too. I guess he wanted me to follow… and I did.”

“And what about his friend?”

“I guess he got him a cab.”

“So… he just took you home?”

She paused. Then hummed in confirmation.

“Why?”

(Name) trained her eyes back to the outside, her face stoic as she absentmindedly continued to trace the rim of her glass.

“I don’t know. I was curious as to what he would do…”

Nessa’s eyes widened in horror. She opened her mouth to speak, but (name) beat her to it. She spoke quickly, just as fast as her head turned once again to Nessa.

“He took me home okay? I wanted him to. Sure, maybe I wasn’t in my right mind to make that decision, but I still went. And… he was sweet. Sure he took me home, but he made sure I was okay with everything he did…”

Then it all came flooding back.

There was the way their return to his home was almost silent, the soft sounds of lips tracing along different places on each other's faces and necklines. There was the way they exited their way of transportation, with hands wrapped tightly around the other as if either one let go, they would magically disappear. There was the way they entered his home, lips locked in such a passion that neither had ever experienced before. There was the difficulty to stay sane, with the warmth that they both emitted calling loudly to them in hopes of exiting their clothing as soon as possible. Then, there was the softness that they experienced as they explored each other, tender touches that were placed with each word of sweet praise. And to top it all, there was not only the lovely feeling of being at the top of the world, but there was warmth and the feeling of calmness as they laid in each others arms. Even with no strings attached, and knowing they were nothing to the other, there was still the feeling of closeness, and the slight tinge of what could be a grasp of love.

All of this was rushing into (name)’s mind, but there was no way she could express this to her friend. She realized that this was hers, and perhaps she would keep it that way. And perhaps she might never see the beautiful stranger that she spent a lovely night with again, but that would not stop her from hoping. She would never regret what she did, because if she did, she would have to live with that burnden for the rest of her life, and perhaps keeping it as something she found wonderful was the best thing she could ask for.

“Look, it’s okay. I’ve done this before --”

“I know you’ve done this before! And you really shouldn’t!”

(Name) sighed. She looked to Nessa with a slight look of sadness.

“Yeah. I know. Don’t you think I know that? It’s just -- It’s hard. No one ever seems to care about me. I can’t ever find anyone to care. But--but this time was different! I--I know it was. He was different. Out of all the guys I’ve found myself with, he was the one who seemed like he cared the most. He was soft and only did what I was comfortable with, and he was so sweet and...” -- Nessa’s expression softened, a look of pity now etched onto her features -- “...and maybe I’m wrong! Maybe… maybe you’re right! Maybe he was just using me. Acting like he was wonderful just to get what he wanted…” she gasped, looking away as her eyes glossed over. “Oh geez. Why am I so stupid?”

Her hand flung to her face, as she started to cry. It hurt her more than anything to see that not only had she been played, but that she had always been playing herself. All the times she found herself in someone else’s bed made the feeling of loneliness grow more and more. She knew she didn’t need anyone to please her, but she wanted something. Something real. Not just something that lasted only a night. And this, this thought only made her cry even harder.

As for Nessa, the growing pity grew within her. She had no idea how to comfort her because she knew deep down that she could never understand what her friend really wanted. She could never grasp the empty feeling that lay inside her. The only way of comfort she knew was to sit beside her and let her cry. A soothing hand was placed on her shoulders, and she waited for her to calm a bit.

“I’m sorry (nickname),” she finally mustered to say, “I know that you feel like this, but I don’t think you should worry about it too much. Don’t you remember? You’re a strong, independent girl who don’t need no man. So…”

Her words trailed into nothingness. She knew she wouldn’t be able to say anything else that would help. Only time could tell what (name) would do next, and honestly it frightened her. She didn’t want her friend to do anything irrational. She didn’t want her to make a decision that could lead to something she didn’t want. She cared about her too much. And so, with all the love she had for her, she decided to put it upon herself to help her out. To give her someone she herself could approve of. But… who?

~~~

It had been a few weeks since that morning. A few weeks since (name) had cried over the realization of her loneliness. A few weeks since Nessa decided to take it upon herself to find someone sufficient for (name)’s needs.

It was easy enough finding people for her, as being a gym leader led to knowing a lot of people. She had set (name) up with the leader of Turrfield, her close friend Milo. She knew his sweet nature would perhaps draw some interest out of her roommate, but with one date, it seemed she was not keen to approve. Nessa had no idea why of course but… that was because she thought she didn’t. She did, however, secretly know (name) wouldn’t settle unless she knew the guy she had spent that night with was completely gone from her life. It also didn’t help that she had no idea what his name was, or how she could find him. So, the only way to help her forget about him, was to find someone new. Someone who could give her something she wanted.

Nessa had tried several times to no avail, setting (name) up with some of her other gym leader friends that she knew. Apparently Gordie was much too overbearing and cocky, while Piers was too shy and soft spoken. Nessa even was able to get her a date with the unbeatable champion himself, but it seemed as if she was as uninterested in him as she was in the rest.

Nessa was bound to give up, until Leon reminded her of the other eligible gym batchelor. Even if she did remember the dragon tamer, she wasn’t sure if she was all too crazy with allowing her best friend to go out with someone like Raihan. Sure, she knew he was extremely sweet, but the feral way he battles has always rubbed her the wrong way. Sure, that’s just his style, and maybe she shouldn’t judge, but she wasn’t sure. Nonetheless, she had to try once more, at least for her friend.

“Hey (nickname), so I was thinking… maybe you can give Raihan a shot?” Nessa asked. The two were stationed in the kitchen, (name) sitting on the counter being completely unproductive while Nessa prepared dinner for the evening.

“No.”

Nessa spun quickly, probably the fastest she’s ever turned before.

“No? Why not!?”

“Because I don’t want to. I’m tired of all the people you’ve been setting me up with,” she sighed, and jumped off of the counter, “maybe I’ll just go back to the bar and drown my sorrows… and maybe make another bad decision to hook up with some rando. That always makes me feel better.”

The sarcasm was thick in her voice. It made Nessa cringe at the thought.

“Please. Don’t do that.”

(Name) waved her hand in dismissal.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I won’t… not now at least.”

She opened the fridge, looking for nothing in particular, then closed it again.

“(Name).”

A snicker.

“I’m serious though. Give Raihan a shot. You might like him.”

“Oh like how I ‘might like’ the other guys you set me up with? Yeah no thanks.”

“(Nickname), you didn’t even give them a chance!”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. Why should it matter?” -- she returned to her seat on the counter -- “You’re curry’s burning.”

Nessa gasped, turning back to the stove to turn it off. She shook her head then continued to speak.

“Look. If you go out with him, I promise I’ll stop. If you don’t like him then that’s the end. I’ll admit defeat, and call it the end of me helping you with your dating life. But don’t come crying to me when you find yourself in another situation that won’t lead you to something you want.”

She looked back for an answer, finding (name) picking at her fingernails.

“Fine. I’ll go.”

~~~

By the next day, (name) found herself sitting alone at the Hulbury Seafood Restaurant, glancing out of the glass windows at the harbor below. It was a lovely view. The sky was clear save a few clouds, and the lighthouse looked as nice as always. Even Nessa’s gym could be seen in all of its glory. The boats at doc bobbed up and down, and the quiet, uninteresting view made the staring outside rather boring. She sighed, placing her hand under her chin to hold it up. She had been waiting for a while now, and felt that this Raihan guy was probably never coming. She was just about to slide out of her seat when she heard a slightly familiar voice.

“Mind if I sit?”

She moved her head to face the voice, and just like that her eyes grew wide and her heart began to race. She swallowed, nodded, a shy chuckle coming from the man as he sat across from her.

“Sorry, I’m so late… I just…. Um….”

He stared at her for a few moments, not knowing how to continue. There was an awkward air about them, but she finally spoke.

“S-so… you’re Raihan… right?”

“Yeah…. And you’re…. (name)?’

“Yeah…”

Another long pause. Both eyes looking elsewhere.

“Why did you leave?”

She looked back to him.

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean….”

She looked at him with her eyebrows knit together, feigning confusion just to see how he would continue. He sighed, and ran a hand across his face. He looked outside again, trying his best to hide his embarrassment.

“I-I mean, I woke up and you, well I mean you weren't there, and… gosh I’m so sorry,” he apologized with his hands covering his face. It was silent for a moment, then she let out a laugh.

“It’s… okay. It’s not your fault. I was the one --”

“But it is my fault. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. I… well I mean, I knew you were drunk but I still took you home with me and I knew I shouldn’t have, but you were just so amazing so I figured how could I not. But then I saw that you left and wondered why and then I realized you must have been so confused and --”

Another laugh. He stopped. His face was even more red than before.

“Look it’s really okay. It’s not your fault. I went along ---”

“But I insisted --”

“You did no such thing. I--”

“But I did!”

“No you did not! You left me remember? I followed you on my own accord.”

He opened his mouth again, but stopped. He looked off in thought, then his eyes widened in realization.

“Yeah but that’s because I waited for you…”

She shook her head.

“And I followed because I wanted you.”

Silence.

They both just stared at the other. Then he spoke.

“You did?”

A nod.

He smiled.

“Y’know, you’ve been stuck in my head for I don’t know how long. I mean, when I first met you, I thought you were something, but then when we were together? You-- I--I just found you so wonderful and --”

“You did?”

“Huh? Um… yeah…”

Another pause. He looked embarrassed again.

“I thought you were too…”

“You… did?”

She hummed in response, then continued to say, “And… aha, and that’s why I went with you… because I found you so confusingly different, that I had to… um stay with you.”

“Then why did you leave?”

The initial question had returned. This time, it was easy to respond.

“Because…. I was scared. How was I supposed to know you felt the same way? That’s why--”

“That’s why you should have stayed.”

She stared at him for a moment.

“Don’t you think I wanted to? I really did. But, I mean, how was I supposed to know? I was in someone else’s room, and… it scared me. So I panicked. And I saw you, someone I didn’t know, and my head was pounding and --”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I should have expected that. I just really hoped it wouldn’t, and it ended up happening. And it does make sense because, it is true that we don’t know each other. Like, at all…” he said, softly. He slowly reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tenderly in his. “So…. why don’t we start over. And maybe we can get to know each other properly this time?”

She looked to their intertwined hands, feeling the same sort of heat that she felt all those weeks ago. She smiled.

“I would love to.”

#raihan #raihan x reader #pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #pokemon imagines #x reader #pokemon ness #pokemon piers #pokemon gordie #pokemon milo #pokemon leon

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virmillion · 5 years

Text

Love is a Four Letter Word

Summary: Everyone has magic, and it’s really nothing special at all. Just another skill, sort of like a sixth sense. Roman is not particularly fond of his brand of magic, and sets off to find Thomas—the one person rumored to not have any magic at all.

Ships: platonic logince (more like acquaintances tbh)

Words: 12,758

Warnings: implied major character death, Less Than Happy backstories, some bullying, unhappy ending, let me know if there’s anything else needing tagging

Check it out on ao3!

Roman shoulders his bag up higher, nodding a farewell to everybody in one swift motion without directly acknowledging any of them. He glances over the crumpled piece of paper one last time, reassuring himself that he knows what he’s doing. Past the end of the line is a man free of magic by the name of Thomas. Sticking the page back in his pocket, Roman triple-checks that he has more than enough money for a train ride that long. At the very least, it should be enough to get him well past the reach of anyone in this city.

Everybody falls over themselves to bid him farewell as he makes the trek down to the train station, trying to offer absent smiles to anyone drawing near enough to see his expression. Their words all sound the same after an incredibly short while, all impersonal pleas for him to stay, to help.

“Roman, please hang around, I need your magic to lock down my boyfriend!”

“Roman, can you use some of that energy to bring up the positivity for after you’re gone?”

“Roman, would you bloom this flower early so I can impress my wife?”

“Roman, I need you to funnel me some confidence for my interview tomorrow!”

It only becomes more obvious with every plea that chases him further from the center of town that these people only kept him around to boost their own spirits—always at the expense of his own happiness, but no one ever asks about that. Not when they can get manufactured love for free. Sure, it saps Roman’s energy to use his magic, but doing so is the only way he can feel wanted anymore, and isn’t that enough to justify exhausting his supply for these people? No, he doesn’t know their names, their faces, their histories, but at least they keep him around.

Roman has been waiting for weeks to board a train heading in this direction, all the way to the end of the line. He passes the engineer a fistful of bills, requesting to ride the train as far as it’ll go. The engineer nods him on, seemingly unsurprised by the destination. “Passenger cars are that way. Bit of a bumpy ride near the end, though.”

“Where would we be without some good old ominous foreshadowing?” Roman mutters to himself, slipping through the cars and tamping down the bubbles of joy trying to stir in his stomach. He’s already wearing an oversized turtleneck to hide his face, so there’s certainly no need to broadcast his reputation as the resident magicker of love to the whole train.

None of the cars he sees are empty, but the third to last one is about as close as he suspects he’ll get. Just one passenger, who’s busy fiddling with a pile of shiny silver shards in his lap. They share a brief nod, acknowledging each other’s presence the way only two complete strangers can, after which Roman allows the neck of his shirt to slip just a little lower down his chin. The guy doesn’t seem like the type to jump up and fawn over Roman for a little extra cheer boosting his day, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry. Roman has seen many a person desperate for his help simply for the sake of an easier day, completely ignoring how much it saps his own energy. Hopefully this trip will solve all of that.

Roman continues on to the third to last seat—three is his lucky number—and exhales as quietly as he can manage, resting his head against the glass and watching the incessant crowds waving from the station. He doesn’t recognize a single person among them.

It’s pretty obvious that they’re searching for a sign of him through the tinted glass, hoping to siphon off just a little more love before he goes, and Roman wonders whether his resolve will hold out long enough to avoid that. He almost wants to leap through the window and into their adoring arms, to feel them welcome him back home, even if he knows it will help absolutely anyone except himself. Better not to, given what happened the last time he gave too much. Roman is terrified of ever giving too much again. He feels himself on the verge of breaking this time, and he might’ve just let himself give in, were it not for the train engine rumbling to life and knocking his head against the window.

Roman allows himself a soft, agitated ow under his breath, wincing as he presses his palm to his skull. By the time the pain wears off, the station is shakily bouncing off into the distance. He doesn’t allow himself to watch as it disappears.

The steady rocking of the train drags him into a fitful sleep, promising no rest behind his closed eyelids. His dreams are messy, just distant flashes of memories, of things he should’ve done, should’ve said, things he wishes he hadn’t and the letter R swirling in in dizzying circles around his head, hammering his brain like so many wasps forced through a long winter with minimal warmth and food. Amidst his short bouts of wakefulness, he tries to ignore the pounding headache on the rise, instead watching the rolling hills of lively green give way to dirt and mud, then to hundreds of thousands of barren tree stumps, all melting together in a mix of nothingness that envelopes his dreams in a cushion of hollow green love.

When he wakes, Roman shouts the name ricocheting inside his head, then immediately claps a hand over his mouth. He holds it firmly in place with the other, then glances at a beanpole of a man hovering to his left.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine,” beanpole interrupts. The guy that was messing with the silver stuff when Roman first boarded. Beanpole jerks his chin toward the window, then offers a hand to Roman. “Train’s down. Everybody off.”

Roman absently takes his hand, looking back at the window. Depot town. Not the most clever name, to be sure, but he’s got nothing against this place. Well, one thing, but it’s not a big thing. Well, it’s a pretty big thing. Well, it’s actually the only thing Roman can hold against a place, but it’s fine. He’s fine. It’s the worst possible place this train could have broken down, but it’s fine and he’s fine and everything’s fine, so stop asking.

“Name’s Logan,” beanpole continues, leading Roman to the front of the train. “Guess you slept through the announcement, since you took so long to hear me asking you to get up. They hit some problem in the engine or something, and they’re enlisting anyone that can offer specialized magic to fix it.”

“That’s, um, I don’t think I can help you there. My name’s Roman, by the way.”

“Pleasure. I wasn’t asking for your help, merely informing you of the situation. At which stop were you intending to depart?”

“I don’t know its name, but whatever the last one is.”

Logan stops at the last step leading out of the train, turning around to squint at Roman’s face—well, as best he can, what with the turtleneck in the way. “End of the line guy, hm?”

“Something like that.” Roman shuffles off the train behind Logan, glancing around the town. Well, the area just before the town—they pretty much broke down right outside civilization, not to mention that the designated train station is well near the opposite end of the town. Certainly not ideal. “Did they say what was wrong with the train?”

“Just that it’s down. Something with the machinery. I’ll figure it out.”

“Why you?”

Logan whips his head around—sharper this time, almost indignant. “Why not me? Why anyone else but me?”

Roman pulls his lips between his teeth and looks away, his face flushing bright red under the scrutiny of such an imposing figure. “Never mind.”

Logan sighs and pulls off his glasses—there’s an odd green glint along the lens, something Roman hadn’t noticed before. He watches Logan hold them aloft with one hand, lifting his other as if to present them to an enraptured audience. With a simple flick of his fingers, the glasses wobble themselves into the air, hovering a few inches above Logan’s open palm.

As the glasses levitate on their own, listing just a touch to the right, Logan whirls his hands around them, pinching and pulling as if he were trying to knot a length of string without overlapping the loops. Slowly but surely, the sleek frames stretch and pull at each other, separating into hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny pieces sparking with bright blues and fiery purples. The sparks flicker off, and Roman flinches away from one on instinct—even showy magic can scar.

There’s a soft pop, like someone blowing a sharp puff of air into a closed pair of hands, and the glasses click back together, almost identical to when Logan began his little charade. The only thing is that now, well, they look ever so slightly different. The green of the lenses is much more prominent, almost a pastel tone that nearly blocks out Logan’s eyes when he replaces them on his face.

“Neat party trick,” Roman says finally, uncertain how to react to Logan’s flat manner of demonstrating his magic. Most people only tend to use their magic when they need it or when they’re hassling Roman for favors, not to impress some stranger beside a broken down train.

“It’s not a party trick,” Logan says, rolling his eyes. “I manipulate any technology I’ve taken the time to sit down and understand, which includes those that I’ve built.” He adjusts his glasses, as if it wasn’t obvious enough that that’s what he was talking about. “What I just did, crossing these wires, fusing those pins, what you so callously called a party trick? I switched around the core function. I can now effectively see any major malfunction that may not be immediately apparent to untrained eyes.”

Roman instinctively crosses his arms over his body, not wanting to know what major malfunctions might lie under his thin cotton shirt.

“Not like that, that’s a different setting. This is more for inorganic creations, like the train engine.” Logan gestures to his left, surprising Roman with how quickly they’d arrived at the front. “Remember what I was saying about specialized magic?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m the specialized magic. Thanks for the entertainment. It shouldn’t be long before the train is up and running again, though I wouldn’t hang too close by. Don’t want any techno flares flying off at the wrong moment.” Logan flashes a grin as he holds up a finger, letting a burst of sparks shower from the tip like fireworks. Roman takes the hint, quickly backing up to join the small group huddled a decent distance from the tracks. Not too many people staying on this far down the line.

He watches as Logan kneels beside the engineer at the base of the train, the pair quietly mumbling to each other as Logan waves his slender fingers around a large sheet of metal. In a flash, it smoothly glides off and hovers in the air over Logan’s head, easily poised to slice through skin at a moment’s notice. Logan doesn’t seem to care. He only leans in further, picking at some of the pieces inside the train, none of which Roman can see through Logan’s body. Quickly bored with watching Logan’s relatively still back, Roman glances around at the other stranded passengers.

A few talk amongst themselves, debating whether it’d be worth it to just walk the rest of the way to town and grab a drink while they wait for the specialized magickers to do their thing. Others lean forward over an invisible barrier, desperate to see what kinds of tricks the magickers can pull off with such a large and detailed engine, but clearly hesitant to get too close. There’s a lone mother standing off to the side, desperation in her eyes as she tries to maintain her composure while soothing her wailing baby. A few of the passengers that were discussing getting drinks shoot her nasty looks, but these, of course, do nothing to silence the distressed child.

“You told yourself you wouldn’t do this anymore,” Roman mumbles under his breath, more of a soft chastising than a reminder of a promise destined to be broken the moment it was made. He focuses in on the sound of the mother’s soft voice, amplifying it in his head until her hushed tones, her reassuring coos, her indescribable love flows like a serene river through a spring of endless flowers in his mind, growing and expanding and opening the world into the hope and joy and life that supports the love flowing through it all.

