#also i can't remember the fic name sorry but it was only like 3 chapters | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dwaekkilinos · 3 months

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wind and water (pt. 1) | lee felix

summary: People always had a way of looking at you as if your skin were composed of paper mâché and your heart was made of glass. They just assumed you were kind of like a weak bird . . . but Felix Lee looked at you like you still had some flight left.

pairing: lee felix x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | surfing au, childhood friends to lovers, slice of life, angst, fluff, eventual smut word count: 15.7K chapter summary: you're in the wind, and felix lee is in the water. both of you are sons and daughters of no one anymore. warnings/notes: ok so! i originally posted this on my main blog but then i decided that'd be too confusing so it's getting uploaded here hehe (i also decided to split the chapter up to make it short but i can't promise that for future chapters), this fic is literally just hurt comfort with smut like i have no excuse, moving on: explicit language ahead, probably many typos, character death (reader's mom and felix's parents) fictional names for chris's family, hyunjin and jisung being the absolute best besties, forced proximity aka reader and felix have to share a room, mentions of death and everything surrounding it, grief, extreme coping mechanisms (reader goes a little insane and that's ok), insomnia, and i think that's it for this part but if i missed anything let me know, ok ok hope you enjoy <3

chapter one: this house is haunted ( next → )

Look for me in the wind.

There’s something people like to say at funerals. It’s stupid really, maybe even a little self-involved, but when the forsaken bell tolls and some poor soul in a casket rolls around, some sorry sucker will without a doubt preach that when people die, they’re never truly gone. It’s supposed to be comforting. It’s supposed to lighten the mood. It’s supposed to make things better; make you better; make you feel better that this person you once knew . . . that this person who had been in your life day in and day out was now gone, sure, but their memory was still there.

That’s supposed to make it better . . . right? It’s OK that they’re dead and gone—an empty cavity with nothing but bones and stitches keeping their flesh from sliding off—because at least they have someone to remember them.

It’s supposed to be OK.

It’s supposed to be.

But it never is.

Nothing is ever OK again. Because the truth is, when people die . . . they’re gone. Dead is dead, and dead is gone. They’re gone.

They become nothing once again. But that's the tricky part, isn’t it?—the fact that they were something once.

And it’s never easy letting go of something that still exists in some nature; because an abandoned house is still a house even with no heart, and a body is still a body even with no soul. Both have the bones to keep them standing for a little longer. Both can withstand a great deal more. And both will.

But they’re still . . . less. The house will never be a home again, and the body will never be a person. They’re just there, not fully present and not fully gone. They exist in this limbo, and it is this in-betweenness that makes letting it all go so . . . hard . . .

How do you put something like that to rest?

But . . . dead is gone, right? Dead is dead and dead is gone, so, fuck! Why was it so hard? She was gone. She was gone, gone, gone . . . but . . . but . . .

Look for me in the wind, was what your mother had told you the day she died. It was something you knew others in the hospital would kill to hear instead of a forced goodbye before a surgery everyone knew would fail. You supposed that should have brought you comfort: that your mother had left you with something irreplaceable.

But it didn’t, because you knew what it meant.

It meant that the rumors were true. When people die, yes, they’re gone, but a part of them is left behind. Only for you, it was the part of her you didn’t want to remember. You didn’t want to walk the streets of New York, always cold and windy, and think of your mother’s dying words.

Look for me in the wind, she had said and hours later she was gone.

When people die, they might not be truly gone, but that didn’t mean you weren’t left with memories you’d rather have died with her. And now . . . now all that you were left with were her final months.

It only reminded you that she was still dead. Even if her memory was there . . . she wasn’t.

You supposed it left you feeling a little . . . lost.

OK . . . maybe lost was a bit of an understatement.

It just . . . it didn’t take long after your mother’s death to figure out she had been the thread holding your family together. And when she died, everything fell apart . . .

It started with your father. At first, you, neither your sister, Erin, saw it, until three shoes by the front door turned to two, and he stopped coming home for dinner, insisting the two of you were grown adults and could fend for yourselves. But you knew what that meant. You’d always known it would happen, too, but your mother would never have allowed it. But you knew. God, you’d known since you were seventeen and you saw the messages on his phone.

Your father had found someone else, and quickly, it seemed. No . . . not quickly. She had always been there. Ever since he went away on a business trip one year after his mother’s death and came back with a secret and a request for a divorce. Your mother never allowed it of course, and they stayed together.

(You supposed you should’ve known he’d stay with her, too, and . . . wait.

Which he did, right? Congrats, dad, you were patient enough to fuck someone else two minutes after mom was shoved in the grave!

Class act, your father.

Whatever.)

So, your mother was dead. Your father was already planning a new family. And you and your sister were stuck in your childhood home, sitting opposite each other at the dining table while the empty seat with an equally empty plate resting on one of your mother’s special placemats, haunted the two of you. Because well, that wasn’t your father’s seat. No, the two of you stopped setting a plate for him the first day he didn’t show.

This seat used to be your mother’s, and that plate was for her . . . or her ghost, you guessed. (It was Erin’s idea. Obviously . . . )

Neither of you had mentioned it.

Neither of you planned to.

Neither of you would.

. . . This went on for a few more weeks.

Then . . . it was August once again. Fall semester was starting. It was going to be the start of your senior year at university. You were almost there. Almost.

Your sister left two days later. Back to Texas. Back to her husband and his kid. Back to her life. Back to normal.

She was twenty-nine and had a life, you got it. You were only twenty-one, just shy of turning twenty-two, and had no clue how to navigate . . . anything.

So . . . you . . . you stayed stagnant in that house.

Now, it was you who sat at the dinner table, not a soul in sight, just you and the empty seat where your mother used to eat when you were growing up. The plate was still empty, maybe even a little dusty now, because no one dared to touch it. Yours was always half-finished. You could never stomach more the second your eyes locked on the empty seat where your mother should have been.

And every night, you’d toss your half-eaten dinner in the trash, glance toward the still-set plate waiting for your mother, wait a few minutes . . . just to see if her ghost truly would take the seat, and when no ghost showed, you’d turn off the lights and head up to your childhood bedroom for the night.

Until . . . it was the night before the first day of the semester, and you realized it would be back to your apartment, and the house . . . her house . . . would be left empty for who knew how long. No more childhood, no more falling asleep on the couch and waking up to your mother carrying you to your bed, no ice cream as dinner, no nothing . . . not even a whisper from . . . her . . .

And like her body that you knew was rotting away day by day in her grave, her house would no longer be a home the second you stepped out the door and returned to the life you had made for yourself. It would stand, bones and all, days passing it by while it slowly rotted away without a single hand to dust its edges and sweep its floors. And so, it, too, would be taken to the weeds, leaving behind memories no one wished to remember. (Perhaps those memories would rot with it, too.)

It all just made you think, and the longer the gears in your brain turned, the more this sliver of rage grew inside of you.

A house with no bones, it would slowly become.

A house with no bones. A house with no heart. A body with no soul. A child with no mother . . .

Your mind just kept spinning and spinning and . . .

You supposed that was when you went a little . . . off course? Downhill? . . . Crazy, maybe? Well, perhaps a little more than that. Maybe like . . . utterly insane. (You were being generous, of course.)

Unbelievable, you say?

Well . . . sit down, buckle up, let’s just see what you have on the checklist.

Trash your childhood home, destroying all evidence that your mother even existed, but obviously leave the plate on the dining table just in case she comes back? Check.

Block everyone you know on . . . everything? Check.

Only show up to class in your mother’s clothes, wearing her makeup the way she used to, asking to be called by her name, basically becoming . . . her . . . ? Check, check, check, and . . . check.

Flunk all your first and second exams? Check, of course.

Midterms come around and your average for all of your classes is about hmm a good forty-six percent? Check.

Eventually withdraw from all your classes, dropping out of university entirely? Yeah . . . check.

The news somehow gets back to your father via bank statements, because how else would he get in contact with you? Oh, and then when he does finally find out about it, he decides that maybe you’re not OK after your mother just literally, oh you don't know, died. And does this mean letting you stay with him and his girlfriend for a little, maybe some therapy and a hug? Maybe? Well, no, of course not!

This means calling up your mother’s childhood friend, practically begging her to take in his delinquent child (AKA you) because well, obviously, you just need to feel connected with your mom again, so duh, that means shipping you off to your homeland or her homeland whatever same thing . . . which is P.S. another continent (Australia of all places . . . yeah) for like their summer or whatever and then you’ll be cured.

. . . Um . . . anyway . . . check!

Yeah . . . you supposed you really fucked yourself with that one.

. . . Whatever.

That was what you kept repeating, at least. Whatever this and whatever that. What else could you do? It wasn’t like anything mattered anymore.

Whatever, you muttered to yourself as you boarded the plane, with not even a second glance. No one was in the airport to bid farewell to anyway. So, whatever.

Whatever, you groaned as you finally landed in, you guessed it, Hell’s hotspot: Sydney, Australia. Whatever, you huffed as you caught sight of the Bahng family—Irene and Monty Bahng and their two kids Chris (one of your childhood friends . . . apparently) and Grace—waving to you. (Supposedly another member of the family was missing—Felix, one of Chris’s friends who you were, once again, supposedly supposed to supposedly know from childhood. He was apparently living with them since last year for unforeseen reasons that no one bothered to mention. But. He didn’t show due to more unforeseen reasons.)

You forgot to groan out another inner whatever the second you stepped into the backseat of their minivan, too wrapped up in your own head to care. Grace kept mentioning this and that, saying how excited she was to have another girl in the house because it was so horrible living with two adult boys. (She was fourteen, interested in being older than she was, and curious about the world. You got it. You used to be that young.)

And Chris, well, he was three years older than you and, as you would like to reiterate, apparently one of your best friends from childhood before your family packed up and moved just before junior high. You remembered little about him, but it wasn’t like it mattered. (You were just glad he kept Grace at bay, telling her to leave you be.)

Irene and Monty were fine, too. They kept asking you how your flight was, if you had eaten, and blah blah blah which you hated and responded with quiet hums as an answer, but . . . whatever. It didn’t matter if they were nice. You were stuck there and you hated it. You hated being back home, too. You hated everything and nothing mattered, so . . . whatever!

You remained silent the entire rest of the way to their house in their shitty, hot, no-WiFi-bearing town from Hell. Your silence carried on even as they ushered you out of the car, taking it upon themselves to carry your bags in without even a single hand from you, claiming that you should walk around the property while they got your room ready so you could get used to . . . everything. And you simply nodded without another word because . . . well . . . just because . . .

The Bahng’s lived atop a hill in a small bungalow with yards and yards of land which overlooked the ocean. You didn’t exactly know which ocean because you’d never cared to learn anything about anything. You’d been a biology major, and you hated it, so it wasn’t like you particularly liked learning. You had just put up with your degree to make your mother proud, and now that she was gone, well . . .

You swallowed hard. Never mind.

It was pretty. You’d give Southhaven that. But that was it.

This wasn’t your home. It never would be. You weren’t sure if you even had a home anymore.

. . .

With a soft sigh, you slightly tilted your head back, eyes closed as you faced the sun. Its heat beat down on you, and for once, you let it touch you. You let it caress your face, desperately trying to warm you, but you had never felt so cold.

And when it seemed your blood had almost frozen in your veins, you felt it . . .

. . . the wind.

In response, your jaw twisted so tight you wondered if it’d be enough to crack a molar. But the slight breeze in a world full of heat nudged you forward, causing your hair to slap your face.

Begrudgingly, you flicked your hair out of your face, forcibly tucking it behind your ears. But the wind persisted, seemingly tugging you toward the edge of the property.

You didn’t want to listen. You wanted to shove off the wind and stalk toward the house, but like the call of your name from your mother’s lips, you couldn’t turn the other way. No, instead, you followed the wind, you followed her voice, and approached the edge of the property where the ocean resided in the distance.

And only then, when you were overlooking the water below, did the wind seem to subside. Like a current, the tide had come in. No more whispers in your ear, but you could still feel it, just . . . in the distance.

You wondered what it meant. You always had. But how could you question the wind? How could you call out to it and beg for its presence?

Swallowing hard, you nearly attempted to question this intangible thing, until something caught your eye.

As you stood atop the hill, quietly questioning its existence, the suddenly wind returned, whipping through your hair, as the image of a man below on the shore stalked toward the ocean, surfboard tucked under his arm. His hair was blonde and wet as if he had been at this all day. His skin was marked with redness and small scratches, showing evidence of his advances. And he had this way of holding himself that just told you he not only held this . . . resentment but also . . . fear toward the ocean.

The wind whispered in your ear once more. You blinked. It was almost as if the wind were telling you to keep watching, to listen and hear the pounding of his heartbeat from up there.

Could you hear how loudly it was beating as he stared down the ocean? Or was it your own heart that you heard?

Was this man even real? Were you?

But that didn’t matter. Real or not, you couldn’t tear your eyes from him. You watched in silence, you and the wind atop the hill, as he paddled out into the water, positioning himself perfectly to catch a wave.

You watched as he waited and waited. You watched as wave after wave became big then small then nothing, and he was left still waiting. And when a good, strong wave did come, he tried and tried, but . . . failed.

And time and time again, the waves kept coming but . . . they seemed to elude him. He missed every single one.

Frustration seemed to consume him as he smacked the water before tugging his hands through his hair to push back the wet, blonde strands. And as he continued to battle with the waves, you could see his anger mounting. The more he missed, the more his frustration grew. You watched him take deep breaths, trying to calm himself, but it seemed even that couldn't bring him the solace he sought.

Finally, you watched as he breathed in sharply through his nose, tilting his head toward the sky as the sun beat down on his face. Just like you had done moments ago, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to soak in the warmth. It seemed . . . it seemed; however, even that couldn’t help him, his brows furrowed and his mouth in a permanent frown as the wind twisted through his wet hair, causing him to shiver even in the sun.

And you began to wonder . . .

. . . Did the wind haunt him, too?

“He’s good, isn’t he?” you suddenly heard from beside you, but you didn’t jump, you didn’t even turn to greet the person. You already knew who it was anyway. Chris, of course. (You supposed his parents had made him become the spokesperson for the family given the fact that the two of you had been friends a million years ago. Or maybe he was just that . . . out there.)

Whatever.

“Hmm?” you hummed out, remaining as silent as you could.

Chris gestured to the vast ocean below, toward the boy (No, man? . . . ) who still sat on his board, eyes now scanning the waters before him once again. “Felix,” he restated.

Oh. You bit the inside of your cheek.

That was Felix.

“You remember him, don’t you? Taught you how to keep your head above water. You had quite the trouble getting a hang of your sea legs.” Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “I remember you’d cry any time you’d get salt water in your mouth.”

“No,” you murmured. “Don’t remember. Doesn’t seem like he was a very good teacher either. Hasn’t caught a wave once.”

You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to meet his gaze. Still, it seemed Chris was hard to turn away. He, like you in the wind, stayed stagnant, solid as stone as he stood beside you. Not even the brisk air could turn him away, even when it seemed to get colder the closer he stood to you. You’d thought maybe he’d catch on; to the fact that in all of Southhaven, the coldest spot was right next to you. But he didn’t. He stayed put, and then . . . then he spoke.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it to the funeral,” he spoke softly as if he were talking to a child.

Your heart plummeted, and the sliver of rage grew inside of you once again. A wildfire now, it had become.

Sure, he was a few years older than you, but he didn’t have to treat you like . . . that. You could handle things. You handed your mother’s death for god's sake, so why couldn’t he talk to you like you were an actual person and not some fragile—

“I won’t try to understand, because I don’t,” he continued, knowing you wouldn’t respond. “And I won’t try to make you feel better. I know it doesn’t work that way, but Felix . . . “ He sighed, before breathing in sharply. “He lost his parents a year ago. I won’t try to understand, but he . . . he already does.”

Your eyes snapped in his direction then. But your lips remained sealed.

Chris took this as his sign to continue. “Just—“ he wet his lips, brows raising— “don’t be too harsh on him. If there’s anyone who understands how you feel . . . it’s him.”

Remaining silent, you could only swallow your thoughts, your feelings, your words. You shoved it all down and continued to stare, eyes surely unwelcoming and dull.

But he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Maybe . . . maybe he was used to it.

“Anyway—“ he huffed out with a growing smile— “come on, your room is ready.” He reached forward to grab the bag you still held in your hands without another word. “You’ll have to room with Felix, but I promise we’re trying to set up the shed for one of you. It’s just a little fucked between Dad’s workshop and Grace’s many, many, many abandoned projects . . . but we’ll get there . . . promise. But, hey, you get your own bathroom and—“

Of course, his blabbering didn’t stop there as he began to lead you toward the house, but you couldn’t spend more energy trying to listen to him. It was all useless anyway. You had a room. There were bathrooms in the house. Food. Everything else you’d need to survive.

But . . . your thoughts were elsewhere. Your gaze landed on the boy . . . Felix . . . once again, watching as he remained still, almost as motionless as the sea that surrounded him. It was almost as if he were waiting for something. Even if he caught a wave, it seemed he’d remain there until that something came around.

Quickly, you began to wonder, would it ever? Or would he remain in that water forevermore?

. . . Would . . . you remain stagnant, too?

And amid it all, the wind returned, whistling in your ears . . . and then . . . then you began to hear a faint voice calling your name. You knew it was Chris, but you didn’t care. You were so deeply immersed in your own thoughts, so consumed by despair, that the sound seemed distant and muffled. It was as if a thick fog had settled over your mind, clouding your senses and preventing you from clearly hearing anything other than that cruel wind.

The calls continued, but you remained trapped within the confines of your own mind. You were rendered deaf to the outside world, and you yearned for a moment of clarity, a moment where you could hear . . .

. . . a moment where you could hear . . . her voice again . . .

Chris called your name again, and you squeezed your eyes shut. It wasn’t her. He wasn’t her. It was his voice that called out to you, not hers.

She was gone, the wind serving as a cruel reminder of this.

And finally, you forced yourself out of this haze, shoving out the thoughts of your mother as you tore your eyes from Felix, who still resided in the ocean, and faced reality; faced Chris.

“You good?” he questioned once your eyes were on him again, and you could finally hear him.

But you didn’t respond.

No, instead you hurriedly approached him, snatched your bag from his hands, and stalked off toward the house, leaving everything behind.

But the wind followed, consuming your senses, and you realized it always would.

When you were a kid, you had a hard time making any friends. You were awkward and kept your mouth shut at all times. The messages in your yearbooks would always be directed toward how nice you were, but they didn’t know you. You didn’t have a kind soul. It took a while to realize that. It took even longer to accept it—that you were a miserable child who grew into an even more miserable adult.

Boys didn’t like you. Girls didn’t either. Some days you wondered if your parents even liked you. Sure, your mother loved you (albeit, she’d loved your sister more, but that was a given), but some days you wondered if she even liked the person you were.

And your father . . .

You were sure your father was trying to cut ties with the life he had made with your mother the moment they met. (And as time would see it, as soon as she was gone, the love he claimed he had for you and your sister went too.)

So if someone were to ask you if you had been a lonely child . . . You wouldn’t have known what to say because the truth was: if you’re alone all your life; if being alone is all you’ve ever known, then how do you know if you’re lonely?

Was there a checklist for that, too?

Now, yeah, sure, you knew people growing up. Sure, you talked to people throughout junior and high school. But nothing ever carried on outside of the school grounds. Everything had always just been surface-level with you. (At least, from what you remembered, which . . . wasn’t much.)

Being alone wasn’t so bad either. It was just normal. Your normal. So it hadn’t really bothered you when your birthday “parties” consisted of just you, your sister, your mother, and—sometimes, perhaps, maybe if he had the time—your father.

But it wasn’t until university that you realized what it would feel like to lose something.

It wasn’t until the one random art credit you signed up for managed to fall under the same time you had decided to move the rest of your shit into your dorm, leading to you racing to the Creative Arts Center (which was, by the way, located across campus) just for you to end up being the very last person to storm into the classroom, meaning yes, there was only one seat left, and yes, you had to awkwardly claim it with everyone’s eyes on you. But! But! Well . . . the open seat just so happened to be next to Hwang Hyunjin, who would very quickly become the only friend you had ever really had.

Now . . . Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t a tough nut to crack. While you were slightly off-putting and quiet, he was kind and always had something to say, with this odd warmth radiating off him wherever he went. He just seemed to make people . . . better.

His art was that way, too, but that was a story for another day.

Anyway . . . you didn’t exactly remember how the two of you became friends. You supposed it kind of just . . . happened, but one second you were alone, then the next it was where he went you did too, and vice versa.

And halfway through that October, when he introduced you to his dormmate, Han Jisung, the two of you quickly became three, and the rest was three years of history.

It was only then, in those three strenuous years, that you realized that now, for once in your life, you had something to lose. (You’d be a liar if it didn’t keep you up some nights. You’d be a liar if those nights you didn’t cry yourself to sleep, mourning something that had yet to happen. You’d be a liar.)

That was the thing: you always thought it would end. You never thought that this thing you now had would ever last for longer than a few years.

So . . . when you lost your mother, you supposed something in you decided that this was it. It was time to give them up, too, because now that you had lost something, it was time to lose everything, you supposed.

But what you hadn’t accounted for was that Hwang Hyunjin, the poet he was, did not believe in endings. He believed things happened for a reason. He did not believe the two of you met for nothing, and he would be damned if he just let you slip through his fingers like . . . that.

You really did try, too. You tried to avoid him. You tried to lock yourself in your apartment and let the world just . . . fall away. But Hyunjin never gave up; whether it was dropping food off at your front step so you wouldn’t starve, to forcing you to let him and Jisung inside the house just for the three of you to watch a movie in silence, because at least then you wouldn’t be alone. (You were also positive the reason why you even had like a thirty-seven percent in Ecology was because Jisung did your homework and his.)

Somewhere down the line, you realized sometimes you meet people and the rest is history. No matter how hard you tried to push them away like you had done to everyone else in your life, they refused. There was no without with them.

Some things were meant to stay even when you’d already lost everything else. And nights when it felt like you truly had nothing and no one, there would always be a text on your phone from their group chat.

(Some days you wondered if you would even still be here if they hadn’t pushed their way into your life . . . and those days you cried yourself to sleep.)

You supposed there was no more time for that as you glanced behind you, eyes locked on the twin bed situated across the room from yours. There, this Felix, would sleep, the two of you forced to share a room with a bathroom connected to it, sure, but . . . you’d only shared a room your first year at university in the dorms, and that was enough for you. And now . . . this . . .

(You would’ve rather taken the casket next to your mother’s.)

A whiny call of your name tore you from your mind, forcing you to leave behind the past as you turned back to your phone. The faces of Hyunjin and Jisung met you immediately as Hyunjin squinted his eyes at you, taking in your odd demeanor while Jisung tapped away on his phone in confusion (a constant state for him).

Oh, you thought, blinking slowly. You had forgotten they were on the call.

“Hmm?” you hummed, but didn’t speak a word further.

A twitch of confusion tugged at Hyunjin’s brows. “The guy,” he reiterated, trailing off as if waiting for you to chime in and cut him off. But you never did, and for a brief second, you saw him bite the inside of his cheek (something he did when he was worried) before he quickly covered it up by shaking his head and opening his mouth to speak once more. “What’s he look like?”

Before you could get a word in, Jisung clicked his tongue as he lowered his phone. “Do you have to be so cryptic all the time? I get it’s part of the whole tortured artist bit, but—“ he cut himself off with a wave of his hand.

Hyunjin was glaring at him in a heartbeat. “Tortured—“ he scoffed— “Tortured artist? You’re crazy.” He drilled a finger into Jisung’s shoulder. “You sound crazy, know that?”

“Crazy?!” Jisung retorted, fully putting his phone down on the coffee table now. (This was for an ulterior motive, of course, as the next second he was eyeing something out of your sight, which resided on that same coffee table.) “Give me that sketchbook.” Quickly, he bent over and snatched the sketchbook, wasting no time flipping through it. “What have you been drawing, huh? Porn?”

Hyunjin nearly pounced on him. “What the—What is wrong with you? Who even says that?” he grumbled out, trying to pry the sketchbook out of his friend’s hands, all the while, Jisung fought him off long enough to flash you a few of the pages. “It’s called—“ he finally ripped his sketchbook out of Jisung’s grasp and secured it under his arm with an exhale— “figurative arts. Something you’d know if you ever cared to come with me.”

Jisung leaned back, sinking into the couch as he spread his legs for a more comfortable position. “Why the fuck would I wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to go draw naked people with my roommate?” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “Roommates go on coffee runs together, not draw dicks, which, might I add, you have to pay for?”

“Because it’s art.”

“It’s porn.”

And with that, Hyunjin tapped out. With an exasperated scoff, he sent one more glare Jisung’s way before he was flipping through his sketchbook, trying to access the damage done, all the while, muttering under his breath in his native tongue. (Something about Jisung being an idiot, of course.) Jisung caught onto this, too, and sent you a sideways look before he began to taunt and mock the older boy.

Only then when you felt yourself laugh under your breath, did you realize you had been fondly smiling at them the entire time. But that was just how things went. They were always like this, being roommates for all of university, and it never ceased to fill you with a sense of belonging. (It also never ceased to fill you with a sense of dread . . . because if your suspicions were correct and you did end up alone . . . then this . . . this would be something you’d miss about them the most.)

But until then . . . you’d mourn quietly. You had to . . .

Clearing your throat and head, your smile slowly fell into a straight line as you glanced between the two boys. “Are you two done?” you heard yourself ask before you even felt your lips moving.

“Yeah, when he’s six feet under,” Jisung retorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed his friend up and down.

Hyunjin nearly rolled his eyes. “Like you won’t be buried right beside me just out of spite.”

“Well . . . I hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it . . . “

This time; however, Hyunjin did roll his eyes. “Shut up, would you?”

And at those words, Jisung’s mouth hung open with the click of his tongue. He eyed you as if to ask if you had heard the same thing, but you only shook your head at the two of them, trying desperately to bite back the stiff smile spreading onto your face.

As your smile flattened out into the same thin line, you shifted atop your bed, laying on your side with your knees pulled up to your chest as you held your phone in your hand. “I haven’t met him yet,” you muttered out the next second, before either of them could continue this little ruse they had going on (you knew what they were trying to do anyway . . . (Whether they admitted it or not, you could see the change in the way they acted around you after everything . . . happened (now everything was done to get even a smidge of a smile out of you.)))

Jisung quirked a brow, glancing at Hyunjin with his lips pursed as he asked, “Who?”

“The guy,” Hyunjin vaguely explained as he pointed at you through the screen, or rather the bed behind you that could slightly be seen in the camera.

“Oh,” Jisung hummed with a snap of his fingers, “the one you’re going to fuck?”

Hyunjin pinched the bridge of his nose. “What is wrong with you?”

“Listen, I’m always right,” Jisung exclaimed, glancing between you and his roommate. “The two of you can fuck off. It just makes sense. You’ve known him since you were a kid, right? So, a little reunion blah blah blah, you have to sleep in the same room, you’re drunk, you’re horny, you fuck. It’s the circle of life.”

Silence.

Then . . .

A snort from Hyunjin. (You were sure he’d called him an idiot under his breath, but the connection cut out toward the end.)

And you sighed. “OK, Ji . . . I haven’t seen the guy since I was, like, ten,” you explained, trying to explain to your friend all the one-hundred and one reasons why you were not going to sleep with this . . . this stranger. And then, your mouth opened before you could stop it, and words, words that didn’t even sound like your own fumbled from your tongue . . . “Plus . . . he seems like a nutcase. He didn’t show up at the airport because he was apparently busy . . . but when I got here, he was just surfing . . . not even actually. And that! That was five hours ago. He didn’t even come up to eat. I mean that’s crazy, right?”

Shuffling further up the bed, you grabbed the pillow to hug, while awaiting your friends’ responses, but . . .

“Crazy, huh?” you heard a deep voice question from behind you. And this wasn’t a voice you had heard before, which led you to one solution . . . Felix . . .

Fuck.

Hastily, with your eyes wide, you slapped your phone face down as you shot up in your bed, gaze immediately snapping toward the door.

And there he was.

Felix stood in the doorway, towel in hand as he dried his wet, blonde hair (no doubt dyed a month ago guessing by the appearance of his dark roots peeking through). “Didn't realize I was being analyzed today,” he muttered in a soft chuckle.

But you remained silent. It seemed you’d become more afraid of your voice in recent months anyway, so speaking really was rare, but this . . . this had you speechless for an entirely different reason.

In your silence, you let your eyes wander, and noticed Felix only had one foot in the room, the rest of his body lingering in the hallway as he glanced from your face to your phone to his dresser. It was almost as if he was . . . afraid . . . ? No, hesitant. Yes, hesitant to walk in this space that the two of you were now expected to share as if you hadn’t seen each other in a decade or so.

Because the thing was, yes, you remembered him, but not in the same way you’d remember something that happened a long time ago, but rather in the same way you’d remember a childhood pet. There was warmth there; a certain fondness that you could only place when you truly saw him face to face like this. But it was lacking—like you couldn’t remember why or how you felt this way, you just knew you did.

What you could remember felt like a dream. It didn’t feel like it had actually happened. And sure, nothing ever did lately, but this . . . this was different. You knew him. God, you knew him but you just couldn’t . . . place it. You couldn’t remember anything about him. Just those freckles that adorned his sunkissed cheeks, a wide, toothy smile with dimples, his laughter kept floating through your head as you stared at him.

You could remember a boy around the age of eight, and he was laughing. A soft giggle with eyes that smiled too. Then . . . colors. Sunsets. The feeling of floating. The bitter taste of seawater and . . . oh what was it (?) . . . taffy! Yes, the taste of Cherry Cherry saltwater taffy. And . . . (you swallowed hard) . . . the warmth of a hand in yours . . .

Had the two of you really been friends or was that just something your parents said? . . . How close had you been?

Slightly, you shifted on your bed, body inching toward him as if you were dying to say something . . . anything. But no words left your lips and you remained staring at him, and him at you . . . only he wasn’t looking at you in the same way. No . . . he . . . he was just staring at you, his eyes empty; it was like he wasn’t even there, his thoughts carrying him elsewhere while you remained grounded, wondering who he was and why he had meant something to you if you couldn’t even remember him.

Did he not remember you either? Or—

“It’s silent. Is he gone?” Jisung whispered (well, if you knew him, you’d know that his whispering just meant yelling in a hushed tone . . . so really . . . ).

You remained silent once again, unable to tell your friend to keep quiet. Your eyes just stayed on Felix, taking in the way his drenched shirt clung to his body, evidence of his day’s endeavors. And then you began to wonder . . . did he finally catch that wave?

Swallowing hard, you eyed the small scratch on his cheek. The waves, it seemed, had fought back against the punches he’d thrown them earlier in the day. Had they thrown him to the sand? Or had it always been there?

“Well . . . he’s got a voice on him, yeah?” Jisung piped up again after a minute of no words from you or Hyunjin or . . . him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt your face grow hot. And it seemed Hyunjin knew this would happen, too, as you heard the sound of him slapping Jisung on the arm.

Jisung cried out in retaliation, “What? What?! Tell me he doesn’t sound hot? No, no, Hyunjin, look me in the eyes. Look me in the—“

But this time you were one step ahead. Instead of letting your face grow warmer, you haphazardly snatched your phone and hung up on the two boys before Jisung could say any more.

And then . . . it truly was silent, only the sound of the wind whistling outside mixed with the crashing of waves in the distance could be heard. (That and probably your heart hammering in your chest. (You forgot to mention that you didn’t take well to . . . embarrassing . . . moments.))

You glanced at the scratch under his eye once again as you shifted on the bed, pulling your legs to your chest.

Now . . . you’d like to defend yourself . . . the thing about you was the very fact that you did not do well with people. You never had and you didn’t think you ever would.

For a long time, you tried to claim it was because you simply just didn’t like them, but you knew better than that. What you wouldn’t admit was the fact that you just didn’t know how to talk to people.

You’d always known why people didn’t like you. Even as a kid, it had been obvious. You just . . . didn’t know how to be like them. You didn’t know how to view things in moderation. You didn’t know how to enjoy things. You didn’t know how to talk to them or laugh with them. You supposed you just didn’t really know how to be a person.

And everyone saw this, too. That was why you graduated high school with no one to celebrate it with. That was why you went home every day after school and just sat in your room. That was why you had always tried too hard to fit in, only resulting in looks being sent your way. That was why you had always been alone, waiting for everyone to eventually leave. That was why you still wondered why Hyunjin and Jisung hadn’t given up on you yet.

That was why you now sat in front of someone you once knew; someone that you should recognize; someone that meant something to you but you just couldn’t remember why . . . and now . . . now you couldn’t even utter a word. Because . . . you didn’t know how to speak to people; to him . . .

That was why you had always been alone. And that was why you were alone now.

You were sure he could sense it, too. You were sure he wouldn’t want anything to do with you even if he could remember what you couldn’t. You were sure he’d ask the Bahngs to let him sleep somewhere else as long as it wasn’t next to the odd girl who—

“You must be the American,” Felix suddenly sighed out, stealing you from your own mind. “Can’t say I remember you being this . . . charming.” He sent a glance your way as he finally entered the room, heading straight toward the dresser on his side.

With careful almost fearful eyes, you watched as he rummaged through his dresser for some clothes. “You weren’t meant to hear that,” you found yourself mumbling out, barely audible and hoarse. Quickly, you cleared your throat, and repeated the words once more, this time clearer and a little louder.

(This kind of thing used to happen to you all the time as a kid. You wouldn’t talk for so long that when you finally did, it was like your voice wasn’t even your own. It was like the longer you’d go without speaking, the closer you were to losing your voice altogether.)

Felix laughed under his breath. “Mmm, but I did,” he commented as he glanced over his shoulder at you with clothes now in his hands.

However, when you only stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights, he sighed. Felix ran his free hand through his wet hair, pushing it out of his face as he fully turned around to face you, leaning on the dresser for support. “Look . . . it’s OK,” he hummed with a small smile . . . one that showed his dimple but only for a second. (Only long enough for you to remember that same dimple from your younger years.) “I don’t mind. Don’t sweat it. Swear I’m used to it.”

Your brows twitched in response, waiting for the ball to drop. When would the flip switch? When would he exile you like the rest?

But nothing ever came.

Felix simply just sent one more tight-lipped smile your way before he headed for the bathroom door attached to the room. And you watched in shock, still waiting for him to say something . . . anything that would send you wallowing under your covers for the rest of the night.

Still . . . even as he stopped in the doorway, nothing came; instead, he mumbled out, “Let me know if you need anything, yeah? I’m gonna hop in the shower. It’s all yours after that.”

And then he was gone. The sound of the shower came a few seconds later, while you stayed stuck on your bed, staring in shock at the place where he once stood.

When you were a kid, you had a hard time making any friends, and it seemed some old habits never died, yes, but . . .

This was different.

This was a boy from your childhood. This was someone you once knew. This was someone who meant something to you once. You knew that. You knew he had to have meant something.

When you were a kid, you had a hard time making friends . . . except, it seemed . . . for him. Only . . . you couldn’t remember why or how or . . . or . . or anything.

With a defeated sigh, you fell back onto your bed, memories of sunsets and a warm hand in yours playing on repeat in your mind.

The next few days went like this:

Day one: wake up to the sun shining through the curtains, nearly blinding you; realize the view out your window isn’t the busy city streets of New York, but rather a just about deserted beach; rot in bed until three in the afternoon when the thoughts of your mother’s face finally become too much; quietly greet Irene in the kitchen before heading outside with a piece of toast in hand; find Felix surfing just below on that very same deserted beach; watch him miss wave after wave until the sun goes down; dinner, blah, blah, blah and suddenly you’re in bed again, trying not to look across the room where Felix lays; eventually let yourself sneak a peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and when you do, you realize he’d fallen asleep with his lamp on, his face the picture of innocence and yet . . . a pinch in his brows catches your eye; quickly and quietly turn his lamp off before slipping back into your bed and falling asleep with questions of what was playing on his mind.

Day two: wake up, groan at the sun, hate the heat, and stay in your bed until two this time; sit in the living room with Grace (she’s preoccupied watching whatever’s captured her attention on the TV, while you get to work in your sketchbook (something you’ve picked up since that first art class)); dinner, wash, bed; Felix climbs into bed an hour after you have and you realize you’ve subconsciously stayed up, waiting for him; stay silent as he mutters a quiet goodnight to you before the lights are out; stay up an hour more, wondering if he caught a wave.

Day three: Grace wakes you up before it even hits twelve (and you let her because . . . whatever); let her, along with Chris, show you around town as she drags you from store to store, telling you how Abigail Newton would so totally buy that hat but would hate that belt when she passes every mannequin; eventually buy her that very hat so she can tell this Abigail to shove it because . . . whatever . . . ; head back and let her convince you into watching her show with her for the rest of the day; smile once . . . or maybe twice because, of course, you have to indulge her (and that was it); try not to make it obvious you’re staring when Felix comes waltzing into the living room, seemingly coming from his room (your room?) (and not from outside; not from the ocean), plopping down on the couch opposite of you, claiming he just loves this show (but you know he says it to make Grace happy); wonder and wonder and wonder why he’s given up surfing for the day.

Day four: ah, day four, yes . . . manage to wake up at ten (only because Grace told you to the night before); get dressed, touch the locket your mother gave you for your sixteenth birthday for good luck . . . but wait . . . where’s the locket . . . fuck, fuck, fuck; proceed to freak out for the next half-hour, tearing up the entirety of your belongings in hopes of finding it, only to find absolutely nothing; freak out some more, maybe cry a little, and just when you’re about to literally pull all your hair out, there’s a knock at your door and in comes Felix . . . with your locket in his hand; nearly trip over everything just to grab the locket from him, desperately trying to put it back on, but your hands are shaking far too much, only for . . . Felix to gently put a hand on your shoulder before taking the locket back from you; let him brush your hair aside and clasp the locket around your neck; remain frozen in shock as he mutters something about how it must have fallen off your neck last night while you were watching TV on the couch . . . and then . . . he’s gone, and you’re still there.

Day five: Felix is gone; he’s been gone all day and by night, there are people over . . . it’s a cookout apparently . . . spontaneous one, too; awkwardly stand in the corner of the yard, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone because this is too much (everything has always been too much); try not to lose it . . . repeat: try not to lose it; swallow your tears and stay stagnant even as this person who you only know as one of the Bahngs’ family friends comes up to you and starts . . . talking; and then:

“We were so sorry to hear about your mother. She was a good woman. . . . How are you holding up, honey?”

Those words were spoken and you felt your blood run cold. The world caved in a second later. You felt small. Small and worthless. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Get to your room. There won't be anyone there. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn’t. You wanted to but the memories of the night your mother died kept rushing in, paralyzing you. You could hear the monitor beeping. You could feel her hand in yours, oddly cold. You could see the nurses and doctors and whoever else scrounging around you, desperately trying to bring her back while someone pulled you back. You could hear your own voice, screaming out for her, screaming for them to put you down, screaming for them, it, whoever to take you instead of her. You could hear her whisper, look for me in the wind, and then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed space. You needed to get inside; to get to your room.

Your eyes darted to the sliding back door, and knew what you had to do. You forced her legs to move as you tried to make it to the door. But you never made it; a hand grasped your arm and you whipped around to face the same woman once again.

“Honey, what’s going on? Are you OK?” she questioned, concern clear in her eyes but you didn’t care.

She couldn’t see it. She couldn’t see that when a child loses their mother, they lose everything. Your mother. Your mother. Your fucking mother. It didn’t matter if you had fought or if some days you didn’t like each other. It didn’t fucking matter. She had been your mother, and she was fucking gone.

Fuck! She couldn’t see it. Unless she did. Was she doing this on purpose? Who even was she? Had she hated your mother and that’s why she was doing this to you? No, you were thinking too much into it. Fuck, fuck, you had to throw up. No, you had to get to your room. You couldn’t be here. You had to get away from this, from them, from everything. You had to be alone as you always had been.

And then you were gone, running inside before taking off through the house, weaving past all these people until you finally caught sight of your bedroom door. You were going to throw up. Fuck, you were going to throw up. Your pace sped up and then you were there, hand on the doorknob, swinging it open and slamming it shut behind you before you lunged for the bathroom.

Another swinging of a door occurred as you whipped the bathroom door open, hand already on your mouth to stop yourself from vomiting all over your clothes. You didn’t register anything else as you slapped your hands down against the sink, instantly peeling over and spilling your guts.

And only when you were done, did you realize where you were, what you had done, and who was staring at you in the mirror.

In silence, you wiped your mouth on your hand, realizing you’d have to take a shower after this anyway, all the while, your eyes remained locked on the person staring back at you in the mirror. Regret and horror filled you, because none other than Felix was standing behind you, chest bare, but with pajama pants on and hair that was still slightly damp from the shower that he had most likely just taken moments before you barged into the bathroom unannounced, and vomited all over his night routine.

Felix still stood in confusion, and perhaps concern, with a floss-pick hanging out of his mouth while he took in your appearance. And while he stared, you lowered your gaze, finding it too hard to maintain eye contact.

“What—” he began, but you quickly cut him off.

“Food got to me,” you muttered out, throwing your hands up with a quick laugh. “Hamburgers’re too rare for me, I guess.”

Felix remained silent, tonguing the inside of his cheek. “I’ll leave you to it then,” he murmured, eyeing you one last time before tossing the floss-pick in the bin and exiting the bathroom with his white tee clasped in his hand. And as he turned you watched him quickly tug the tee over his head, but not before something caught your eye.

“How did you—“ you found yourself saying before quickly holding your tongue. But it was too late, your words had already got to Felix.

He glanced over his shoulder, slowly turning to face you again. “Hmm?” he hummed, searching your eyes with that same consuming gaze.

You only shook your head. “Nothing.”

A beat of silence.

Felix didn’t move, as if still waiting for your question.

No question ever came.

You were sure a minute had passed before you cleared your throat and pointed to the shower. “I’m gonna . . . “

Felix blinked, his eyes widening. “Right,” he mumbled, clearing his throat now. “Sorry.” And then he was gone, closing the bathroom door behind him, and leaving you to your reflection in the mirror.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to face . . . well . . . yourself. Your steered clear of your reflection, your mind too dizzy to comprehend anything other than what you had seen . . . because as Felix had turned his back to you, you had caught sight of a large, deep scar starting from the tip of his shoulder and ending just above his waistline.

Perhaps you couldn’t remember much about him, but you were sure you’d remember something as drastic as that. It seemed dark too, not quite new but not old in the slightest.

And then you began to wonder . . . what had happened to him to cause a scar with such brutality . . . ?

On a dreary day of a random Tuesday, you were born to a room of only your mother and aunt. Your father had never made it, due to his new office job, and Erin was forced to wait outside of the room with your grandmother because she was only four at the time. And amid shock from her labor, your mother named her baby girl.

Rosebud was to be your name.

Your mother recalled her little girl coming out of her womb with a small port wine stain on the side of her neck. You were red like a rosebud, she used to tell you as a bedtime story when you were little. Rosebud was to be your name, and it had been.

The little girl was named Rosebud and everything was blissful behind the cages of your household. And all was actually well and right until Erin started jumping up and down at her little sister's bassinet, calling you by the name she’d chosen, not Rosebud. She'd cheer your name over and over again, refusing to call you anything else even when your parents scolded her.

But nothing ever stopped Erin. Back then, she could never be confined by her parents, even in the simplest of terms. To her, her little sister was not this Rosebud.

And eventually, after a few days of Erin refusing to call you anything else, your parents gave in. Their newborn was to be named by her older sister. Not Rosebud or anything else your mother had written down.

Luckily, the papers hadn't been signed or anything of that sort, so their little girl was to be named by none other than your very stubborn, now very stern, older sister.

(Your mother, as stubborn as she was, did get her way by gifting you with the middle name of her name. (You sometimes thought this was your mother's way of branding you, like naming you after her was her way of inserting herself into your soul. (If only she had known she’d forever be etched across your entire being just decades later.)))

Anyway . . .

There was the kicker: you didn't just come to be. Your sister had named you, and thus, a very long and very strenuous name for a very angry and odd girl was born (Sometimes nicknamed Rosebud).

In the past week you had been with the Bahngs, you wondered how little Rosebud ended up alone on the other side of the world. It had been on your mind ever since you arrived and saw how this family acted. It was as if you were witnessing a real family for the first time in your life.

When you were a kid, you’d sometimes see other families while sitting in the stands for your sister’s soccer, basketball, lacrosse (etc . . . ) games (as well as her student council lectures and her flute recitals . . . including that one time she joined the school play for Romeo and Juliet (she got Juliet . . . obviously)) . . . Whatever . . . you’d see how other families acted towards each other at these . . . electives. Some were like yours, but other . . . other had this genuine warmth that you just . . . you just couldn’t wrap your head around.

Those were the times you wondered if your family was normal. If mom and dad fighting every day was the same for everyone else. If sisters battling against each other to be the best . . . the most loved was . . . normal.

You’d learned later that it hadn’t been, but truly seeing it every day in and out like this . . . it was . . . well . . . you were sure there were pieces of your heart beginning to wither away further and further and . . .

The Bahngs (plus Felix, if you were being honest) were a family. A real one.

And there you were, always watching them like something out of place.

It made you wonder . . . had Rosebud been the beginning of an end for your family. Was the day you were born, the day the love in your house died?

Had you screamed too loud? Had you been too fussy of a baby?

Had you drained the love from them, sucking it all up because you were just so desperately greedy for it? Were you still?

. . . If overstayed your welcome; if by the end . . . would you end up draining the Bahngs, too . . . ?

“It’ll pass . . . “ the words suddenly echoed throughout your ears, and you almost thought it was your own mind tricking you into hearing things, but then you realized . . .

You realized where you were. You realized you werent seven or thirteen or even eighteen, still being your family’s shadow. No, now you were twenty-one, left in a strange country with no overbearing mother, no absent father, and no perfect sister. You were alone, yes, tucked into your bed in the Bahng household, but you weren’t entirely alone, because on the other side of the room laid someone you used to know; someone you couldn’t quite remember; someone who was now staring at the ceiling with you.

The lights were off save for your lamp which you had your hand resting on for probably a while now as your mind drifted somewhere . . . else. While . . . Felix endured the light, kind enough not to bother you until . . . now.

It’ll pass, he had said, and you knew what he meant.

When you first arrived to Southhaven, Chris had told you Felix was living with them because of what happened to his parents; because he had lost them a year ago. You never asked what had happened. You never planned to, but given that . . . and him being witness to you literally puking your guts right in front of him, you could guess he knew your mother was gone, too, and you weren’t exactly . . . handling it well.

It’ll pass, he’d said, but what did he mean? What would pass?

You could never get over this if that was what he meant. You weren’t strong like that. Your sister was. She could handle this . . . but you . . . nothing was every temporary with you. Once you’d experienced something, once you’d had something; once you felt it . . . it all stayed with you. Even your first heartbreak . . . you didn’t have to still be in love with him to remember what it had done to you; what it had made you become. The thing was: there was no without with you; everything stayed and you were always changed, never the same again.

“Let me guess . . . “ Felix began again once he realized you weren’t going to respond, or rather . . . couldn’t respond.

You swallowed hard, awaiting.

“They asked if you were OK?” he asked, his voice a little softer now.

Your brows twitched. “Yes.”

And you could have sworn you heard him sigh across the room as if . . . as if the question bothered him, too. And then: “Fuckin’ hate when they do that . . . Threw up the first time, too,” he murmured. “You’re not alone.”

Oh . . .

You hadn’t expected that. You knew he must have felt what you were feeling once, too. Maybe he still did, but . . . It’ll pass, he’d said, but no! No! Losing your parents . . . It was like losing everything you had ever known, including yourself.

You’d been so rude to him, too when you knew how this felt. You knew how immobilizing it was. You knew what it did to a person, and you had still said those things.

And yet . . . there he was . . . comforting you . . .

Only then did you turn to face him, finding that he was still staring at the ceiling. “Felix?”

He turned, eyes meeting yours. “Mmm?”

Wetting your lips, your eyes searched his. “Thank you.”

Felix smiled. It was small . . . lacking, but . . . there. “Room full of orphans,” he nearly whispered, the smile still there. “Gotta’ stick together, right?”

And then . . . you began to smile, too. It was small . . . lacking, but . . . there, just like his. It was enough. It was all you had. Perhaps it was all he had, too.

The lights were out a second later, leaving the two of you in the dark silence. You knew you wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon, and you wondered if he was the same.

There was a period after your mother’s death when you couldn’t sleep.

It started with just a few less hours of sleep where you’d just stare at the ceiling, listening to your old clock tick seconds, minutes, hours by while you just laid in silence. You’d never known it could be so loud—the silence—until she was gone.

That should’ve been comforting, right? How even in the silence no one is ever truly alone, but it always managed to make you feel . . . worse . . . small. It made the world seem so much greater than you or your family or anything you had ever cared about. It made her death seem like just another number to add to the end of year tally.