Roman takes this energy, feels it course around his heart, doing cheerful little loop-de-loops and excited hops that lift the corners of his lips, and he sighs softly, picturing his breath floating on the breeze, buffeted by the whispered gossip of the cherry blossom petals dancing across the landscape. He imagines his breath taking life, a pure wave of bright blue that almost blends in with the picturesque sky above, drifting over the heads of the grumbling passengers, teasing at the ends of the mother’s hair and lifting the tips as if there were fairies playing hide and seek on her shoulders. The mother’s voice takes on a new strength, bolstered by a laugh with no source as she bounces the baby and smiles in relief at its face, watching those rosy cheeks puff up with a big breath as the baby inhales the delightful air and releases a bright, burbling laugh, an elated giggles that echoes back into the wind, returning Roman’s joy to the air and spreading a thin layer over the world with the rebound of its happiness.

Roman smiles to himself, feeling the muted sparks of magic intertwine with the spirits of the passengers, all of whom seem to exhale just a little bit in tandem with the baby, suddenly filled with an inexplicable and untraceable sense of rightness. Something in their lifted attitudes allows Roman to forget just how much energy that one sapped out of him.

He glances back to the engine, where he can almost see Logan’s stiff posture relaxing as a display like an explosion of colors shoots out from his hands, whipping his hair up into a quiff for just a moment before it settles back into its usual stern state. Logan sits back on his haunches and cocks his head to the side, pointing at something as he speaks lowly with the engineer.

Specialized magic, indeed.

“Ahem, your, ah, your attention please, esteemed passengers!” the engineer calls, rising to all his four foot eleven glory. Roman turns to face him along with everyone else. “We have gotten the train back, ah, back in working order, it seems, but we want to, erm, we are going to run a quick diagnostic check to ensure the problem will not, eh, reappear.” Roman is pretty sure he catches Logan rolling his eyes at that, but the tint of his green lenses makes it too hard to be certain. “It will probably take us, erm, at least a couple of hours, so I suggest you all, ah, head over to Depot town and see all the attractions they have to offer and enjoy!” This is met with far fewer grumbles than might be expected, and Roman tries not to preen at the knowledge that his magic played some part in that. “I hear they have, eh, an excellent selection of pubs!”

Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek, watching most of the passengers turn toward the town. One of them lags behind to walk beside the mother, and they both share a hearty laugh when the baby does whatever baby thing it is that they find so funny. He looks to the engineer, who is profusely shaking Logan’s hand, while Logan looks just a little bit bewildered as he adjusts his glasses.

Once Logan finally frees himself from the engineer’s grip, he ambles over to Roman, who busies himself looking anywhere but at those green glasses. “Y’know,” Logan says, removing the frames and scrubbing at them with the underside of his shirt, “I am pretty good at what I do. I’ve fixed many a mechanical issue, simply by applying my knowledge regarding the technology at work behind the problem. What I do not understand is how a train engine, the exact model of which I have never personally seen before, suddenly put itself back into working order with me only needing to lift three fingers in the process.” Logan cocks his head to the side and peers at Roman, a strangely personal expression without the glasses to deflect his gaze. “It usually takes at least five.”

“Magic’s funny that way,” Roman says with an uncomfortable laugh.

Logan lingers on Roman’s face a moment longer, just beyond what could be called reasonable, before he straightens and looks toward the town. “I suppose it is. Let me buy you a drink, and we’ll discuss what else is so funny about magic.” Roman swallows thickly and nods, watching Logan take a few steps toward the town as he begins whirling his fingers around his glasses again. It’s not until Logan gets a solid fifteen feet away that Roman realizes he’s supposed to walk with him, and he trips over himself to catch up.

“You ever been to Depot town before?” Logan asks, holding his glasses over his head and squinting through the lens at the sun.

“Once or twice,” Roman says. Try a hundred times.

“Interesting.” Logan puts his glasses back on and turns to Roman, quirking his mouth to the side. “I don’t know if you could tell based on the mechanical manipulations, but I’ve just reworked the lenses to allow me to see when someone isn’t being entirely honest with me.”

“Oh, is that—I, um—okay, I did come here a lot with my family when I was little,” Roman admits.

“That so?” Logan chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Well, if I may be so candid in return—” He drops his voice to a whisper, forcing Roman to strain to hear it. “These aren’t truth-seeing lenses. I just know when someone’s a bad liar.”

“I am a great liar!” Roman protests.

“That so?” Roman is quickly getting tired of this refrain. He wonders how many more times he’ll have to hear it. “I suppose you’ll have to show me around town, then. I certainly don’t know which pub is the best.”

“Definitely not that one.” Roman waves a hand toward the bar nearest to the front entrance of the small town, where all the other passengers are flooding in like a line of ants. “They put it up to attract tourists like us, but the good stuff is way in the back, like a little secret for the locals.”

“Makes sense.”

With that, they weave their way through the town, careful not to trip over outcroppings of metal gears and wooden planks lining the dirt paths. Roman points out certain buildings as they pass them, returning excited waves from people who know him well enough not to question why he’s here without his family in tow.

“So over there’s the mill—they bring all the best raw wood in there, and the top magickers get their pick of the lot, since they’re usually sworn to funnel about ten percent of the work it brings them back into the town’s funds. Hey, Sigma, how goes it?” Roman nods to someone sitting in front of one of the only shops in town, lazily floating a steady stream of water from one pot to another. They wave back at Roman, the distraction big enough to shatter the rainbow of water over their head, the flow crashing down and soaking their hair.

“Stop doing that!” they shout, shaking their head and sending droplets flying.

“How else will you learn to focus?” Roman retorts with a laugh. The water charmer makes a motion like a conductor cutting off an orchestra, easily drawing all of the water into one big ball just beside their ear. A wicked grin crawls onto their face.

“Run,” Roman says softly, nudging Logan’s shoulder. As that smile grows, he says it more insistently, picking up the pace and urging Logan to “run, technerd, run!”

Logan complies easily, his long legs allowing him to keep up with Roman as they sprint away, dodging the drops of water that come hurtling for their heads.

“Sigma,” Roman huffs, “has never been,” huff, “one for,” huff, “practical jokes,” huff huff huff.

“It might help if you didn’t trick them into drenching themselves,” Logan points out, not struggling for his own breath in the slightest.

“Did I ask you?”

“You didn’t not ask me.”

“Well, I’m not un-didn’t asking you now.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Roman forces his feet to slow down as they approach a pathetic looking building near the outer limits of the town, where there’s hardly anything but homes and patches of dirt with a little more life than the other patches of dirt. He leans hard into the front door, ramming his shoulder into it a few solid times before it flies open and he goes sprawling across the floor.

“I believe I’m about two pages ahead of you now,” Logan says, bending down to offer him a hand. He helps Roman to his feet, and Roman can’t help but wonder whether that will be a recurring theme with this guy.

“Roman!” an angry voice yells from behind the bar. “I thought I told you to stay away!”

“Hey-ho-de-low, Jackie,” Roman says smoothly—well, as smoothly as anyone can say something so ridiculous. “What if I said I brought a peace offering? A technerd to fix that juke of yours?”

A sturdy little lady who just about tops out at Roman’s chin rounds the corner, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “I didn’t ask for no techie guy in my shop, either. Where’d you hide your family this time, huh? Where’s that boy y’had on your arm? Where’re the fancy stories and lies about why you didn’t bring your brother back around?”

“Your juke has been broken for ages,” Roman says, neatly dodging the other questions. “Let me let you let him fix it.”

“I never agreed to any such thing,” Logan sighs, but he grins at Jackie anyway. She returns the smile—an odd move, in Roman’s opinion. She never smiles at people she hasn’t met before. Although, despite her temper, Jackie always was a charmer. Maybe she just doesn’t like Roman. Of course, that’s an absurd theory, but it’s the only one he’s been able to come up with. Maybe Roman just isn’t that smart.

He moves for his usual seat in the corner, pressed up against the window with one wobbly stool and one wicker chair. He goes for the stool. To the sound of Logan and Jackie discussing the jukebox’s latest malfunction, Roman spins the stool round and round, until it won’t turn any way but right, and rests his chin on the windowsill.

Right out there, in the middle of that large ring of messy tire tracks dug artlessly into the mud, he allows his thoughts to wallow in their own emptiness, swirling up eddies of the forgotten carelessness of childhood hidden in the green grasses, the whole mess struggling to grow against the world of dirt trying to choke them out.

Roman sprinted across the open field, baring his teeth to the wind and imagining someone was using the sun as a camera to capture his every movement. He let out a whoop over his shoulder and yelled, “I’m eating bugs!”

“No you aren’t!” a voice behind him whined. “Stop eating the bugs!”

“I’m gonna eat all the bugs!” Roman insisted. Quick as a whip, he hit the dirt and dragged his hands through it, smearing the colors over his teeth. He spun around and grinned, feeling the mud squelch under his knees. “Look at all these yummy bugs!”

“You’re so gross,” Remy informed him, tripping over his feet as he stumbled to a stop beside Roman. “You didn’t even eat them, liar!”

“Did so!”

“Did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not! I can still see them all up on your teeth!”

“Nuh-uh!” Roman didn’t even flinch as he ran his tongue over his lips, wiping off the mug and flashing his not-very-pearly whites. “See? Ate ’em all! Told you so!”

“Guh-ross!” Remy shouted, planting his hands on Roman’s shoulders. He shoved him backwards, cackling as his brother’s back made a spectacular splashing sound as it collided with the mud.

“You’re gross,” Roman retorted, burrowing his short fingernails in the dirt. Before Remy could dodge it, Roman tossed up the chunks of earth, laughing without a care in the world as they splattered across Remy’s face. “Told you so! Told you so!”

“Boys!” a sharp voice yelled from the building at the far side of the mud ring. Roman and Remy both froze, taking in each other’s filthy faces.

“Bet she yells at you,” Roman muttered, getting to his feet without bothering to dust off his pants. No use trying to hide it now, anyway.

“Bet she doesn’t,” Remy said in a stunning imitation of Roman’s voice. “Older siblings always take the blame.”

“Not if I’m really good at crying.”

“Not if I cry first!”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Remy only grinned, putting on a burst of speed as he ran for his mother. Roman shook his head and laughed, sprinting to catch up, and if he stuck out a leg to trip his brother on the way and take the lead, well, the past is the past, what’re you gonna do about it?

“—his peace, he doesn’t get much of it,” a familiar voice says, floating over the cotton candy skies and ripping Roman out of his sugar-sweet memories. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to ignore how much the green has faded from the grass outside.

“Sorry, what?” He looks up at Jackie and Logan, the latter of whom is staring at him with confusion. Not nearly as bad as the former, whose eyes betray naught but pity. “I’m fine.”

“Didn’t ask, but I guess I’m glad to hear it,” Logan says, settling himself on the wicker chair.

“Drinks for you boys?” Jackie asks. Roman hates the way she softens the edge of her voice when she looks at him. She never used to put on that tone when he still brought Remy around. Granted, it’s kind of his fault that can’t happen anymore—by which he means it’s entirely his fault, which means it’s also his fault that she’s taking that tone, but that doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it, does it?

Roman’s lips feel chapped. “Just a couple waters would be—”

“Your hardest ciders, please,” Logan interrupts. He waves off Roman’s protests, continuing, “I’m buying, remember? No worries.”

Roman nods, forcing his eyes not to stray toward the window. There’s a reason he hasn’t been back here in years. “Thanks.”

“Now, do you think you might want to tell me what your deal is with this place?”

“Not really.” Roman briefly considers pulling on some of the upbeat music pouring from the jukebox, wrapping it around Logan’s head and forcing some semblance of tranquility into his mind, but no, bad idea. It was a mistake to cheer up that baby earlier, a taste of what he knows he can’t have. He swore off of messing with emotions a long time ago, back when there was nothing he could do to keep himself in check. No more.

“Think this might help loosen your nerves a little,” Logan says, pushing a mug of cider across the table. Roman hadn’t even noticed Jackie setting it down. He takes a tentative sip, all too aware of the way the other patrons along the bar are very pointedly not looking at him. Having a reputation to precede you isn’t always a good thing.

“Fine, I’ll go first,” Logan says. He takes a long swig from his own drink before plunking it down on the table, ignoring how some of the foam splashes out onto the wood. Roman traces his eyes along the grain of the surface, remembering when his dad let him sit in on the magicking process of converting a useless tree stump into functional furniture. That always was his signature move, wasn’t it? Magicking life into things that were long dead. Well, most things. Even his dad wasn’t one to magic life into things that never had any business being alive in the first place.

“The town where I live—well, used to live—was incredibly strict about when and how we could use magic.” Logan stares into his mug, and Roman has to wonder whether he hears the words leaving his mouth. “They didn’t like that I could disassemble things at will and put them back together according to my tastes, thought I might get carried away and start taking apart people.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Make sense? Sure it does. Remember how I said I can manipulate any technology I take the time to sit down and understand? If you think about it, people are just a different kind of technology, and I was studying to be a surgeon, and, well, one suspicion led to another, and that obviously made some people uncomfortable, so I left. And I left again. And I left again, and again, and every single town I went to was exactly like the last, all nice and welcoming until it came out that I could do more than just basic reparations on junky radios.” Logan furrows his brows, glaring harder at the ripples in his mug. “Well, huh. Didn’t mean to say that last part.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I can manipulate any technology I understand.”

“Right, that’s how you—”

“Fixed the train and did my studies, yes, but more than that. I can do that to almost anything, even intangible things, if given the right parameters.” Logan clenches his fist, and Roman almost thinks he sees the frames on his face flicker like a flame. “I don’t like talking about it, but you’ve obviously got some stuff blocking your system, and since you clearly helped me out with the train—no matter how much you try to deny it—I’d be willing to return the favor, but only if you’ll consent to it.”

Roman tries to laugh off the notion that he had anything to do with the train, but Logan isn’t buying it. “Don’t kid yourself, obviously that train didn’t just fix the engine on its own. We’ve been over this. You don’t have to tell me what your magic is or anything like that, I get it if you’re one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ types, but have you ever turned on a garden hose to full blast and stepped on the line about halfway down?”

“I—er, yeah, why?”

“That’s you. You’ve got some personal nonsense blocking the main flow in your system, and if you don’t release it soon, it’ll explode on its own, and it’ll do a lot more damage than if you let it leak out slowly right now.” Logan leans in with an earnest look on his face, much more sincere than anything Roman had come to expect from him so far. “I’m trying to help you here, Roman. You need to release it now, or you will regret it later.”

Roman takes a long pull from his mug, wishing he was talking to the mother and baby from the train rather than this oddly perceptive stranger. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Logan blows out a large breath, puffing up his cheeks and looking past Roman at the ring of mud outside. “I can take apart your psychology, physically and metaphorically speaking. You’re holding something in, and you need to let it out.”

“I don’t need to do anything of the sort,” Roman snaps, watching the liquid slosh around in his mug. “Nor do I appreciate your trying to say as much.”

“I merely wanted to make the offer,” Logan relents, raising his hands in surrender. “You are free to refuse my services, if it so please you, in which case I will make no further advances.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” Roman mutters, looking up as the main doors swing open. Great. Just who he wanted to see.

“Heard the old love magicker rolled into town!” a gruff voice jeers. Sigma peers out from behind a man who has to be almost seven feet tall and two hundred stone. They mouth an apology to Roman, who just stares blankly back.

“Just get lost, Trev, would you?” he sighs, pointedly not making eye contact as the pair crosses the room in a few long strides to leer down at him.

“Aw, that don’t sound like much fun, does it, Sigma?” Sigma stays silent, only looking closely at Roman’s mug. He glances down to see the ripples taking the vague shapes of letters—probably some half-hearted apology—so he lifts the cup and turns it over, letting the contents splatter onto the floor.

“Hey!” Jackie yells, but she doesn’t sound too upset—at least, not upset enough to do something about it. She merely hangs back and watches the scene unfold. After all, no one’s ever helped before, so why should she lift a finger now?

“Hear you skipped town to keep your magicky love a secret,” Trevor continues, slamming his hands down on the table. “Little boy got too popular with his little love spells, came crying home to Mom and Dad—or, wait, you can’t do that, can you? Don’t got no one to cry to anymore, do you?”

“Shut up, Trev,” Roman whispers, hoping the agitation in his voice will mask the way his words wobble like dictionaries balanced on cooked noodles.

“Wittle baby gonna cwy to the pawents he don’t have!” Trevor whines in a shrill voice. Roman rests his hand on his cheek, all too aware of Logan’s stiff silence across from him. What good is having a silent observer around if they won’t do anything?

“That’s not your information to share,” Roman mutters, wishing Sigma would defend him and knowing full well they won’t.

“Well, somebody’s gotta tell our newcomer here about your deal, don’t they? Guess it falls to me, since you don’t wanna go clarifying it yourself. Forgive me if I decide to embellish some of the details, you know how I am with the dramatics.”

“Shut up,” Roman says again, wishing his voice were stronger than it is.

“Roman,” Logan says. Yes, very helpful addition, thank you for your groundbreaking contributions to this conversation. “Roman,” he repeats, more insistent this time. Roman glances across the table to see Logan removing his glasses, waving his hands in that familiar way again.

“Oh, the glasses are off now! Wittle Roman got a wittle techno dork to help him?” Trevor cackles, folding his impossibly oversized arms and giving Logan a once over. Seriously, his biceps are like sausages on steroids. “Just stay out of this, kid. It’s for your own good. Nothing worthwhile ever comes out of hanging around this guy, y’got that?”

“I don’t know that I’d say nothing,” Logan replies coolly, swirling his fingers faster now. Roman watches, not sure whether to be horrified or amazed as the frames split apart into tiny spears, their tips sharp enough to pierce metal. The flurry of miniature blades organizes itself into a sheet of steel, poised directly in front of Trevor’s face. Logan slows down his fingers, keeping the pieces in a careful rotation mere inches from Trevor’s eyes.

“Woah, okay, let’s just take it easy here,” Trevor says nervously and, as Roman is happy to note, with some degree of fear in his voice.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Logan says with a sickeningly sweet smile. “I’m simply demonstrating my magic for my friend here, while maintaining a casual discussion with a fellow patron of this fine establishment. Trev, was it?”

“I, uh, I didn’t—”

“Neither did I, but here we are.” Logan jerks his head to the side, hard enough that Roman is genuinely concerned he might snap his neck, and the needles rearrange into the silhouette of an arrow that rises to Trevor’s forehead. Something in Roman’s gut twists at the achingly familiar sight. “Anything else you’d like to share with the group, or should you like to be excused?”

Trevor makes a sound similar to that of a kicked puppy before bolting for the door, leaving Sigma shaking beside the table. One pointed glance from Logan, and they’re gone.

“Wh—you didn’t—I mean, I would’ve—you could’ve—” Roman splutters, watching Logan calmly reassemble the shards into normal frames on his face.

“I did, you wouldn’t have, and neither would I,” Logan says. “Now, you are naturally under no obligation to explain what all that was about, but I would recommend filling me in, if it so pleases you. I do think I’ve earned it by now.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Roman admits. “No matter how much I want to. So there’s this guy—”

“Isn’t there always?”

Roman pouts. “There’s rumors of this guy, Thomas, who doesn’t have any magic.”

Logan seems taken aback by this, and Roman finds a considerable amount of satisfaction in having silenced him. “People have had magic for thousands of years, even in just trace amounts. Surely he’s got some semblance of it.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.” Roman shrugs, trying to decide how to proceed without bringing up the reason he even started looking for Thomas. “Anyway, he lives out near the end of the lines, of any train there is. I’ve never seen a station that reaches farther than this train’s last stop, and I want to find him.”

“Why?”

“I want to know what it’s like to be free of the magic.” Roman clenches his fist against his thigh, feeling the mud rings outside burning a hole in his back. “I want to know if he can pass it on.”

“You want to take his inability to do magic? Sounds kind of antithetical, no?”

“Well, yeah, but I just—I need to know if it’s true. I need to know if there’s an escape.”

“An escape from what?”

“From magic, from magickers, from all of it, I don’t know. I don’t want to deal with it anymore, with any of it. I just want to be done.”

“What kind of magic could you possibly have been stuck with that’s bad enough to hate it so much?”

“Hate? I don’t think it’s physically possible to hate my magic, actually.”

Logan twists his mouth to the side and considers Roman for a long moment. “Did it ever occur to you that this Thomas—whether or not he actually does exist—lives so far out of reach because he doesn’t want to be found?”

“It has crossed my mind,” Roman admits. “I just want to be done with my magic. I don’t want to mess up again.”

There’s another commotion from near the door—friendly faces, this time, but they sort of remind Roman of starving raccoons. They peer around the room before their eyes come to rest on Roman’s face, and from the way they almost seem to salivate at the sight of him, he knows exactly what they want. He wants no part of it.