It made everything seem meaningless.

So you laid awake . . . and listened . . .

Eventually, you’d let yourself blink just for a second of nothingness, and then you’d roll over, letting sleep take you. Until it was two weeks after your mother’s burial, and you began to realize it had been two days since you’d slept.

Two days of continued nothingness; of being in that house without your mother; of breathing when she no longer could.

You supposed that was when it started—when you began to hear her voice in the wind; when you convinced yourself that you were seeing her out of the corner of your eye; when you started wondering if maybe just maybe there was a chance you’d see her again in some form or another.

When you finally did sleep that following night by some miracle, you dreamt of her. You dreamt of her at the kitchen table with a plate stacked full of all the foods she loved. You dreamt of her warm smile. You dreamt of her gentle hand brushing the tangles out of your hair. You dreamt of her . . . and when you awoke, your eyes were sore and your cheeks were damp.

You supposed you should’ve talked to someone. Your sister, perhaps, but . . . your family was never one for . . . talking. (She wouldn’t know what to say anyway. Erin was perfect, yes, but she had no bedside manner.)

So the sleepless nights went on.

And when the semester started up again, two nights of no sleep turned into three, then four, until you stopped taking note of what nights you slept and what nights you didn’t.

You tried to ignore the depersonalization. You tried to ignore how you clung to your mother’s clothes, wearing them to class and even when you slept. You tried to ignore the need to be called by your middle name . . . her name. You tried to make it seem normal . . . but . . .

Then the hallucinations started.

At first it was in your bathroom mirror . . . then more whispers in the wind which turned to straight up conversations you thought you were having with her. And then . . . then you started to see glimpses of her on campus. In the beginning, it was people you didn’t know—people you’d just pass by while walking to class . . . but as the days and the nights became longer, you’d see her in your roommates, your friends . . . Jisung . . . even Hyunjin.

And you weren’t proud, you weren’t even sure if it even happened, but you’d been in the library one day, and you’d seen . . . her, and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

. . . Apparently, you’d attacked someone in the library, screaming at them to tell you what they wanted from you. (You didn’t find this out until you woke up in Hyunjin’s bed the next morning and he’d explained the entire thing . . . not leaving out the fact that you’d passed out immediately after, but maybe that had just been in your imagination, too? Right? Because you really couldn’t have done that to someone? Right . . . ? . . . )

Between the attack and your failing grades, the news reached your father in no time. You’d take fault for the grades. You’d own that . . . but the attack; the sleepless nights . . . you didn’t want to know you were capable of that. (But the sleeping pills that were forced down your throat every night after the attack were proof enough that something wasn’t . . . right.)

You knew what this meant. You knew what that made you, and you didn’t know how to accept that. (You supposed you didn’t know how to accept most things.)

Sleeping was easier now, albeit, the dreams you had were just as excruciating as those days you’d hallucinate seeing her on the street . . . but at least you knew what was reality and what was not. (There had to be an upside in that. There had to be.)

It had been a month since then. The end of December now. In Southhaven where your winter was their summer and the weather was gentle, not the harsh rain and snow you were used to.

Now you could sleep, and dream of her, yes, but you’d wake up every morning and she wouldn’t be in your mirror. Now you woke, turned to the side, and glanced at a boy who seemed to be holding onto just as much as you were, and you’d be a liar if you said that didn’t interest you.

Because you wanted to know; you wanted to know if losing yourself this much after losing someone was . . . normal. Because truly, either everyone felt this way even just a little bit, or you were completely and utterly alone . . . and you were sure that would be the thing to kill you.

But there was no way you could admit this; there was no way you could ask him what he meant by his little ‘It’ll pass’; there was no way you could ask him when it would pass. So, for the time being, you watched him in silence as you had watched everyone growing up.

This was normal for you anyway. When you were a kid, drifting through middle school and high school alone, you used to watch the people around you. You used to watch how they acted around each other; how their social media posts matched . . . how their smiles matched in them, too. You used to yearn for that—to be liked like that; to have people like that; people that wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with you.

It didn’t help that your sister always had someone over, whether it was friends to boyfriends. You used to watch her, too. You’d sit in the armchair while she chatted with her friend on the phone, lying horizontally on the couch. You’d hang around in the kitchen when she’d have her friends over for pool parties, sleepovers . . . whatever . . . and she’d always shoo you off, but you wouldn’t go far. No, you’d wait on the staircase, tucked behind the railing as you listened to them laugh.

And when you’d finally asked Erin if you could join them next time . . . she declined. We are sisters, not friends. Get your own friends, and stop scaring mine away, she’d said, and you understood.

You never did end up finding any friends, of course (well, at least not until university but . . . you know . . . ); instead, you figured out how to make yourself invisible. And so . . . a shadow you became, learning how to communicate with other people through conversations that weren’t your own.

You learned how to read people; how to tell them what they wanted; how to know what to do when no one else did. (You supposed it all went to shit when your mother died and you realized you could watch people and watch people but you’d never be able to figure yourself out; you’d never be able to help yourself.)

Whatever . . .

The point was: learning about people from afar had always been familiar to you, and when it came to Felix, you decided it was better to watch him in silence than speak with him. He was just that type of person, you had gathered.

Now, you knew how it sounded, but people watching wasn’t like flat-out stalking (Ok . . . you could admit it wasn’t exactly the sanest thing to do but . . . whatever.). Listen, listen, you just so happened to end up waking up when Grace would call you, letting her drag you wherever she wanted because maybe she had grown on you a little over the past few weeks. And most of the time, Grace would take you down to the beach where her brother and his friends apparently liked to surf (well, where everyone in this town preferred to surf) and sometimes Felix would join.

So, were you keeping a close eye on him, curious about everything that he was and who he had been to you in the past? . . . Yes.

And the days he wouldn’t show, you wondered where he’d go. No one ever mentioned it. He never said a word about it, and you were left wondering.

Maybe he was off to that sandy beach just below the Bahng residence. You just didn’t know . . . and that bothered you more than you wanted it to.

And those days that he didn’t show, you’d taken to drawing in your sketchbook. God, fine, you’d taken to drawing him. But, but, listen, the only reason you were was because of what you had seen your first week in this godforsaken place—his scar.

Perhaps that was what had entranced you. Or maybe it was the past you knew which included him but couldn’t quite figure out the rest of the pieces. Or maybe . . . maybe it was him who intrigued you.

Fine . . . like Hyunjin had said on the phone last night . . . maybe you had a small crush on him. Like . . . maybe . . .

You couldn’t help it. He was just so . . . so . . .

. . . you didn’t even know.

Whatever . . .

Anyway . . . today was different. Grace woke you up early, yes, but when you finally stepped outside twenty minutes later, you found the entire Bahng family dressed and ready to go. Irene was busy trying to shove all the beach bags and surfboard and towels and sunblock into the trunk of her minivan, while Monty was already dabbing Grace’s face with sunblock and Chris . . . well . . . he was in the front seat, waiting for everyone to hop in so he could drive.

And you, you stood stuck in the doorway, watching this family be . . . a family while you . . . you had . . . no one. You could have sworn you heard your heart break a third time in your life, but before the floodgates could open, a hand had clasped your shoulder. You turned, in shock, and there he was—Felix.

With a squeeze of your shoulder and a small smile, he nodded toward the minivan, gesturing for you to follow him. And with that, you, and Felix, who was seated behind you in the very last row, climbed into the car. He sat there alone, too, and you couldn’t help but watch him out of the rearview mirror the entire trip, wondering why he had taken the back seat and not you.

That . . . that was about an hour ago. Now . . . now you were the one sitting alone on your beach towel, sketchbook in hand and a pencil in the other as you drew the scene in front of you. While you drew, you desperately tried not to throw your pencil down and flip to the page where you had drawn Felix’s scar.

A call of your name tore you from your sketchbook as you glanced up finding Grace just a few feet from you, holding up a rather large seashell and waving it around to show you. You couldn’t help but smile at her. A real smile, too. Wide and toothy and just like your mother used to get out of you.

Because you couldn’t help it; not when you looked at Grace a little too long and found that she was only a fourteen-year-old kid and reminded you a little too much of who you used to be at that age.

So you smiled, and she grinned back wider before going back to shell searching. And you . . . you watched with that small smile on your face before your eyes slowly flicked back down to your sketchbook and you began to draw the scene before your eyes once again.

Only this time, as you were about to shade, another voice drew you from your mind. Only this time, the voice was much deeper and coming toward you. Only this time, it was Felix calling your name. Only this time, you quickly slammed your sketchbook shut before he could catch sight of what you had been drawing. Only this time, you looked up in horror, trying to act normal but completely failing as you made eye contact with . . . him.

It seemed Felix had caught onto this, too, but instead of mentioning it, he only bit back a grin. And you swallowed hard, shifting slightly as you realized he was going to sit beside you on the towel.

His hair, blonde with dark roots, was wet, and he was wearing a rash guard this time, unlike the first time you saw him. But he still looked . . . good. You could admit that, because well, he just had this . . . way . . . about him . . . but . . . whatever . . .

As he sat down beside you and released a gruff sigh, a few water droplets flicked onto your own bare arms, catching your attention immediately. You blinked at it, unmoving.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“Gracie seems smitten with you,” he mumbled your way.

Your eyes finally snapped from the water droplets sliding down your arm to your lap where your sketchbook lay. “I guess,” you muttered back, fingers playing with the edges of the sketchbook.

“Chris won’t say it. He’s too fixed on you being, like . . . different or whatever . . . but . . . just . . . thank you for being kind to her. I know she comes on strong, but that’s—“ he waved his hand in the air, exhaling sharply— “The kids around here are . . . “ he swallowed audibly that time, and sighed once more before continuing, “awful, so . . . keep up the good . . . work?”

And that time, as his words left his lips, you could have sworn you saw him grimace at what he’d said. And that . . . that got a small, barely audible, barely even noticeable, laugh out of you.

But when he glanced up to meet your gaze, unsure of if he’d heard you correctly, you quickly covered up your amusement, wiping the grin off your face. Instead, when his eyes met yours, you only nodded in response, giving him a small, tight smile.

Felix, however, had caught your little laugh. You knew he did, and he knew you knew. So it was a no-brainer when one side of his mouth tipped into a half-grin as he shook his head. “You don’t say much, do you?” he mused, scooting a little closer, but not close enough for it to seem deliberate.

Wetting your lips, you mumbled, “Not much to say.”

Felix nodded, leaning away from you once again, and you thought you’d lost his attention, but then: “Do you like the ocean?”

You blinked. Why was he so interested? Had he found out about your drawings? Was he taunting you? No, no, that . . . that was stupid. But—No.

You quickly shook your head, then released a sigh. “Um . . . I guess,” you said, nearly under your breath as you shrugged. “I haven’t been this much since I was a kid.”

“Is it weird being back then?”

“I don’t know.”

Felix narrowed his eyes, not in a menacing way or anything like that but almost as if he were considering your response. But he didn’t dwell long as he switched the conversation. “What’s it that you’re drawing anyway?” he abruptly asked, gently tapping your sketchbook.

You blinked . . . again. Shocked . . . again. “Nothing,” you quickly tried to cough out, “just . . . nothing important. It’s shit.”

His brows twitched, his head tilting to the side as he took you in. “Nah, you’re just—“ he cut himself off, shaking his head, but his eyes never left you. He continued on searching your face as he spoke. “We’re our own worst critics, you know?”

You glanced at his nose, then his cheeks, and finally at a freckle that oddly seemed to resemble a heart before you decided that yes, you would like to draw this next—him like . . . this. “Just a realist,” you hummed out, still completely in your own mind as your eyes danced over his features.

“OK, maybe you are,” Felix said with a shrug. And then he was leaning in again, chin in the palm of his hand. “Draw me then. It’s my face. I know it well. If it looks like me, you pass. If not, you gotta hand over the pencil.”

Oh . . .

You swallowed your words.

If only he knew . . .

But instead the words that spilled from your lips were: “And if I don’t want to draw you?”

Felix shrugged, unbothered. “Then . . . draw yourself for me.”

Your brows raised. “And if I don’t want to do that either?”

Another beat of silence.

Then, Felix laughed through his nose. He was staring at you again, kind eyes and a small smile on his lips. “Alright then . . . What do you love, sad eyes? Hmm?” he asked, his voice low.

What do you love?

You didn’t know anymore.

But you had loved something once. You knew you had.

Sunsets. The smell of sunscreen. Sand under your fingertips. Sea water on the tip of your tongue. Cherry Cherry saltwater taffy. And a hand in yours.

“Got it?” Felix asked again, tearing you from a past you couldn’t even remember. “OK . . . now draw that.”

Sunsets. A hand in yours.

You sighed, your next words shocking even you, “What if it’s something . . . intangible?”

“Then how can you draw it wrong?”

How can you draw it wrong? he’d asked you, but you couldn’t respond, because you didn’t know. You didn’t even know what the memories meant. How could you even begin to draw them?

And just as you were about to write him off again, the sound of Grace’s soft laughter echoed throughout your ears. Without any forethought, your head snapped in the other direction, eyes quickly finding her . . . and . . . Chris and . . . Monty . . . even Irene.

It seemed that Monty and Chris had snuck up on Grace, grabbing her before she could realize it, then taking off into the ocean, their laughter in the air. All the while . . . Irene stood where the water met the land, a wide smile on her face as she softly chuckled at their antics.

And you realized something else then. That is what you would’ve drawn. That is what you loved.

Your family had never been a good one, but it was yours. Even your father hadn’t been so bad when you were younger and unaware. You still felt loved by him when you didn’t know the world. And back then, when you thought their fighting was normal, you still came together at the end of the night and watched movies as a family.

That was the last time you remembered being truly . . . happy, and you couldn’t quite place when that all stopped . . .

You thought you’d miss it forever. And you knew that . . . that was what you loved most in the world—a family that didn’t exist anymore . . . perhaps a family that never did.

And yet here were the Bahngs, and they had what you wanted most in the world. They had it effortlessly, too.

Fuck. You swallowed the quickly forming lump in your throat, realizing a little too late that your body and your mind were too many steps apart. Your hands had begun to shake, and before you knew it, that queasy feeling in your stomach was back. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You needed to get out of there.

That was your motive. You quickly stood to your feet, sketchbook still in hand as you tried everything not to look Felix in the eyes. “Sorry, um . . . “ you stammered out. “I have to go. I have to—bathroom.”

And then you were gone, stalking off toward the minivan in hopes it was, by some chance, unlocked. You just needed a minute alone. You just needed to be alone like you always had been.

Alone, you repeated in your head as you finally made it to the minivan, your breathing uneven and shaky. Alone, you begged as you grabbed onto the door handle, pulling repeatedly. Alone, you all but cried as you realized there was no way the door was going to magically unlock just for you. Alone, you knew as you fell against the car, silently crying into the crook of your arm.

It could have been hours that you were standing there, silently mourning a family you could’ve had and a mother you never would. It could have also been seconds, but you did know that you wished you were back home with Hyunjin and Jisung and New York with its cold weather and noisy traffic. At least then you wouldn’t be reminded of the family you didn’t have.

And once you had finally calmed your breathing, you glanced up at the sun, your eyes swollen from crying, and sighed. Is this what your life was now? Is—

The clearing of a throat tore you from your mind, but you didn’t jump. You already knew who it was. You could tell by just the sound of his voice.

“You don’t have to stay, Felix,” you sighed as you remained facing the sun, not wanting him to see you like . . . this. You just wanted to be alone like you had always been. You just wanted him to leave, but then . . . you refused to tell him this. You refuse to tell him to leave, and perhaps . . . perhaps you wanted him to stay or perhaps you were truly going crazy again.

“There’s no bathroom here,” Felix mumbled after a minute, his voice lacking as he ignored your previous words.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you nodded. “Yeah . . . “

With that, Felix stayed silent, just watching you as you wished for the ground to swallow you whole. But it didn’t and you stayed put, realizing this someone you used to know was seeing you at your very worst—tears, snot, and all.

And with a heavy sigh, you let it happen. You let everything fall away just for a second as you sunk to the ground, eyes closed as you leaned with your back up against the minivan.

But what did surprise you was the fact that a few seconds later, you heard Felix step toward you, and then . . . then he was sitting down right beside you.

You didn’t dare look at him. You weren’t even sure if you could. Instead, your eyes fluttered open, small tears rolling down your cheeks as you quickly brushed them away, keeping your gaze trained on the sandy parking lot.

Felix didn’t speak either, and you quickly realized he was waiting for you to say something first. He was waiting for you to do it yourself when you were ready.

And when you finally were ready, you clutched your sketchbook closer to your chest, before you spoke. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry by the way,” you found yourself saying before you could come up with a different response. “For that day; the first day we met. It’s not right . . . but sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why. I never mean it.”

You knew it was almost a month too late. You knew he probably didn’t give a shit now, but you had a habit of clinging onto things, and well, it had never left your mind.

So the words you said, you meant, and you hoped he knew that. You hoped he could feel it in your voice.

And when he didn’t respond, you glanced up, brows pinched upward, only to find he was already looking at you. But only when your eyes met his, did he smile, and you realized he had still been waiting for you.

That was when he spoke—when he had your eyes on him. “And I told you, it’s alright,” he hummed, his voice deep yet . . . soft. “There’s the American way, then there’s the better way . . . Australian. So this . . . this is my way of showing you a little bit of Australian hospitality. Water under the bridge, yeah?”

But you didn’t respond. You didn’t even nod. You couldn’t. How could he be so . . . so . . . kind?

No one had ever been so . . .

No one had ever . . .

No one . . .

Felix seemed to catch onto this with just another glance at your face. “Look . . . “ he began, his features contorting into questioning, “if you need it to be forgiven, it’s already done. It’s—”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you couldn’t help but ask, cutting him off for the first time. “It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t even know me.”

A deafening beat of silence.

Beat.

Was that your heart or his?

Beat.

Then, a sigh from Felix. His brows twitched, his eyes squeezing shut and he tongued his inner cheek. “There are certain things no one should have to go through alone,” he slowly began, his words slow yet still so . . . so soft. His eyes fluttered open a second later, and you saw his words before he spoke them. “Losing your mother is one of them.”

Your body became limp at his words, your sketchbook falling to your lap, but your hands stayed locked firmly around it. Felix noticed this, his eyes flicking down to where the black sketchbook lay. He pursed his lips, then nodded, and you waited, knowing he knew.

“You draw dead things . . . “ Felix mumbled a second later, his eyes still trained on the sketchbook in your lap.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you knew there was no running from him now, because he knew. He knew.

Grief made people do tricky, sick things, and you knew this well. It had turned you into another person, and in your downfall, you’d taken to a new . . . hobby—drawing dead things.

You didn’t quite know why, you just knew that when you’d stumble across those poor pigeons hit by cars or those squirrels and moles and mice that cats liked to leave on your doorstep, you always took pictures of them, later drawing them in your sketchbook.

It was the only thing that managed to make you feel better, because there it was—death.

Death had taken your mother, and it would surely take you, too, but if you drew it maybe you could have something over it. Maybe . . . maybe if you made death into art then . . . then you wouldn’t cry every time you heard your mother’s voice in the whispers of the wind.

And at the beach, you’d heard your mother’s voice, you’d felt the wind, and then you’d seen the poor fallen seagull as the current carried its lifeless body to and fro. You couldn’t stop yourself from sketching it while everyone else was busy in the water. But Felix had caught a glimpse of it when he approached you on the beach. Now, you knew he had.

Your sick little secret was no more. Felix . . . had been the only one to uncover it.

That you couldn’t run from.

So, instead, with a heavy sigh, you released your tight grip on the sketchbook, and whispered, “Yes.”

With the release of your words, you couldn’t help it, you grimaced in preparation, wondering when he’d leave you, too. Because he would. That was just how things went.

But . . . it wasn’t disgust which he met you with. No, instead . . . instead, he shifted in his spot and then you saw it—his hand was now resting on his knee, palm up with his fingers spread, and you finally realized what he was offering you.

You glanced at his hand, fully now, and swallowed hard. He was holding out his hand for you to grasp.

But you stayed frozen, unmoving, unsure.

Until . . .

“You don’t have to . . . but . . . “ Felix began, his deep voice a little hoarse now. “When I was a kid, I had problems falling asleep. Nightmares, you know . . . kept me up half the night. And my mom . . . she’d stay up with me trying everything. Glass of warm milk, counting sheep, whatever. Most of the time we’d just stay up watching TV until I eventually knocked out. But there were times when nothing would work . . . so eventually she’d put me to bed and say that she’d be there the entire night, holding my hand, so even if I had a nightmare, it’d be OK . . . and . . . every time . . . I’d wake up and my hand would still be in hers.”

Finally, his eyes met yours.

Your brows twitched, eyes searching.

“I was able to sleep after that,” he mumbled once more, offering up a small smile. It was lacking but it was there, and it meant something. It meant something. “No more nightmares. I guess I felt . . . safe.”

A beat of silence.

Or maybe it had been your heart pounding in your chest.

Beat.

Then . . . you shakily placed your hand in his. Warmth at your fingertips. Sunsets. Cherry Cherry saltwater taffy. A hand in yours.

With a complacent sigh, you let the incomplete memory in as you slowly threaded your fingers through his, securing your hand tightly in his.

Sunsets. A hand in yours. His hand in yours. His hand.

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ageless-aislynn · 1 month

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Title: “15 Minutes” (10/15) Author: @ageless-aislynn Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: As you heal, you're not alone. Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating: T (PG13) Length: 2,604 (this chapter, 24,863 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N: Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. Apologies for the break we took for a few weeks here. 😳This chapter turned out a little longer than I expected, (please enter "that's what she said" joke of your choice here), so I hope that makes up a bit for the delay. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger @mysardencut @laurenstacy610 @sporadicbelievernightmare @ultrablackwidower @bxmxtx @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Pressure on your chest brought you startling awake, flinging your left arm up as if to try and break free of a restraint. White hot pain burst from your shoulder down your bicep like a cord of fire trying to amputate your arm. You gave a strangled cry, managing to sit up and clutch at the various points of hurt as the agony gradually faded.

Out of the darkness, a now-familiar woman's voice said your rank and last name. "Are you all right? Do you need me to dispatch medical assistance?"

"No," you quickly said, automatically straightening your sleep-rumpled shirt. "I moved my arm wrong. Thanks, though."

"Of course," she returned, her tone kind.

"Are you, um, monitoring me?"

"Just for sounds of distress or pain. John was adamant that your privacy be respected as much as possible."

That made you smile slightly under the cover of the lack of light. "I hope they've given you something else to do other than to listen for me to say ouch."

"Not to worry, I keep busy."

You nodded even though she couldn't see it. Or maybe she could? Was she holed up in some ONI office, watching you with thermal signatures or some other sort of tech? "I appreciate it, Ms. Classified. Though I believe you gave me your name, didn't you? I'm sorry, I can't remember what it was."

"You were a little busy at the time," she demurred. "It's Cortana but I rather like 'Ms. Classified,' I have to say. It's like a nickname between friends, isn't it?"

"It is," you said. "And please feel free to use my first name. No need for friends to stand on formality."

"Thank you," she said and, after a slight pause, added your name as if it were an honor to do so.

Was she a Spartan, perhaps? Something about her careful manner reminded you of how John sometimes reacted to interpersonal things as if he hadn't ever dealt with them before and wanted desperately to be right in his response.

You wasn't sure if you should ask and while you were still wondering, she said goodbye with a sound like pixels vanishing, though there had been no hologram of her to see this time.

Your day was a lot more mundane after that. PT came by as Dr. Savannah had said they would, and you dutifully did the exercises with minimal grumbling and complaining. The ancient saying about medics being terrible patients was still said for a reason, after all, but you didn't want to be One Of Those if you could help it.

The therapist had brought you breakfast from the mess for after your session: the cold cereal MRE, typically called mush rarely edible, along with plain black coffee. She also told you that the next session would be tomorrow instead of later today, due to a scheduling conflict.

So that left you with a whole lot of day and very little to fill it.

You were scrolling through your padd, looking through old documents and messages, intending to clean up and organize things but, more often than not, ended up reminiscing on the past, on friends once part of your every day life now long gone, either transferred away or worse.

You discovered a folder full of sketches of various Mjolnir designs you'd done back before you'd decided for certain to begin training to be a Brokkr tech. Your interest in the Spartans and their armor had been a mere hobby, then.