“Roman, won’t you please fix my relationship—”

“Roman, my grandmother is sick, can you pull some sunshine—”

“Roman, I love your magic, is that enough to fuel me with—”

“Roman!”

“Roman, I love the idea of you—”

“Roman!”

“Roman, I haven’t seen your parents in a while, is it true that you—”

“Roman, where’s Remy these days, did you scare him off? I thought it was just a rumor that your love—”

“Roman!”

“Roman, what happens when you run out of—”

“Roman, can I have some of—”

“Roman, I love your—”

“Roman!”

Roman feels sick. He hides his head in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees and wishing his stomach would stop turning as their words bounce around his skull, Roman Roman Roman Remy Roman Remy Remy Roman Remy Roman messed everything up and everyone knows it and Remy knows it and it’s too late for Remy so it’s too late for you, Roman, what ever will you do with all the love you can’t have when no one will give you more?

“Right, that’s enough of that,” Logan says suddenly, swiping Roman’s wrists out from under him. He jolts up, feeling a sharp pain in his shoulder as Logan yanks him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Logan ushers Roman out the door, leaving some coins and bills on the counter for Jackie and ignoring the shocked looks from the other patrons of the bar, all of whom quickly trade their surprise for awe as they realize this really is that Roman, right there in front of them.

“Logan, I—”

“Don’t need to tell me anything that you don’t want to. Keep moving.”

Roman bites his lip, numbly leading the way back to the station, where the train is slowly pulling up to the appropriate departure area. All in working order, then. No more engine problems.

He moves to step on board, only hesitating when he no longer hears Logan’s feet behind him. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Nah,” Logan says, looking back at the station. “Jackie was telling me about a bunch of things that need reparations around here, and it’s a neat little town. Think I might hang around a while, try to fix it up for them. Maybe get to work on repairing some of these people’s attitudes, too.

“I—” Roman falters, uncertain what he could possibly say to Logan after all that just went down. “It’s love, I think.” Logan says nothing, doesn’t even nod for Roman to go on, but he does anyway. “I take different types of love and put them into different places and forms as it’s needed, and I did it wrong this one time, just one time, just one mistake, a big one, and, well—” Roman glances at the engineer, who impatiently waves for him to hurry up and get on board already. “I burned the only bridges that I had, and it was my fault, and I can’t take it back. That’s what all that was about, because Trevor and Sigma and Jackie and, well, everyone—they all got caught up in the fallout. Trevor’s the one holding the biggest grudge, I think, since he was such good friends with—um, well, y’know, with one of those bridges. I—”

“That will more than suffice,” Logan interrupts, gesturing for Roman to board the train. “You needn’t bare your soul to the first stranger that shows you any semblance of decency, you know.” With that, the door slips shut, barring Logan from having to see Roman’s confused expression.

Roman wanders down to the car he arrived on, collapsing on the third seat and wondering where all the sudden candor came from. Didn’t Trevor’s magic have something to do with compelling honesty? Although, Roman could’ve sworn Trevor condemned magickers after what happened last time things got out of control. Maybe he just had a special passion for condemning Roman, and that one mistake was the nail in the coffin that Roman built for himself.

He glances down at the cushion of the seat, shifting uncomfortably against an odd lump as he belatedly realizes that this was where Logan was sitting when he first boarded the train. He fumbles around with a blind hand beneath him, feeling for the source of the discomfort as the train sputters to life, sending him lurching forward. At the same moment as his head slams into the next seat, something dislodges from the cushion beneath him. His hands fumble through the air to catch it, carefully clasping around the figure and hugging it to his chest. Once his balance adjusts to the steady rocking of the train, he opens his hands and peers into them, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

A little 3D heart, vaguely pixelated with all the different pieces of metal and plastic lacing together to create its surface. Roman squints at the thing, turning it under the weak light of the train’s overheads, but there’s no note, no pull tab, no secret compartment, no nothing. Just a heart, and everything Roman is left to interpret from finding it. Did Logan know?

Maybe Roman’s reputation precedes him more than he realized.

----------

“End of the line,” a voice announces over the train speakers. Roman slowly rouses, blinking as his eyes come into focus on the little heart still clutched in his hands. He stuffs it in his pocket, careful not to tear the fabric on the sharper edges, and moves for the exit door. On his way, he tosses a flippant wave toward the ceiling, just in case there’s security cameras watching him go or something. A little politeness can go a long way.

He stumbles out into a cool, dark night, populated only by the densest of shadows. The sole clue that the train station is even designed to be used beyond as a set piece in a creepy picture is the dilapidated set of tracks that end just past the edge of the building, and even those on their own are a pretty flimsy sign. Once the train finishes looping around the track to reposition itself for the return to the inner cities, Roman plops himself down in the middle of the rails and lies on his back to stare at the sky.

As if the travel time weren’t a big enough hint that he’s farther from home than ever before, the stars above look completely different, almost unrecognizable compared to those rare nights in Depot town, much less back home.

Home. Roman turns the word over and over in his head, his thoughts dancing around that saying. How did it go again? Home is where the heart is?

Roman gives a hollow laugh in cheers to that, feeling the outline of the metal heart in his pocket. Hearts, as in love, which is something he never earned enough to make a home with. Foolish of him to try, really. A breathing mannequin in princely makeup, designed to give love, to spread hope and joy, but never to dare try receiving it. He’s not that kind of magicker, something of which he’s all too aware. Everybody seems to know that better than him.

He runs his hands over the dirt beneath him, feeling how solidly it molds around the cold metal tracks, and wonders whether Remy would appreciate the texture. Always did have a thing for mud and dirt, he did. Mom hated it to no end, which just made it that much funnier that Remy couldn’t go ten minutes without another smudge of brown across his cheek.

Roman allows himself to smile at that, trying to ignore the stirring in his chest at the memory of Remy’s toothy grin, how excited he was to show off the latest bruise or scratch to Roman, how his face would light up when Roman joined in on the fun.

All of it gone in an instant, because Roman was too selfish to acknowledge the part of it that Remy actually cared about. The part that everyone cares about, much more than they ever cared about the person behind it. Not that anyone asked. Not that anyone ever asks.

He rolls onto his side and curls up in a ball and waits for the night to pass.

“This you?” a voice demands. Roman blinks blearily, wondering how long he’d been asleep. Not very, if the stars shining proud overhead are any indication. Unless it’s the opposite, and he’s been asleep for days. It’s anybody’s guess, really. “Hey, wake up! This you?”

He reaches up toward the sound of someone shaking a paper in his face, rubbing at his eyes and trying to make out the contents of the page amidst the darkness. A wanted sign, with strikingly accurate details about his magic, his past, and a picture of his face that’s unnervingly spot on, but—

“Why did they make my forehead so big?” Roman whines, dropping the page and glancing around for whoever handed it to him. A hand snatches the paper back, and a pair of eyes appears inches away from his own.

“Look, I’m not exactly an artist magicker, but I did my best,” that same voice mutters from beneath the eyes. “Let’s just head over to the station, okay? You squinting like a bat in sunshine looks really stupid.”

“Your face looks really stupid,” Roman mutters, walking toward the station anyway. He’s been in weirder situations. Mostly because people get too much enjoyment from toeing the line with pestering him about his magic, but still.

“You don’t know how my face looks, but I can assure you it’s worlds better than yours.”

“I look amazing!” Roman’s protest echoes on the hollow breeze of the night, but the voice doesn’t return a snide remark this time. He continues on, seemingly alone, to the lamely flickering light at the station, half expecting someone to jump out and shout at him.

Beneath the sole light bulb, Roman waits for the owner of the voice to reappear and join him on the bench. No one shows up, so he starts talking to the stars instead. “How did you get that information about my magic, and about my family?”

“I think it’s pretty generous of you to call them your family,” the voice says from somewhere over his left shoulder. Roman turns to trace it, but the sound shifts to the shadows beneath his shoes. “You refusing to share information doesn’t mean no one else is allowed to know it. Especially if they know which shadows to shine a light on.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to go spreading it around with a crappy wanted poster.”

“Who said I made more than just the one copy?” The paper reappears in the shadows just past the reach of the station light, and accompanied by the sound of fingers snapping, it disintegrates. “I know what should and shouldn’t be shared. Give me some credit.”

“How am I supposed to do that if I can’t even see you?”

“Right, because seeing is believing. I always seem to forget that. Almost like it isn’t true.” Another snap, and those eyes materialize where the paper shattered. They stare at him like a feral cat, poised to attack. “Now have I earned your credit? Does your seeing me count as believing?”

“Pfft. Hardly.”

“How about now?” Another snap, and Roman finds himself on the edge of Depot town, watching everyone shutter their windows for the night, watching Jackie kick out the last few lingering drunks, watching Logan in deep conversation with Trevor as Sigma keeps a ball of water hovering over them.

“How did you do that?” Roman demands, whirling around with his fists raised.

“Right, because it’s so easy to fight a voice.” There’s an obvious tint of mockery this time, and Roman starts punching at the air. He feels ridiculous, but he doesn’t have it in him to care. “Hey now, no need to be so rude.” Another snap.

Back at the end of the line.

“How are you doing that?”

“You tell me. I’m just bending the shadows. You’re the one connected to the locations and the times.”

“I—what?”

Another snap. Back to Depot town, but it’s different than before. It’s daytime, for one thing, but artificially so. The moon still hangs among the stars, but they wear torn veils of sunshine and clouds, the rips in the fabric shining a spotlight on the mud ring, Roman follows the lines of pure white to the center and walks closer, not entirely certain why.

“No fair!” Remy’s voice echoes across the field. The boy stumbles over his feet, rushing to catch up to another silhouette while trying to hold up the cardboard box around his waist. The crude scribbles along the side try to make it look like a car, but they aren’t the most effective of artistic statements.

“Take me back,” Roman says coldly, desperately trying to tear his eyes away from the scene. But he can’t.

“No, I really think we should watch this play out,” the voice replies.

“I’m gonna beat you!” Roman’s voice shouts, but it’s not this Roman, not now, not quite. His lips move in time with the words, but nothing more than a strangled squeak escapes his throat. Other Roman, the littler Roman, is taunting Remy. What Roman wouldn’t give to hold them both back in the safety of this moment, for just a few seconds, to yank them out and hide them at the end of the line until the awful moment has passed. But he can’t.

As it is, he can only watch as the boys chase each other around the mud ring, bashing into each other with their cardboard boxes and making vroom vroom noises as they go.

“Sneak attack!” little Roman yells in time with Roman mouthing the same words. Little Roman drops his car and produces a long stick from within, grinning triumphantly. The fury of the moon masquerading as a sun burns down on it, and Roman can almost see smoke curling out of the tip, dark and grey and angry.

“Take me back,” Roman pleads, more desperate this time. He can feel the tremors of his voice all the way down to his feet, shaking the ground and sending his knees wobbling.

“Just another minute,” the voice says, completely unfazed. “Don’t forget, we’re only here because you brought it up. I’d happily return to the station if you would let yourself abandon this whole charade.” Roman feels something inside himself shatter as he watches the leaves spiral upward around the boys.

“That’s cheating!” Remy complains, watching little Roman fling his arms to the side. Roman can almost taste the negative pulls of love rising in his own body, and he hates it so, so much, the way the heat of the sun burns in his throat as his smaller self absorbs it, combining it with the dewy sweetness of the grass, the richness of the life in the mud, before it filters over his fingers, twice as bad now that Roman feels it both in his own hands and in his smaller self’s hands. He can feel it eating away at his skin as little Roman sends the emotions blasting into Remy’s chest, knocking the stick sword aside as if it were even less than the mere twig it already is.

“Please take me back.”

“Almost there.”

Roman can hardly stand to watch, yet he can’t force himself to look away, as the wind whips harder, faster, tearing the beautiful pink petals dancing in the air to shreds as they zero in on Remy. Roman falls to his knees, pleading with his younger self not to do it, but it’s far too late, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“Say you love me!” little Roman demands, his voice forcing Roman’s jaw to move in time with the words. It might almost be a sweet sentiment, were it not for the millions of shreds of leaves hovering over his head like an arrow, poised directly above Remy’s heart, the moon in the sky using the stars as the bow waiting to release it.

“I—I—” Remy splutters, shaking his head. “This isn’t funny anymore, Roman, I don’t like this game anymore.”

“Say you love me!” little Roman insists, and the words are like a stab to Roman’s heart as he hears how awful, how hopelessly desperate and venomous they sound. They taste like poison as they spill from his own lips.

“Roman, please, I don’t—”

“Just say it before I go completely empty!” little Roman howls. With every quiver of his voice, the leaves over his head split again and again, more and more pieces of the love little Roman is desperate to give, more and more pieces of the love Roman has long since learned he cannot receive. Not unless someone gives it to him freely. No one ever has. Roman learned that the hard way, and here he is taking the same lesson again. He can’t look away.

Remy is frozen, a wild panic in his eyes as he searches for an escape from the sharpening arrow. A wilder look falls over little Roman’s face as he grows desperate, the lines etched in his skin wearing deeper, tearing claw marks over the surface that spawn into scars on Roman’s face. “Please, Remy, I need you to say it!”

“Roman, I don’t—”

“Roman!” an achingly familiar voice shouts from the door of the house nearby. Both Romans whip their heads around to see their mother racing barefoot through the mud, her shoes abandoned at the door. In a flash, she’s at Remy’s side, knocking little Roman out of the way and gathering the smaller boy up in her arms. She shoots little Roman a look of pure disgust, and it’s enough to curdle two stomachs at once, across the span of several years. “What were you thinking?”

“I—I don’t know, I just—” Little Roman’s lower lip wobbles dangerously, and Roman feels his own resolve shaking. His mind does everything it can to ignore the way the arrow overhead is spinning now, slowly breaking up into several smaller daggers. They shake and sink, trying to collapse, but they can’t. “I just wanted him to say he—”

“What, that he cares about you enough to let you force him to give you the magic back?” Though she’s not talking directly to him, not this him, not now him, Roman feels his heart shattering at the hatred in his mother’s voice. “Did it never occur to you that we don’t say it because it hurts too much? Just because you can give that love freely, it doesn’t mean we can, and it certainly doesn’t mean we’re obligated to.”

Roman lifts a hand to warn his mother, watching aghast as the leaves pick themselves back up, a sharper arrow than either of the ones before, aimed squarely at her heart, all the love in the world that little Roman could possibly muster, now a weapon Roman wishes he could turn away. She doesn’t hear him.

The arrow splits in two, one for mother, one for brother, and for a split second, Roman makes eye contact with Remy. The desperation in his face is enough to turn Roman’s heart to stone.

The arrows fall.

Roman’s world shatters.

A snap. The end of the line. “Well, that sure was an exciting little encore, wasn’t it?”

“You son of a—” Roman hisses, building up all the power of the moon back to its natural state, the knowledge of how many lovers use that little sphere as a landmark for their affection, a perspective around which to dance, amidst all the small creatures of the night and the life of the grass tipped in dew and the hum of creation buzzing down the train tracks, whipping it into a storm and bringing it down in tandem with his hands to smash the source of the voice into the ground, flatten and pound and hammer it until it has no chance of escaping, and when it’s all said and done, Roman pants heavily, bent over his knees and letting the energy of the twisted thing he calls love drain out of him.

“You certainly know how to put on a show, I’ll give you that,” the voice says from over his shoulder. Roman feels his body pulling in the energy again of its own accord, but the voice continues on unabated. “Have you considered that I’m just a figment of your imagination, a cursed fragment of your own mind? A shadow among shadows to remind you of all you’ve thrown away?”

“A shadow among shadows,” Roman repeats. He laughs, an empty sound that rings as dull as a cracked bell. In an instant, he pulls in all he can from every painstaking detail of each brick propping up the station building, funneling it into the sky and willing it to tear a hole directly through the secondhand sunshine dripping from the moon. “Any guess where I got the idea for that exciting little encore?” There’s a flash of brilliant light and a bang of sound, and a silhouette appears for a split second in Roman’s peripheral vision.

His whips around and seizes it, wrapping his hands around its throat and squeezing, squeezing, hating the image of the arrow that glows behind his eyelids like stolen sunshine whenever he blinks.

The silhouette still has those achingly empty eyes, which are hazily focused at best—they look over Roman’s shoulder, watching something take shape behind him. Roman glances back, stunned into silence when he sees that oh-so-familiar shape of the arrow of leaves. He swallows around a lump in his throat and slackens his hands, watching the leaves collapse to the ground as harmless debris. With every inch his hands relax, the leaves scatter weaker and weaker into the breeze, normal pieces of nature and not awful tools for something that only a heretic would call love.

The silhouette rocks to its knees and coughs, hacking up every ounce of air as it rubs gentle circles into its neck, and Roman scrabbles to get away from it. Even in the aftermath of that flash, he can still make out those eyes, still almost see the reflection of Remy hiding behind them.

“Like I said, putting on a show,” the voice says, sounding all kinds of broken and tattered. “What was it you called your magic again? Love? That’s a laugh, really, I can’t believe you’d call that love.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do, don’t I? We both saw that little scene of yours. I’m not the one that made that happen. It’s your own connection to the world through the twisted thing you call ‘magic’ that brought you there. You’re the one who was so desperate for love, he would throw away his family’s lives for the chance to get it.”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

“And yet here we are, me knowing all this information about you, and you knowing nothing about me. Do you think I didn’t notice all those times you pleaded for someone to love you before? Do you think those dark nights in empty alleys on your own were really so private? You’ve just been waiting for someone to say they love you, and I’m here to break the news that it’s never gonna happen, so you might as well accept it now.”

The silhouette lurches closer, a smattering of purple appearing around his neck. They pulse in time with Roman’s heart, a feeling like fire lighting up on his hands. He wipes them on his pants, trying to separate the bruises from what he doesn’t want to believe he tried to do. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, the silhouette pulls him up to his feet with impossibly strong hands, pressing their faces together even as Roman tries to resist, tries to ignore the faint details masked almost completely by the shadows surrounding its features.

“What was it you wanted to hear again?” it asks. “Love, was it?” There’s an agonizing ache behind the voice as a clear face takes shape over top of the blank silhouette, an awful recreation of his mother’s face, undercut by the same purple bruises. When it opens its mouth, it has her honeysuckle tone, and Roman feels his stomach turn. “Oh, Roman, darling dearest, I love you.” It shifts, cycling through an impossible list of features and expressions before settling on something gut-wrenchingly similar to his father’s face. “Hey, kid. I love you, you know that?” Another shift, this time to a face that Roman doesn’t want to see, doesn’t want to picture, hates it hates it hates it let me go—

“Look at me, Roman,” Remy’s voice says, now aged well beyond any years it had the chance to experience. Roman can’t make himself look, but he feels matching bruises appear on his own throat with every second he ignores the face. Selfish, disgustingly selfish how he forces himself to look just to make the pain stop, but when he meets those eyes, he sees everything all at once—the arrow, the fall, the love that tore apart his mother, his father, ripping through Remy all at once as if it weren’t love but hate, hate, hate hate hate coursing through Roman’s veins as he meets the eyes that have no right being on this bastardization of Remy’s face and hears those awful terrible words echoing through his body, shaking him to his core. “I fzzt you.” Remy raises an eyebrow, trying again. “I fzzt you.” He smiles, an awful toothy expression. “Seems even you can’t imagine him saying it. Think I like this face best.” Remy leers at Roman, eyes wide enough to show the burning white on all sides. “I hate you.” Remy cocks his head to the side and grins, dropping Roman to the cold metal tracks and vanishing.

The voice does not come back.

Roman hates how relieved he is to drown in the silence. He’s starting to think finding Thomas might not be worth all this trouble, and that realization is enough to crumble the last of Roman’s dwindling spirit.

The shadows fold in around Roman as he buries his face between his knees and feels his body shake, his skin prickling as if it were being stabbed by millions of tiny arrows.

And he lies there.

And

Lies

There.

“Well, this simply won’t do,” a new voice, a warmer voice, a softer voice says. Roman doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes. “I see that shadow boy got to you first. Can’t imagine what dark corners of your mind he brought to light to get you like this. I know you can hear me, but you don’t have to say anything. I’m going to pick you up now, okay? Lift one finger if you can hear me and don’t want me to do that.” Roman doesn’t move. “Okay, I’m picking you up now. Please stop me if you’re uncomfortable.” With that, Roman feels a sturdy set of arms wrap around him, lifting him carefully into the air.

Then, oddly, the arms seem to expand, growing more arms like branches on a tree trunk, completely enveloping Roman in a soft blanket of tentative warmth. He stubbornly keeps his eyes shut, still feeling all those tiny arrows, still hearing the echoes of that cold voice in his head, still seeing Remy’s eyes stare out as his whispered those damning words.