You were far from a gifted artist but trying to capture the different iterations, the bulkier but classic shapes of the Mark V, the more streamlined Mark VI, had made for fun practice. You'd also tried out a few ideas of your own, such as "floating" pieces of armor to try and better protect the Spartans' joints without sacrificing mobility. The final image, though, had been a purely fanciful one: a fusion of Mjolnir and medieval, a literal Spartan in shining armor.

You couldn't help but chuckle. There was no number on the chest plate but it was clearly Master Chief to anybody who was familiar with his armor configuration. The patterning on his visor had a texture reminiscent of a knight's helm and the flare of his shield had a shape like the plume of a feather at the crest of his head. One arm was extended but incomplete: you hadn't decided whether to give him a BR or DMR or go for something like a broadsword or lance. Then you'd simply never come back to finish it and it had been forgotten in your drafts for all this time.

Tapping a fingertip contemplatively against your lip, you thought for a moment, then impulsively picked up your stylus and began to draw.

Gentle fingertips brushed against your hair and you woke to find John next to the bed.

"Sorry to bother you," he murmured, "but you looked uncomfortable."

The moment he said that, your neck began protesting the odd angle your head had slumped into.

"Well, that was a bad idea," you said plaintively, straightening up very slowly. Your entire body ached like you'd been moonlighting as a punching bag. Your padd slipped off your lap to the mattress, then bounced towards the edge, and John easily caught it on the fly.

You suddenly remembered what had been on it. The screen was dark but all it would take was a brush of a finger to activate it again and he'd see--

"What's this?" he said, orientating the padd right side up.

"That's... my poor attempt at artistry," you said, feeling heat blooming up your neck. You resisted the urge to snatch it from his hand and throw it to the floor yourself.

"It's not poor," he countered, studying it even more intently. "Not at all. I like it a lot, especially the detail here."

He tapped the image and the SPNKr rocket launcher you'd placed casually in the Spartan's hand, resting on the armored shoulder, expanded to better reveal the intricate filigree you'd spent a considerable amount of time adding to the large missile chamber.

"I mean, it's not practical, of course," you mumbled but his sincere appreciation lessened your embarrassment. "I wanted a medieval feel to a modern weapon."

"Do you have others?" he asked, handing the padd back to you.

You appreciated that he didn't just start flipping through the images. You swiped back to show him your other Mjolnir studies.

The very corner of his mouth twitched. "These are all mine, aren't they?"

"Hm, I suppose they are," you said in mock surprise. "It looks like I've had a favorite Spartan for a while now."

"Good," he said decisively, then glanced at you with a soft smile. "Could I send a copy of this to R&D?"

"Which one?" you asked, alarmed.

"The floating armor," he said, the smile growing a bit.

"Yeah, if you want," you said and forwarded the study to him. "I doubt I've thought of anything they haven't by now but I guess you never know."

"And could I have a copy of the other one, just for me?"

"Really?"

"Really," he confirmed.

You switched back to the medieval drawing, adding your signature with a flourish in the corner before forwarding that one as well.

The door chimed and he went to open it as if it were expected.

"Master Chief, sir!" the young private said, making a motion no doubt intended to be a salute that he couldn't complete because of the large and apparently heavy covered tray he was carrying.

"At ease," he said, taking the tray from him.

The private snapped a salute as crisp as if he were in the presence of Lord Hood himself, then kept standing in the open doorway, staring rather starstruck.

"Thank you, you're dismissed," John told him.

"If you or the Hero of the Pit need anything, let me know, sir," the marine said earnestly before backing away.

Once the door closed, you said, "That really is a terrible nickname."

"The Covenant call me 'Demon,'" John said, bringing the tray to the bed and setting it on the foot.

"'Demon' is badass," you countered. "Mine sounds like I fell in a hole and somehow managed to crawl back out."

"Crawling out of that hole wasn't a given," he said, "and you made sure nobody else was in there with you."

He lifted the cover on the tray, revealing two sizzling plates of food. The smell that hit you was divine.

Your voice dropped an entire octave. "Is that eggplant parmigiana?"

"I... think so? It's whatever was being served in the Spartan mess for lunch." His expression darkened. "You were supposed to get breakfast from there, too, but there was apparently some sort of mix-up. It's been dealt with."

You felt momentarily sorry for whoever had been on the receiving end of being dealt with. "I can't eat Spartan portions."

"You actually can because it so happens that I can calculate how many calories a Brokkr mechanic-slash-medic needs in order to heal properly." He held that with a serious expression for a moment, then winked. "And I also asked Dr. Savannah about it. She said, and I quote, 'Tell her it's fine to live a little.'"

"Oh, well, if it's doctor's orders..." you trailed off with a grin.

He left to get a small table and chair for himself since there was only the one lap tray and you took the opportunity to hit the head, thinking you'd be settled back in before he returned. As it turned out, you either greatly underestimated how far he had to go to find what he was looking for or, more likely, had greatly overestimated how quickly you could move.

Your left arm wanted to draw up to your torso from the way your damaged shoulder muscle was currently being foreshortened. Raising it even close to 45 degrees made it feel like it was being ripped off of your body. You took a couple of deep breaths, forcing it straight down to your side, and gritted your teeth though the pain as you returned to the main room.

John had already finished setting up the portable table and turned, his expression going almost comically aghast. "Should I call somebody? What can I do? I can carry you or--"

"No, it's fine," you told him. "I just have to work through it."

He hovered next to you as you made the few, torturous step back to the bed, his worry a palpable thing. Your bad knee buckled and he caught your arm -- fortunately, the right one -- to keep you from going down. His fingers hit a bruise hidden under your sleeve but you managed to not react.

The stricken look he gave you meant he'd seen the reaction anyway.

"There we go," you said, trying to sound breezy but the result was more winded than anything as you propped up against the headboard. "I'm ready for lunch. Are you? Lunch sounds great right about now."

He seemed at a loss as to what to do. You gingerly reached out and wrapped your fingers around his.

"I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm healing on schedule and it could've been much worse."

He nodded shortly, very, very carefully folding his other hand over yours. With a brief glance away, he nodded a final time as if agreeing to something you couldn't hear and then exhaled purposefully, affecting a lighter tone. "Well, let's see how that eggplant parmigiana is, then, hm?"

Even though physical therapy wasn't scheduled again until tomorrow, you went ahead and did the exercises anyway. Not only did it give you something to do after John left, but you were even more inspired to try to regain your strength as soon as possible.

Since you were alone, you felt free to swear your way more and more creatively through the entire session and only after the fact did you worry that maybe you had accidentally taught Cortana some new words and phrases.

Nah, you thought. Surely, she's not stuck sitting at some console all day and night, listening for me to need something, right?

You almost asked it out loud, just to see if she was listening, but decided against it. You didn't want to imagine she'd been instructed to keep her earpiece in to monitor you even when she took a meal or bathroom break. Or that maybe she never even actually got to go off-duty at all. It hadn't escaped your attention that John apparently didn't trust anybody else to provide your erstwhile overwatch.

You ate your dinner when it arrived, a very delicious chicken gumbo, then turned in early, since sleep was also an important factor in healing.

But your sleep was restless, the aches in your body keeping you from getting comfortable, and then when you did doze off, your mind kept taking you back to those moments when you were trapped. A couple of times, you found yourself jolting awake, John's name on your lips. You wondered if he was on base, asleep in the Spartan quarters. You'd assumed he would come back if he were here but you hadn't actually asked him to. It was his room, though, so wouldn't he...?

Try to get some sleep, that's the best thing right now. You'll feel stronger tomorrow, you silently instructed yourself, trying to find a comfortable position.

The next time you woke, your heart was thundering in your ears and you made a small panicked noise.

The lights abruptly came up to a quarter and you looked around wildly.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

John sat up from where he was stretched out over on the couch and you instinctively reached for him. He was there almost as if appearing by magic, letting you grip his hand as he leaned over you.

You were tangled in the covers and struggled to free yourself. He carefully extricated you with his free hand.

"Were you having a nightmare?" he asked and you nodded.

"I- I didn't know you were here," you said, stumbling over the words. "Why are you on the couch? You could share. I'd- I'd like you to."

He got that slightly stricken look again. "I'm heavy. I'll hurt you by moving around. I can't... I can't cause you more pain. I'm right here, though."

You understood what he meant but it still stung a bit like rejection. You normally would've let him go, would've tried to accept it gracefully, but the phantom weight on your chest changed the words on your tongue.

Your voice emerged small and compressed. "I need you, John."

The words clearly hit him like a plasma bolt to the chest and his fingers closed gently around yours.

"All right," he finally said. "I'll be careful."

It took a few minutes but eventually you were in his arms, turned on your right side with your injured left arm resting on his chest, your head tucked into the curve of his neck. All of the movement did hurt but you absolutely didn't care; all that was important was that he was here, you could hear his heart beneath your ear, could feel his warmth seeping into all of your pains and soothing them.

"Thank you," you murmured into the softness of his shirt.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, kissing the top of your head and lightly brushing his fingers across the hand you had on his sternum.

You were almost asleep when you thought, but weren't completely sure, that he also quietly said, "I need you, too."

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#master chief x reader #x reader #john-117 x reader #aislynn's fics #aislynn's fic #ageless aislynn #fic: 15 minutes #series: how to date a spartan without even trying

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dragonwritersblog · 5 months

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Five Times Jax and Pomni Share Dreams of Their Past Lives (And One Time Where They Remember)

Read on AO3

1/2/3/4/5/6

Hi! The last chapter of the first fic! We actually made it! I just wanted to go a huge thank you for all those who have supported me! Whether it was on AO3, twitter, tiktok, tumblr or discord. You guys have been amazing! I still can't get over the fact that my fic has over 10k hits you guys are insane and I love it! I have some other stuff that I need to work on after this (a fnaf one-shot, a funnybunny royal au for my mutual artie on twitter and discord, and a funnybunny pirate au as well) but that doesn't mean I won't be working on the sequel at the same time.

Also, I forgot to include this last week and I'm so ashamed of myself, but please go check out this art of my fic that was drawn on tumblr, it's amazing!: https://www.tumblr.com/pomni-stare/734273534847860736/more

This my pal berry also drew a reference to my fic with her art here as well: https://twitter.com/CheyennePlayz/status/1725864159139738099

Once again, thank you so much!

And now, the final chapter...

Pomni woke in a cold sweat.

That was…it couldn’t be, could it? It was her at the end of that dream! Right after Penny put on the headset! When she first got here! But how could that be?! These dreams weren’t real! They were just, well, dreams! Just made-up figments of her imagination! But then again, no one else had them here, just her. So why did she have them? What made her so special?

Penny…why did that name feel so strikingly familiar to her? Why did it feel like she walked the steps that she walked? That she spoke the words that she spoke? Every single movement and decision that Penny Reed had made, why did it feel like Pomni had done it all before? And Penny’s mother and sister, she felt as though as though she truly knew them. That she could list off everything they loved, from the music the liked, to the foods that disgusted them, all the little things that made them into the people they were. It felt as though if she reached down hard enough, she could remember every piece of information about them. But why?

And then there was Jack, the one that invaded her mind, body and soul each time he appeared, when he spoke, laughed, cried, joked and breathed. Every time she saw him was like dancing an old waltz, the steps might be fumbled and clumsy from the lack of practice, but the heart and joy of it was still there.

Especially when she was with Jax…

There was so much déjà vu with him, it kept her in within its strong grasp. Even when Jax was only a thought in her head, it was as if she were replaying the old song and dance of Jack and Penny with him.

But why?!

Winter

Riley

Amber

Jack….

Her head began to pound, she immediately grabbed it as it throbbed painfully. What was going on?! Suddenly, the warm face of a girl with dark hair appeared behind her squeezed shut eyes.

“So,” Winter turned in the passenger seat to face Penny in the back, “Sorry that it was under these events how you met Jack, hopefully you were okay with him.”

“I’m not,” said Riley, focused on the road.

“Just keep driving mama bear,” Winter rolled her eyes before turning to Penny again.

Pomni gasped. Winter…she knew her. She knew so much about her. She met two months after meeting Riley, trying to sneakily ask for tips on how to ask the other girl out. Carrot cake, her favourite food was carrot cake. She loved it so much that she had it every year on her birthday and baked it whenever she could. “Oh god,” Pomni exhaled, she knew Winter. Not just from the dreams, but really knew her! She was her friend!

Her head throbbed again, a red headed girl about 4 years older than her appearing, replacing Winter.

“Penny! Oh thank God!” Riley rushed over to her, wrapping her arms around her younger sister and pressed a kiss at the side of her head, “You gave me a heart attack going into that house, and then hearing that you fainted?! Don’t ever do that again!”

She grabbed at her pyjama bottoms. Riley Reed, one of the strongest people she knew. A protector who forgets to protect herself, always putting her mother and little sister first. Had saved said younger sister many times and seen the wounded parts of her that weren’t visible to the everyday eye. There was a secret that she kept, that she never told anyone, not even to her mother. It was always for Riley’s little sister’s ears only. If she ever had a son, she would same him Percy after her youngest sibling. No one knew that, that secret was locked tight in a vault. “Why do I know this?” Pomni asked herself.

White pain flashed in her mind again. It hurt, it hurt so much. But it numbed the moment an older woman took Riley’s place.

“He really is, and you will be too my little costuming star!” Amber nuzzled her daughter’s nose with her nose, laughing at Penny’s groans.

“Mom!” Penny buried her head into Amber’s shoulder, “Stop!” She didn’t mean it and Amber knew that.

“I can’t help it if my daughter is amazingly talented,” Amber grinned, loosening up a bit as she peered down to look at Penny’s face.

Amber, mother of two girls. Divorced from her awful husband. She enjoyed cooking, spending time with her girls, always offered a shoulder to cry on. For Penny to cry on…no matter where she was she knew that her mother was her safe place. The soft feeling of familiar soothing fingers running through her hair made Pomni grasp at her chest with a pained cry, she knew who those memorable hands belonged to. “Mom,” she whispered.

There was another flash. Pomni grit her teeth, trying to ease the pain. It disappeared the moment a handsome young man stepped forward in her mind’s eye, taking a pair of small hands into his one large ones. She knew those hands…

“I would tell her that I’m not a perfect person, but I am someone who’s always trying. You’ve taken over my mind and have stolen my heart, but I can’t find it in myself to care as long as it’s in your hands.” Jack took her hands in his at those words, “I just hope that she feels the same way.”

She did…no, she does. She loved Jack! She loved him so much. The idea of being with him lifted her higher than the sun and moon themselves! She loved him! She loved him because he…he…he. Jack was here.

Her mind throbbed again, it felt as though it was twisting, moulding, transforming. Not into something new, but into something that she never knew she lost.

“I know,” he nodded, bringing her in closer, “I’m always good whenever you’re here.”

She sighed, pressing her forehead against his, “Okay, just tell me if there’s anything going on if there is.”

Penny laughed wetly, cupping both Jack’s cheeks tenderly in her hands, “I don’t deserve you.”

“No,” Jack disagreed, turning his head and kissed the palm of her hand. “It’s me who doesn’t deserve you.”

Penny let another tear fall as she brought Jack in for another kiss. The two relished the moment they had together.

“You’re so beautiful,” he knew what he said, and he wasn’t going to take it back, not when she peered up at him through her long lashes with a gasp.

“Y-you’re ridiculous,” she uttered, handing him her jacket.

“Hey, just telling the truth here,” he replied as he went to hang up her jacket on the wall, “Besides, someone’s gotta point out how pretty you are.”

Penny was about to go inside when she decided to do one more thing while she still had the courage, after all, the night was still young. “Jack, wait!”

He lifted his head at the call of his name, “What? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s just, um, you f-forgot something,” Penny stammered, working herself up as much as she could, “You forgot this.”

She planted a kiss on his cheek, pulling away quickly.

He held his hand out to her.

Penny took it in her own and shook it, “I’m Penny.”

The throbbing finally passed, Pomni let her hands drop to her sides as waves and waves of anything and everything came rushing back to her.

Penny…Penny…Penny. “…My name is Penny Reed,” she was still for a moment before she jumped up and stood on her bed as she let out a thrilled holler. She had a name! “My name is Penny Reed!”

She clasped her hands over her mouth, praying that no one heard her. It was a silent as a mouse, thank goodness. She plopped herself back down, letting tears of relief flood down her cheeks. Her name was Penny Reed, she had an amazing mother and a great big sister. She wanted to be a costume designer and create amazing garments for the whole world to see. She found a friend in her sister’s wife who became a rock for her. But most importantly, she was in love with an incredible man named Jack Bloom.

That was why she put the headset on! That was how she ended up here! Jack had to be here, if the cases that Riley described was like how she got here and how he went missing, then Jack had to be here too.

But who was he? Oh god, what if he already abstracted and she was too late?! No, he’s close, I can feel it. She felt him, she felt him here. He’s close. In fact, he felt closer the more she thought about her. Could he…no.

“Can’t make any promises little lady,” Jack smirked.

…

Jax sighed, “You’re welcome little lady.”

Pomni’s eyes widened.

“Keep the chivalry to yourself sir,” Penny placed a hand on her hip.

“Can’t help it, I’m dreamy,” Jack was unable to keep the grin off his face at her pout. His face softened, holding out his arm, “Shall we?”

Penny raised a brow at him, grinning. “Mr Jack how thoughtful of you.”

…

“Just until you’re more aware of your surroundings,” Jax told her, “After all, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Ah, right,” Pomni gave him a joking grin, “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to that.”

“See, now you’re getting it,” Jack agreed, returning her grin.

No way. It couldn’t be, they were both so different. But the similarities, they wouldn’t stop adding up.

Penny sank to the floor as she watched Jack shove David away.

There was nothing but fury in Jack’s eyes, “If you ever put your hands on her again, I’ll make sure you lose them!”

…

One moment Jax was at the side like everyone else, watching the whole thing go down. Next, he was in front of Pomni, staring at Caine as the AI tilted his head at Jax’s new and sudden behaviour.

Was he really…Jax was really…

“Oh Penny” Jack sighed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she all but collapsed into him, wailing as he soothingly stroked her back. “He’s never coming back here again, I’ll make sure of it. Shh, it’s okay, I got you.”

…

“Well, I have a proposition for you,” Jax said, she perked up, “Until you feel like you understand this place a little more, I’ll be there to make you don’t have one of your episodes. Whether you’re spiralling or hyper focusing, I’ll be here to ground you in case that happens.”

“Jax…Jack,” she let out a gasp. He was – Jax was – he was right beside her all along and she didn’t even know! “Jack!”

She jumped off her bed and ran to her door, opening it as quick as she could as she made a beeline to Jax’s room in front of her. She swung the door open, a grin widening on her face, hoping to see a purple rabbit tangled in sheets. But he was gone, nothing but an empty made up bed with no sign of a body being in there whatsoever.

She closed the door, he wasn’t here. He couldn’t have gone far. She had to find him, she will find him. Now that she had a grasp on her life and her love again, she wouldn’t let go any time soon.

She ran down the hallway.

Jax-Jack-Jax-Jack-Jax-Jack-Jax-Jack-Jax-Jack

The lines began to blur together, the puzzles slipping back into place. Jax was Jack! She had to complete her forgotten mission. She had to get Jack!

“Penny!” Jax screamed as he awoke, the image of the girl trying to painfully claw off the headset still fresh in his mind. But then, it led to Pomni arriving in the circus. What did that have to do with Pomni being here? Could she…no its just a dream! They’ve all been dreams Jax! There’s no way that I’m allowed to be that lucky. Someone like him didn’t deserve people like Pomni or Penny. Two kind-hearted individuals who tore his heart out the minute it looked like their spirits were broken. How could Jack do that?! Penny was amazing, kind, beautiful! How could he let her go like that?!

Jax gripped the fabric of his shirt where his heart was, who was he kidding, he sounded like a damned hypocrite. Pomni nearly drowned because of him, he would want to stay away from him too. All he did was get her hurt when he was supposed to protect her. He was just as much of a fool as Jack was…

…Actually, now that he thought about it, he had been here as long as Jack was missing in his dream. Time had its own rules here, but Jax would be damned if he didn’t try to keep track of how long he was here, scratching a line on the wall behind his wardrobe to show each night he spent here. Jack had been gone for 6 months, he was here for 6 months – 9 if you counted the three months since Pomni arrived. It was too much of a coincidence for him to not to notice it.

No, don’t! Thinking of this type of stuff never did Queenie any favours! Just stop Jax! But he couldn’t, his mind just kept rushing and rushing, but it didn’t hurt, more like the waves of an ocean gently guiding him to where he needed to be.

“Hey, are you free on Halloween?”

Jax froze. That voice, he knew that voice. He turned, spotting a dark-haired woman on a bed that wasn’t there before.

Winter.

“Depends,” his mouth moved on its own, saying words against his mind’s control. Was he even trying to control it in the first place? “Why, what type of genius plan have you concocted this time?”

“Well, Riley and I are going to the Halloween festival that day and she’s bringing her sister,” said Winter, smiling coyly. “Maybe you should meet up with us and get a chance to meet her.”

“Meeting mini-Riley?” He raised an eyebrow at the woman. Why did this conversation feel so familiar? He never met Winter in his life!...Right? “If she’s related to Riley she might have ‘I’ll punch you in the face tendencies’ so I’m not so sure yet.”

“Trust me,” Winter grinned, “This girl is the total opposite from Riley, her personality is a complete 180.” She stood up and walked over to him.

He crossed his arms, an action that felt repeated in so many ways, “What are you up to?”

“Nothing…” she drawled, “I just think it would be idea to meet this girl, she’s pretty cute.”

“Mmhmm,” he wasn’t convinced in the slightest, “Spill the truth Winter.”

She sighed, he could see right through her and she knew it. “Look, Penny is a sweet girl who’s gone through a lot like you have and she’s struggling to find someone to relate with. And yeah both she and Riley have gone through shit, but Penny is really sensitive and there was some other stuff that happened that’s left her shaken up. I’m not forcing you to be friends with her, but I know that you’ve been looking to relate to someone as well. I think Penny is that someone.”

He fidgeted with his hands for a moment, “I’m getting better you know. I’ve been talking to people in my classes and Andrea has been a great help as well.”

“I know and you’re doing great!” Winter reassured him, “This is just something to think about. If you’re free, the offer’s there.”

Jax paused, as though he were thinking about it. Why was this happening, why was he talking to Winter as though he did this before? Why did it feel like he knew Winter for a lifetime? Why was he begging himself to say yes next? Winter was supposed to be a dream, Penny was supposed to be a dream, all of this was supposed to be a dream!

“You know what, sure, what not. But if she pulls a Riley and sucker punches me in the face I’m blaming you,” He pointed at her.

Winter laughed, shaking her head. “Penny would never do that. And Riley thinks you’re cool! She won’t be getting pissed at you anytime soon.”

Jax gave her an uneasy nod, “Uh huh, if that’s what you say. I’ll check my schedule and see if I’m free. Don’t make me regret this.”

“Oh please, have I ever been wrong?” Winter scoffed.

“Should I list it off right now?” Jax chortled as she punched him in the shoulder.

The second Winter made contact with him, she vanished, leaving the rabbit stunned. That moment, it happened before, didn’t it? This wasn’t some hallucination, this…this was a memory. His mind flashed, he gripped his head as it pounded with agony.

“Hey cariño, how are you doing?”

Another voice snapped him out of it as he whipped round to face a short older woman with darks curls. Her eyes remined him of Winter.

“I…I’m fine,” He sniffed, “I’m really sorry for snapping Laura.”

“Est á bien, come here,” she stepped closer, wanting to comfort him but gave him some space in case he didn’t want to be touched. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and though I’m not happy with some of the ‘colourful language’ you used, you’re a part of our family now and we’re never gonna let anyone hurt you ever again.”

Jax wiped his eyes, how could someone be so forgiving? If only she knew what type of things he did here, “I don’t deserve this Laura.”

Laura tsked at him, “Everyone deserves a chance to be happy. You, you’re just a kid who went through hell and back, you deserve one more than anyone. It’s gonna be okay.”

She opened his arms for him. Jax leapt forward, desperate for the hug she was offering. But just like Winter before, she vanished before he could get the chance.

Laura, Winter, Riley he knew these people, didn’t he? These…these weren’t dreams.

“Okay, I need a little help here. What do you think? Indoor wedding or outdoor wedding?”

That…that was…how…

He turned, only to see Pomni sitting on the bed this time, with a laptop on her knees. The stage disappeared, the rooms of an apartment bedroom replacing them, with only the jester and the rabbit looking the same as before.

“I…I don’t mind, I want this to be your dream wedding sweetie,” he said, moving to sit beside her, “Whatever your heart desires.”

Pomni blushed, gripping the laptop tighter. “Stop being charming and help! This is your wedding too, where do you want it?”

“My dream wedding is your dream wedding,” he replied suavely with a shit-eating grin.

She groaned at his teasing, closing the laptop and flung it onto the plush mattress and she flopped her back onto the bed. “I’m serious,” Pomni told him, “I need to know cause if we want it outside we need to figure out a good date so that it doesn’t rain. But if we want it inside should we rent out a hotel or get married in the church? If your family even religious? And don’t even get me started on the menu with all the dietary requirements and the types of food everyone wants. And my dress – oh god my dress I totally forgot-”

She was cut off by her own squeal when Jax’s hand shot out and tickled her belly, making her curl up and giggle. “Okay, okay, let’s keep calm,” he said, soothingly as he retreated his hand, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you more stress.”

“No, it’s me,” she sighed as she hugged her knees to her chest. “I panic about everything, it’s no surprise I’m panicking over our wedding. Pathetic, huh?”

“Hey,” he gathered her in his arms and carried her over to the headboard of the bed, sitting them both down as he cradled her in his arms. “You are not pathetic, and I should’ve been more sympathetic. I know you want this to be the ‘perfect wedding’, but I don’t want you to overwork yourself.” Jax kissed his forehead, “The only reason why I suggested that you choose was because you’ve been so caught up on making sure this wedding was perfect for everyone else, you forgot to ask yourself what you wanted. I’ll help you with planning, but for now, would you rather get married inside of outside?”

Pomni smiled sweetly at him, placing an appreciative kiss on his cheek before humming in thought. “Outside, during summer. But then have dinner and the reception inside.”

“There you go,” Jax gave her a squeeze, making her laugh as she snuggled into his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the menu and all the other stuff that’s giving you grief.”

“Except for the dress,” she informed him, “I wanna handle my dress, no surprises for you mister!”

“Oh no!” he whined sarcastically, making his fiancé laugh harder. “How will I cope with not seeing the beautiful dress my future wife will wear!”

“You’ll survive,” she tapped his nose.

He took her hand, placing a kiss on the inside of her palm.

“I love you Penny,” he whispered.

“I love you too Jack,” she hushed back.

There was no longer a jester and rabbit in that room, replacing them was a young couple with rings on their fingers as they gazed into one another’s eyes with so much love.

Jax blinked and he was back on the empty stage.

“He…I…Pomni…Penny,” he inhaled, fisting his shirt. “I’m…Jack.”

The waves became stronger, suddenly everything was rushing back to him. From the fears of his childhood, his friendship with Winter, his newfound family with the Alvarez’s…and Penny. The love of his life. And she was here. She went looking for him and she’s…

“Pomni!” he gasped.

Penny was Pomni! Pomni was Penny!

She found him! He found her! And she…she went looking for him, after everything he did.

Jax let go of his shirt. He had to find her, he had to tell her how sorry he was, that he couldn’t believe she was here, that we would never let her go ever again!

He let his feet lead him, searching and scanning everywhere for the jester. He had to get to her, he had to!

“Jack! Jax!” Pomni continued to search every room. She dodged every gag thrown at her, she didn’t leave a door wasted unless a purple rabbit was inside. She called out his name, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough to not wake anyone. Especially Caine.

…

“Pomni?!” Jax ran up to the first hallway, calling out the jester’s name, begging for an answer. His stomach churned when there wasn’t a response. He wouldn’t stop, he had to keep going until she was found. “Penny!”

…

Pomni ran up to the stage, it was the only place left. Maybe he was behind the curtain, planning some kind of prank for tomorrow. “Jax?!” she shoved the curtain aside, but there was no rabbit in sight, only the wooden floorboards and the looming height of the ceiling above her. So much space yet he still wasn’t here. He couldn’t have abstracted, it might have sounded crazy but she swore she could still feel him here. She can’t give up. “Jack!” She ran off the stage.

…

Jax raced up the stairs to the rooftop, where they had their late-night conversation, she had to be here! He looked everywhere so she had to be! When he arrived however, the only things that greeted him was the twinkling stars in the sky and the vast endless world of the circus grounds. But still no jester inside. Inside, she still had to be inside. And so inside he went.

…

Pomni sprinted back up the stairs and into another hallway, she lost count at this point, but she was determined to keep going. She was going to start checking when the door flung open at the end of the hall, revealing a panting and exasperated Jax. Pomni froze, was it really…?

Jax pushed some of his dishevelled fur back, about to continue searching when his yellow eyes made contact with Pomni’s red and blue. It was her, she was here. She was up to, did she know? There was only one way to find out. “Penny?”

Pomni felt her eyes well up with tears, for the first time, she was crying with joy here. “Jack,” she let out a relieved breath and ran up to him.

Jax let laugh-mixed cry escape from his throat as he ran to Pomni as well. The jester jumped into his arms, with him sliding an arm under to support as she gripped the fur at his neck while he grasped onto her pyjama shirt. Jax pressed kisses all over her face wherever he could reach, Pomni laughed wetly and did the same. He spun her round, nothing but carefree laughter filled the empty hall. Only two lost souls finally finding each other against all the odds thrown at them.

“It was the dreams!” she spoke between kisses, “You were in my dreams! It helped me remember!”

“Me too, I had the dreams too,” he replied, as she pressed two kisses to each of his eyelids, “You were in every one of them Penny.”

The small kisses seized and the two returned to holding each other as tightly as they could. This wasn’t a dream, it would be too cruel for them. Pomni wasn’t sure if she could bear it. “Is this real?” she barely whispered into the rabbit’s ear.

“Yeah, this is real as it can get Pen,” he buried his head into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry Penny. This is all my fault.”

“No,” she cupped his cheeks into her hands, “None of this was your fault, you didn’t know you were gonna get sucked into this.”

“But I left you,” he sniffed. “I left you and said all those awful things and got you trapped here too. I didn’t mean it, any of it! I love you so much Penny! I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” she wiped away his tears, “I’ve already forgiven you long before my mind was stolen here. I love you too.”

He rested his forehead against hers, he missed this, he missed her so much.

She missed him too, all those months of him being gone when everyone tried to look for him. Trail after trail yet still coming up empty. It was too much to bear, to scream out a name that wouldn’t answer back. But he was here, he was alive, he remembered her and she remembered him! It was her turn to cry now, letting a few stray tears fall.

Jax immediately noticed her sniffling, stroking her hair and pressing her face into her shoulder as he soothingly rubbed his hand up and down her back. Wordlessly, he carried her back to the bedroom hallways, make his way to his room. His bed was big enough for the two of them.

Once he entered, he noticed that his bed was still made – due to the fact that he decided to sleep on the stage – with a small stuffed plushie of him in the centre of the pillows. He shut the door with his foot, carrying Pomni to the bed as he laid her down. She didn’t want to let go, but he pried her fingers off him and laid down next to her, pulling a comforter over the two of them.

Pomni grabbed the plushie, squeezing it tight before latching herself onto Jax, not wanting to lose his touch for a second. He was the same, holding her as though she would disappear if he let go. “I never thought I’d get a chance like this again,” she mumbled, “When you disappeared I just-”

“Shh,” he pressed a kiss to her hair, “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”

“Jax...Jack,” her mind was still processing everything, “What made you…why did you…what happened?”

He sighed, stroking her hair. She meant what made him react the way he did that day. The day he left and set of this catalyst. He had to tell her, hiding it caused all of this. He gulped and felt her small hand grip his. With the newfound reassurance, he began, “You remember when I told you about my old foster family?” He felt her nod against him, “Well, the day when I went to get the stuff you like from the coffee shop, I ran into my foster brother Luke.” He heard her gasp, she knew about everything Luke did to him when he was a kid, even the bad stuff. “Yeah, the things he said, it made me spiral a bit. I was gonna tell you and go to Andrea about what happened, but I just felt so weak to do that. There so much going in my head, so much fear and anger. I just wanted to handle it on my own so no one else could be affected by it. Heh, guess that didn’t turn out so well.”

He felt her snuggle closer. “It’s just,” Jax continued, “I was doing so well. I was happy, had a good support system, fell in love.” He ran his fingers through her hair, making her hum appreciatively, “I always thought that if something like that happened I could talk to someone about it. I relapsed pretty hard though. And I’m sorry that you were the one who had to pay for it.”

“Jack-” she started.

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Please, let me finish. You have been nothing but the most extraordinary person in my life, you were always prepared to be there for me whenever I was gonna go through something. I’m so sorry I didn’t talk to you about this. I do trust you with talking about this, I’m the problem. You didn’t deserve any of the hurt I placed onto you. I love you so much, and I’m really sorry.”

She brushed the fur on his cheeks with a smile, “Like I said, I forgive you. I know you Jack, I know how hard it’s been for you. But I also know that you’re able to overcome it as well. That’s something Luke has never been able to do. You made a life for yourself, Luke is just an insecure jerk who was jealous that you were able to be happy. If I ever see him again, I’m gonna use that move Riley taught me and use it on him.”

“You don’t mean…” Jax gaped.

Pomni gave him a sly grin, “Oh yeah, that move.”

“Oh you’re vicious, woman,” he chuckled, diving to her neck and pressed a dozen kisses to her collarbones, “I love it!”

“Jax!” she chortled, trying to shove his shoulders away. “You idiot! Get off!”

“I have to shower my little lady with all the love she deserves. I never knew she could be so wicked! I can’t believe I’m rubbing off on you short stack,” he pressed a few more to the sensitive spot behind her ear, earning him a yip from Pomni.

“Jack!” she giggled. She then dove her head to the side of his neck, taking his fur between her teeth and nipped him.

“Ow! Pomni!” he let out a laugh as he retaliated, “Okay, I yield I yield!” He fell back against his pillows as Pomni laid her head on his chest, feeling rather proud of herself. “You do realise your teeth are sharper here, right?”

“Good,” she hummed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Jeez,” his chest shook as he laughed, “Riley taught you well, huh?”

Her sister…Pomni’s smile faded. It had been so long since she last saw her older sister.

Jax immediately picked up on her downed mood, cupping her cheek and lifting her head to his. “Talk to me,” he said.

“I-,” Pomni sighed, “I miss Riley so much. And my mom too. I can’t imagine what they’re going through right now. I forgot about them. They matter so much to me and I just forgot about them! And now that I remember them, it just makes me miss them so much. All I want is to find a way, any way to reach out to them! To tell them that I’m okay and that I’m trying my best to get back to them! I just wanna go home.”

Jax pulled her closer, running his fingers up and down her back again. “I know, I know. I get it. I miss my family too,” he told her. “I miss Winter and her teasing, I miss Laura and her empathy, I miss Nina and Alex’s craziness. I miss everyone. But we’re gonna get back home. I know we will.”

“But it’s impossible,” Pomni interjected, “The exit doors, the void. It all leads nowhere.”

“We remember who we are, don’t we?” he remined her, “That’s a sign that there might be a way to escape this place. Those dreams, we had them for a reason, to remind us of who we are. We’ll find a way.”

“And Caine?” Pomni asked, her voice taking on a more subdued and unsure tone, “What’s gonna happen when he finds out about this.”

Jax froze, recalling that not only had Caine frightened her before with him yelling at her. But he never forgot how Caine had watched her drown, without making a move to help her. He watched Pomni tremble at the thought of the AI, the poor thing was terrified of him. He gripped her tightly and protectively, earning him a surprised squeak from the jester. “Caine isn’t gonna do anything,” he informed her, “If that pair of dentures tries to do anything to you, I will tear him apart. He won’t hurt you while I’m around.”

“He’s a force to be reckoned with Jack,” she said, “The second he catches that something is different he’ll stop at nothing to make sure it’s erased.”

“Then we’ll make sure he doesn’t find out about us,” Jax suggested, “We’ll pretend that nothing’s happened. We’re just two people who don’t know anything about our pasts and are just trying to survive here.”

There was still a bit of doubt lingering at the back of her mind. But Jax’s voice spoke nothing but honesty and safety, she couldn’t help but feel inclined to believe him. “You sure we’re able to do that?”

“Well, you’re going to have to control being head over heels in love with me, but I’m sure we can hide it pretty well,” he was cut off by a pillow whacking him in the face. “No please, not my pretty face!”

“That pretty face of yours won’t save you now bunny boy!” she snickered as she continued to pillow attack. “Besides, you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself in the maze! You picked me up and everything!”

“Only because you cuddled me in your sleep!” he retorted through another laugh, managing to grab her arms and pull her back onto his chest, caging her in his grasp.

Pomni tried to wriggle out and whack him again, but the warmth of his body and softness of his fur lulled her into a state of relaxation. Never mind, she would get him back later. “You’re the worst,” she muttered, “But I don’t mind.”

“Heh, I know…” he paused, taking both her cheeks in his hands again and raised her gaze to his. “Trust me, we’re gonna get out of here. And we’ll see our families again.”

Pomni nodded, a sweet smile gracing her features, “I believe you.”

Jax pressed another kiss to the centre of her face before she relaxed in his hold again.

The two paused, a low tension filled the room as they let their eyes linger on one another for a bit longer than they would like to admit. Slowly, Jax and Pomni came closer and let their lips touch ever so gently. It felt different – they weren’t human lips after all – but it was like all the kisses that they had shared before. Whether it was a chaste peck, a deep kiss when no one was looking, or a promise left on one another’s lips after a night tangled sheets, each one was filled with nothing but the tender and sweet love that they shared for each other.

They pulled away, both of them letting out a breath. Within the silence, they were sure they could hear their hearts racing a million miles per hour. Unable to hold back, the two let out a mirth-filled laugh and as they connected their lips again.

And again, and again, and again.

After a while, they settled back into the mattress, With Jax running his fingers through Pomni’s hair and over her back, making sure that this was real, that he finally had his memories back, that he finally had Penny back. She squeezed him, a silent telling for him that confirmed what he wanted to know. This was real.

“I love you,” Jax whispered into her hair.

“I love you too,” Pomni breathed back to him.

That night everything was perfect. That night the storm had finally cleared. That night, two separated spirits finally found their way back to each other. That night, they would stop at nothing until freedom was granted for them and everyone else here.

That night, Jack and Penny slept in each other’s arms.

Riley sighed as she drove down the road, taking a breath to steady her nerves. She had just come back from work after another endless and failed search for her sister and Jack. Winter was at her mother’s house with their son, it was her day off and her wife desperately needed a break. It took some convincing and promising, but Winter had eventually agreed to go.

It was a hard time for them both, but after the stress of Jack being added to her pregnancy and the birth of Percy, it hit Winter hard. But it didn’t mean that Riley wasn’t affected too. Seeing her baby sister’s face plastered on a missing poster, a constant reminder that mocked her over the fact that Penny was missing. It made Riley want to scream, cry, punch someone in the face, beg to whatever entity that was out there to return her little sister.

It wasn’t fair, Penny was innocent she didn’t deserve this.

And Jack, oh how she wished she took back everything she said about Jack. Of course she was protective over her sister but hearing Winter’s cry every night over her lost brother, it just made the guilt of saying those things to him sting so much worse.

Riley groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. What she needed was a glass of wine to calm her nerves before tackling anything else.

She was coming up to her and Winter’s house when she stopped the car as quietly as she could beside her neighbour’s house. At her front door was a man, his back was facing her so she couldn’t get a good look at his face. He seemed to be looking through the window on the door, trying to get a look through the patterned glass to see if there was anyone inside. Riley reached for her belt, unhooking some pepper spray that she had on hand. Even before she became an FBI agent, she was always well equipped with it in case anyone tried something.

When the man started to move to the windows on the side of the house did she start to intervene, hopping out the car as quietly as she could and made her way up to him. He was lucky that Winter and Percy weren’t here, otherwise it would have been a lot worse for this intruder. She snuck up behind him as he tried to peer through the windows, not noticing the fuming redhead coming up.

Before he could register the glimpse of her shadow, Riley grabbed his arm and threw him over her shoulder, sending him to the ground before pressing a foot on his stomach, making sure he didn’t get up. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing loitering around my house?!” she demanded, aiming the pepper spray at him.

The man whimpered, he looked quite young. But Riley didn’t relent, he was still an intruder after all. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he cried, holding his hands up in surrender, “I wasn’t trying to do anything bad! I was just wanting to see if you were in!”

“Oh really?” Riley wasn’t convinced in the slightest, “Normal people don’t try to look in the windows to see if anyone’s in!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” he begged, he was trembling now, “I swear, I didn’t mean any harm! I just need your help! Please!”

Riley slightly lowered the pepper spray. She got a proper look at his face once the guy’s arms were lowered. He looked pretty young, probably starting college but the look in his eyes made him seem more youthful than he should. Guilt twinged at her, he was probably some awkward kid who didn’t know any better. She signed, putting the pepper spray away and taking her foot off, letting the young man gather himself but still kept an eye on him in case he did anything suspicious. He was still a stranger lurking around her house.

“Talk,” she said, keeping her hand on her belt.

The boy gulped, wringing his hands anxiously. “R-right,” he cleared his throat, “You’re Riley Reed right? Your younger sister is Penny Reed?”

She stiffened at her sister’s name, each muscle in her body tightening, “My last name has been all over the news since she disappeared, if it isn’t obvious enough.”

“I k-know,” the boy nodded, noticing the woman’s unease. “My name I-is Samual, Samual Abel.”

She knew that name, back when the very first case came out, “Your Kaleb and Quinn Abel’s kid, aren’t you?”

The boy’s face lit up, “Yes! I mean, yes, that’s me. Look, I know this might be hard to believe but I think I know what happened to your sister.”

Riley froze, as though a bucket of ice had landed on her head. “You…you know what happened to Penny?”

“Well, no, kind of?” Samual told her.

“Excuse me?” she groaned, “You came all this way here to tell me that you might know what happened to Penny, only for you to say that you actually don’t. You better not be wasting my time here.”

“I’m not!” he exclaimed, “I’m not, trust me! Whatever happened to your sister, I know it has something to do with C&A!”

“And why should I believe you?” she crossed her arms. “I’m not here to entertain whatever conspiracy theory you’ve got going on. You can’t dangle the promise of me being able to see my sister again and then say you have no idea what’s going on!”

“Because whatever happened to her happened to my parents!” Samual cried, “I know they wouldn’t just leave me, I know something was going on that day and whatever it is, it’s started taking other people, including your sister! I’ve just been too afraid to investigate because Jason always told me that it’s all in my head, but I don’t think it is anymore.”

Riley paused for a moment. This kid seemed to be genuine with what he was saying. He’d been dealing with this much longer than she had, his parents were the first to go. To have to bear with that type of weight and have everyone turn you away when you wanted to look for them. The way he spoke, as if he knew something was going on. What if this was really the first step to finding Penny?

“I know it sounds crazy,” Samual admitted, “But I need your help. You’re one of the only people that I can think of who can help me with something like this. Please Riley, you’ve gotta trust me with this.”

If this was true, if C&A had something to do with her little sister going missing, if Samual was really speaking the truth, then she couldn’t turn away from this. There was an internal pull, her gut screaming at her to go through with this, to take this chance, that if she chose this then she’ll find Penny and Jack.

Riley sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger before looking back at Samual, “You better know what you’re doing.”

The kid looked like a thousand fireworks went off in his brain, jumping and fist bumping the air in complete and utter joy. “Yes! Thank you!” he cheered, going in for a hug.

“Nuh uh,” she raised a hand to stop him, “No touching.”

“Right, sorry, of course,” he apologised, “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, just glad to have someone on my side.”

“Baby steps,” Riley told him, “There’s a long road ahead of us.”

“I know, trust me, you won’t regret this,” he beamed, “We might actually find them.”

Riley hummed, “I hope so kid. I hope so.”

Hang in there, Penny, I’m coming.

End of Part 1

To Be Continued...

#the amazing digital circus #jax #pomni #pomnijax #funnybunny #ragatha #gangle #kinger #zooble #caine #bubble #my writing #dragon rambles #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3

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camcanime · 8 months

Text

When Stars Align

(A Kiribaku x F!Reader fic)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

(Chapter 2) First Day Jitters

The day is finally here. You have quite literally been counting down the days awaiting this moment. Sleep wasn't exactly a commodity the previous night but that fatigue is hardly on your mind. The best hero school in all of Japan, possibly the world, is standing in front of you in all of its magnificent glory. Nature must be mirroring you because you swear the sun just got a little bit brighter. This is such a tremendous occasion, a three-year-long dream finally coming to fruition, so why can't you move? Your feet have opted to remain firmly in place, settling into the concrete beneath you as though freshly poured and drying around your shoes. The longer you stare at the gates, the deeper you sink.

"Hey," a grainy, yet soft and excitable, call bellows from behind you. "Congrats on making it in!"

Lifting away from the invisible chain and ball, you turn on your heel to greet the familiar voice. Despite recognising the voice, the face of this teenager is one that you are presumedly unacquainted with. His bright, red hair is the first notable feature, almost perfectly matching his eyes. He must use a lot of products to keep his hair in place like that. Your whole face crumples into a scrunch as you try to figure out who it is you're looking at. Names are something you have never been good with but you never usually forget a face, especially one that seems to beam like the sun itself. With a note made of your confusion, he takes a step closer and smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry, I forgot about the whole 'blindness' situation," he admits whilst extending a hand out to you. "I'm the guy from the practical exam."

Of course, that's where you know that voice from! Although, from what little you were able to see, you could have sworn his hair was black. Never the matter. It actually looks really cool, reminiscent of a certain Red Riot what with the way it's been styled. So, this is the student that oh-so-selflessly stuck by your side during your starry-eyed endeavour. It doesn't appear to you as much of a shock, he has that kindness behind his eyes: the kind of sweet nature one finds supporting a puppy's grin. If it weren't for this, you would be a sweltering, blabbered mess. Despite the red-head also passing the exam, you can't rid of the stone in your stomach, as much as it may have eroded by now. He doesn't seem like the type to hold a grudge or harbour any mallice but that isn't entirely the point. You were still reckless and someone could have gotten hurt by your hand. Speaking of hands, you should really shake his. You do just that and wave the other dismissively.

"Hey, s'all good! Glad I have a face to put to the voice now," you laugh in the hopes of easing some tension; there isn't any, it's purely your own anxieties you're attempting to whither. "Just need the name now."

He bares a bright grin as your hands clasp together. "Eijiro Kirishima."

"(Y/n) (L/n)."

Greetings set aside, your fingers return to the sanctuary of your rucksack straps. That's one name down, only 18 more to go. With both parties eager to start, you make haste in beginning your journey to becoming a hero and that starts with walking to class. The occasional conversation regarding favourite heroes and such ensue before a burning question takes the spotlight.

"I hope this doesn't come across rude," Kirishima starts, almost hesitant to ask, "but where are you from?"

"Guessing the accent is noticeable, huh?"

"You could say that," he concurs, rubbing the back of his neck. "That and you kinda blurted something out during the exam that I couldn't understand."

Initially, you're stumped, struggling to pick your brain for the aforementioned occurrence. It takes a second to rake over the memory and that pit deepens upon remembering why it was that happened in the first place. Yet again, if his focus is on what you said at the time rather than the event itself then that must mean things are all good. Yeah! The only one mulling over this seems to be you. That thought alone is enough encouragement to shine over the deep, blue cascade sunken into your chest. No more guilt. Not until you engage in purposeful wrong-doings, anyway.

"Well, to answer your question, I'm from England," you finally disclose, reassuring his apparent rudeness as a mere interest with a grin.

"That's so cool! Okay, another question then: why move to Japan?"

"I first heard about U.A. when I was 12, I think, and it just seemed like the right fit." You shrug and readjust your bag against your back. "I knew what I wanted more than anything in that moment. I've always wanted to be a hero ever since I got my quirk and U.A. is said to be the best, so I thought aim high, y'know? It took a lot of work but my parents and I moved over here a couple years back and here we are. Luckily, my Paps was raised In Japan, so we had that working in our favour."

That's an attitude Kirishima can get behind. Such devotion is something to be admired. It goes without saying that he was already impressed with you back at the practical exam. The fact that you were persistent in continuing despite your lack of vision made an impact on him. You won't know it but he was over the moon when he found out that you'd be a classmate of his.

"Your parents sound amazing!" he beams, in turn making you smile. "Not only that but to move to the other side of the world to become a hero? That's aspirational!"

"Hey, dream big, right?"

The two of you share a chortle before you're diverted to your destination. Upon entering the classroom, the abundance of colourful personalities is immediately obvious. A fair few seats are still awaiting to be filled but you may as well get acquainted with the current rabble. Kirishima takes the first leap in making his presence known with exuberant confidence. He introduces himself to an already established group, seemingly familiar with a pink-haired girl based on how they are talking with one another. The corners of your lips turn up with the girl's volume, seemingly ecstatic about Kirishima's hair change. So, it was different from before. You had a hunch.