He loses track of how many times they play over in his head, I hate you I love you I hate you I hate hate hate hate hate you Roman I hate you, simply letting them wash over his soul because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. They must reach a breaking point eventually, because he falls back into himself in time to feel the blanket retracting, returning to a normal pair of arms, gently laying him down on what feels like a mattress. Roman stares at the backs of his eyelids,, wondering whether they’ll force him to start talking soon.

I hate you, Roman.

Surely it wouldn’t have been possibly for the voice to replicate it so perfectly without hearing Remy say the words himself. Right?

“Now, you’re under no obligation to talk about what happened if you don’t want to. Trust me, I know how thorough that shadow boy is about people who find themselves out here.” The return of the kind voice is jarring in comparison to the cold anger flickering in Roman’s head, the reassurance in this tone almost enough to convince Roman to open his eyes. Almost.

“I’m sure you had some idea of what you were doing if you made it this far,” the voice continues, “so you’re probably here because you heard about that Thomas character.” At this, Roman’s eyes fly open. The voice laughs softly. “Thought so. Nice to see you’re alive, at least.”

Now having no choice but to keep his eyes open, Roman sits up and surveys the area. A greenhouse, it looks like, incredibly humid with the sun beating in—when did it turn to daytime?—through the concentrated glass and reflecting off innumerable green leaves and yellow flowers and brown dirt. The person owning the voice almost blends into it all, his skin a dark tan and his fingers stained green, his hair a sandy blond and his bare feet covered in scrapes and dried mud.

“Name’s Patton. Pleasure,” he says, extending a hand to Roman. Roman stares at it, uncomprehending. “That shadow boy,” Patton tuts. “Never does know when to quit, does he?”

“Can you blame me?” the colder voice asks. “This one’s a downright monster.” Roman leaps to his feet, brandishing his fists like the arrows he so hates, searching for the source of the voice and hearing a low growl escape his lips. “Whoa, Patton, you see? Call off the dog, yeah?”

“What have I told you about harassing our guests?” Patton chastises. “Go on, get out. You’re only permitted around here at night, and you’ve lost even those privileges for the next couple days.” Watching Patton converse with the distant voice is a silly enough sight to relax Roman, who lowers his fists and settles back down on the mattress. “Now, onto you. How can I help you? A name would be beneficial to me, at least.”

“Uh, Roman. I, um, I came here to find Thomas.”

“Roman,” Patton repeats carefully, chewing on the second syllable. Something twists in Roman’s gut at the sound. “That so? Yes, yes, we’ve established the reason you came here, but in order to help you, you need to tell me why you wanted to find Thomas.”

“I want to know how he did it. How he escaped having magic.”

“I would hardly call it ‘escaped.’”

“So he does exist, then.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, where is he, if he does exist? I want to get rid of my magic, and if you can’t help me, I’d like to get going sooner than later.”

Patton cocks his head toward the more crowded section of the greenhouse, folding his arms and squinting at Roman through mud-splattered glasses. “He’s in the back, but I don’t think you’re going to like what you find.”

“I don’t think I asked you.”

“I don’t think you didn’t ask me,” Patton mutters, stepping aside as Roman darts past him. Roman barely remembers to keep his feet under himself as he barrels for the back of the room. Nothing in the world could prepare him for how sharply his heart stops.

“It’s a statue,” he whispers, staring in confusion at the cold marble figure. “He’s just a statue?”

“Just a statue,” Patton confirms, appearing behind him. “Just an idea of a person, for people like you who want to believe in that idea. But I know you didn’t really come here to get rid of your magic because of some fairy tale idea, did you?”

“Yes, I did,” Roman murmurs, staring at the statue, at the complete lack of life in its eyes. It was a lie, wasn’t it? It was always a lie, he never really had a chance. “I came here to get rid of it, all of it.” Something hot and wicked coils up in his chest.

“That so?” Patton rests a hand on Roman’s shoulder, ignoring how he flinches at the touch. Actually, he squeezes harder, holding Roman still. “And why is it that I don’t believe you, hm?” His nails dig in deeper. “Maybe it’s what you’re doing to my plants.”

Roman glances around to see all the petals and leaves and branches wilting, browning, slowly dying, their colors filtering through the air and into his lungs as he starts gasping for breath.

“My strongest love has always been for nature,” Patton continues, his grip almost too much to bear. “I pour my heart and soul into my plants, into growing life from the ground and letting it blossom into the air, and I think that’s pretty evident right about now.”

Roman hardly hears the words, still taking in more color, more light, more life, more love from Patton, feeling the room squeeze out its very essence into his body as he pulls and pulls and pulls, his gaze drifting back to the statue, to the dead silence behind those eyes.

“Go on,” Patton murmurs, an impossibly loud noise amidst the silence Roman has created in the room. “Fill an empty husk with love and see what happens.”

Roman can’t exhale, taking in more and more and more air and colors and life and love, his lungs well past full as he swallows more breaths than he can take and he’s choking on all the love in the room, all the energy Patton is funneling into his plants which are spitting it right back out into Roman’s throat and then he sees Remy in his head and looks closer at the statue’s eyes and it hurts, oh God it hurts, and he’s coughing and sputtering and releasing the colors and the life and the love in broken breaths, barely noticing as his body collapses beneath him, not strong enough to hold up his throbbing head, emptying himself of all the colors and the life and the love in his heart that he’s always given, the thing that hurt the worst when he took it for himself, all spilling out in a rush like a slash across the chest and filtering into the statue and flowing around it, the petals of the smallest flowers floating up and dancing around its head like a wreath as Roman exhales and exhales and blessedly exhales and when he’s finally empty of it all and there’s no more love left to give, Roman wonders whether this is what the love he’s always yearned for feels like.

Patton nudges Roman’s still form with his toe, wincing at the way the skin squishes like mud. “That went better than I expected it to, given how much you had to pull at the shadows.” He looks up at the statue, at the flowers slowing their rotations around its head, each coming to rest along the shoulders. His foot strikes something solid.

“Oh, now that’s interesting.” He reaches down and feels around in Roman’s pocket, producing a little metal heart from within the fabric. “We’ll call it an offering.” He lays it at the statue’s feet, and if he were a sentimental man, he might comment on how for the briefest of moments, a spark of life flashes behind the statue’s eyes before it falls dead and silent once more. In the instant after the light disappears from the face, his plants turn a brighter green, growing a solid few inches in mere seconds. “Change the name and restart the rumors.”

“On it,” the voice says. A very familiar wanted sign materializes behind Patton. By nightfall, word had traveled all the way back past Depot town and to the inner cities and into deaf ears that have already forgotten the person who could spin the sunshine into hope. Past the end of the line is a man free of magic by the name of Roman.

In the darkest corner of a neat little pub tucked away in Depot town, beside a jukebox slowly breaking apart its inner machinery, a man disassembles his glasses. He watches the pieces swirl around his head like a crown as he crumples the paper into a ball and stuffs it in his pocket. “Jackie, I’m heading out again. Got a train to catch.”

Tag List:

@sakurahayasaki @erlenmeyertrash @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @milomeepit @leesacrakon @virgilmood @mollycassmith @zerogettie @five-hour-anxiety @ashrain5 @allthemetalsoftherainbow @faacethefacts @rileyfirstname @sassy-in-glasses @virgil-has-a-houseplant @redundant-statements-for-400 @zennyo @extremistwateragenda @breloomings @jamthefan @narniasfinestavengingsociopath @crownswriter123 @rosesandstuff @dedaartist @unring-this-bell

#sanders sides #roman sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #mine #labhwrites #major character death tw #bullying tw #yaLL this. was supposed to be like 5k max as a qUiCk BrEaK from my big bang #that clearly did not happen #i wrote it all in one night but still #oof homeboi got Long(TM)#also i. have no idea what happened to the plot after that line break like??#roman snatched the keyboard from me and wrote the ending himself bc that is. Not How I Expected It To End #uwu catch me posting stuff explicitly for the validation that comes with doing so #i came up with the title first and it s h o w s

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officerjennie · 5 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Characters: Senju Tobirama, Uchiha Madara Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Yôkai Series: Part 3 of Raffle Stories Summary:

Madara goes hunting, but it isn't prey that he finds and brings home with him.

The final raffle story - requested by @gilglirthemaia :D

Ko-Fi || Commissions

The rains were late.

Madara ran a hand over the tree at his side, feeling the deep grooves in the bark. Little water meant less food for all the animals of the woods, and it meant less game for him as well. He sniffed the claw markings, hoping they weren’t too fresh. Large predators weren’t exactly brand new to his territory but he didn’t want to deal with them either way. Getting a good whiff would help him avoid whatever had wandered through in search of food, and with any luck it would be on its way before long - assuming it wasn’t interested in moving in.

Taking extra care to listen to his surroundings, Madara picked his way through the woods, checking here and there for any potential tracks or berries. When nothing but a squirrel or two happened across his path, both of which were too far up in the trees to get to quick enough, he changed course towards the riverbed.

Briars grew thick around the tree line, reaching and grabbing at his tail. He couldn’t help but growl at them, not for the first time tempted to take a fire to the lot of it and be done. Better to see it all up in smoke than to deal with the damned things stuck in his fur.

An empty threat, of course. Especially given how dry the grass was. Torching his land might be a bit cathartic for the first few minutes but seeing the whole forest go up in flames wouldn’t exactly be ideal.

With the rains late, and no runoff from leftover ice or snow to fill it, the river was dangerously low. Fresh tracks crisscrossed all about its banks, difficult to pinpoint which led where, but that was to be expected. It was the only real source of water left within a couple of miles; this had been the deepest portion of the river, at least of what ran through his territory.

His nose was thankfully up to the task of tracking. Catching the freshest scent, at least a few deer had been through the area not too long ago, and had headed off somewhere north. It meant crossing the river, which took a bit of a detour upstream, but soon he was on their trail, jogging as quickly as he dared without making too much noise.

It was a good few miles before he caught the scent of blood. He slowed his pace, resisting the urge to run faster after the wounded prey in favor of caution. Being downwind was in his favor, and he’d seen no signs of the predator he’d smelled earlier, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be at fault for the wounded animal ahead.

The trees thinned out quickly, Madara coming up on one of the many clearings that dotted his forest. Blood hung thicker in the air here but he found he couldn’t place the smell, cursing when he realized it wasn’t a wounded deer he was tracking. Something else was injured, and no matter how hungry he might be it was extremely dangerous to head into a situation like this when he had little to no information.

Before he could fully commit to turning back, he spotted a splash of grey amidst the sea of green, ducking behind the nearest tree an instant later. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it but it didn’t seem large enough to leave whatever grooves had been clawed into his trees - but any injured animal could summon enough panic-induced strength and fury to do significant damage to his person.

A peek around the tree had his lip curling, fur bristling when he realized it wasn’t a wounded animal but a wounded intruder sitting in the middle of one of his fields.

The grey-silver fur and hair was a bit odd, but Madara knew an intelligent species when he saw one. Whatever it wanted in his territory couldn’t be good. Hesitation fell to the wayside of rightful indignation at the intrusion, Madara slipping out from his hiding place to approach it with his teeth bared.

Later, if he was ever asked why he didn’t instantly tear the other’s throat out, Madara would insist he’d merely taken pity on him after spotting the nasty wound that had him bleeding all over the place. Never in the rest of his years would he admit something as idiotic as the other man’s scent had ground him to a halt only a few feet away, ignoring the startled whip of his head in favor of blinking at him like a dumbstruck idiot.

To his credit, the intruder instantly displayed non-threatening body language. Despite being injured and no doubt concerned for his safety he showed no signs of wanting to fight, making himself look smaller instead of larger, not even bothering to show his teeth.

“I had hoped to cross your territory faster than this.”

Madara cocked his head at the admission, brought back from his dumbstruck state. Certainly not what he would’ve done, admitting to knowing he was trespassing. Only idiots trespassed in the first place, and truthful idiots were just asking for trouble. Still, he didn’t move to defend his territory, a little too thrown off to attack the other just yet.

“What injured you?” Since the idiot seemed willing to talk anyway, might as well get some information out of him. Especially since it might have been whatever had been marking up his trees.

“Territorial dispute.” At Madara’s snarl, the other’s ears flattened. “Over my territory, not someone else’s. The wound reopened.”

“What are you doing here then?”

That earned him a rather bland look. “Oh, I don’t know. Injured, crossing territory, all after a territorial dispute. Use your brain, idiot.”

“ Idiot ? Who’s the one bleed in someone else’s territory right now?”

“That has nothing to do with intelligence.” The man noticeably deflated all the same, looking near pitiful with his slump paired with his wound and rather ragged clothing. It didn’t sit well with Madara, seeing him like that - no matter that he had no reason to feel anything besides rage at the trespasser.

But the scent of blood was heavy in the air, and the markings on his trees had been far too deep to be anything but bad news.

“You can’t stay here.”

“...I can’t walk. My leg won’t support my weight.”

“No, I meant here - in this field, out in the open.” Madara crouched down in front of him, eyeing his wound. “Something big moved in recently, and chances are it’s a predator. You’ll be shit by tomorrow if you just sit here.”

The man’s ears flattened against his head, red eyes flickering up to meet Madara’s. “I still can’t walk.”

Madara considered him for a few moments, then flashed his teeth in warning. “Bite me and I’ll save whatever it is the trouble of killing you.” Without any further warning he grabbed his arm, standing up and dragging the other man up with him.

It was awkward, to say the least, having someone whose name he didn’t even know pressed so closely to his side. And with the man’s injury they made slow progress, not reaching Madara’s dens until dusk had nearly fallen around them.

The entrance was as far as he took him. There were a few furs there for him to get comfortable on while Madara went further into the cave system that he’d made his den, coming back with some spare cloths to use as bandages. On a whim he dressed the other’s wounds himself, taking care to wash and wrap them up properly.

“If you don’t give me a name, I’m going to keep thinking of you as just ‘that idiot’.”

“Tobirama.”

“Tobirama the idiot it is.” He tossed the bloodied cloths to the side to burn later, taking a moment to look around. It wasn’t the best part of his den. Wasn’t meant to be, since those were meant only for him and a potential future mate. But it felt a little wrong how bare it was, with only his oldest furs and nothing else to show for himself.

Not that he had any reason to show off to Tobirama. He shook himself before standing up, refusing to look over at his guest. “You can stay while you heal, but don’t expect me to feed you or anything.” Without waiting for any type of response Madara stormed off further into his den, putting the mess behind him to deal with later.

He fed him, of course. Despite what many might believe he had been taught manners, and he was hardly going to let someone starve under his roof. On top of keeping him fed Madara made sure to treat some new furs, ones that weren’t patchy and worn from age, for him to use as a bed. By the time Tobirama’s wound had fully healed the entrance had practically become his room - though despite how comfortable it was Madara still felt something off about it.

“It gets drafty in here at night, doesn’t it?”

Tobirama glanced up at him from where he sat on his bed, quirking a single eyebrow. “Not really, no.”

“What about when it rains? Does the wind blow that in here?”

“No, your entrance covering does a good job of preventing that.”

Madara scowled as he paced the room, certain that there had to be something he was missing. Because it just felt wrong leaving Tobirama in this room, making him stay there without…

Well, he was still trying to figure that bit out. He had no idea what the room was without.

“Do you like staying here?”

Tobirama shifted a bit, his gaze focused just past Madara’s head. “It’s perfectly acceptable. I’m very grateful for being allowed to stay in your territory, and I wouldn’t-”

“Not talking about that, talking about here. In this room.”

Tobirama’s ears twitched as he blinked over at him. “...where else would I stay?”

“I’m sure I’ve got somewhere better.” It was mostly grumbled to himself, Madara stopping to run a hand through the hanging furs that separated the entrance from the rest of his den. The rest of his rooms were all in use of course, but he could probably move stuff around to find something better for Tobirama.

“...in your actual den…?”

Madara grunted, still in thought and speaking absently. “Don’t have anywhere else.”

“You...you do know what you’re suggesting, right?”

The question was enough to pull Madara out of his own head. He turned as Tobirama stood up, watching as he shifted his weight back and forth, staring at the space between them.

“Your offering for me to stay in your den, Madara. That...does that mean the same for your species as it does mine?”

“Species? We don’t look that different.”

Tobirama waved his hand in gesture. “We’re close, but that’s not important. Madara, what would it typically mean for you to let someone into your den?”

“I wouldn’t,” Madara said simply. Though he knew instantly it wasn’t the full answer; he frowned, his tail swishing behind him, fur hissing against the cave floor. “Well, I would with a mate of course, and with anyone I planned to court.”

“And you’re inviting me in, so what...what does that mean?”

Madara stated at him for a minute. Watched as Tobirama grew oddly still, as if he were holding his breath - as Madara let his own mind wrap around the question and come to the only natural conclusion it could.

“Huh. I guess I want to court you.”

“You guess?” Tobirama’s eyes shot up, pinching at the corners.

“If you’d let me.” He shrugged, his nonchalance belied by the off rhythm beating in his chest.

“That would be acceptable.”

The answer came a little too fast, pink spreading out from the red markings on Tobirama’s cheeks. They were both left fidgeting awkwardly, staring off at the walls as if they weren’t trying to gauge each other’s reactions.

But Madara had never been one to deal with either awkward or emotional situations, and planned to get this one over with as quickly as possible so as to not have to deal with it anymore.

“Well, come on then.” He grabbed Tobirama’s wrist without any warning, dragging him off past the hanging furs and into his den before either of them could have any second thoughts over how horrifically embarrassing this all was. And since it was already well into the evening he pulled him right into his personal room, settling them both down into his bed.

Once they both managed to move past the awkwardness and relaxed, Tobirama tentatively nuzzling into his new courter, Madara decided almost immediately that he liked this plan of his. He had to throw a leg over his own tail to keep it from giving his excitement away, sneakily taking inhales of their scents and being quite pleased with how well they mingled.

He remembered hesitating at Tobirama’s when they met, staring instead of tearing into him as he should have; and as he drifted off to sleep pressed against the other he found himself shamelessly glad that someone had thrown Tobirama out of his original territory - though there would most certainly be hell to pay if he ever got hands on them.

#madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction #mywriting #yokai au #thank you raffle story #thanks again everyone!!#y'all are wonderful and ilu

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the-ash0 · 5 years

Text

chapter 20 alpha

Hangar five was of moderate size with a capacity for ten pods. It only held two now, and was deserted except for two Saiyans and the technical overseer. The yellow toad hovered near the entrance, ready to follow its colleagues out at the first sight of trouble. Vegeta ignored the little wart-face completely and focused on the work instead, sliding deeper into the ship’s side panel on his back as he checked the maintenance lights. Earlier, he had strong-armed the technician into giving him the manual; now Vegeta displayed it on on his scouter and checked the schematics against the panel readouts.

Nappa hovered over him in awestruck silence as he worked. The hulk’s nervous awe only lent credit to the idea that Saiyans should not be left alone with gear, which was probably what was on the overseeing mechanic's mind. Vegeta agreed insofar that such work was far beneath him, but if he was going to get blown up he’d like it to be his own fault for once. He’d get blamed for it later anyway.

The tense atmosphere was getting to Vegeta, and though he really didn't think Nappa would provide any meaningful conversation, there was one little thing Nappa could help him understand. One thing Vegeta could not wrap his head around.

“So, Nappa. Coli and Kura, they’re twins, right?”

“What? Yes. Yes they are. Well it’s kind of obvious, huh?” The buffoon shifted, caught off guard, and the pod groaned softly as he took his weight off where he’d been leaning on it with his arms. Nappa paused, then his voice turned somewhat wistful. “They do resemble each other a bit.”

That was the understatement of the year! Vegeta’s eye twitched in response to a rather harsh flashing light. He couldn't find it in the manual, or maybe he was mixing it up with another. At least the lights couldn't act indignant about it. “Yes, but there are differences. Right?” They’d both told him as much.

“Of course,” Nappa nodded. “There’s the tits, obviously.” The big man outside sighed heavily. “Fuck yeah. Tits. They’re one thing that makes Saiyan women superior to all others. A mammal thing, they say. Beautiful, soft, round tits. You know?”

“Of course I know what teats are,” Vegeta snapped, “but they are wearing identical sets of armor!” Armor which completely hid any boobs or lack thereof. So for all intents and purposes, it was an insignificant difference. This might not have been the best time to address this. Vegeta felt his temper flare, and this was delicate work. “So... Nappa... You never have... trouble telling Coli and Kura apart? Not even in battle?”

“Of course not. Kura’s hair is so soft and feminine. And she smells so sweet.” Nappa stepped closer, crouched down, and tried to make eye contact. “Why, how could anyone… my prince? Ah, fuck. You’re not having trouble telling them—”

“Don’t be asinine,” Vegeta cut in angrily as he shoved himself deeper into the pod and turned away, no longer interested in pursuing the subject. “Why, they are obviously different. It’s just that you’re an idiot. So, I was just curious.”