Peering around, you can't say there are any identifiable faces on your end. You've been living in Japan for a few years now, which is plenty of time to establish bonds, but your background is, unfortunately, the reason you never made any real close friends. It must have been a stroke of bad luck but most of the students in your middle school didn't look favourably towards foreigners. Some managed to dismount from their high horses in giving you a chance but there was still an air of awkward tension with every conversation and encounter. Thinking about it, you recall a few students mentioning that they would be trying out for U.A. You would never wish bad luck on anyone but there is certainly a wave of relief at the fact that no one from your old school is here. Does that make you a bad person?

You don't get a chance to answer your own question, having been disrupted by a ruckus between two students. One appears to be scolding the other for resting his feet upon his desk, spouting something about being disrespectful to past generations of school attendees, you think. You didn't start listening to the dispute until halfway through the lecture, so you're a little confused. Part of you wishes you hadn't tuned in.

"Like I care," the blonde declares smugly, turning an eye up at the other. "What school are you from, you extra?"

Extra? Who does this guy think he is? This sounds like a classic case of main character syndrome if ever you've seen it. You try your best not to judge so quickly but this guy has a sinister energy to him that is hard to ignore. It isn't unheard of for heroes to don a more intimidating approach - Endeavour and King Orca come to mind - but this student seems like he's in a different league. The longer you stare at him, the more you feel like you've seen him somewhere before. Did he attend your middle school? Nah. With an attitude as rotten as his, you'd recognise him immediately. Was he in the same testing location as you for the practical exam? Not likely. You can't think of a quirk to associate with him and you always remember a person's quirk. Perhaps he's a member of your weekend roller disco. Doubtful. Something tells you that isn't his thing. On the news? Yes! That's it! He was the kid that got attacked by that sludge monster last year. A pride settles into your belly with your deduction.

"Hey! What are you looking at?"

Nevermind. Like a deflated balloon left out in the snow, that warmth in your stomach shrivels up. Eyes of crimson stare you down with an eclipsed annoyance and your spine stiffens. If it hadn't been for the fact that he's a fellow classmate of a highly esteemed hero school, you'd think he was a villain. Making enemies on the first day is a no-go. Making any enemies at all in this school isn't on your agenda, actually.

"Sorry." In the hopes of reconciling, you stand up straight. "The commotion just caught my attention."

"You should mind your damn business, foreigner," he sneers.

Your body tenses in tandem with your newly clenched fists, unable to withhold the bitterness burning in the back of your throat. "If you weren't so loud, maybe I would."

A curly plume of green shakes vigorously in the corner of your eye and voiceless sirens blare from the freckled face sat below. This might be one of those situations in which you should have kept your mouth shut. You don't typically like to sharpen your tongue, especially on strangers, but the unsavoury name spat in your direction hit a nerve. Too many times have you had to endure such name-calling, and too many times have you let it run over you like scolding, hot water. A new school means a fresh start and the opportunity to quit being a pushover. It's just a shame that this first test of courage is in the face of assumingly the most aggressive student in the classroom. He takes a step up from his seat, palms crackling like embers to damp wood. A fire quirk of some description? They aren't entirely uncommon. Guess this guy is a firecracker figuratively and literally. That's good to know. Looking as though he's ready for a fight, you prepare to stand your ground - not exactly how you envisioned your first day of school going but you never back down. Never.

"If you're here to cause a disruption, then get out."

Everyone's attention is tugged away from you to the outside of the classroom where a sleeping bag lays. At first, it appears to be just that until you see a haggard face poking from the opening. That certainly isn't something you see every day. The overgrown caterpillar lifts up from the ground, unzipping and a man who looks as though he's seen better days emerges. You're sure there are worse-looking butterflies out there. Alongside his rough appearance, dark clothing hangs from his hunched, lanky body with a thin, white scarf wrapped around his shoulders like messy buttercream atop a cupcake. He saunters to the front of the classroom, now holding all of your watchful eyes. You're glad that the fire between yourself and 'hedgehog hair' has dispursed - though he still looks ready for battle - but you are just too focused on trying to figure out who this strange man is. He can't possibly be a teacher. The teachers here are all pro heroes and he doesn't look like one you've ever seen before.

"It took eight seconds for you to quiet down," he continues. "Time is a precious resource. You lot aren't very rational, are you?" The question is rhetorical, of course, and he continues, "I'm your homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa. Pleased to meet you."

You are now truly realising that you need to stop making assumptions in this new school. Clearly, everything isn't what it seems. You're only glad that everyone else is as surprised as you are, the whole class practically screaming with shock upon this revelation. One query in particular stokes at your brain: If this man is your teacher then what is his pro-hero name? A puzzle that will have to remain unsolved for now as he quickly beckons you all to get changed into your gym uniform and re-assemble out onto the school grounds. A dubious request but you suppose you have no choice.

Once changed, everyone is quick to meet outside, each student being perceivably confused. There's something rather comforting about them all being in the same boat as you, otherwise, you'd assume yourself an idiot. The situation doesn't become any clearer when your teacher admits to this circumstance being a test of your quirks.

"What about the entrance ceremony?!" one girl raises hastily, ultimately expressing everyone's thoughts on the matter. "The guidance sessions?!"

"No time to waste on stuff like that if you want to become heroes," he retorts blandly. "U.A. is known for its 'freestyle' educational system. That applies to us teachers, as well."

He lists off a series of rudimentary fitness tests you all would have engaged in during your time in school. It takes a second but you have a hunch that you know where this is going.

"You did all of these in middle school, yes?" Once again, he doesn't wait for an answer. "Your standard no-quirks-allowed gym tests. The country still insists on prohibiting quirks when calculating the average of those records. It's not rational. The Department of Education is just procrastinating."

If it isn't obvious enough what's happening by now, you feel sorry for any of the students who are still in the dark. Tempted by curiosity, you take a quick glance and want to take pity on some of the bewildered faces. Everything will be revealed in good time, you are sure.

Your teacher turns towards that blonde-haired punk from earlier and asks, "Bakugo, how far could you throw in middle school?"

"Sixty-seven meters."

"Great. Now try it with your quirk." Aizawa throws a ball over to the student. "Do whatever you need to do. Just don't leave the circle."

Bakugo - a name that you shan't soon forget given what's about to happen. Why bother even feigning shock at this point? This is the best hero school in Japan, after all, and that only means that it's going to house the best students.

"Give it all you've got."

Bakugo grins darkly with the baseball in hand and takes a stand within the appointed circle. "Awesome."

I had the intention of getting this out a lot sooner but procrastination and writer's block are quite the combo. Not to mention, I had written so much that this ended up being split into two chapters. One might think that means you won't have to wait as long for Chapter three but this is me we're talking about :') @sky-angel101

Also, also, if anyone wants to be part of this tag list, lemme know!

#bnha #boku no hero academia #fanfic #kiribaku #bakukiri #mha #my hero academia #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha x fem!reader #boku no hero fanfic #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #kiribaku x reader #bakukiri x reader #when stars align #wsa

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envysnest · 2 months

Text

Pity the Mayfly (ch. 5/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

TW's for this chapter: Rape flashback (non-graphic) in the first two paragraphs of section 3; mild blood and descriptions of bruising (bite time!).

————

Wyll trails behind the rest of your group. With every new encounter on the road, Wyll ducks behind Karlach or Gale, hiding his horns from friendly strangers. He fights enemies with robotic fervor: stab, swing, toss. Stab, swing, toss: like a bored fishmonger beheading their wares. Everyone treads lightly around you two, and it isn’t long before you and Wyll are walking alone, yards away from the rest of your party.

You keep your voice low. “How did this happen, Wyll?”

“It's a 'gift' from my master. A token of her appreciation, you could say.” He looks miserable. “Pipeweed made it hurt less, so cheers for that.”

You shiver. “I’m sure I’ve got a numbing cream for the horns. Perhaps Violet Lily will do it?"

Wyll does smile a little, and you count it as a victory. “Didn’t you say something about an Ethel? Perhaps she’s got something for an Infernal Curse.”

“I…” You slow down to keep pace beside him. “She said she had Yellow Gnoll’s Ear back at her cottage. That mushroom would also help dull your pain.”

Wyll puts a gentle hand on your upper back. “You should have said something earlier,” he murmurs. “Had I known you needed extra care, I would have--"

The goodwill inside of you is gone, replaced by irritation. You shy out of Wyll’s grip. “I don’t need extra care,” you huff.

Wyll holds up both hands. He has that miserable look in his eye again. Shame, you realize, it’s shame.

“Sorry,” he says, and something in his face twitches— crumples, briefly— before he smiles. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

You grimace. “Let’s just…” You pinch the bridge of your nose and inhale slowly. The air smells like apple blossoms; fall would be here soon. It relaxes you. "We'll head south, but only for a moment. I’m not going to waste the group’s time—”

“I could use the Gnoll’s Ear too, Tav. If you need an excuse, then by all means, lean on me.”

An excuse: you didn’t have to tell the group why you needed to find Ethel’s cottage. Why would he offer that to you? What did he get out of it?

You pause in the path; Wyll stops with you. He waits calmly as you stare at him, at his new red eye and his horns and his ridged neck. Wyll worries something at his hip with his right hand: a small, braided rope of leather. It looked like something a child would make: a decorative little thing, a keepsake. It was tied to his belt, right next to his rapier. Wyll guides the braid over his middle knuckle.

He looks up at the sky. "Tav--"

“Tavvendish,” Lae’zel calls from further up the path. “A moment?”

“Coming!” you shout back. You turn to Wyll, who watches the group from over his shoulder. You curtsey to him. “Thank you, Wyll."

Wyll jumps and looks back to you. “Any time, Tav.” He gives you a little bow, but it’s unsteady. “Remember you’re not alone in this.”

Yes, you think, I am.

The party huddles around something, but what, you can't see; you catch a smattering of brown fur in the dirt road. Lae’zel cranes her neck to stare at you over Karlach’s shoulder. You exchange glances with Wyll. He raises both eyebrows and jerks his head towards Lae'zel. You approach the party.

Karlach nudges the brown, furry lump with her sword. “It’s so light. What in the hells happened to it?”

“I don’t see what’s so interesting.” Astarion stands some distance away, examining his nails. “An animal was killed by something-or-other, probably one of those vipers Tavvendish is obsessed with. We’ve seen hundreds of animals by now, haven’t we?”

You squeeze past Shadowheart and Gale. Finally, you see what the brown, furry lump is: it's a boar carcass turned on its side. Dark brown blood pools underneath it. Its neck bears two pinprick holes, each perfectly symmetrical: a bite of some kind, but a large one, bigger than you’ve ever seen before.

You touch the boar’s fur, and its corpse shifts easily under your palm. A pale tongue lolls out of its skull as it flops to one side. You press down on its neck, palpating around the bite, but nothing seeps from the wounds. You furrow your brow, press harder. Still, the bite remains stubbornly dry.

“It’s…empty,” you say aloud. “No blood.”

Astarion throws his hands in the air. “It probably bled out on the path! Fascinating!"

"Not enough for a boar," you reply.

Lae’zel crouches down with you. “It’s fresh. This must have happened hours ago. The rot has not set in yet.”

“’Least it doesn’t smell,” says Karlach. Her armor jingles as she shivers: “Brrrrr! Hate flies.”

“Yes, yes.” Astarion waves to the path. “Let’s move along before they lay their eggs.”

You place your index finger and thumb between the bite marks. From a rough estimate, the bite was too large to be a rosebush viper, or any snake in this region. Too small to be a gnoll’s, certainly, but then what else could it be? You can only think of the Monkshood Spider-- the males were as large as a man-- but that species preferred warmer locales, certainly ones lacking apple blossoms. And the Monkshood genus had a more obvious curve to their fangs—

“Any luck, Tav?” Gale asks.

“I can’t place this,” you say. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

Karlach’s hand appears in your vision, and she points at the bite. “Astarion, mate. Not enough blood around for a stab.”

You turn to your pack, fish around for your notebook and charcoal. “Do you mind?” you say up at the group. “I’d like to document this. It will only be a minute.”

Astarion presses both palms to his face and lets out a muffled, frustrated scream.

Lae’zel stands. “We waste our time here,” she says, looking at each person individually. “If Tavvendish cannot offer an identification—”

“Let the woman work,” Shadowheart snaps. “It’s not as if we’re turning into mind flayers anytime soon.

“Not yet, we aren't,” growls Lae’zel.

“Oh, shit, Tavvy.” Karlach points at your drawing. “Looks just like it. You’re good at this!”

“Thank you,” you say.

“It’s a boar,” Astarion grits out. “Can we go now?”

“There’s another explanation for this.” It's Wyll, behind you. “The boar is exsanguinated.”

"Ex-sangui-huh?" Karlach mutters.

“Wyll,” you say, not looking up as you sketch the musculature of the neck. “That book was nonsense. You can’t possibly believe it.”

“I’m not talking about your book, Tav. Vampires are very real besides.”

Astarion scoffs. “Tell us more fairy tales, oh Duke Ravengard.”

“Quiet,” you snap at Astarion. “You’ve been a boor all morning.”

Astarion scoffs again and puts his hands on his hips. “I’m merely trying to keep us focused,” he drawls, leaning towards you. “We’ve all got tadpoles in our head, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Lae’zel reaches for your notebook, and you instinctively jerk it out of reach.

There’s a pause, then:

“Tavvendish,” says Lae’zel: low, and with an emotion you can't name. “Finish quickly. It’s nearly mid-day.”

“I know,” you say, willing yourself to keep your voice level and your charcoal steady. “One second.”

Her eyebrows raise, just slightly. “A minute more, then,” she says.

“By Silvanus, a minute’s all I need.”

Wyll speaks again. “We should proceed with caution. If there is a vampire lord in the area, then we aren’t adequately prepared for what follows. We need to warn the Grove.”

“I can do a little for a vampire,” says Shadowheart. “But if it’s a vampire lord, we won’t stand a chance.” She hesitates. “Wyll's right. Perhaps we'd better listen."

“Shall I beat my head against a tree, then?” Astarion says. “Will that make everyone listen?”

You blow dust off of your drawing. “It will certainly shut you up.”

“Tav,” says Gale, but he's trying not to laugh. “Be nice, won’t you?”

“I’ll be nice when he—” and you point at Astarion with the charcoal, “—returns the favor.”

Karlach tuts. “Dunno, Astarion. I wouldn’t mess around with a poisoner, not unless you want to shit out your mouth for a tenday.”

“I can’t do that,” you mutter, just as Astarion gasps: “How vile!”

Karlach leans in: you know, because you feel heat beating against your hair. “He doesn’t have to know that,” she stage-whispers to you. “I’m sick of the little ponce, myself.”

Across from you, Lae’zel huffs. It takes you a moment to realize: it's a laugh.

————

Back at the Grove, your party splits apart again. In one dark corner, Zevlor's speaking to Wyll with with great urgency; the warlock merely crosses his arms and stares at the floor, nodding occasionally.

With a shaking hand, Zevlor gestures to Wyll's horns. Wyll winces and turns away.

“‘Scuse me,” says a child.

You look down. A tiefling, no older than seven or eight, blinks up at you. He folds his hands together, then unfolds them, then folds them again.

“Begging your pardon, miss,” he says, digging one toe into the dirt. “But my friends and I need gold for our lunch—”

He points, and you follow his finger to a gaggle of tiefling children in front of the baker's, begging for food. Some of them are small, small enough to need tiptoes to see over the stall's edge. When the baker shakes his head, the children whine in unison.

The tiefling boy turns back to you. “Wouldn’t you mind? It’s just three gold for a mince pie. We can split it. Just need the one.”

A single mince pie wasn’t nearly enough for that many children. Your siblings, yourself included, usually demolished a pie each. You’d spent countless hours in the kitchen with your eldest brother Trisrel while your parents were in the workshop. Trisrel had married a Baker, and he brought back endless recipes, tricks for doing more with the Carvers's less.

You fish out your coin purse. Only a few ten-pieces roll around. Three per pie, per seven…and some of them were older, too, already towering above the rest. They’d need two each. You think of another night slaving away over rosebush viper antivenom, and then you remember Ethel’s promise of Yellow Gnoll’s Ear, and you briefly panic. You could, perhaps, beg Wyll for gold…

“I don’t know, sprout…” You trail off. The boy clasps his hands together in earnest supplication.

“Pleaaaase?” he asks.

Another timid voice pipes up beside you: “Is that really you?”

You turn around and lock eyes with a tiefling girl. You recognize her: the very same child from the Grove, the one Kagha had threatened with the Horned Opal.

“Thank you again, miss.” Her voice is soft, hesitant. She bows to you. “For the other day. I didn’t mean any harm by it.”

“Harm by what?” you ask. You crouch down to her level, and the tiefling backs away. She turns her face from you.

“It was just a joke,” she says. “Honest. I wanted to— um— I took Silvanus for a laugh. Won’t do it again! Swear on me mum, I won't.”

She looks so much like your youngest sister, Mira, that it pains you. The last time you saw Mira, the last time you visited Fox’s Keep, she had clutched your robes. Don’t go, sis, she had cried: sis, because back then, she was still too young for sister. You had planned to spend at least an afternoon with her on this upcoming visit, but then-- well, the Nautiloid happened.

You look between the children. “What are your names?"

The girl rubs her eyes with two closed fists. “Arabella,” she murmurs.

"Zaki," says the boy.

“Well, then, Arabella. Zaki.” You fiddle with your coin purse. “I am Tav. And I know the Oak Father would forgive you for having a laugh.”

Arabella lifts her head. “Really?”

“Really and truly.” You place one hand over your heart: “I promise, by Silvanus himself.”

“You’re not—” She turns to you, wringing her hands. “You’re not cross with me, are you, miss? Tav.”

Once, your Nana scolded your mother in front of you: Children must be disciplined. They should learn to respect authority. How your cheek had stung from her slap. Your mother had tugged on your wrist, then, urging you upright, just as Rav had done with Arabella.

You smile at her. “So long as you don’t do it again. Can you promise me that, Arabella?”

She presses her own hand to her heart, mimicking you. “I solemnly swear,” she says.

“Good girl. All is well.”

Arabella smiles back at you. She hesitates.

“What about lunch?” she asks.

Oh. It made sense that the statue thief would know how to spin a yarn. You frown. “You promised, Arabella. I mean it— don’t do it again.”

“Honest!” Arabella blurts out. “We’re just…” She exchanges glances with Zaki. “Hungry.”

“Really hungry,” Zaki adds. “Please? Pretty please?”

Arabella gasps. “I have rocks!” She digs around in her pockets and produces a small agate crystal. She shoves it at you. “Bet you anything it’s magic!”

"Hmmmm." You pretend to appraise the stone with a critical eye. Arabella shoves the stone into your waiting hand: “See?”

“Very lovely,” you say. You put your hand to your chin and hold the agate to the light. There is a faint tingle of the Weave around it, eerily enough: low and droning, like a hum. You make a questioning noise. “No, Arabella, you keep this. I’ll give you the gold.”

Zaki claps and does a little spin. “Yay!”

Arabella fights another smile as you pass her crystal back to her. “Really?” she asks, eyes wide; she clutches the crystal protectively to her chest.

“Really really," you say, and you turn to Zaki. “You should all be properly fed. I’ll give you enough for a pie each, with a little left over for a sweetie. How’s that?”

Zaki’s mouth hangs open. He and Arabella exchange excited glances.

“Only the once,” you say to your coin purse. “I’ve no money besides.” You count out gold pieces into Arabella’s waiting hands. “And what do we say?”

“Thank you!” Zaki stage-whispers. Arabella follows suit, albeit shyly: “Thaaank youuu.”

“Good children always say thank you.” You glance between Arabella’s palm and your coin purse. “How many of you are there, again?”

“Really?” Astarion drawls behind you, and you start. “Are you just going to give all our gold away?”

You glare at him over your shoulder. He raises his eyebrows and inclines his head towards you.

“Well?” he asks.

You turn back to the tiefling children. “Don’t listen to him,” you stage-whisper. “He also wants a gift."

Astarion splutters indignantly. Zaki giggles.

You place a hand on Arabella’s shoulder, gently urging her towards her friends. “Go on, little sprout,” you say. “Buy whatever you’d like.”

Arabella runs to them with the fistful of gold lofted high in the air, shrieking with delight. Zaki scrambles along behind her. All of the children hop up and down. “Mince pies!” someone shouts, and the others join in: "Mince pies!" They dance around each other eagerly: “Mince pies! Mince pies! Mince pies!”

You dust your robes off and stand. Familiar black spots appear at the edges of your vision, and you stumble backwards, your hand pressed to your forehead. You kept forgetting to stand up slowly. The tadpole stirs, squeaks a little.

“I’ve never seen a group so excited over mince pies,” Astarion says over your shoulder. He crosses his arms. In a lower register, he mutters to you, “Rather irritates me, if I’m honest.”

“Children irritate you?” you say. The children have gathered around the baker’s table, all reaching upwards for their meals. You hear the coins hit the table with a clatter. The baker smiles, relieved, at you as they wrap the pies in crisp wax paper. One by one, they give the children their pies, and you hear their little voices: “Thank you!” “Thank you.” “Thank you, saer!” “Thank youuu!”

“--can’t stand the little monsters.” Astarion pouts. “Gods. I really can’t believe you gave our gold away?"

I think there's another child needs feeding. You gesture to the children. “They were hungry, Astarion. What was I meant to do, let them starve?”

“Well,” and here Astarion smirks at you, all sarcasm and bitterness, “perhaps you let some other poor fool feed the pigs next time.”

You turn on your heel to sneer at him. “I can’t believe you, Astarion! Denying food to children? Heavens forbid you think of someone else for once.”

Astarion straightens, and suddenly, he's not smiling at all. There’s a cold look in his eyes you can’t place. “I’m only looking out for number one, dearest,” he says, but there’s no mirth in it.

“Well—”

The children race past you with their food. A few bump into your legs, teetering you off-balance.

“Oi!” you shout at Arabella. She stumbles and turns around, trailing behind the rest of the group as they vault over the grass. “Don’t go running with a full belly!” you call.

Arabella curtsies, giggling, and rushes to join the others. You can hear her yelling at her little group: “Miss Tav said to sit! Don’t run!”

Astarion gives you a pointed look. “Any other kind advice, mother dearest?”

You feel the barb in your side. “Seven younger siblings." You watch the children climb a grassy hill and settle at the top. “Sometimes I was the one who raised them.”

The tiefling children, some still standing, tuck into their meals. One stomps their feet excitedly; his friend bounces on his toes.

“Should’ve tormented the little beasts with your spiders.” Astarion immediately brightens. “Wouldn’t that be fun?” He taps your arm with the back of his knuckles, laughing. “How they’d scream!”

You jerk your arm out of his reach. “It would stress the children and the animals.”

“Oh no!” Astarion sighs with practiced theatrics. “Won’t someone think of the deadly, poisonous spiders?”

“Poison is something you eat,” you snap over your shoulder. “Venom is used by something that eats you.”

Astarion wails like he's been stabbled. He sways onto the path in front of you, staggering and coughing. “I weep for them,” he cries at the dirt, running his fingers over his cheeks. “The poor, defenseless darlings!” He looks directly at you and gasps. “Thank goodness Tavvendish Carver is here to care for them! Praise the Oak Father! It’s a divine miracle!”

You nod. “Finished?”

Astarion visibly deflates as he glares at you. “Yes, I’m finished. I put work into that, you know.”

Someone tugs your robes as he's talking, and you look down to see a curly-haired tiefling boy. He has half of the mince pie in his free hand; the other half— or what looks it— fills his cheeks to bursting.

“‘Fanks f’r lumch, ma’am,” he says; crumbs fly out of his mouth with each word. Before you can respond, he shuffles forward and wraps his arm around your leg.

Your heart leaps as he closes his eyes. You pet the boy's hair fondly, even though he’s now getting crumbs on your trousers. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. But you’re very welcome.”

From beside you, Astarion bends forward. “Come here, sweetling,” he coos at the boy. “Are you afraid of spiders?”

“Astarion,” you growl.

The boy’s eyes go wide. He freezes in place, mouth poised in mid-chew, hiding from Astarion behind your leg. He shakes his head dramatically.

“Ignore him!” you chirp, leaning into the tiefling boy’s eyeline, and he looks up at you. “Go and sit with your friends.”

When the child’s eyes, distrustful, slide back to Astarion, you usher him towards the other children. “Run along, sprout. Don’t mind him. Finish your pie.”

Slowly, with eyes still trained on Astarion, he lets go of your leg. You nudge him, and like a startled deer, he runs for the others. Some of the children have already finished their pies and lounge in the grass, chattering in small clumps. Two tieflings start a hand game, its pattern unfamiliar to you:

"Stella and Bella, walking in two Up the path where the wildbelles bloom Found a bard and this he said: ‘I can rhyme as many as…’ One, clap, two, clap clap, three, clap clap clap, four…”

“Hellooo?” Astarion snaps his fingers inches from your face. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You scrunch your nose. “What question?”

"Oh, forget it.”

Irritation flares in you. “Duly noted. I will.”

You turn your back on the tieflings and head deeper into the Grove. Astarion, likely smelling victory, follows in close pursuit.

“You know, I’ve never noticed before— there’s a bit of green in your hair!” He tousles your hair, and you bat his hand away. “In the light, it offsets the brown quite nicely. Though…” He cups his hand around his mouth, drops his voice to a whisper: “You’re also going a bit gray.”

“I am well aware.” You snarl at him. “Do not pull my hair.”

“And ruin those lovely curls? I’d never.” He fans a hand wide behind his head. “Haven’t you seen me? I know your texture like the back of my hand.”

“If it were you, Astarion, I would have fed you, too.”

His footsteps halt behind you, but you don’t care. You keep walking.

"Eats like a bird, anyway," you mutter.

Astarion is nowhere to be seen the rest of the day.

————

Kestral is on you again. His hands-- all-encompassing, warm-- are down your blouse. You hear someone else laughing; a woman congratulates him, then congratulates you. Kestral laughs with her. You cannot move; you are helpless here, in this forested darkness, with his hands holding you down. You can only stare at your fellow Trialmates, hoping one of them will pull him away. They do not pull him away. You can taste his lip piercing in your mouth.

Kestral swings his leg over you. No, you think, squirming under him, this isn’t how it went— this isn’t how he—

Someone is on top of you.

You gasp for air, and the scene resolves itself in an instant: you are at camp, and it is seventy-four years after your Trial, and there is a tadpole squealing in your head, and Astarion hovers over you with his mouth over your throat.

Instantly, you go rigid, eyes darting over the roof of your tent. Fighting would only make it worse, you knew that. Better let Astarion finish quickly and leave you alone. Fool, you think. You should’ve known better, should’ve seen the way he looked you up and down after a battle. You think of his cool fingers tracing the Witch Bolt, think of his laughter, and you shiver. How many times would it take for you to learn?

Astarion isn’t moving. Rather, he stays there, lying on top of you, and you hear him inhale. Your lips are moving, forming well-rehearsed pleas— no, stop, please, not here, don’t hurt me— but never speaking them. You’re trembling, you realize, and you’re embarrassingly, inexplicably aroused. You loathe yourself for it.

You hear his lips part— there's something sharp against your throat—

--and this time, with this man, you do manage to speak. “No:" Feeble. Pleading.

Astarion stumbles back, shielding his head with his arm. He’s talking and gesturing everywhere; you can’t hear a word over the ringing in your ears. You swallow, frozen in place.

He leans towards you, eyes wide and curious, and in the split-second it takes for him to clamp his mouth shut, you see them: curved incisors, long and sharp and glistening in the moonlight.

The boar from earlier— the size of the bite—

Oh, you think. OH.

You sit up. Astarion cowers from you instantly, pressing his back to the other wall of the tent. Slowly, as if you emerged from underwater, his voice comes into focus: “—let me explain, I can— please, darling, don’t be upset—”

“Astarion,” you croak. You clear your throat, willing yourself to calm down. You need to know; you need to hear it from him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he snaps, but the fear in his eyes is unmistakable. “Let me explain!”

Explain? Was there a justification for why he was...?

Your adrenaline tilts, dizzyingly, to anger. Before you can stop yourself, you lean towards him; he brings his knees to his chest.

“Start talking,” you hiss, “or I am going to rip your bloody hair out by the root.”

“I was hungry!” Astarion cries. “Pl—please, I— I was only going to be a moment, my love— you wouldn’t have known I was there—”

You have to know. “Hungry for what?”

“Are you dim?” He lowers his arms just enough to glare at you over them. “What did you think? You said you’d feed me—”

“I thought,” you say—

And you can’t bring yourself to say more: how you thought he was here to rape you, how you were ready for it. How this was an inevitability: the price you paid for social interaction with others. How you were a toy, and how the world was full of sticky, prying, greedy hands.

You slump. “I don’t— I don’t know what I thought.”

Astarion scoffs. “Well—I wasn’t—” He tsks with frustration. “I was here for—well—”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, and you see his fangs again, and all at once you feel relief.

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes until you see stars. “Thank Silvanus. I thought it was something else.”

The peepers by the riverside are deafening. Astarion leans towards you, and the moonlight from the tent flap carves his face out in stark white. “You’re—” His voice is small. “What did you think I was doing?”

“Oh--" You wave a hand and smile. "Never mind.”

“No, not never mind. Tell me.” He pauses. “Did you think I would take advantage of you? Be honest.”

This was not a conversation you wanted to have in the middle of the night. You deflect: “How is biting me in my trance not ‘taking advantage?'"

Astarion leans back on his heels. “Fine,” he huffs. “You’ve made your point, darling.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for blood sooner?”

He curls into a ball at the foot of your bedroll. “Oh yes,” he says quietly. “Let’s ask the alchemist for blood. What a spectacular idea. You probably know a thousand ways to kill a vampire.”

You cross your arms. “I’ve never even met a vampire.”

“Congratulations, dearest. You have now. Or—” He waves dismissively. “A spawn, anyway. So sorry to disappoint.”

You have a thousand questions: where is your master? When were you sired? Are your fangs hinged? How are you walking in the sun? Is this why you take the watch every night?

But Astarion’s eyes dart to the side, and you look closer: his bony, frail wrists, his right middle finger tapping a quick staccato on the mat below him, his defined collarbones. He breathes shallowly, rapidly; the staccato gets unsteady. You suspect those high cheekbones and sculpted jaw aren’t just vanity.

“You’d like to feed on me,” you breathe.

Astarion gives you a sarcastic bow, his mouth drawn tight in a mocking smile. “Yes, dear, how kind of you to notice,” but his voice shakes, and, oh—

The poor thing is hungry.

You think of buying pies for the children in the tiefling camp, their eager faces, how they had all said “thank you,” in unison. You think of how some ate the pies standing, as if they couldn’t wait to fill their bellies. You thought Astarion judged you for feeding them, wanted to spoil the moment, but Astarion had done something else entirely.

He didn't come to you because you were easy. He came to you because you were generous.

“May I lie down?” you ask.

He rolls his eyes. “It’s your tent—”

“No, I mean for the—” Feeding sounds strange, even erotic. You look away. “For when you— I faint easily.” You lean back on your elbows. “I’ll lose consciousness. I have to be lying down for it.”

Astarion blinks, but he leans forward, towards you, eyes wide. “You’re— you’re just going to let this happen?”

You recline on your bedroll. “Do not kill me,” you say. “That’s all I ask.”

“I— Tavvendish, really?” He’s already crawling around your bedroll, towards your head, even as he admonishes you: “You’d let a spawn, someone you just met, bite you? Have you no survival instinct?”

You fold your hands over your stomach. This was terrifying, yes; Astarion licks his lips over you, and you wince. There’s that expired Malice in your pack, within arm’s reach; perhaps, if things went sideways…

“Should I say no?” you ask.

“No no no!” Astarion says softly, voice pitching high. “This works out well in my favor, you understand.” He leans an elbow on the other side of your head, draping himself over your torso. “I just…” He leans away, catches your eyes. “Are you…are you quite sure?”

You stare down at his mouth. His fangs are long and very frighteningly sharp. They have a slight curve to them, like a snake’s fangs. Astarion can’t close his mouth fully like this. Hinged, you think; he must hide them in polite company. That alcoholic smell is overpowering now, like cheap liquor.

He cradles your head in his hands; they are shaking. Tender like a lover, he turns your head towards him, exposing your neck.

“Please,” he begs quietly, so low only you can hear. “I’ll only be a moment.”

In the space between one breath and the next, he clamps down. You grunt, jolting in your bedroll. You can’t move against his cold fangs, as if they’ve pinned you to the floor. Astarion inhales—

And oh: there's a rush of paradoxical warmth where Astarion’s fangs pierce your skin. You had always questioned the appeal of a vampire's bite-- had read plenty about swooning maidens and unholy marriages for pleasure, certainly very late at night, and certainly while under the covers— but this? You go limp in Astarion's arms; your pulse thumps between your legs. Astarion whimpers and sucks at the wound, slurping noisily at your artery; you can’t find it in you to care. It feels something like the pipeweed filling you, your body vibrating with pleasure, your stack of books breathing slowly where you stare at them. Perhaps there is such a thing as vampire venom: simple chemistry at work, a muscle relaxant secreted from his fangs to encourag you o relax, ncorage yu

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gooooooooo

o o oooo

oo o oooooooooooooooooooo

o ooooooo o o o

o oo o o

ooo o o ooooooo o

And all at once you remember, No, I’m losing blood, that’s too much, and you whisper, “Astarion,” hoarse and feeble, your head feeling as if it’s stuffed with cotton, and Astarion doesn’t stop, if anything he grips you tighter to his chest, and your ears are ringing and your vision is going black around the edges and you think of crushing hands and mouths and lip piercings and suddenly you push and that forces Astarion to unlatch with a gasp, as if he’s surfacing from some very, very deep ocean. His mouth is a bright cherry red.

You are very, very dizzy.

Astarion laughs; its tempting to laugh with him, but you're too exhausted to try. He wipes his mouth off on the back of his hand. “Tav,” he gasps. “That—”

You push yourself up, but your head spins. You slouch into your bedroll.

Astarion laughs again, disbelieving. It's nothing like the mocking laughs you’ve heard from him before: this one is light, boyish. “I… oh!” He presses his hand to his forehead and giggles. “I feel so much— stronger! That is lovely! Like...like a-- coffee on a rainy day--”

There's a flush across his stupid, grinning face. You get the urge to kiss him, to jump into his lap, but your body refuses to move. White fractals explode behind your eyelids. You try to say his name, but all that comes out is a woozy, “‘ssstar—”

His fluttering hands land on your shoulder. “I thank you, Tavvendish,” he says quietly; his smile nearly splits his face in two; his fangs are still out. “You’ve given me an unspeakably generous gift.”

Every nerve in your body sings. “Wh’yd y’ mean?” you mumble.

“I mean—” He cups your face in his hands.

He is so beautiful, you want to kiss him so badly—

“I can hunt now," he continues, touching his temple. My head is clear. Clear! For the first time in— why, I don’t know when.”

You can’t look at him without thinking of ripping off his clothes. Charm, you think weakly, the venom’s doing this. You turn your head and close your eyes. “Y’re welc’m.”

“Rest now, darling,” says Astarion above you, and you slip into blissful nothing.

————

“—the creche should be our priority—”

You startle awake.

“—said we should search for the druid Halsin—”

“No,” Lae’zel snaps. Her voice is hoarse around the edges. “I’ve had enough of being led across Faerun without rhyme or reason. We must focus. Our surest chance of a cure is the creche.”

“Now, Lae’zel,” Gale says, “our travels may bring us near the—”

Shadowheart cuts in: “Gale.”

Gale’s voice becomes harsh. “We will not survive a gith’yanki creche!”

Lae’zel growls. “You may not—”

You sit up in your bedroll. The sun is already quite high; its white light dapples through the tent. Your head pounds. How long had your trance been, and why couldn't you remember any of it? Had you actually fallen asleep?

Astarion’s wide eyes, his fangs, and then—

Something in your tent smells lovely. It doesn’t take you long to find its source: a gigantic, fresh bun, smelling of cinnamon and cream and sugar, lying on a plate next to your bedroll. A hot mug of coffee steams next to it. The bun is still warm, and the icing melts around your fingers as you lift it to your nose. You can’t detect any poison by scent: only that lovely cinnamon and sour-sweet icing.

Astarion, you remember, and a warm wave rolls over you. You tuck gratefully into the roll.

How strange, that you didn’t know; it seems obvious in hindsight. You sip at the coffee and wrack your brain, but your memories feel fuzzy, far-away. Your headache begins to ease with every bite. Hinged fangs: that much you could remember. Astarion’s fangs must be prehensile. Suddenly voracious, you shove more of the roll into your mouth. The blood loss must have affected you more than you thought. You nearly choke on the following mouthful.

Perhaps vampire fangs were like a cat’s claw: extended from gums for feeding, perhaps by relaxing a small tendon. They had to retract, now that you thought about it; there was no way you would have missed his fangs earlier.

And when Astarion bit you— for several minutes, you had felt—

Incredible.

Light, like floating on air.

Like you were in love.

Most importantly, your side had stopped aching.

You spare an uneasy glance at the entrance to your tent. Part of you is tempted to write the author of Venomous Fauna: it’s venom, no doubt, though a Charm could also be involved. That cold, alcoholic smell on his breath must have been it. You realize, with a start, that he must have been secreting venom for days. You'd have to pay attention today.

The other part of your brain wanted to understand. If there wasn’t a Charm after all, then what could cause that dizzy, euphoric feeling? It couldn’t have just been the blood loss— you had had enough rough encounters to know what that felt like— but then…what else could it be?

You polish off the roll and wipe your hands with a handkerchief. The closest equivalent to that wonderful feeling was a pipeweed high, perhaps a mild hallucinogen. The euphoria made simple evolutionary sense: prey should relax into the bite. You think of his curved fangs, likely meant to hold prey in place. A vampire's victim would have to lie still under them for several minutes, enjoying every second, while the vampire fed.

Then…

He chose you because...?

Coffee in hand, you crawl out of your tent. The sun beats down on you; dragonflies skirt over the water to your right.

Gale, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart argue loudly over the creche. From Shadowheart's side, Wyll shakes his head. Karlach paces a short distance away, rubbing her temples as she goes, muttering, “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…”

Astarion’s eyes flick directly to yours. His lips are pressed tightly shut; he's not participating in the argument so much as quietly observing. As you stare at him, his tongue passes over his teeth--

—and he smiles at you.

Your breath hitches. You hold up a hand in greeting.

“Tav,” sighs Wyll, relieved. “Settle something for...us…”

He blanches.

You ask, “What am I settling?” but Wyll is silent. Did you have crumbs on your mouth? No— Wyll’s gaze dips a little lower than that.

You look around: everyone stares with the same vaguely disgusted expression, save Astarion. Astarion merely looks terrified.

“What?” you ask him. “What’s the matter?”

Why is everyone staring at your neck?

You press your hands to where Astarion bit you, but your fingers sink into a tender bruise. "Agh." You withdraw your hand; dried blood sticks to your hand. A muddy brown stain soaks the neck of your blouse.

Five different weapons are drawn at once— and they all point at Astarion.

Astarion holds his hands up. “It’s— it’s not what you think!”

Lae’zel spits on the ground.

Shadowheart’s lip curls. “You were the last person to enter Tavvendish’s tent,” she says. “Talk.”

Astarion’s trembling. Badly. “It was— I-- she asked!” he shouts. He points an accusing finger at you; he can barely keep it straight. “It was her idea!” His eyes plead with yours. “Wasn’t it, Tav?”

Flames roll off of Karlach’s forearms. “Don’t blame this on Tav,” she growls; she rocks up onto her toes with anticipation. Your heart thumps, rabbit-quick, behind your ribcage. The others grow similarly restless, shifting on their feet.

“Karlach’s right, Astarion,” says Wyll. He narrows his eyes and turns his rapier, just so, and the point presses into the base of Astarion’s skull. “You may walk in the sun, but your bloodlust is as obvious as an ogre in a banquet hall.”

Astarion swallows. He’s still focused on you. “You offered, didn’t you?” he says. “You said I could.”

Gale’s hands are moving in the incantation for Paralyze, he’s trying to shut Astarion up, Lae’zel snarls at Astarion, you have to say something—

“It was consensual!” you blurt.

Gale’s hands stop short. Karlach blinks at you.

“Consensual?” Wyll asks, and his voice cracks. He clears his throat. When he speaks again, it's in his usual authoritative tone: “What do you mean by 'consensual?'”

All eyes are on you. Astarion has that wide, wondering look again: the very same one from last night.

You straighten up. “He was hungry. He feeds on animals, but animal blood can’t sustain a vampire. I’d say he’s held off for long enough, wouldn't you? Or are we meant to starve him?”

Lae’zel shifts her grip on her sword. Shadowheart narrows her eyes at you, and you stare back. Her gaze wavers, for just the slightest moment.

“And anyway,” you continue, “Isn’t it best if we rotate feeding duty amongst ourselves? Cut back on the effects of—”

“No,” says Shadowheart.

“No,” says Gale.

“Nah,” says Karlach. To Astarion: “I’d probably burn you, anyway.”

“Tavvendish speaks true.” Lae’zel. “We are only as strong as our weakest fighter. If blood is what Astarion needs for battle, then she has made a wise decision.”

Gale shakes his head. “I’d rather not be a meal for a vampire.”

“Then I’ll do it,” you say.

“As will I,” says Wyll, and the group turns in surprise. He sheathes his rapier. “Astarion, should you have need—”

“No,” Astarion says immediately. “I’m not interested.”

Wyll blinks. “Ouch."

“Is this, like…” Karlach’s sword wavers; she looks around the group. “Like a kink thing?”

Astarion snorts and covers his mouth. You wince. You remember wanting to kiss Astarion, and you shake your head hard, like a dog, as if you could will the memory away. “No, Karlach," you say, "It isn’t a kink thing.”

Karlach sighs. “Thank the gods. I don’t want to see that shit.”

“Now, now.” Gale makes a soothing gesture with both hands. “So long as Astarion—" He gestures to you. "And, er, Tav— keep this to themselves, I’m willing to call them my good friends.”

Astarion rolls his eyes. “We’re hardly—”

“—friends, Gale,” you say at the same time.

You and Astarion exchange glances.

Gale coughs, his face scrunching in distaste. “Oh, well. Cheers. Teammates, I suppose.” He walks away, muttering to himself: “Gods, a little courtesy wouldn’t be lost on--”

“Keep your fangs to yourself,” Shadowheart huffs at Astarion. “Else I’ll be washing your clothes in holy water.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion drawls. Shadowheart scans his face, and for one tense second, you’re sure she'll kill him--

But she sniffs and turns on her heel instead. “Whatever.”

Karlach lowers her sword as Shadowheart flounces off. “Guess that’s it, then,” she says, “Party’s over.” She gestures to Astarion. “How are you walking in the sun, anyway?”

Astarion rocks back and forth on his toes while he thinks. “I don’t really know. Since the Nautiloid, I’ve been waiting to burn to cinders. But,” he adds, smirking, “I’m not about to look that gift horse in the mouth.”

Karlach smiles at him. “You can say that again. Would rather not have a freaky illithid worm in my brains, but sunshine feels good. What can you do?”

Astarion nods. “Exactly!”

Karlach snaps her fingers and points at you with a smile. “Hey. No kink stuff."

You sigh. “Noted.”

Lae’zel is last to sheathe her sword. “Chk. Mind your manners, istik, or I’ll have no qualms running you through on my blade.”

Astarion gasps and turns to her. “Oh, won't you? I’m trembling like a virgin at the thought!"

Lae’zel tosses her braids out of her face with a smirk. “I’m sure you are." To you, she nods. “Watch him, Tavvendish. Make sure he doesn’t stray out of line.”

“Noted,” you say. “Again.”

Lae'zel returns to her tent. Wyll puts his hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “I mean it, Astarion,” he says. “Do not be a stranger. Only but ask, and you’ll have your blood. But don’t hurt Tav."

Astarion looks at Wyll’s hand. “I’ll…" He looks up at Wyll. "I'll consider your offer."

This seems to satisfy Wyll, because after glancing at you, he leaves. Now, in the daylight, you see Astarion's still wearing the shirt you bought him. His fists clench and unclench; his jaw works, as if he’s grinding his teeth. You look down at the blood stain on your blouse.

Astarion speaks first. “I suppose I owe you another coffee." He makes this awkward, slight little bow, as if he can’t figure out what to do with himself. “You’ll drink Faerun dry of it, darling, faster than you think."

“It was my pleasure, Astarion." Immediately, you want to slap yourself. What a trusting reply, when Astarion himself couldn’t be trusted: he pickpocketed, he teased you relentlessly, he had a nightmare of a temper. Doubtless, you'll have to fight him off of you, night after night, until this damned tadpole was gone. You think of Astarion hovering over you like that again, and bile rises in your throat.

He laughs, loud and sharp. “That adorable kindness will kill you someday."

“Already has,” you say. “In more ways than one.”

You turn for your tent, but a cold hand seizes your wrist. You look back at him.

“You didn’t like that, did you? How our little meeting began?” Astarion is serious, suspiciously so. “I quite took you by surprise. Next time,” and he does that small, strange bow again, “You’ll have due notice beforehand, sweetheart, I swear. I won’t wake you. You’ll never even know I was there.”

You lips part. His ears are vaguely pink; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him blush before. It’s…attractive.

You try to keep your voice as neutral as possible: “You’d better bite me in a different place, then. I can’t walk around with bruises all over my neck.

Astarion nods eagerly. “Oh, yes-- yes, I will.” He holds his free hand up. “I promise. There will be more sweet rolls and coffee for your trouble.”

“Why, Astarion!" You can't keep the surprise out of your voice. "Are you well? You sound almost...princely.”

Astarion drops your wrist; he even makes a show of wiping his palm on his shirt. "Ugh. Don’t be ghastly.”

This Astarion, at least, was familiar. You shrug. “I wouldn’t dream of thinking highly of you. Not on my life.”

“Darling!" Astarion tosses his hair. "We’ll see how much you hate a nightshade when it's in your coffee."

You roll your eyes. “I don’t hate a nightshade,” you sigh. “Nightshade pays the rent. Don’t be a child. I said they were boring.”

“Mm. Give me a discount when we're back home, little woodling." Astarion looks up at you from under his lashes; your stomach does something funny. “We’ll call it even.”

You back away, but there’s a waver in your step. “I’ll remember that." You point at him. "I never forget a face.”

Astarion smirks, and it's too much: you quickly avert your eyes from his, defeated. “Trust me." He draws a circle around his face. "This is a face you’ll never forget."

Your face burns, and you’re not sure if it’s the leftover venom. The other option is far more terrifying.