But damn. Did this mean he’d either have to sniff them or feel up their hair before he’d know who he was addressing? This was becoming a issue. He’d had all sort of creatures tell him that all Saiyans looked alike, but he’d never had that problem himself before. None of his Saiyan squad seemed to struggle with it either, but as far as Vegeta could tell the pair were identical. Vegeta had switched to just ‘hey you’ after he’d addressed the wrong twin several times the first week. Both acted like it was so obvious that Vegeta started to doubt his perception. Not that any of them had had much time to dwell on it.

Life had turned hectic pretty fast after Vegeta received command of his first squad. Near a year had passed, but they’d spent over two thirds of it traveling and most of the rest too busy to hash things through. Within a week of meeting his Saiyan squad, Frieza had offered them a little warm-up mission: a planet of mediocre size, inhabited by some form of simple animal. It had seemed like the ideal way to begin.

Shortly after launch, Vegeta realised he had been a fool to accept. Just before he entered cryo-sleep for the month long journey, Raditz had hailed him in alarm because his fuel tank had been nearly empty. When the Prince checked the other ships, it turned out Raditz was not the only one without enough fuel for the round trip. So Vegeta had ordered a return to base and nearly lost it at the workers in charge of his pods. But only minutes into his tirade, Zarbon had cut in and announced that fuel and provisions were obviously a commander's —Vegeta’s responsibility.

The memory of the lecture that had followed only riled up Vegeta further, so the young teen pulled a cable a little too roughly and was left with an entire slate of computer parts in his hand. He swore softly, hoping Nappa did not notice. Honestly, the prince should be thankful to Zarbon. If he had not been so infuriated at him, Vegeta doubted he would have made his squad check their inventories to take out his frustrations on them. It turned out that none of them had had enough rations or water on board either. In the end, they had gotten lucky.

The Saiyans had lost considerably more time on the second mission. Again, the briefing had been little more thorough than half a screen on his scouter. A planet with intelligent life, but with such low power levels Vegeta had not thought twice about it. He’d made sure they had provisions and fuel this time, and had headed out.

Of course he found out on site that reconnaissance and intelligence gathering had become his job too; the briefing provided was only a starting point. It also turned out that although the inhabitants lacked fighting power, they well made up for it with teamwork and coordinated retreats. The natives had evaded the Saiyans for months by hiding, somehow tricking the scouter’s power readings by finding refuge deep underground. The defenders took losses but could not be completely exterminated. In the end, the Prince was just lucky he and Raditz had discussed the strange interference that kept popping up on their scouters, and finally figured out they were listening in on enemy broadcasts. Yet with no materials at hand to help figure out the language, it had taken another month to decipher what the natives were saying. Once the language barrier was cracked, figuring out the hiding places and wiping the creatures out had been child’s play. Vegeta and his team had run ridiculously late, but in retrospect making it out alive and well was not that poor of a consolation prize, as they soon found out

For their third and previous mission had been presented right after the debrief. Vegeta shuddered when he recalled it and nearly dropped the plate he had been trying to return to its position. What a horror! It was a quiet planet with little technology. The creatures seemed to be little more intelligent or dangerous than the common space-fly. The Saiyans had rejoiced, seen it as a holiday. Vegeta had been tense during the entire trip and purge, so sure something unexpected would happen. He’d sighed in relief when they had entered cryo-sleep for the return journey on schedule and with enough fuel and inventory to get them home.

The worst homecoming imaginable had followed. His first memories of waking had been fuzzy and the docking procedures for landing on Frieza’s ship had roused them with difficulty. The haze had stayed too long; Vegeta was only dimly aware that something very wrong and alien was moving inside his body. They had landed with the usual heavy shock impact, and then all hell had broken out. Vegeta felt a sickening ‘pop’ as his gut burst open. His withered insides had been entwined with a wild sputtering mass, intestines ran red with blood, gnawed on by white parasitic worms as long as a finger. He started to scream, and was soon joined by his Saiyan team-mates as the pod hatches opened. The panicked medical personnel shouted and rushed to their aid in the landing bays.

That was the only time Vegeta had voluntarily gone through the decontamination process twice. He’d come back a third time, after a stay in the the healing tanks, and scrubbed himself clean on his own. It had been a close call for the whole team, and the bloody carouselle of memories was still viciously clear.

Vegeta sighed when the computer part he had just put back in place fell down again. Just another little problem. It was probably his responsibility too. Just like the worms had been; they had apparently consumed the larvae with the water on planet. The worms had proven immune to the stasis gas that accompanied cryo sleep, a problem that had become more frequent for the entire PTO and something Vegeta ‘should have known about’. The pods were outfitted with all sorts of fail-safes to protect a soldier’s health: from keeping tabs on life signs to warning home-base and putting the ship’s occupant in an absolute-zero cold sleep. That should have theoretically halted the growth of any biological hazard picked up during a mission, but none of these failsafes had been kept in working order—yet another thing Vegeta should have kept an eye on. This was what had led to his now failing attempt to check out Nappa’s pod.

Vegeta gave up on trying to fix the panel this way. “Hand me a soldering iron, will you?” he called to Nappa. It should be an easy fix, and probably would be done better if Vegeta did it himself. The only pod that had engaged cold sleep had been Nappa’s, and it had not worked correctly. Nappa had been eaten almost as much as the rest of the squad and had also suffered brain-damage from the cooling process. The poor brute had been in the healing tanks for a week longer than the others, so it was not all bad that their systems had not kicked in.

Vegeta blindly reached out one hand outside the pod, and closed his fingers around the tool. But when he looked at the it, he realized it was not the right one. “Nappa, that's a screwdriver.”

Why he had expected better now baffled the prince. Nappa offered some kind of apology, little more than stuttering, which caused Vegeta to stifle a groan. Once again, he wondered if Nappa's brain damage had been fixed at all. Trying to explain the differences between tools to this Saiyan simpleton seemed like too much trouble. Vegeta would just have to dumb down his orders to the giant half-wit instead. So he slid out from under the ship, rubbed at his eyes and resolved to finally place the blame on somebody else. With a malicious grin, he pointed at the unlucky overseer. “Just get me that mechanic instead.”

The creature yelped, even made a run for it. Nappa might be slow upstairs but he could move fast enough. He caught the creature before it even made it out the door, scooped it up and simply carried it to Vegeta. The prince relished the fear on the little thing's face, then started to complain about shoddy maintenance on the pod. Next he promised to hold the little twit responsible if anything broke on their upcoming mission. His tirade grew into a cathartic one sided shouting match that finally gave Vegeta a chance to vent his frustrations.

Frustrations about his missions, his Saiyans, and of course those fucking debriefings. The debriefings were the worst. After their first mission, Frieza had called Vegeta’s squad in to explain their hectic departure. Only the tyrant and Zarbon had been present, and though the blue elite seemed to enjoy Vegeta's stuttered explanation, Frieza himself had acted worried and helpful. After all of their problems had been discussed, Frieza had offered a second mission to prove themselves and make up for their errors.

Of course, more trouble came. On their return trip from the second and painfully late purge Dodoria, Captain Ginyu and three other elites he had never met had shown up to hear Vegeta’s inadequate and apparently hilarious explanation.

Frieza had asked twice for the guests to quiet their sniggering, but had not seemed too upset or willing to shut them up with violence. Then the tyrant had asked Vegeta if he'd rather forget the whole Saiyan command thing and join Frieza’s entourage instead. The young Saiyan had been mortified.

Vegeta had already had over a week to worry about the third debriefing since Nappa was still in the healing tank and Frieza had requested the entire squad to be present. He had been right to worry; it had been little more than a public humiliation. The whole Ginyu squad was there, asking questions like, “how could this have happened?”, “who was responsible?”, and “why didn’t you know this?” — words he now handily dished out to the petrified mechanic.

After what seemed like an eternity, Frieza had shushed the others. Then it said Vegeta was obviously too young to be given such responsibilities, and had repeated its offer for Vegeta to join its entourage. When Vegeta declined, Zarbon had been appointed to oversee their next mission. For their own safety. How humiliating.

When his tirade finally ran out of steam, Vegeta tossed the panel at the unlucky toad-man and strode out with a last “see that it's properly fixed this time,” Nappa on his heels.

If Frieza thought Vegeta would quit so easily, he had another thing coming. Saiyan Princes didn't do giving up; Vegeta least of all. Besides, his squad would not last long without him. Who would lead in his stead? None of the other Saiyans had the brains or the dedication to keep them alive.

Well, there was Raditz. Raditz was smart and diligent and could be put to any task, but they would never accept him as leader. He was not just a third class; he was young and weak. No, one of those old men would take over, no doubt. And they were useless.

This brought Vegeta’s thoughts to the senior Saiyans. Ugh. Vegeta decided to visit the hangar to the far side, where Raditz was to instruct the two old geezers how to check their own pods for faults. That was something Vegeta had decided against even trying to teach Nappa; the task was far beyond the simpleton. The elders should be able to do it themselves, though, with the help of a good and patient teacher. And Raditz had enough patience, or at least a lot more than Vegeta ever would. Still, the prince had little doubt the two would make Raditz's life as difficult as they could.

Though, honestly, Vegeta wouldn’t be too sad if Raditz failed and one of those old fools had a little ‘technical mishap’; Nion in particular. The elder professed to be wise, and enjoyed speaking in clever-sounding proverbs. But the few times Vegeta had swallowed his pride and enlisted the old man’s help, Nion had proven himself slow of wit, lacking initiative, and barely literate. That didn't stop him from comparing Vegeta to his father, or to even dare ask if the king would have approved. It got the teen’s blood boiling the way the old elite insinuated and manipulated him. Even worse, it worked. It made Vegeta want to try harder; to at least protect his meager squad, a squad that— despite Frieza’s insistence that there were plenty of Saiyans— was still a few monkeys short of a full barrel.

Vegeta had received two new additions to his team just the other day; a large first-class with a dull personality called Papple and a rough elite by the name of Nangock, who preferred to go by Jack. It brought their total number, including Vegeta, up to nine. Of course, a full squad would have twelve people. The new pair would not be very helpful either; good for little outside of blasting shit to pieces, which was a shame. That was the one job Vegeta still enjoyed, despite the strange lethargy that had taken control of him lately.

Vegeta nodded as he marched on. Raditz was the only member of the squad with half a brain, really. Nappa was a simpleton, and Lekus... Lekus was a disrespectful, rude bastard who revelled in pointing out all the shortcomings in Vegeta’s work. Only after the fact, of course. It had not gone unnoticed by Vegeta that the idiot could hardly be bothered to read the team briefings - briefings which Vegeta had worked pretty damn hard on. The prince had to go through through tons of unsorted paperwork to locate intel on available planets. The materials were often difficult to access, written in a language Vegeta didn’t understand, and not even properly indexed. But all Lekus ever offered was a useless ‘I bet it'll be harder than you think’, and an ‘I told you so’ after the fact.

Grunting in annoyance, Vegeta came to a sudden stop. He and Nappa had reached the far hangar, and Raditz was indeed working hard on one of the pods allocated to them. The old men were not causing a scene, but they were not helping, that much was for sure. No, they were drinking tea. Tea. While he had specifically told them to learn. Good. Because Vegeta found he still had some insults left to dole out that fit this lot far better than the mechanic. Words like ‘useless.’

The Prince upended the table and spilled their tea. He had quite a few more words for them, and so he kept railing on the old losers without listening to their apologies. “Stupid.”

And they fit the descriptives better anyway. Because it wasn't him, dammit. He wasn’t the ‘failure’.

#surviving paradise #fanfic #vegeta #ao3 #fanfiction

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arbitrarypoetry · 6 years

Text

We’re All Adults Here

“…So then I said, ‘Oh, grow up, will you?’”

Everyone laughed, and Adam did too, a second too late and maybe a touch too loud. He was standing just on the edge of the cluster of people in his living room, only half-able to hear the story the woman in the middle was telling. There was much more noise in the room than he was used to. On top of that, he was distracted. He kept glancing around his apartment, afraid he would find that he’d forgotten something that would give him away—but everything seemed to be in order.

The coffee table, pushed to one side to make more room for the guests, was covered in tasteful magazines about things like wristwatches and boats, which he had quickly flipped through earlier that day to make sure they looked read. The walls held framed black-and-white photography and an ugly abstract painting that made him feel slightly queasy to look at, but that he thought seemed like what his mother might call a “conversation piece.” The floor was vacuumed. The shelves were neat. No sign of dirty laundry, stuffed animals, or comic books.

You’re safe, he told himself. Nobody knows. They all think you’re just like them.

Adam had spent days preparing for this party, weeks. He invited everyone from work, and, except for the crazy lady on the top floor, all the people who lived in his apartment building—the book they’d given him on successful adult life said that house parties were a great way to get to know people. He went out shopping for just the right kinds of snacks, struggling to steer the shopping cart around the aisles. He memorized small-talk conversation starters. He started to put up decorations, but then took them down, afraid that they would look childish.

He was sure that he had done everything right. So why did he still feel so uncomfortable in his own home?

Maybe part of it was the fact that Brian Craig was here, strutting around with his big, puffed-out chest and impressive sweep of hair. He worked in the cubicle across from Adam, and maybe Adam was just being paranoid, but he had the strangest feeling that Brian had it in for him. It was little things, like the way he would loudly ask Adam what he was doing Friday night, and then smirk knowingly at whatever Adam told him. He made fun of the posters Adam had tacked to his cubicle walls for decoration, causing Adam to eventually take them all down, and he had this way of calling Adam “buddy” that made him feel foolish and small.

Adam could see Brian across the room, looking around the apartment, taking everything in, almost as if he was searching for something wrong. They made eye contact. Brian smirked and raised his plastic cup. Adam felt a sudden fear that Brian knew, that he could see right through him, that he was just waiting for a chance to expose everything—but no. That was impossible.

Trying to shake the thought out of his mind, Adam looked away and adjusted his choking tie, feeling a bit like a kid playing dress-up. A soda. That was what he needed. He turned to head to the kitchen, and promptly collided with a woman from the office, who spilled her own drink all over his shirt.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she said, covering her mouth, eyes wide. She wore a dark blue, knee-length dress, and her hair was pulled back. Adam recognized her as the girl at the front desk, who always gave him a shy smile and looked away again quickly when he came in for work.

Adam had frozen, but now he made himself laugh. “It’s okay,” he said, pulling the wet shirt away from himself with two fingers. “This stuff happens.” Some of the red liquid dripped on the carpet.

She bit her lip, squeezing the cup in her hands. “Do you need me to… I don’t know, pay for dry cleaning?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. It’s fine. We’re all adults here.” He flashed her what he hoped was a carefree smile and turned away, praying that she wouldn’t hear the lie in his voice.

Sure, the rest of them were all adults. But he wasn’t. Not really.

Something had gone wrong.

***

“You know what the procedure entails, correct?” The doctor set down his clipboard and looked at Adam over the rims of his wire-framed glasses.

Adam shifted in his uncomfortable seat. He knew he had learned this in school, but he was too nervous to remember any of the details. “It has something to do with my brain, right?”

The doctor sighed and turned in his swivel chair, pulling a colorful chart down against the wall. “You are eighteen years old today,” he said, pointing to a spot near the middle of the chart. “That means that, in the legal sense, you are now an adult, and are expected to become independent and begin contributing to society. However, your brain doesn’t naturally finish maturing until you are about twenty-five.” He pointed to the bottom of the diagram. Next to the number 25 was a pink cartoon brain with eyes, a big smile, and a tiny graduation cap. “This would put you at a disadvantage in the real world—however, we can’t simply have you wait until you feel as if you’re ready, either. So what’s the solution?”

This much Adam could remember. “The procedure,” he said, sitting up straighter.

“That’s right.” The doctor let go of the chart, letting it roll itself back up. “Rather than waiting and wasting valuable time, we will speed up your natural brain processes, enhancing your problem solving abilities, social skills, and so on. The procedure will also help give you the knowledge and confidence needed to begin accomplishing your new responsibilities, such as living in a place of your own, working a full-time job, and, ideally, finding a partner in the next few years or so.”

Adam wished he could have a drink of water. His mouth was so dry. “All right,” he said. “Is that all?”

“There is one more thing.” The doctor took off his glasses. “I am required to warn you,” he said, “that due to the altering properties of the procedure, you will not come out the same. You may feel like an entirely different person in some respects. But you will be a more confident, intelligent, and better-equipped person than you are now. Do you understand?”

Adam swallowed. “Yes.” Wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans, he wondered if the procedure would make him braver, too, less prone to worry. He hoped so. “So when do we start?”

***

Adam excused himself to his room to change his shirt, closing the door against the chattering noise of the party. After putting on a clean, dry shirt, he groaned and flopped down on the bed. “Just a few more hours,” he said, pulling a battered-looking stuffed dog out from under his pillow. Rupert had been his favorite stuffed animal growing up, and Adam had smuggled him out of his parents’ house along with his collection of comic books at the bottom of a box of clothes. He was pretty sure that a true adult wasn’t supposed to have such things, but he just couldn’t stand to have them repurposed and given away with all his other childhood belongings.

“After everyone leaves,” he continued, “we can watch TV and eat sugary cereal and not have to deal with a single other conversation about housing prices or taxes. All right?” Rupert simply sat there, ears drooping over his scratched and dimming eyes, but Adam smiled. “Awesome. I can always count on you.”

Remembering suddenly that he had a house-full of adults just outside his door, Adam put Rupert back on the bed and straightened his tie to head out again. How embarrassing it would be if someone had heard him!

No. Not just embarrassing—disastrous, he told himself as he entered back into the crowd, closing the door behind him. No one could know that the procedure hadn’t worked. That he was the only one.

He still remembered the feeling when he woke up from the procedure and realized that nothing had changed. He was supposed to have transformed, become a better, smarter, braver version of himself, someone ready for the challenges of the real world—but he was still exactly the same. His first thought was to tell them that something had gone wrong, there had been some mistake, but they were already bringing him to his new assigned apartment, giving him information about the job he would start in the morning, everything moving so, so fast, and he just… He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know what would have happened if he had. The procedure had worked on every other person in the country; why hadn’t it worked on him? What was wrong with him?

No, he couldn’t let anyone know. He just had to fake it. He had to keep everyone convinced that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Stepping out into the fray again, he navigated around people as they chatted and sipped drinks, engrossed in each other’s companies. He made eye contact across the room with the woman who’d spilled her drink on him and smiled at her. She gave him a small smile back and looked away, cheeks flushing.

Ducking into the kitchen, he helped himself to some of the cheese platter he’d set out and did his best to join a conversation some others were having about a popular dark and gritty show that all the critics agreed was the best thing on television right then. He nodded along with the discussion, hoping they wouldn’t be able to tell that he’d only seen the first episode and then had trouble sleeping for a week. He preferred the violence of cartoons, where even if someone got a hole blown straight through them, they were up and running again in the very next shot.

After a while, the discussion about one particularly odd-ball character in the show led the conversation to the crazy old lady who lived on their top floor. “I saw her going through the trash once,” said one young man with a daringly stripy tie. “Honestly, I’m not sure why they let her stay here.”

“I wonder… She seems pretty old. Do you think she was around before the procedure? Maybe that would explain her behavior.”

“Nah, they implemented that at least eighty years ago. She can’t be that old.”

“Still, they didn’t start requiring it until…”

Adam knew the woman they were talking about. She was the first person he met when he first moved in, actually. She’d greeted him with a cheerful wave as they passed on the stairs, calling “Hello there, sonny boy!”, much louder than Adam thought adults were usually advised to speak. She had been wearing an oversized coat and two brightly patterned, clashing mismatched socks. Adam, still occupied with his anxiety about the procedure, had only given her a weak smile back, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. She kept climbing down the stairs, whistling to herself in an off-key way.

As Adam tried to adjust to his new life, figuring out how to balance grocery shopping and laundry and work, among other things, too scared to ask any of the others living in his apartment building for help, he found himself noticing her a lot. Through his front window, he could see her out in the park, where she spent much of her time.

Once, she had been walking along the path in a usual way, then abruptly flapped her arms and chased a flock of pigeons, sending them up in a frenzied, feathered cloud. He couldn’t hear from where he stood, attempting to run the vacuum cleaner, but he thought she was laughing.

Another time, when he was struggling with his taxes, he saw her stop and pick a bunch of flowering weeds that everyone else had simply passed by; later, when he went out to get the mail, he found them sitting on the front steps in an old jam jar full of water. They got dumped into the trash the next day.

Nothing she did seemed particularly adult; at least, not compared to the people Adam met at work or on the bus. But she seemed happy. She interested Adam, and in a way, he wondered if he might have found a kindred spirit—he longed to talk to her, to tell her about the procedure, ask her what she thought. Somehow he felt that she would know what to say. But once he learned the opinion that everyone else in the apartment building seemed to have of her—that she was a crazy old nuisance, no one wanted to spend time with her—he decided that in the interest of fitting in, he should probably avoid her. That was why, even though it made him feel a little guilty, he hadn’t invited her along with everyone else in the building to his house party.

To continue this goal of fitting in, and hoping to squash down the feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach, he joined the conversation. “Did you see the time she went outside during that huge thunderstorm?” he asked, trying to sound funny, clever. “Where it was all dumping down, but she just stood there looking up into it and catching raindrops on her tongue? She looked like a soaked cat.”

One man laughed, and the others all shook their heads, frowning in resigned disapproval. “So impractical.” “Probably got sick.” “Not an efficient use of time at all.”

“People like her are the reason they started making the procedure mandatory,” said the man with the striped tie. “If people refuse to grow up, where will society be?”

Adam was just in the middle of nodding and agreeing when somebody called his name. “Adam!” He turned, still smiling agreeably, and felt his expression freeze on his face. Brian Craig stood in the kitchen doorway, practically filling it with his broad shoulders. In his hands he held a stuffed dog. Rupert. Brian raised the toy, one eyebrow cocked. “What’s this?”

Adam’s skin went cold. Don’t panic. Don’t panic! “What?” Adam said, forcing a laugh. “Where did that come from?”

“I found it in your room,” Brian said. “I was looking for the bathroom. But when I opened the door, I found this on the bed.” He raised Rupert higher, holding him by one frayed ear.

A few guests in the kitchen tittered nervously. More started gathering to see what was going on. Adam saw the woman from the reception desk peering in, questioning. Adam felt his mind reeling for excuses. “Wow. I just… That isn’t mine, obviously.” He chuckled painfully. “I mean, only a baby would still sleep with a stuffed animal, right?”

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Brian said. His mouth was tilted in the beginnings of a smirk.

“But I’m no baby,” Adam forged on, inwardly cringing at how juvenile the words sounded coming from his mouth. “I mean, I got the procedure just like everyone. He—it must have gotten mixed in with my stuff somehow when they delivered it. Crazy.”

“It was sitting on your bed, buddy.” Brian raised an eyebrow. The smirk grew more prominent.

“Yeah, see, I had been sorting through some of my stuff—you know, before everyone got here—and when I found that I was like what? Who put this kid toy in with all my, uh, jazz albums? So I took it out and I was trying to figure out what to do with it and I thought maybe I would give it away to some kid. Because, you know. It’s a kid’s toy.”

Brian turned Rupert over in his hands. “I don’t know, man,” he said. “This thing is pretty beat up.” He held Rupert in the air so everyone could get a good look. “I mean, check it out. What kid would want a junky old toy like this?” He laughed. Some of the guests looked uncomfortable. Others started laughing too, and the noise began to build in the small, cramped kitchen.

Adam’s face was hot. He couldn’t let them know. He’d worked so hard. He had to fix this. “You know what?” he said, and he snatched Rupert from Brian’s hand, fingers sinking into the worn fur. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking. The only place this thing belongs is at the dump.” And then, without taking his eyes off Brian’s face, he took Rupert and tossed him down the garbage chute.

***

Brian tried to continue giving him a hard time after that, but no one else seemed all that interested anymore; it was like they all wanted to pretend that the whole thing hadn’t happened. In the end, Brian only clapped Adam on the shoulder, painfully hard, and said “Nice move, buddy,” before ambling off to chat with his work friends in a corner, loudly discussing the stock market and laughing uproariously at jokes Adam couldn’t begin to understand. The woman from the front desk wouldn’t meet Adam’s eyes.

The rest of the party soon went back to normal, people chatting in their own little groups, laughter breaking out now and then, cracker crumbs falling and getting ground into the rug. Adam knew he should feel relieved that the disaster had been averted, and he tried to go back to mingling, being a good host, but his heart wasn’t in it. All he could think of was Rupert, all alone, plummeting through the cold metal pipes. He would land in the big communal dumpster, get smushed in with all the used tissues, apple cores, everyone else’s junk. Like he was junk.

Adam’s mom had given him Rupert when Adam was only four years old. He had taken that dog with him everywhere; ate with him, climbed trees with him, slept with him. His fur, as matted and worn as it had gotten over the years, still smelled like home.

“…Would love to, but with this economy…”

“…So I told him, look, if I…”

“…A perfect game, they just had to…”

The conversations swirled around Adam. He smiled, laughed, tried to focus, but he couldn’t seem to absorb anything that was said. His stomach hurt. His mind kept replaying the moment when he threw Rupert, the easy toss of his hand, over and over.

Stop it, he told himself. It was just a stupid stuffed animal. An adult wouldn’t be upset. An adult wouldn’t care.

Grab, toss. Grab, toss. The sick, empty feeling in the pit of his stomach hardened.

But I do.

***

Adam was knee-deep in the dumpster, digging through the trash, tie loose around his neck. If people didn’t guess on their own why he had excused himself, he was sure Brian would give them some ideas, but Adam didn’t care anymore. He had to get Rupert back. He tore through the garbage. He wasn’t an adult, he wasn’t, he couldn’t keep pretending, he…

A voice from behind him. “Are you looking for this?”

Adam turned. Standing there in the alleyway was the old woman from the top floor. In her outstretched hand she held Rupert.

“Yes,” Adam said, embarrassment at being seen mingling with relief. “Yes, I am.” He half climbed, half fell out of the dumpster, then stood, a little hesitantly, and waited for her to move to give the toy back. She didn’t.

“It looked well-loved,” she said, rubbing one gnarled thumb over the dog’s head. “I wondered why someone would throw it away.” She peered up at him with quick, bright eyes behind thick glasses. A yellow scarf was tied like a headband around her white poof of hair.

“It was an accident,” Adam said. “A mistake.”

She cocked her head. “So was it a mistake or an accident?”

“Aren’t they the same?”

“Oh, I think they can be very different things.”

She sat down on a set of concrete steps to the left of the dumpster. The one good thing about this location was that it was away from the road, toward the back of the building, so no one could see them. A few straggly weeds grew from the cracks in the pavement. She gestured with the dog for Adam to sit down next to her. As he did, she asked “What’s its name?”

“Rupert.” The word came out before Adam could think about it.

“And what’s your name?”

“Adam.”

“Nice to meet you, Adam. I’m Daisy.” She shook his hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “There. Now that we’ve gotten to know each other, how about you tell me what’s going on.”

Adam thought of the crowd of adults in his apartment upstairs. “It’s a long story.”

She looked at him. Bright, piercing eyes. “Tell me.”

And then, it was like the dam that Adam had been building up for months finally broke. He told her everything—about the party, about Brian, about how homesick he got, about how badly he’d messed up his first load of laundry, everything right down to the procedure and how it hadn’t worked. It came pouring out; everything he’d been keeping to himself, trying to deal with it like an adult, trying to convince everyone that he was fine, he knew exactly what he was doing. It felt good to finally tell someone. He was so tired of pretending.

Daisy listened, un-interrupting, the whole way through. Only when Adam finally ran out of steam and slumped on the steps, feeling like he’d just run a marathon, did she speak. “So you say you don’t feel like an adult,” she said.

Adam shook his head. “Not even a little.”

“Well, what is an adult supposed to feel like, then?”

Adam hesitated. This felt like a trick question. “Well… They’re confident. And smart. They understand things way better than I can, and they always know what to do, and they don’t get all worried or scared. Like me.” Adam twisted his fingers together.

“And you figure this adult thing is how everyone else feels, right?”

“Well, yeah.” Adam drew his eyebrows together and glanced at her, tugging his tie further away from his neck. “Don’t they?”

Daisy stroked Rupert thoughtfully. “What would you say,” she said, as casually as if they were discussing the weather, “if I told you that the procedure doesn’t work on anyone?”

At first the words didn’t sink in. Adam stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. The procedure doesn’t work. On anyone, not just you.” She gave him a wry, crooked smile. “How does it feel to know that you’re not special?”

Adam frowned, still not understanding. It was like the information couldn’t process. “But… That can’t be right. It does work! Everyone knows that. Everyone else…”

“And how do you know what’s going in everyone else’s heads?”

“Well, they… I just…” Adam found he couldn’t answer.

Daisy chuckled, the wrinkles around her eyes growing even more pronounced. “It’s always the same,” she said. “Everyone thinks that everyone else knows what they’re doing, so they lie to fit in. Everyone’s pretending, and they all think that they’re the only one who’s faking it. Part of growing up is learning that it’s not just you.” She gave him a small whack on the arm. “There. I just gave you a head start.” With a brief, warm smile, she slid Rupert into Adam’s lap and stood up, joints popping.

Adam’s head was spinning. “Wait,” he said. “So… If what you’re saying is true… Does anyone ever figure out what they’re doing? Did you?”

She laughed, leaning back to crack the bones in her spine. “Oh, no. I don’t think anyone does completely. But it does get easier.” She picked up a plastic bag that Adam hadn’t noticed earlier. It was full of glass bottles, clear, green, and blue. “Just keep doing what needs getting done, and do it your way. Don’t worry too much about anyone else. You’ll grow, in your own time. There’s no magic pill.” She chuckled again. “That’s what it was in my day. A pill.” She turned and began walking to the front of the building, the bottles in her bag softly clinking.

Adam’s head was full with these new ideas—he still wasn’t sure yet if he believed any of it—but he still found room to be curious. “What are the bottles for?” he called after her.

“I’m going to hang them from the ceiling,” she called back, not bothering to look back at him. “I like the way the light hits the glass.”

She disappeared around the corner of the building. Adam sat on the steps, holding Rupert, turning things over in his mind. She was probably crazy, he knew. There was no reason why he should trust anything she said.

But what if she was right? What if there wasn’t anything wrong with him?

What if he wasn’t supposed to be someone different?

Adam looked down at the worn, threadbare dog in his hands. “We should probably go back up,” he said, thinking of all the people crowded in his apartment, talking about politics and house remodeling and the state of the weather. “It would be the grown-up thing to do.”

But he didn’t. Not right away. He knew he would have to at some point—he would have to fix his tie, tuck Rupert away, and step back into the adult world. But for right then, he stayed where he was, listening to the hum of the cars passing by on the street, the twittering of the birds from the telephone wire, the sounds of a world that seemed just a little less frightening than before.

#growing up #adulting #adulthood #short story #we're all adults here #i wrote this when i was eighteen #my first semester of college #so i mean i was definitely thinking a lot about this stuff #i'm sorry it's so long but i'm hoping it will help someone else out there who's just as scared of growing up as i was

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dat-town · 6 years

Text

Definition of Beauty

Characters: Seokjin & OC (Bona)

Setting: college au, photographer au

Genre: romance, fluff, slight angst

Warning: mentions of past bullying

Summary: Define beauty, I will define love.

Words: 6.4k

Previously titled Pose. Click. Kiss. on AFF.

“Okay, everyone. Today’s topic is beauty. Let’s talk about what beauty means to you.”

Mrs. Son is an excellent professor blessed with all the skills needed to gain attention of lazy ass college students who only signed up for her class in hope of a good grade without much effort. She's intelligent, open-minded and strict about deadlines. Her strong persona makes her an ideal role model for girls in this man-driven society. Hence her creative art class was Bona's favourite and no wonder why she takes the advanced level this semester. She hopes for even more challenging projects like the ones she enjoyed most last year so she's always an active participant in class. A few still cough nerd behind her back but she doesn't care because at the end of the day she's the one getting an internship at a good company and not them. Her dream of leading a successful career in the future keeps her going.

She raises her hand up high asking for permission to speak up. She doesn't mind starting any discussion because someone has to break the ice. Last year, she was that someone every single time. It set a routine. That's why when professor Son breaks into a lovely smile she's ready to talk but instead of pointing to her, the woman's eyes are glued on someone else behind her.

“Yes, Seokjin?”

Who? Bona's ears perk up at the unfamiliar name. She lets her hand fall bayk by her side while turning around in the seat to look at this kid. Her eyes scan the area behind her in the occupied lecture hall until they fix on this particularly gorgeous guy. There must be something about him that catches people's interest because he hasn't even muttered out a word and dozens have started to gossip. Maybe it’s his broad shoulders hugged by a white button-up or his delicate features, maybe the light brown locks hovering over his eyes or even his fashionable thick framed glasses. Still, Bona isn't fazed by his appearance, nor by his manly voice when the burble finally stops and he speaks up.

“I believe beauty is in details and without doubt, in finality. We're so obsessed with planning ahead of us, we often miss important moments. It’s enough to look at the Korean school system. Their evanescence is what makes everything beautiful and precious. Every beautiful thing has an expiration date. We want to prolong it, capture it and the beauty industry is living on the desire of staying young and pretty, preferably forever.”

He has an interesting approach, Bona admits but she raises her hand once again.

“Ah, Bona, go ahead,” the professor coos.

“I think Seokjinssi misunderstood the question,” she says diligently and raises her head to look at said guy sitting three rows behind her. Now he's carefully observing her with his tentative gaze while tapping his pen's end on the paper simultaneously. He raises an eyebrow in question so Bona explains further “He only considered the outer aspect of beauty, like the way we appreciate a sunset or someone who will age. What does numbers, such as age, really has to matter? Why couldn't be a grandma beautiful? Just because she's loved by her family. Or the Great Wall of China. Yeah, it's a tremendous but it's a great achievement of the human race and it's standing for thousands of years now. I think beauty doesn't have a limit. It comes from within.”

“You say this like beauty has to come with something worthy,” Seokjin argues flatly.

Was that even a question?

“Of course.”

“You know that the Wall was probably built by thousands of slaves, right? It's just a show-off of a Chinese Emperor,” he snorts and disapprovingly shakes his head. His bangs cover his eyebrows but his gaze doesn’t leave Bona’s face as he continues. “You can ask around but I'm sure if we would pass around pictures of a sunset and Stonehenge or a grandma, sunset would win. People are attracted to the more appealing things even if they are morally low. Terrible scenes could be pictured beautifully too, like natural disasters.”

When his words are swallowed by anticipating silence, it’s her turn to give voice to her thoughts again.

“But that's not beauty. That's judging the book by its cover.”

Anger boils up the blood in her veins when she snaps at him. She doesn’t like Seokjin’s zoomed-in view on the topic. Not even one bit. She likes to appreciate the big picture, the details and their connotations altogether.

“Real beauty is inside, in its meaning,” she insists talking louder than the ocean of whispers around them. She can only see that boy with raised brows and an amused smile. She’s sure her gaze is judging but doesn’t care when she’s trying to make a point. “A lullaby sang by a mother. The twinkle of happiness in a stranger's eyes. Words of philosophers living through centuries.”

At that, Seokjin giggles. Literally giggles! Like what the hell? How old is he? Five? And how dares he laugh at her in front of hundreds of students?

“You're being a hypocrite,” he says lightly with nothing hurtful or offending in his tone. As if it was a simple observation. “Everyone has prejudices because of looks, some just hide it better than others. You, on the other hand, are failing miserably.”

Well, that was insulting.

“What makes you say that?” Bona glares at him and gets prepared for what comes next. Though, she can’t prepare when the harsh words feel like a slap.

“The fact that you put me down as a pretty boy with no brain the moment you saw me.”

“Uh, burn,” a guy lets out a horse-laugh a few seats away from her and a lot join him. Bona feels her face heating up in embarrassment and she hates it.

“Okay, kids, enough. You can continue this outside of the classroom later but we still want to hear a few more opinions,” Mrs. Son interrupts their argument just as Bona has a witty comeback to tell Mr. Know It All where to get off.

Thus, she’s left with only fuming. Right now, she wants nothing more than to leave and never see that flawless face of the arrogant ‘pretty boy’ again.

The class goes on like nothing happened for another thirty minutes when...

“Okay, lesson’s over. Don’t forget the pair project about beauty due to next month,” the professors wraps up the lesson nicely but before anyone can leave she adds: “Oh, Mr. Kim and Miss Shin, come here please.”

Bona grits her teeth when she walks down the aisle towards the teacher’s desk. She isn’t in the mood to get scolded for her impulsive behaviour. Usually, she’s a reserved and calm person. Well, until someone gets on her nerves.

She gulps visibly when the three of them gather together and refuses to meet the eyes of Seokjin. Looking around the lecture room aimlessly is much more interesting until Mrs. Son clears her throat requesting their attention.

“I appreciate your passion about my course but what we would like to do is discussing, not arguing. Please respect each other's opinion.”

“Yeah, ma'am,” the guy nods while Bona mumbles out a sorry.

Professor Son’s smile is reassuring yet full of authority. “Don't be but I would like you two to work together on this project to sort out your disagreements.”

Wait, what? Bona gasps not believing her ears. All of her plans to have a quiet semester without stress go to Hell immediately. She hates teamwork with strangers.

“But I’ve already chose Dami,” she whines like a child but she can’t say no to Mrs. Son.

“I'm sure she won't mind. I hope you will get along well,” the professor waves a little without waiting for their answer and takes her leave. Bona’s struck there dumbfounded.

“I can't believe it,” she mutters to herself while adjusting the bag on her shoulders. Creative Art classes always went smoothly for her but now she feels betrayed. What did she do to deserve this? Let’s say hypothetically that she was wrong (which she wasn’t but still), does she have to be cursed with this arrogant stranger’s presence for another month? Really? What kind of punishment it is?

Bona knows it’s rude but she just wants to leave to have a good coffee and forget this awkward lesson ever happened. Unfortunately a puppy face stops her on her track.

“Wait a little, partner,” Seokjin shouts after her, grabbing his bag from the desk and runs to the door where she snarls at him:

“What?”

Bona wants to make it clear that she wouldn’t wait for him forever to groan out what he wants. The fact that they have a project together doesn’t mean they have to become BFFs.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize. I guess I was too harsh,” the guy rubs his nape bashfully. A nervous habit maybe? Otherwise, he seems totally unfazed by the whole situation as if he was totally okay with working together on this assignment no matter their opposite opinions.

She snorts.

“Calling me judgemental and hypocrite? Yeah, you definitely were.”

“Sorry?” he flashes a shy smile although he doesn’t seem like the shy type. More like someone who was born with a golden spoon in his mouth and have been growing up among praises.

“We started on the wrong foot. I'm Seokjin, but my friends call me Jin. My major is photography,” he introduces himself dutifully and bows a little. Bona mirrors his actions out of habit.

“Bona, journalism.”

Keep it short and simple, she tells herself. Maybe they can actually manage a mature conversation like adults do.

“I haven't seen you around much,” she makes an innocent remark referring to his absence from previous classes. He doesn’t take the hint.

“Well, yeah. You're a second year, right? I'm in my third and I don't live on the campus anymore. Maybe that's why,” he shrugs while opening the door wide and lets her walk out of the room before him. His reply could explain why she didn't remember him from last year's course but she only hums in acknowledgement.

“So I guess we should start brainstorming about our topic soon,” he brings up as they are manoeuvring in the hallways towards the exit gate of university.

“I have already decided,” Bona replies casually like it’s no big deal while Seokjin stands there with mouth agape. She knows her attitude must be testing his patience.

“What? But... Ok, nevermind, what's it?” he catches up to her quickly with his long limbs and sounds sincerely interested.

“Independence. Equality. Freedom. Justice...”

“They're moral ideas,” he cuts her off with a confused expression.

No hell, Sherlock, really? Bona rolls her eyes. Ever since Mrs. Son mentioned the topic she knew she wanted to do something unique. She could have written little stories with excellent, mesmerizing writing style, jaw-dropping vocabulary and adjectives that only a few know. It could have been without a plot, just a description about the unearthly experience of seeing the sun rise and set. It could have been beautiful but not for her. Not anymore. Not when she thinks beauty can’t be in vain.

“Yeah and they're beautiful.”

Well, he can’t argue with that but his almond brown eyes are still searching for answers. Glowing in the darkness of the place like bright stars lighting up the night sky. It’s not fair. From up-close he’s even better-looking.

“And how you wanna portray them?” the question throws Bona off. She didn’t think about that.

“Well, we have to figure it out, Picasso.”

Seokjin pulls a face at the nickname and reminds her. “I'm into photography, not painting.”

That’s when she catches a sight of a clock and panics.

“Okay, my next class is in 5 minutes so here's my number. I'm free on Wednesday evenings, Friday night and Saturday before noon,” she scratches down a row of numbers on a ripped paper while talking. She despises being late.

Seokjin nods in understanding, wrapping his fingers around the tiny piece of paper.

“Got it. I'm gonna text you,” he promises.

And texting he did. No other than:

Kim Seokjin: Are you a carbonara or jajangmyeong person?

Are you for real?

I'm not playing this game.

Kim Seokjin: Come on, it's not a game. I'm curious.

It depends. If my mom makes it, her jajangmyeong is delicious but I like Italian cuisine.

Kim Seokjin: You're being difficult again.

Nothing new.

Kim Seokjin: And you're quite bitter.

Am not.

Bona would like to say that Seokjin is an arrogant and unbearable asshole but in reality he’s far from that. She should be glad because he seems genuinely enthusiastic about their project. He follows her on social media and sends her various pictures about beautiful things constantly, most of them are likely to be his own works: a park, roses, scenery of Seoul, balloons, someone laughing so hard he hides his face… And more: just snippets of their fragile beauty. Such as cherry blossoms before they dry, birds before flying away, neon lights under the dark city sky and food! He’s so into cooking, it's almost unbelievable for a college student. He could have been a culinary major. His Instagram feed is full of photos of either food or selcas. He likes to show off his pretty face along with his cute dog Jjanggu.

Oh, not like Bona is stalking him online. Even if she did, he’s way worse: he stalks her in real life. Luckily, he’s not creepy or rude about it. Sometimes they grab a coffee together when they meet in Starbucks or he stops by at a course she’s taking just to drop an idea about their project. It’s actually easy to get to know Kim Seokjin because he likes to talk. You can chat with him about everything and he’s too nice -the kind who helps grandmas on the street nice. But she doesn’t want to be deceived. Perfection is only a fragile illusion of the mind.

Kim Seokjin: Are you a romanticist?

I don’t believe in love at first sight. So no?

Kim Seokjin: Idealist?

Most likely.

Kim Seokjin: Vegetarian?

No.

Kim Seokjin: Good. Tonight’s the opening of this new Thai place and I’m taking you with me.

Kim Seokjin: ...

Kim Seokjin: If you want.

Okay. I can’t wait.

Kim Seokjin: REALLY???

Kim Seokjin: I mean cool.

“Yah,” Bona fishes out her phone of her best friend’s hands. Nara laughs hysterically.

“You will thank me later. He seems like a dream guy,” she pinches Bona’s cheeks to melt her frown but she doesn’t like to be treated as a child.

“Emphasis on seems,” Bona grunts out that makes the other girl pout. Nara’s voice is tiny and kind when she dares to say the name that shouldn’t be said:

“Not everyone’s like Dojung.”

The name that rolls off her tongue is heavy and cold in Bona’s ears. She feels a tug at her heart-strings. Words taste like dry sand in her mouth.

“I know.”

It doesn’t change a thing.

Sorry. It was my best friend.

I'm busy tonight but if you insist we can go after we finish the project.

Kim Seokjin: So raincheck it is. Okay.

Their - sort of but not really - friendship revolves around the Creative Art project and arguing about beauty constantly. They don’t get fed up anymore because they have learnt to respect each other’s spaces (more or less). They often grab a drink while brainstorming together between classes but the first time Bona meets with a friend of Jin’s, they get together in a small coffee shop near the university. When she arrives, her eyes unconsciously wander to the senior student who currently chit-chats with a waiter. The guy has the weirdest mint green hair and a sarcastic laugh when he lets out a grumble:

“You're really okay with representing beauty with these ideas like sex equality? That's ridiculous.”

“I think it's interesting. The way she sees the world,” Seokjin shrugs and pushes his bangs aside. There's something mellifluous in his voice. “She's so fond of this but sees the world without colours: only black and white.”

Bona snorts loudly as she gets closer.

“Black and white, huh?” Bona mumbles when she sits down in front of him. She has to bite back an insult so instead she takes a moment or two to look at the waiter. “Then can I have an Americano, black with ice?”

“Well, well the infamous Bona. Seokjin just won't shut up about you,” he ignores her order and teases the older with a gummy grin.

“That's a huge overstatement,” Soft, awkward giggles escape Jin’s mouth and pink blush creeps on his face. He must have talked quite a lot. He motions towards the pale, manga-character looking guy. “He's Yoongi, by the way, my roommate.”

“Nice to meet you,” the waiter nods then excuses himself to hurry and make her an Americano. When the two of them is left alone, Seokjin rubs the back of his neck a little nervously.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough”, she says nonchalantly, not really caring about what she heard. She believes in the freedom of speech and expression. Only if he respected her opinion she would do the same. Most of all, she doesn’t care one bit because she has way more important things to do. “But we're here to discuss our project and not your home life and how much you tell your roommate.”

“Sure. I’m all ears.”

“I’ve written some drabbles, short stories about why these ideas are beautiful but we should make it visual, you know hit the big screen.” her voice is dripping with sarcasm towards the end. It’s obvious she isn’t really keen on the idea of shooting a short movie just for this project. Seokjin doesn’t take offense or he’s totally oblivious about the irony. He nods running his long fingers through his silky locks.

“Agreed. I’ve also thought about acting out scenes representing your weird ideas about beauty.”

It’s no surprise that there’s no malice in his voice when he say weird. Maybe it’s the difference between them: Bona is quick to judge and very much headstrong while Seokjin is so open for new things he welcomes even the oddest ideas.

“That could actually work but I'm not an actress.”

He flashes a warm smile.

“You're presentable. That's what matters.”

“Geez. Thanks,” she rolls her eyes and Jin laughs. He has a nice laughter without doubt. That kind of high-pitched giggles that makes everyone smile around him. His beautiful almond-shaped eyes turn into crescents and strangers stop on their track just to look at him. Not in the judging way but a curious one. Bona wonders whether he got any offer by modelling agencies.

“To be honest, I actually have a theatre major friend and he could bring along someone to play out your drabbles. Is it alright?” Seokjin suddenly sounds serious. His facial mimics are so expressive, Bona can easily pinpoint his mood… At least, she thinks she does. “Are you perhaps available on next Saturday?”

“Yeah. Saturday is good,” Bona notes it down in her schedule book. She just wants to get over with it. “What do you think about Han River as a location?”

Seokjin purses his mouth and touches his chin. His gaze averts outside of the window looking lost in his thoughts. “Isn't it too cliché? And crowded at the weekend?”

“Right,” she clicks her tongue in irritation. She would have been more grateful if he had actually did something instead of just criticising her ideas or occasionally accepting them. “Maybe Namsan then?”

Seokjin hums approvingly with a glint of happiness in his eyes. There’s a snippet of excitement in those chocolate brown orbs.

“That could work, the atmosphere and the lights are considered ideal. Where do you live? I'll pick you up.”

Bona has always been the suspicious kind. Careful with her private information so she doesn’t answer right away.

“You have a car?”

“Well, as a photographer I need it. I have a lot of equipment and I can’t carry a tripod on subway all the time,” Seokjin shrugs. His reasoning doesn’t sound like something mommy’s little boy would say. Maybe he really did work for what he has. Bona likes this idea more than she thinks she should.

“I live in the dorms on the east side of campus. I'll meet you there at 10.”

Jin’s smile is just like his laughter: bright, vivid and genuine. It makes her want to smile as well.

“There you go. Enjoy your treats,” Yoongi returns with a tray and two cups of coffee. They both thank him and it’s borderline awkward when he leaves too soon.

Then it happens. The door opens, the bell rings cheerfully and time freezes. Bona looks up ready to comment on Jin’s choice of place, but her face is painted white, all colours drained out. Voices mingle together and Jin's face fades away. Suddenly she feels dizzy.

“Hey, Bona? Do you hear me? Are you okay?” the low panic-painted grunt is coming from afar. It sounds slurred almost as if she was under water.

“I... I have to go,” she stutters and stumbles to her feet without having a slip of her drink. Her breathing is laboured, voice raw and it feels like the world collapses on her. Or it only happens in her?

Everything is a blur. The door, the street, the people. She doesn’t even know where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, just away. Away from him.

“Bona, wait!” Seokjin calls after her, catching up to her as if his life depended on it. He’s a little out of breath when he carefully touches her shoulder. Bona shakes him off impatiently and annoyed.

“Leave me alone.”

Gosh, why does her voice break? It’s hurting her ears. Doesn’t it enough that she’s already hurting everywhere else?

“No, I won't,” Jin counters and grabs her shoulders with a little bit more force to make her stop moving. Her eyes are red because she struggles not to cry. She looks terrified. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“Because I just did. He's dead to me.” she says relentlessly and sobs while trying to hide behind her hands. Her voice is cracking and she can’t shake off the feeling of shame because of her public breakdown. “Oh God, I'm so pathetic.”

Seokjin shakes his head violently. He pries her hands off her face and lifts her head to look at her properly. Warm reassurance is swimming in his eyes, his fingers are soft against her skin and his voice is dripping honey.

“No, you're not. You can be weak sometimes and that doesn't mean you're any less strong.”

Bona is staring at him for a long time before she finally, finally let herself cry. Tears are soaking Seokjin’s pink dress shirt but he holds her close nevertheless. He soothes circles onto her back while she clings onto him silently asking him not to let go.

Things get better after. Even though Bona doesn't talk about what happened, she feels more at ease beside Jin. He acts like nothing wrong ever happened but from time to time he's more careful with his words. He's still blunt but don't blame her for being bitter anymore. He doesn't expect an explanation either. They start hanging out more. It begins with walking together to Creative Art class and sitting next to each other. Sometimes they share lunch boxes. Despite any of her protests, next thing Bona knows, she's having a coffee at the place Jin's roommate's working. Seokjin makes sure that she would sit with her back to the door in a little hidden corner.

It has also become a daily routine to talk via SNS if they can't meet. Seokjin often asks her to have a bite of every new receipt he tried out. She doesn't have to worry about food anymore. Also, she has to get used to being photographed almost every day. The guy takes his major seriously, always carrying around one of his cameras and snapping photos here and there. Bona hates taking selcas, she feels uncomfortable under the unknown gaze but Jin never demands her to pose. He likes to take photos of slices of life when she doesn't know. Like that time when she changed the burnt-out bulb in her dorm once he was over. Or when after they helped two foreigners on the street and she laughs at Jin's broken English. On every single picture he takes, she looks ephemeral and beautiful. Nonetheless, she makes him promise to delete these later. But deep-deep down her heart flatters because of his little habit. Although he may be the same with everyone since he likes to take photos in general. She wonders why it pains her.

Kim Seokjin: Are you ready?

Her phone pings on the day of their shooting. Bona is staring at her reflection in the mirror and wonders if Jin sees her differently. She's not that skinny or graceful like other girls. She hates wearing skirts and isn't really keen on shopping or going to cosmeticians. She can be quirky, picky and stubborn as a mule. She prefers superhero movies over stupid American comedies. Funnily, they bond over Disney movies and playing video games at Jin's place. They argue a lot about who's better but he has someone to play with and Bona always gets dinner so it's a win-win.

Bona never had guy friends before so she doesn't know what to feel about all of it or when Jin opens the car door for her like a gentleman. Inside of the car a cheerful voice of somebofy with boyish features greets her from the backseat.

“Dude, nice to meet you. I love the concept. Jin said it was your idea. Unique that's for sure.”

“Uhm, thanks?” Bona isn’t sure how to react. The boy introduces himself as Taehyung, a cute dongsaeng of Jin when the older starts the engines. He’s bubbly and way more talkative than the quiet girl with cold appearance next to him.

The drive is filled with Taehyung’s chirping, Seokjin’s laughter and not-so-subtle glances between Bona and the photographer. She can’t really pinpoint why but this shooting feels like the end of something. The end of this month when they had this bond or something. After this, there’s no project and no reason for them to hang out for its sake. What will happen to them after?

She tries to dismiss her concern during the shooting which goes surprisingly smooth. Jin gives her the upper hand to act like a director and give out orders. Meanwhile, he’s snapping pictures quietly and recording short scenes when she says so. They work well together and their ‘cast’ is talented too. At the end of the day, they can wrap it up nicely. She should be satisfied. Yet, she has this uneasiness in her heart for some unknown reasons.

The light footsteps and honey sweet voice take her by surprise.

“Tae said they would catch the bus home so they left early.”

Bona looks up to see Jin smiling lightly like he always does. It brings out his soft features which create a perfect contrast with his sharp jaw-line. She averts her gaze. Why does he have to be so sinfully handsome?

“Have you finished packing?” she asks instead of commenting on it. She stays completely still when Seokjin sits down next to her on the bench. There’s a convenient distance between them: not too far, not too close. Just like their relationship is on the edge between strangers and lovers. They’re somewhat friends but not really.

“Yeah and checked some of the videos. I’d give it a week to edit the material.”

Great, they will finish in time. She should be happy but she doesn’t say a word. Ahead of them the clear sky is swimming in carmine and crimson colours. There are no clouds, no threats of upcoming storms, no crowd. Birds’ singing and tourists’ murmuring are faded into the view.

Sunset from the top of Namsan Tower is indeed undeniably beautiful. Bona agrees however she still seeks for meaning. It doesn’t take too long to find it in the reflection in Seokjin’s eyes or in the melody of his voice. In him.

“I wanted to be an actor.”

His confession is so sudden and raw, Bona can’t help but stare at him. He doesn’t turn his head, eyes focusing on the scenery.

“It was my childhood dream and I actually applied to the uni’s theatre major. I thought I was good, at least mediocre but they rejected me. One of the judges said at the audition that I'm nothing more than a pretty face and they're looking for talent there. The bruise I got that day hurts every time I meet students who learn performing arts. You know, it’s like ripping off a bandage all over again.”

Then there’s silence and Bona’s throat is dry. She would have never thought that this warm-hearted boy of all people was discriminated because of his looks. He seems like someone who have been praised his all life and had everything served on a silver plate. Spoiled and narcissistic. Even though he’s confident in his face, he’s not egoistic at all. He spends most of his times behind his camera and not in front of one. He could easily become a model with his looks but he’d rather capture beauty through his lenses. It has always made her curious.

“Then how you got into photography?” she wonders out loud.

“That's actually a funny story. I got an old polaroid camera from my grandma when I was a child and I liked taking photos ever since. After they turned down my application, it was Yoongi who sent in a couple of my pictures. You can imagine how surprised I was to get a congratulation letter on my university entrance. I'm truly grateful to him, because now this is what I want to do all my life.”

Jin’s eyes light up as he talks about it. It’s obvious that he truly loves doing this. He catches Bona off guard when his gaze suddenly drifts to her but neither of them looks away. Under the starry Seoul sky, she can almost feel the breeze of ocean, a scent of home just by looking at him. He doesn’t feel real. Like a midsummer night's dream.

He doesn’t have to ask what’s her story. Bona tells him anyway,

“I’ve loved reading ever since I stumbled upon Harry Potter. I used to dream about becoming a famous writer. Now I know better, I’m not that talented but I want people to hear my voice. I know I can’t force world peace but I want to stop bullying and I wish people would be more considerate towards each other.” Wishful thinking, something only a dreamer would say. But Bona is one and she doesn’t even try to deny it. She casts down her eyes before continuing. “When I was a kid, I was mocked a lot because of my weight. By the end of high school I’d become thinner and Dojung noticed me.”

His name tastes like salt and regrets on her tongue. She’d like to spit it out. To forget and move on. Maybe telling someone about him would help. She wants to give it a try.

“He was the most beautiful boy I've ever seen,” Bona gulps loudly, her heart is already panicking at the thought of him. She can breathe again when a soft hand takes hers intertwining their fingers comfortingly. “I fell so hard. I was in love with his smile and everything about it. It took me a lot to figure out he's rotting inside. He manipulated me, making me skip dinners with family, abandoning my friends and studies just for him. Freshman year, he dumped me; he said I wasn't enough. I was alone and had a rough semester. I finally just started to get a hold of myself when you came along.”

It’s a mistake for sure but Bona dares to stare into Seokjin’s chestnut brown eyes. They’re passionate yet caring just like when he has a camera in his hands. The fondness in his dark orbs never fails to amaze her. He would never put pressure on her. He’s waiting patiently for her to collect her thoughts and open up. Bona drowns in his kindness.

“I had a hard time trusting you because you reminded me of him. You really don't have any similarities except the fact that both of you are beautiful.”

“That's offensive. I'm sure I'm way more handsome,” Seokjin gasps dramatically with his free hand on his heart pretending he’s offended. It makes her laugh.

“Probably you are but your flaws are my favourites. They show you’re human, too,” she says gently playing with his crooked fingers and admiring his lopsided smile.

But will she be ever enough? For him? For anyone?

During the following week, it’s hard to decide whether they’re friends or more. They never talk about it yet grow closer day by day. Their project video is finished in time so both of them claim their regular seats (now next to each other) in the lecture hall in ease.

Mrs. Son smiles at them knowingly when she enters the room. When she clears her throat, every pair of eyes focus on her.

“Good morning everyone,” she chirps and in the silence her footsteps are echoing in the room. “I’d like to thank you for all your submitted works, I love the different ways you interpreted beauty. Today we will discuss the three most creative and interesting projects.”

Excitement spreads among the students, murmuring about odds and grades. The whispering is fading away as soon as the professor switches on the computer to let them see her choices one by one.

“Look at these different interpretations and after we have seen all three, we’ll talk about them.”

The first project is an oil-painting. At first, it's really chaotic. The audience need a moment to realize the purpose of iridescent colours splattered on the canvas. The background is black and silver showing the universe, but there are Hangeul characters for the word beauty and it contains tiny replicas of famous paintings. It's the most beautiful collage Bona has ever seen.

The second one is a contemporary sculpture built of cosmetics bottles and cans. It symbolizes a women's submission to the beauty industry. Bona really likes this approach.

“And last but not least, my personal favourite! Miss Shin Bona and Mr. Kim Seokjin, congratulations! Your work was captivating and it reinvented the meaning of beauty.”

Others clap either cheerfully or not interested at all. Bona is so excited she grabs Jin's hand under the table without a second thought. His long slender fingers fit into hers perfectly like two pieces of puzzle.

Bona is proud looking at their short movie with Seokjin's actor friends. While they follow the screenplay she's written about siblings during the French Revolution. She's ready to clap after the last scene but then the boy next to her presses her hand a little while their movie keeps playing. She has seen the mp4 file he sent her the day before and it should have been the end. There shouldn't be clips about her. Although you can't really say it's her because she is never shown directly. Just her hands, back profile, eyes, smile... never her entire face. She’s smiling at the camera carefree and happy because she didn’t know Jin was planning to use this. There’s also voiceover, a monologue in Seokjin’s narration that takes her breath away.

When it ends for real, Bona doesn’t even hear Mrs. Son’s comment on the subjectivity of beauty and love, she’s storming out of the room. She can hardly breathe but it’s not a panic attack. It’s something else, something overwhelming.

“Bona, wait! I’m so stupid. I thought you’d like that. Sorry, okay? I-”

“I can't believe you did that,” she snaps at him when he finally catches up to her and both of them stand still in the empty hallways. Seokjin rubs the back of his head nervously.

“I thought it was romantic. I suck at confessions.”

“Really? And that was your idea? In front of the whole class?” she rolls her eyes but she can’t hide her smile anymore. It’s almost impossible to stay mad at him for long. “Gosh I can't believe I like such a dork. “

“I like you more.”

He says it so casually, so genuinely open that it makes her heart flatter. She can hear the pounding of her heart in her ears. She clears her throat, suddenly antsy but instantly relaxed when he touches her wrist lightly like a butterfly kiss.

“So… to answer your question: I’d love to. It just caught me off guard.”

Seokjin’s relieved laugh must be one of the most beautiful things of the world. Maybe the 8th wonder. “Huh, I’m glad then. I was so afraid I misread you.”

“And what now?” Bona questions because they’ve already done so many things couples do. Except anything involved kissing or talking about feelings.

“What about an official couple selca?” Jin suggests and digs out his cellphone from his pocket.

“So boyfriend material,” she teases but there’s no edge in her voice. It’s soft and adoring.

“What can I say? Photography major,” his boyfriend shrugs and prepares for the shoot nevertheless. Scooting closer, making a fishy face and starts counting. “Okay, on three: one...”

Pose.

“Two...”

Click.

“Three!”

Kiss.

Wait! WHAT?

Pink plump lips touch her already flushed cheeks and the camera snaps.

“Yah!”

beauty /ˈbjuːti/ noun

a combination of qualities, such as shape, colour, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight.

a beautiful or pleasing thing or person in particular

Beauty. It's everywhere around us.

Beauty is independence when she's cooking alone. She could ask for the help of a mother's or a friend's but she decides not to. She can do it all by herself.

Beauty is equality when she insists to pay for her share in a coffee shop or when she changes a light bulb on her own because she doesn't need a man.

Beauty is freedom when she forgets about deadlines and burdens for a day and just has fun.

Beauty is justice when she gives herself instead of faking it and beats my ass at Mario Kart.

Beauty is complex, ethereal, strong, unique. Just like her. Her features. Even her flaws. The depth of her soul. She's more than enough.

Beauty is love when I look at her and offer my hand. Love is beauty when she looks back at me and meets me halfway.

That’s beauty: you and me together, today and tomorrow… if you would like to.

#bangtan bookclub #sfwbangtan #bts writing squad #btswriters #stories #look what i found another piece i forgot to post here #bts fluff #bts jin fluff #kim seokjin x oc #bts jin oneshot #bts oneshot #photographer au #college au

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such-a-common-girl · 7 years

Text

A New Beginning (Carl Grimes x Reader)

Words: 4,444

Carl Grimes x Reader

Summary: You’re a girl around Carl’s age who happens to embrace the apocalypse- in your mind, nothing can bring you down. Whenever Rick finds you in the woods and takes you back with him to Alexandria, everyone is fascinated by your vulgar, outgoing, friendly attitude including Carl. Yours and Carl’s relationship blossoms, going from just friends to possibly something more.

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of depression, mentions of drugs, language, violence, vulgarity, attempted humor, fluff

a/n: ok i feel like this is shit bc i am suffering writer’s block at the moment but oh well :)

“Fuck,” You hiss, seeing the three walkers approaching your small, set up camp. One of them is closer to you than you had anticipated, and it grabs your backpack in attempt to bite you. Your backpack, which happened to be full of the food you had spent all day gathering, flies to the floor as you twist your body to stab it in the head.

It’s been a long day, and the last thing you want is to fight off more walkers right now. You’re alone, exhausted, and all you want to do is sleep.

Originally, you were in a small group with a few other people, your parents included. It wasn’t much- only a small camp about a mile off the coast with easy access to catch fish for food, and a freshwater river nearby. It was an ideal place to live during a time like this. But then a fight broke out between two members, causing gunfire to be shot off, and an entire herd of walkers to come your group’s way. As far as you know, you’re the only person who got out.

You’ll admit that at first, depression hit you like a freight train. You were suddenly alone, everyone you knew (presumably) dead, and you had no idea how to survive on your own. You spent months barely surviving, only eating once every few days and running away from walkers instead of fighting back. You were almost at a point of giving up when something just snapped in your mind. You can remember it vividly- you were laying inside of an abandoned house, curled up underneath a blanket when you thought to yourself, “What the fuck am I doing?”

Slowly, you learned and you survived. You taught yourself how to throw knives at wildlife, and how to start a fire to cook them. You ate berries that you found, only eating the ones you knew weren’t poisonous. You didn’t typically stay in one place for very long since you’re on the lookout for other groups that are willing to take you in. You pulled yourself out of your sadness and focused on not focusing on that. You may be alone, but you don’t have to be a “little bitch” about it, in your terms.

That’s how you got yourself into the predicament you’re currently in- the handfuls of berries and the few apples you picked earlier scattered around the floor, one dead walker alongside the dropped food and two other very alive walkers surrounding you.

“You fuckers!” You yell out, looking angrily down at the dropped contents from your backpack. “I spent all day picking those!”

The two remaining walkers started to close in on you, one within an arms length and the other only slightly behind it.

You stab the knife into the side one of the walker’s head, pushing it to the ground. “That’s what you get, ‘ya dickwad,” The other walker approaches you, walking slower than usual as its mouth hangs wide open, ready to attack.

“Oh, come on big boy, don’t play this game with me,” You joke around, attempting to make light at the situation, holding your already bloodied knife up. “Flirtin’ around, taunting me, walking slowly. That’s so not nice!” You pretend to frown. “But, since I am just such a nice person, unlike you who could probably use some lessons in politeness, I’ll do you a favor and make this shit fast.” You run up to it, plunging the knife into its forehead.

The walker, and thankfully the last one, falls to the ground. You wipe a bead of sweat off your forehead, putting your knife back into your pocket. Despite your big girl attitude, taking on walkers alone takes the energy out of you, especially since you’re currently only living on fruit and water. You pick up the items of food that you dropped earlier, setting them back into your backpack before leaning back up against the tree stump.

You take your water bottle out of the side pocket and down about half the water- not the best idea in retrospect, as you don’t know where the nearest water source is, but the heat and the exhaustion from walking all day is getting to you.

“Goddamn, you know for some dead people, you’ve got some strength to you.” You breathe out, still trying to catch your breath as your heart pounds.

After a few minutes, your heart rate has settled and you finally feel comfortable enough to relax. You’re about to set up your camp for the night when you see a shadowy figure hiding behind a tree. You squint your eyes, attempting to see clearer, but all you can make out in the evening light is a dark shape. You know that it’s an actual human being instead of a walker, since they’re just standing there and, you know, not trying to attack you.

“I see you.” You call you, giving the person a little wave. “Come join the party, we’re talking about our favorite Disney princess’.”

You can see the person step forward a little bit, almost hesitantly. You’re well aware that they could potentially be a dangerous person, but you’re also very observant. If they were going to hurt you, they would have done something sooner. They’re probably just as cautious about you as you are about them.

A man steps out into a light, his gun at the ready, a look of confusion on his face. He looks around at your surroundings- a few dead walkers off to the side, your backpack just beside you as you’re sitting down on a blanket. A look of sympathy flashes his face as he lowers his gun and walks closer to you.

“Who are you?” You raise an eyebrow at him, keeping your right hand beside the pocket where your knife was residing.

“I’m Rick. Are you alone out here?” He asks you, the sympathetic and worried look still on his face. You hesitate to answer, the possibilities of ‘what if’s’ running through your brain.

“I’m Y/N.” You end up saying, deciding that he looked genuinely worried enough about you to be someone harmful. “And yes, I’m alone. Me and my group… Well, long story short, it’s just me now.”

“How long have you been on your own?”

“I don’t know. A year, maybe.” You shrug your shoulders, taking your hand away from your knife and reaching over to your water bottle, taking another sip. “Why?”

“Look, Y/N,” Rick puts his hands out, showing that he’s not going to hurt you. “We’ve got a camp a few miles north of here. If you’re willing to answer a few questions, you can come back with me. It’s not safe for a young girl like you to be out here on your own.”

“Oh, holy shit, I’ll answer any question you want.” Your eyes go wide with excitement. The possibility of living with other people again is a luxury you didn’t think you’d have.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Rick asks, looking at you in the eyes seriously.

“I don’t know, I don’t keep track. Usually a few per day.”

“And how many people have you killed?”

“None. Haven’t needed to. Although, I don’t think I would hesitate to if it put me in danger.” You answer honestly. Rick stares at you, as if trying to decide if you were being truthful or not. Eventually, he lets out a sigh and he nods.

“Alright, Y/N. Come on.” He motions for you to follow him as he begins to walk away. You pick up your backpack, setting your water bottle back inside as you get up to follow him. He holds out his hand to take your backpack from you, offering to carry it.

“You know, I saw you kill those walkers back there. I’m pretty impressed.” Rick comments as you hand him over you pack, thankful to not have to lug around a heavy bag.

“At what?” You question. “I stabbed them in the head. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Rick shakes his head. “You’re just, I don’ know, you seem different. The way you went about it, what you were saying, how you were just crackin’ jokes along the way… Just don’t see that very often, that’s all.”

“Well, there must be some boring as shit people in your group, huh?” You smile at him. “But really, the way I see it, just don’t take everything so seriously and don’t be so tense all the time. Cracking jokes and poking fun is what gets me through all this shit. Also, imagining it like it’s some kick ass video game helps.”

“You’re something else.” Rick laughs. “The walk to Alexandria shouldn’t be too far, only about an hour or two. I think you’ll like it there. You can live with my kids and I until I can find you a more permanent place to stay.” Rick tells you. “I’ve got a boy around your age, sixteen or seventeen.”

“Oh, god no, I’m not wearing any makeup!” You say dramatically, earning a slight laugh from Rick as he shakes his head.

“I think you and Abraham will get along real well.”

“Who’s Abraham?” You question.

“He’s a part of our group, you’ll meet him once we get there.”

The walk didn’t take too long, as you tried to keep the conversation with Rick going. You’ve learned that there’s a few people around your age inside Alexandria, and you’d be lying if you said that you’re not excited to meet them. The only person you’re a little nervous about is meeting Carl, who Rick said was about your age. You’d always been awkward with guys, even back at your previous camp. You never failed to make them laugh, which was a good sign, but when it came to actual conversation that required more than just joking around you always got all shy.

“Here we are.” Rick says, and your jaw audibly drops when you realize that this ‘camp’ he was talking about was an actual walled up city.

“This… This was not what I was expecting.” You gape.

The main gate opens, revealing an entire civilization inside. Everyone stops as they see you and Rick walking inside the main gates, giving you odd looks. You smile and wave at all of them, trying as hard as you possibly can to be friendly. It normally comes to naturally, as you tend to be very extroverted, but you wanted to try extra hard. This is the first group you’ve come along since the beach camp- you want to make a good first impression.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You reach out your hand to the man who had opened the gate for you and Rick. He stares at you for a good few seconds before hesitantly reaching out his hand to shake it.

“Come on, Y/N, let’s get you settled in the house.” Rick says, and you follow him to a white house on the corner of the street. It’s cute, and something about it screams ‘safe’ to you. The entire place of Alexandria just makes you feel as if the apocalypse never started, like you’re right back at home. Although you have come to terms with the fact that things will never be the same as they were, and you’d even dare say that you embrace it now, it is a nice feeling to be safe.

“There’s an extra bedroom you can have for now. I’ll show it to you and then I’ve got to step out for a while. I’ll let you get acquainted with the place. There’s a working shower inside the bathroom, I’ll have Carl or Michonne bring you some new clothes. That sound good?” Rick asks you as he walks up the stairs of his house into the upstairs hallway.

“That sounds more than good, thank you.” You beam at him. He opens up a door to your right, and lets you inside. You immediately run over to the bed and jump on it, relishing the fact that you don’t have to sleep on the ground every night now.

“Hell yes. This shit is comfortable. Please excuse me while I sleep for three years.” You laugh.

“Enjoy yourself, and rest up. You’ve got a long day tomorrow, lots of people to meet.” Rick laughs before shutting the door behind him.

You lay in the bed for a while before deciding to get up and use the shower. You look through the drawers in the dresser, pulling out a towel and a flannel. You’re assuming that the flannel was put in there for this exact reason, just in case a guest was over.

You walk over to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You turn on the water and begin to strip of your clothes. The water is warm on your back when you step in, and you relish the feeling. Once you finish up, you step out of the shower and wrap yourself in the towel, drying yourself of the excess water.

You quickly throw on the flannel and brush out your wet hair, letting it cascade down your back. You put the towel onto the hanger before you exiting the bathroom and heading back to your room.

“’Cause baby you’re a firework, c’mon let your colors burst,” You sing under your breath as you walk into your room, grabbing your underwear and sliding them back on. The song was very popular before the apocalypse started, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t still get stuck in your head every once in a while.

“Oh god,” You hear a voice say from behind you, along with the crash of a few things falling on to the floor. You jump, turning yourself to face the person who had caused such a ruckus. There was a guy standing there, wearing a flannel similar to the one you currently had on, a sheriff’s hat, and holding a pile of clothing in his hands. On the floor beside him was a lampshade that he had seemingly knocked over, earning a giggle from you.

“You’re Carl, right?” You ask, still laughing. His face goes red as he sets the clothes down on to your bed and proceeds to pick up the lamp.

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that.” He smiles in embarrassment, shaking his head. “Just wasn’t, uh, wasn’t expecting to you to be standing here in only my shirt.”

“This is your shirt?” You raise an eyebrow. “Good taste. It’s comfortable.”

You want to laugh and make a joke about how flustered he seems by seeing you in such little clothing, but he seems to be embarrassed enough. You take notice that he’s very attractive, probably the most handsome guy you’ve seen in a long time.

“Yeah, I like it, too.” He laughs. “Well, um, I’m gonna go. Gotta check on Judith. Nice to meet you, though.”

“You too! I’ll see you later!” You beam at him.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need!” He tells you as he walks out the door.

Once he’s left the room, you settle yourself into your bed. You can’t help but think as your falling asleep about this new life you’re seemingly living now, and how much you can see yourself enjoying it.

You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep, but by the time you wake up, it’s morning. The sunshine is beaming through the windows, your new bed feeling very comforting as your eyes flutter open.

“Y/N?” You can hear a voice say through the door, a few light knocks following.

“Hmm?” You say out groggily.

“It’s Carl. Dad wants you out here so you can meet everyone else.” Carl calls through the door.

You groan, throwing the blanket off of you as you throw one leg off the bed, forcing yourself to get up. Unfortunately for you, your eyes weren’t completely open yet as you started to walk to the door, and you trip over your own feet, landing face first into the floor.

“Motherfucker!” You yell out in pain, rolling over onto your back. You smacked your head pretty hard onto the hardwood floors, as well as a cut on your arm from the bedframe scraping you.

Carl rushes into the room, alerted by your yelling, and starts dying laughing once he sees the positon you’re in.

“How the hell did you manage that?” He asks in between laughs, and you start to laugh as well.

“Who the hell knows, I’m tired.” You shake your head, slightly embarrassed that Carl witnessed that. “Of course I had to embarrass myself in front of a cute guy on, what, the second day we’ve met?”

“I’m cute, huh?” Carl raises his eyebrows, reaching out his hand to help you up off the ground. You disregard his offer to help you up, and you get up on your own.

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty cute.” You wink at him, and now it’s his time to blush.

You walk over to your dresser, grabbing a pair of jeans and sliding them on. You know that Carl is watching you, but you don’t mind. You then put on your shoes and walk out of the room with Carl, heading downstairs to go meet up with Rick.

As you’re walking down the stairs, his eyes glance down to the cut on your arm. He reaches out to touch it slightly, making you wince.

“You get that from your fall upstairs?” He questions, and you nod. “It looks like it hurts.”

“Yup, it hurts. But not ‘getting fucked in the ass without any lube’ kind of pain, I’d say it’s a mere paper cut level pain. I can handle it.”

Carl begin to choke on the air he’s breathing, unable to contain his shock at what you just said. It soon turns into laughing, and you can’t help but grin. Laughter looks good on him.

“I can’t believe you just said that.” He laughs.

“If I’m gonna be living here with you guys, you’re gonna have to get used to it. Everyone here seems so tense, so serious. You guys need to learn how to let loose and enjoy yourselves every once in a while. What’s the point in living if you can’t crack jokes and have fun?”

“I guess you’re right.” He agrees with you as you two enter the living room area, heading towards the front door. “I think you and Abraham will like each other.”

“I’m intrigued. I wanna meet Abraham as soon as possible, because your dad told me the same exact thing.”

You and Carl walk down the steps of the patio, the warm sun beaming onto both of your faces. People are walking by, but this time they aren’t giving you any kind of weird looks.

Carl motions for you to follow him. You stay close behind him as he leads you some place, you’re not sure where. After a few minutes of walking, you’re in front of a decent sized building with at least a dozen people standing outside. Rick is standing in the center of them, his eyes lighting up when he sees you two.

“Hey, Y/N, come here. People wanna meet ‘ya.” Rick waves you over.

“I’ll talk to you later.” You tell Carl, nodding at him as you walk over to Rick.

Everyone is looking at you sympathetically, which you hate. You don’t like sympathy and you certainly don’t want any from these people. They all look nice enough, though.

“Well, hi everyone! I’m Y/N.” You smile at them all. “Sorry to intrude on your camp here. Didn’t even wanna come, Rick here practically had to force me.”

A look of shock crossed all of their faces before they realized you were kidding, and they all started to grin.

“You already know me, and I’m assumin’ Carl since you’re wearin’ his shirt. This is Daryl, Carol, Maggie, Glenn, Michonne, Rosita, Eugene, Abraham, Tara, and Sasha. That over there talking to Carl are Ron and Enid, and Ron’s little brother Sam.” Rick introduces you to everyone.

“We’re glad that you’re here, Y/N.” The woman Rick had introduced as Maggie tells you.

“So you were all alone?” Carol frowns, a look of concern on her face. “You can’t be older than seventeen, which must have been terrifying.”

“I mean, not really. To the being scared part. At first, yeah, it was nerve wracking going from having all these people with you to suddenly being by yourself. But it wasn’t too terrible, really. I didn’t mind. I’d even go as far as saying that there were times when I enjoyed myself.” You explain. “But yes, alone as a cat lady on Valentine’s Day.”

“You’re funny. I like you.” Abraham comments, patting you on the back. “I see why Rick here has been sayin’ you’re like a girl version of me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You smile. You can see Carl staring at you while he is talking to Enid. Or, more specifically, she’s talking to him. He’s nodding at her, obviously not listening, as he focuses on what you’re doing. You give him a smile, and he grins a little bit before tearing his eyes away from you.

“Carl, huh?” Maggie raises her eyebrows.

“Hm?”

“I see you two lookin’ at each other.”

“Oh, no, we’re in this, like, contest to see who can embarrass themselves the most in front of each other. It’s sad, really. He almost broke a lamp when he first saw me, and then this morning I fell face first onto the floor, and… Yeah, I’m rambling. I’ll stop. But, I won’t deny that he’s cute.”

“You’re adorable.” Maggie laughs. “Well, if you ever need anything, let me know.” She says before walking off with Glenn.

You talk to a few more other people, all of them intrigued and genuinely shocked at how you managed to be so upbeat and friendly during a time like this. But overall, everyone here is nice and you get along with them pretty well.

“You know, if you’re talking to someone, you could try to look a little more interested in the conversation.” You whisper into Carl’s ear as you approach him.

“I was interested.” Carl lies, turning towards you. “I’m going back to the house, you can come if you want.”

“You looked bored out of your mind talking to that girl Enid. You just couldn’t tear your eyes away from me, huh?” You tease him, following him as he walks to your shared house.

He doesn’t respond to you, keeping his face straight as he focuses on getting to the house. You take this time to admire him, realizing just how attractive he truly is. You noticed it last night, but he just seems to only be growing more handsome to you by the minute.

“You know, I can’t tell why you’re being so nice.” He comments as the two of you walk up the porch steps and inside the door. “I’ve never met anyone like you before, you know.”

“To be fair, I’ve never met anyone like me, ether.”

“I like it.” He admits. “You’re so different from everyone else here. It’s a nice change of pace.”

“Thank you.” You smile.

“I’ve got some comic books upstairs, if you want to come read them with me?” He offers.

“Comic books?” You scrunch your nose. “I’ve never read them before. Although I watched Iron Man and he was a comic book character I think.”

“I’ll show you, come on. They’re pretty good.” He grabs your hand in his, leading you up the stairs to his room.

His room looks similar to yours, not very personalised or intricate. You definitely wouldn’t assume it was a teenage boys room, but you realize that this is probably not where he grew up. You know nothing about Carl.

“Carl, where are you from?” You ask him as you sit down on his bed beside him, picking up a comic book.

“Georgia. Most everyone you met here today is from there, actually. We only got to Alexandria a few months ago.” He tells you. “What about you? You’re like this big mystery girl to everyone here.”

“Besides the fact that I’m fucking awesome? There’s not much to me.” You shrug. “I grew up in Tappahannock, a small town on the beach in lower Virginia. Once this whole shit storm happened, we traveled up north a bit and had a camp on a beach. That didn’t last, obviously, and here I am now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s fine. I’m a big girl and I handled things.”

“We went through a lot of shit, too. If it makes you feel any better. First it was a camp outside Atlanta, then Maggie’s farm, and then for a while we were staying at a prison but some douchebag who called himself the governor blew it up. There’s more, but…”

Before you realize what you’re doing, you lean in and kiss him on the cheek. He tenses as your lips touch his cheek, color flushing to his cheeks.

“Wow, I’m sorry, I have no idea where that-” You start to say, but you’re cut off by Carl’s lips pressing up against yours.

His lips move clumsily against yours, but it’s sweet. He presses down onto the bed, climbing on top of you as you two kiss. Your hands travel up to his shoulders as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. The two of you pull away after a few moments, your foreheads pressing up against each other.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you.” Carl whispers.

“Since the moment you first saw me in my underwear and you popped a boner? Yeah, I noticed that, by the way.” You tease.

“Yeah, that moment.” He smiles. “I never thought I’d be so happy about my dad bringing back some random girl he found in the woods.”

And in that moment, you knew that this was going to be the start of something.

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