#astarion ancunin #tavstarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #pity the mayfly

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johnnyraine · 1 year

Text

Next to Me - Ch. 5

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 6

Words: 1,336

18th of January, 2023

A.N.: Sorry, it took so long. At first, it was general laziness; then there was a flood and I had to leave; then I was depressed; I got back and it was general laziness again & cleanup; I finished a fic, but no one cared for it, so depressed again; then I finally finished this chapter.

~~~~~

"We can do whatever we want he-"

You stop listening to your "partner." Apparently, there isn't really much that the Militia "does." The patrol you're currently on was your idea, and even then, you only mentioned it. As if it's what they do.

It's not. And your partner decided to continuously remind you.

"Why would you tell Aguni that? Why did he listen to you anyway?" He complains.

'I honestly don't know,' You think, regretting this.

You still remember Aguni's empty stare before he split you up into pairs. Luckily, Niragi was put with someone else.

'I might've just beat him if we were together.'

An hour passes with your partner complaining, taking swigs from a bottle, or just harassing fellow Beach members.

"Okay," You say.

After the latest, now uncomfortable, Beach members turn a corner, you grab "Ken-something," and throw him against the wall.

"He- Ack!" He chokes out, dropping his bottle and grabbing at the arm on his throat.

Pushing against his throat, you point directly in his face.

"If I hear another word, I will rip your fucking tongue out. Okay?" He nods, eyes wide. "If you touch, grab, or even say some shit to any other Beach members, I'll break your arm."

"Got it?"

He chokes out a yes and you let him go.

"Come on, we still have some time left."

The rest of your patrol passes in silence.

Your next partner, Daisuke, is much better. He took to your idea of patrols with some determination. There's no drinking, complaining, at least not about the patrol, or harassing others.

He seems like a fine person.

"Another one," He says, seeing another couple being "busy" down the hall.

"You'd hope they'd find a room instead," You say, moving on.

"Preferably Hatter's. See if he likes a free sex show."

You chuckle, "He probably would."

Back and forth your conversation goes, enjoying the other's company. You believe by the end of your patrol, Daisuke will likely be one of the few people you can tolerate here.

There's a pause in the conversation as you're in your last thirty minutes with him. As you believe it'll end in silence, Daisuke asks you something.

"Why did you hit Niragi?"

You should've known he'd say something about that, but it doesn't stop you from making a face anyway.

Coming to a stop, you face him, "Because he deserved it. Simple as that."

It's Daisuke's turn to make a face, though you can't tell if it's approval or not.

He motions to continue walking, "Do not get me wrong, I think Niragi deserved it. Many in the Militia do. But…"

He stops and turns to you.

"You could have died, W/l/n. You are fortunate that you know each other."

"Why's that?"

He raises an eyebrow, "How long have you been here?"

You think about it for a minute.

"Maybe a week or so."

"And you have not seen the Militia's more violent members or their violent tendencies?"

"No, I've been hiding," You answer, beginning to lose your patience.

"Niragi is known for being one of, if not, the most violent member. I have seen him beat a man with his gun for annoying him. With no hesitation, he killed an entire group of "traitors" who simply tried to leave."

You look like you ate a lemon, anger fills your entire being.

"Yet," He says. "When Aguni pulled a gun on you, Niragi tried to stop him. With him also calling out your name, it is evident you two know each other."

"Hatter stopped Aguni," You grit out.

"But Niragi tried to stop him before Hatter showed up."

You stare at him for a few moments, refusing to answer some unasked question. Daisuke gives in first and your patrol ends sometime later.

'Well, he left an impression,' You think.

"Y/n."

You startle and look at Aguni with some of the Militia.

'Even when he speaks normally, it sounds like barking.'

Or perhaps you were just distracted, thinking about the new information you have about your old friend.

"You two are together. Go."

He dismisses you and you look at your next partner.

"Why would I work with him?' He asks incredulously.

Your eyes catch your partner. Niragi sneers at you before looking at Aguni. The man simply blinks, looking at Niragi until he looks away.

And so it begins.

However long passes with you two in tense silence. Honestly, you expected Niragi to have said something by now. But, he's silent. You don't know why. For you, you haven't spoken because you think you might punch him.

'Calm yourself, Y/n. Calm yourself.' You take deep breaths.

"What's wrong with you?" Niragi asks with an attitude.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?"

'Fuck,' You think.

You just blurted it out, not even thinking.

"What?"

He gets in your face and you grab his shirt.

"I said what the fuck's wrong with you, Niragi?! I don't see you in years and the first thing I see, is you attempting to abduct someone for your fucking boss."

Throwing him for a second, he recovers in a rage. Shoving you into a wall, he didn't plan on your grip being so strong.

Your back hits the wall and Niragi is knocked off balance. You headbutt each other.

You curse, letting him go.

"Are you seriously still such an idiot?!" He yells, clutching his forehead.

You bristle at that. Just barely, you withhold your anger. Taking a moment to collect yourself, when you open your eyes, Niragi's gone.

"Fu-" You hiss, taking another deep breath.

Aguni later rips you a new one. Even though he didn't raise his voice, you feel cowed. You don't know if you can take him. You may not be that smart, but you certainly aren't that dumb.

The next time you see Niragi is on a car ride to a game. You are unfortunately in the same group.

It's an awkward ride.

The others must sense the tension because no one says anything. Leaving you all in a long silence. The driver glances at you in the mirror, but quickly looks away from your gaze.

'I'm making a face, aren't I?' You rub your face.

You arrive at the venue; it's diamonds.

You sigh, dropping your head.

~~~~~

Dragging yourself to your room, you disregard the thought of hiding and sleeping elsewhere.

The game wasn't nearly as hard as you believed it would be. That doesn't mean it was particularly easy.

There were six of you: two from the militia; two regular Beach members, and you and Niragi. By the end, there are four.

The only part you care about is that no one had to die. You are certain of it. The last Militia member even knows it.

"That fucker!" You growl.

Niragi was on some fucking high. Though only a suspicion, you believe he knew how to solve the game, but chose to say nothing. When one person died, it was an unfortunate incident.

You weren't paying attention to anyone in particular.

When a Militia member died, he was in hysteria. Apparently, he knew the previous person.

When he died, you saw Niragi smirk. As if enjoying it!

You paid attention when someone else was likely going to die. However long ago it was, you could still tell Niragi was hiding something.

It's only because it's still only a suspicion that you feel somewhat bad.

You "handled" him. Hitting and shaking him to and fro, screaming at him to "fucking help, damn it!"

If the timer wasn't running low, you know he would have fought back harder. He reluctantly helped to win the game, after which he simmered in the car ride back "home."

You know it wasn't just because of what you did, but because others saw.

But you can't care much more about it. Two people are unnecessarily dead.

Collapsing into your bed, you don't even block the door.

"I wish, he'd try something," You mumble into the sheets, just hoping he'd give you a reason to beat his ass.

In no time, you fall asleep, awaiting the next day and its problems.

← Chapter 4 - Chapter 6 →

#suguru niragi x male reader #niragi x male reader #alice in borderland x male reader #comeback and rewrite #x male reader

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welcometololaland · 1 year

Text

Fic Origin Story aka. Hyperfixations: the Original

A bunch of you tagged me back in this which is...fair because I should probably do my own if I'm going to expect people to tell me their life fic story. I'm SORRY I'm so obsessed with knowing about people it's a problem.

I'm living for all your responses please keep going I beg!

1. What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?

I don't think it's a secret that I once upon a time wrote for the fandom that shall not be named, but my first fandom was actually Veronica Mars. I read fic on some website that no longer exists but was devoted entirely to LoVe (Logan/Veronica).

I never wrote and never left comments like a complete dick, but I was also 14 and it's like common knowledge I was a complete asshole as a child.

2. What was the first story you ever wrote (even if it was never posted) and what made you decide to write it?

For fic, it was a ridiculously terrible self-insert Veronica Mars story (except I inserted myself as a best friend not a love interest...interesting choice). I remember my character surfed and made people eat Vegemite. Which...I can't surf and I'm not even going to address the Vegemite thing.

I think I was 14. It never saw the light of day thank GOD.

3. What's a piece of advice you would give to your younger fic-writing self?

Wait, and find something you're really passionate about. I'd get stuck on a bunch of chaptered fics that seemed like good ideas but I had no real fire for. Then Speak for Yourself happened and I was like damn, this is what writing is supposed to feel like.

Also, don't write in the second person. Who does that? (me, I did that)

4. What's an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback etc.)?

A. The day @everwitch-magiks left me a comment and changed my life by ushering me into a group of fandom friends and lighting the RWRB fire.

B. The day @rmd-writes dropped into my inbox with a gentle 'hey, do you want to let me in your doc for beta purposes?' and then took up residence and never left my G drive / heart.

5. Post a sentence or two from one of your older fics, and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want).

I have regret for accepting this suggestion. The below fic is a Hunger Games fic I wrote originally in 2013? but i reposted it to Ao3 in 2020 (shame - why did I do that). Also, note use of second person - a bold fucking choice that did not pay off 😂:

Time is something that you seem to forever wish for, and never seem to get. It feels like your whole life has been spent trying to grasp time with a firm hand and will it to stand still. It seems like you race against a clock ticking more rapidly with every day that passes. As all humans, your days are finite. But as the particular person that you are, chosen to lead a sick, twisted life of triumph and tragedy, the days slip by you so fast it feels like it is over before it has really had the chance to begin.

This is from my newest fic (which is somehow approaching 40k and only 3.5/10 chapters) 😬😬😬

TK rolls his eyes. “You’re pretty unobservant for a private investigator,” he murmurs. “If one more person offers to buy you a drink, I’m going to buy you a wedding ring and force you to wear it.”

“You’re— What?”

“I’m jealous,” TK says drily, arching an eyebrow in Carlos’ direction. “Didn’t realise I needed to spell it out for you.”

Carlos frowns. “Of annoying hedge fund managers trying to buy me overpriced drinks and talk me into heli-skiing?”

“Hedge fund managers in Austin?” TK smirks. “Oh baby, you found a good one.”

Not tagging anyone because I already spammed a bunch of people but tagging @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @rmd-writes because you tagged me back and @clottedcreamfudge because you taught me how to be ridiculous and now you must deal with the consequences of your actions.

#ask game #tag game #ALTA #snippet #lola snippet #lola writes

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fyodorloveclub · 1 year

Note

Hi my favorite low-ironed sluts. It's me 🪱 again! did you miss me? probably not. Hotel? trivago. I personally love Fyodor. I wanna hold his cold pretty hands 💕( i also want him to choke me while he fucks me until nothing but his name is in my head). He's so cute! Anyways what time is it? time for more headcanons because what else is better to do on a Wednesday night? (be sucking fyodors dick) idk but I think this is a good use of my time. But wait! there's a catch I'm adding dazai headcanons ( i want to be stuffed with his children)

Fyodor has not one, not two but three gold rings that say "ASS" and ''TITS'' there those really flashy ones yk?

Fyodor as a kid used to think squirrels were ducks???

Fyodor has irreparable trauma

Fyodor once drank half of a bottle of Henesey and proceeded to burp the abc's backward while half-naked on the corner of wall street with two NYC hotdogs in hand.

Fyodor can not draw for shit. Not even Bob ross can say what he draws is a happy mistake. and most psychologists suggests he seeks professional help.

Fyodor wears crocs unironically. he has seven pairs

Fyodor may or may not have broken a priceless piece of pottery in the Louver...he is banned from France.

Fyodor actually fought a Koyal in Australia and got chlamydia.

Fyodor has pants that have "THICC" bedazzled across his ass.

Fyodor one time wrote a 800k fanfic about the mascots of Jack in The Box and Mc Donalds, it was a slow burn, enemies to lovers, jock x weird kid and it currently has 2k likes. it's still ongoing but since he's been so busy he hasn't been able to update it as consistently. Also whenever he does update his author note is always crazy. it will say "Hey guys sorry for not updating in a while! currently in a maximum security prison and I'm communicating via secret code. I also got sentenced to 100 years to life. ANNNND my ''cellmate'' is the one that stole my kidney that one time and sold me a Honda civic. I'll try to be more frequent with update love you all! smut in this chapter <3"

Fyodor actual ghost produced adele's 25 album and now has a grammy

Fyodor is the type of guy to somehow convince you to take E or acid for a "ReLiGiOus ExPeRieNcE" nothing about it is religious except for when he passes out from anemia.

Fyodor thinks clam chowder is the reason life is still worth living, and honestly, I don't blame him

Fyodor owns three Starbucks.

Dazai may or may not read Fyodor's fanfic. he is currently waiting for more updates, so now he has to figure out how to make sure the ADA doesn't literally implode and keep up with this fic.

Dazai got so drunk one time he threw up on Fukuzawa and called him mommy.

Dazai was originally uncircumcised until he went to Kentucky and now he is! yeah...he now also has one middle toe??

Dazai sold atushi on the black market and then stole him from the kidnapper because he didn't have enough money to pay for his Netflix subscription.

Dazai can't spell gorgeous, he's a genius but just can't spell the word correctly

Dazai has a mug that says "Best ex-mafia boss now turned crime-fighting yet somehow still morally grey nihilistic detective!"

Dazai has also been banned from France but only because the Prime minister of Belgium (dazai's ex discord daddy) talked to the prime minister of France about the break up.

Dazai Stole the Declaration of Independence and spilled Sake on it and then returned it.

Dazai accidentally made a bomb while he was in a meeting.

Dazai one time after finishing said out loud "post nut clarity is so crazy. Like man I just remembered how I got away with three counts of manslaughter in 2010" he giggled and fist-bumped his hook up then used up the rest of their moisturizer.

Dazai like Fyodor decided to watch Everything, Everywhere, all at once thinking it wouldn't be as sad as everyone said it was. After the movie was over he stared blankly at the screen for a good three hours until someone literally had to escort him out

Dazai once drank an entire bottle of soy sauce because he was drunk. don't worry he didn't puke but he is now banned from Scottland.

Dazai stole a badger from Italy and now has a badger named pasta that is currently running a rodent gang that is freeing rodents all over the city from traps. They currently have 300 members and are expanding. Poe's Raccoon is a part of the gang, and he is their intel guy. Dazai also has to buy 100 lbs of food for this animal gang. Dazai is their mascot for some reason, and he's also their like mother? iidk

Alright well, that's all for now, as always take your time replying!

Sincerely your one and only badger gang leader in Dazi's small-ass apartment.

-🪱

i’ve been goin through it recently but this literally had me cackling thank u so much 💀💀💀💀

#i love u sm #voices in my head #🪱 demon #{ musings; fyodor }#{ musings; dazai }

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solitudiante · 1 year

Text

I’ve been gone for more than a hot minute (Sol, it’s been two months), so I wanted to give you guys a sneak peek on the things I’ve been working on! (Because maybe some people wanna know??? Like. Maybe???)

KINNPORSCHE

vicious & vulnerable vegaspete omegaverse

This baby will be all about flashback chapters soon, so I’m bulk-updating (expect four chapters to arrive in May) soon.

Here’s what to expect in Chapter 8:

KinnPorsche TVTropes challenges

smoking while i'm running on my treadmill soulmate au Vegas and Kinn, genfic Chapter 2 is going to be up this month! Since this fic tends to have fewer chapter word count, I'll share the first two paragraphs just so it won't spoil the whole thing:

They’re staying at the same school. The only thing Papa says, when Kinn brought up but someone just tried to kill Vegas, was “Don’t kill them," said not to Kinn, but to Vegas.

Maybe it's meant to be a consolation prize. Either way, Vegas took it not as a warning to stay away, but as a guideline—don't kill them being the hard limit.

Also in the works: two femslash genderbend fics! KinnPorsche will get one fic, and VegasPete will get another. Also arriving in May, because this thing just needs a bit more polish <3 The KinnPorsche one is completely inspired by this fanart:

The VegasPete one is more.... VegasPete-y:

Other stuff that I'm also writing for the KP TVTropes challenge though I have no idea when it'll be finished: BigKen fic where Big knows that Ken is sus from the beginning and Ken responds by trying to seduce him

"Hey, isn't it weird that the people who shot us are all dead now? Guess karma exists, after all. Maybe we could spread some rumors, make a name for ourselves. Become this fearsome couple you know. BK." And then Ken thinks, out loud. "Wait that just sounds like Burger King."

Hogwarts AU KimChay where Kim is from a Thai-British family while Chay is an exchange student and they bond over their love of magical creatures (ft. slightly necromancy-inclined Porchay)

Porchay's first impression of Magical London is dust and musty smell. He'd like to blame it on the international floo, but he remembers what his hia said—"I feel like they should use the broom to dust the whole place down instead of flying around with them"—so he tries not to expect that this is going to be just a one-time thing, really.

KimArm fic where Arm's expertise in burlesque dancing is needed for a Kim Possible mission (sorry, i can't help it)

"So. I heard that you're really good at stripping." Arm twitches, almost wanting to blurt out, who told you? But this is Khun Kim, who he knows keeps sending phishing emails to both his cousins and brothers, with the only person who has yet to have their personal accounts broken into being Tankhun. Arm wishes he could claim that it was his due to his "immediate awareness of the threat posed by the delivered e-mail" as he writes in his report, but mostly, it was just Tankhun going, "Well, that's definitely not an email from Dior, the font’s all wrong. Hey Arm, we have a security breach!"

BIG DRAGON

take the steering wheel baby (but i'll set the pace) an entire rewrite of Big Dragon, which in the beginning was just supposed to a horny and funny romp but ya know it happened

YES THIS FIC IS STILL GOING TO BE UPDATED. I'm like way too invested now to just let it fall by the wayside. I wanna get this out in May (and tbh it's very likely to happen as well, since it's nearly done), so wml?? Here's a sneak peek of Chapter 6:

Yes, it is a funny fic but it's not being very funny right now :(

So, yeah, a bunch of stuff in the works, some will be out soon, and some will be languishing in the drafts for some time, but I hope you had fun reading these snippets anyway :3

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche fanfic #vegaspete #big dragon #snippets #fanfics #big dragon fanfics #writing stuff #drafts #wip

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idril-la-wiccan · 6 months

Text

Status Update - November 2023

Finally ! I was not a disappointment to myself ! /light-hearted

Ok, on a more serious note, I'm always happy when I achieve my goals, because I have a track record of projects I've started and never finished for X or Y reasons. Probably because of my scatterbrain attitude that I suspect to be due to undiagnosed autism and ADHD.

But that's a me problem, you're not here for that. You're here for this :

Out of the Abyss

Status : in hiatus.

I can't believe I've started this AU in 2021. I've worked on the entirety of Act I for two years, can you believe it ?

No wonder my motivation had been dwindling near the end : I was running out of creative juice ! That and I got brainrots towards other media/fandoms.

But at least, I was able to complete a good full chunk of the story, even if it ended on a cliffhanger. (Weh he he he ! >=])

And, for now I can't tell when I'll get back to it, but it's gonna be a little while. I still love OMORI, but it's not as much on my mind as it was at first. I can still enjoy other's content about it, but I must take a break from making content of it myself.

(By the way, I won't say your name because I don't know if you want people to know what you're up to with your own project yet, but know I'm reading it ! I've read up to section 1.7 of your chapter. I'm just a very slow reader, sorry about that... ^^')

On another note, I'll soon make a Masterpost for an easier access to most of my content for the different fandoms I've made content for. I remember someone had asked me about doing something like that for my Cookie Run comics and stories so I'm actually going to try that.

Speaking of which :

Cookie Run

A thief can learn a lot from a magician : in hiatus/pending.

3 New Oneshots : pending.

3 New Longer Fanfics : pending.

Yeah, it's gonna be a mess for my Cookie Run content. You guys are just gonna have to wait and see for this one. I'll at least try to tackle back the one unfinished fic whenever I can.

Pikmin

Castaway Redesigns : work in progress.

1 Fanfiction : pending.

Eye-Sprout AU : pending.

This is more streamlined. These projects are in order of priority so you at least know what to expect.

I've had difficulties to find time for the castaways but I'll finish what I started !

Eye-Sprout however, while I have ideas, I don't know where to go with it. Just don't expect it to be a full fanfic like Out of the Abyss, just ideas thrown together as long as they make sense.

Now, for the fanfic I DO intend to write, it will be Rescue Corps focussed and set after Pikmin 4 (with the idea that the timeline goes 1, 2, 4 then 3).

This will also be set elsewhere than PNF-404 (so no pikmin, only aliens) with our rescue team on a nerve-racking mission to save people from the clutches of a renowned scientist gone mad with power.

Expect some savory angst. =)

*****

Now, for these projects I just talked about, they will all be second priority compared to my next long term project that I plan on working on until it's done.

Which is :

Sweet Nightmares

My Yume Nikki-like/Yume Nikki Fangame (whichever you prefer to call it) that I began to work on long ago but then neglected because I was unsitisfied with my middle-schooler skills.

But NOW, as of writing this post, I will soon be 27 years old and long gone is the teenager who kept doubting herself ! And I have been itching to get back to this project ever since my motivation for Out of the Abyss winded down.

However, I won't go into details about it now, I'll make a seperate post for it when the time comes.

TL;DR : My next big project and top priority will be a Yume Nikki-like game called Sweet Nightmares. My OMORI fanfic AU is in hiatus until further notice and my Cookie Run and Pikmin projects will be low priority on my "To do" list.

Cordially, Idril.

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lillifaba · 2 years

Note

Hiiii, I just wanted to ask if you can recommend any wicked fanfiction or fanfiction writers, specially those who focus on liir and trism?

I'm sorry if this is so random, but you're the only Wicked fandom page I've seen that's been posting in 2022 🥺

It's just so sad that there's so little content about liir and trism out there when the book left their ending so open and inconclusive

Hiii oh my gosh no need to apologize at all I love getting asks like these!! ^^

I totally agree, it's criminal that there isn't enough content of our favorite bisexual witchy boy and his soldier bf :( However, here's some fics I've collected that contain him and some Liir/Trism elements!

If you just want Liir as a character, these are some fiyeraba fics I enjoy that feature Liir as a supporting character:

The Name of Liir by cto10121 (spoilers for the first book!)

Lurlinemas Week by Raven Curls (this is just the cutest fic with baby Liir ever oh my goodness thank you Raven <3)

A Sharp Beginning by BoutsofInsanity20 (I haven't finished this fic yet but based off the first chapter it sounds so promising and I hope they complete it! Just keep in mind it's 18+ and fiyeraba centered haha)

The Blackberries by gracethediasasterace (it's short but excellent none the less! It'd be awesome to see a fully fleshed out AU of it)

and this Lurlinemas fic I wrote a while back with baby Liir ^^

In terms of Liir/Trism centered fics, there defintely aren't enough but here are a few I've read:

The Guardian of the Gates and Doors by yunitsa

Maybe This Time by Sibre (spoilers for the entire book series but this is seriously how it should've all ended!)

As Long as You're Mine by dykeannebonny (more spoilers for the whole series)

What They Did to Him and What He Did for Them by LuminiaAravis (this series seems to be on hiatus which makes me sad because I really want to see where it’s going)

Comfort Crowd by Bi_Hobo_Boi and ElTejano (again on hiatus and features a mix of musical and bookverse and pretty much all the pairings you can think of lol)

I’m so sorry there isn’t much else. These are probably not the only fics that contain him but for now these are the ones I have bookmarked. If it makes you feel better, every fiyeraba fic I write will either contain Liir or imply to have him in the future. I'm currently on fic writing hiatus, but in the upcoming future look out for my Single Mom Elphie AU with Liir, a Liir/Trism college modern AU, and some one shots and AU's within the Wicked universe ;) I hope you like this list regardless! (I might also type up some headcanons for them hehe) I’ve also commissioned some Liir/Trism art and memes you can find in the Liir Thropp tag here on tumblr~

Oh and if you're looking for more blogs and authors that write about Wicked these days check out @raven-curls @vinkunwildflowerqueen @wickedobsessed101 (there are more, but I'm currently in class and can't think of more off the top of my head ;;) If you want to chat about Liir and Trism I'm always down for that too!!

ALSO!! I can't remember, but someone once said that they were working on a modern fiyeraba AU with Single Mom Elphaba and Liir. I'm not sure who they were but if you're reading this: hiiii, please share your fic with me thanks <3

Here’s some art made by another person hehe

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thegeminisage · 1 year

Note

pls talk about structure. we love structure in this household. what's your favourite? - bma (also hi dunno if u remember me)

BESTIE OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU <3 sorry it took me so long to answer you, i had a lllllong day yesterday. this is such a long rambling ask i don't even know if it's what you wanted to know and you are not at ALL obligated to read the whole thing lol but here we go!!!

i actually remembered you asked me a semi-related question one time before which is here and at the time i was thinking of structure as in, like, Acts. acts of the story. and my answer was that i basically don't think about it too hard it usually organizes itself in the outline process. which is still semi true but what i referred to in THIS post (the one that prompted ur ask) which i am so excited about is the Layout Of The Scenes re: whose pov they are from and in what time period they are taking place, especially when you depart from sticking to the close third with one character for the entire fic. which is like BUBBLE BATH LAUGHING WOMAN.mp4!!!!!!!! i don't know if that's the kind of structure you get excited about but i am excited about it

what i mean by that is like. ok so like in anchor my structure was "alternating viewpoints," right, between the two guys i am writing the fic about. EVERY time the scene swapped i swapped povs between character a and character b. i was very very strict about this and even casually kept an eye on my scene length to try and give them the same amount of pov time. (who says you can't have two protagonists!!!) that worked out to both my benefit and detriment near the end of the story when i needed two big things to happen in a row where both scenes needed to be from character b's pov. i struggled with a long time on what to do about it and then figured out a way to slip a breather between them from character a's pov, and then it wound up that the story was actually better that way - not only did we need to calm down from the last thing before we built suspense for the next thing, but it allowed for some character a perspective for the previous scene, in which he was unable to really speak or act to tell us how he felt/what he thought because he was drugged. the structure in anchor was also fun because i got to plan out versions of a specific story that character b, an unreliable narrator, told (both to us and to himself), and in each chapter i had the goal of making the story just a little bit closer to the true version. i have a really good time doing gradual escalation like that (more on that in a minute).

so i really liked that alternating a/b/a/b/a/b etc structure, but it is hard to pull off! i don't know if i could have done it if the fic didn't have those guys be so incredibly isolated for most of the runtime. another structure i did that i really liked was for enter night, which was nonlinear but (for the most part) contained. this DOES involve acts - there were 3 "sections" to this fic. there was 1. everything that happened before sam and dean left bobby's house to protect the seals 2. the actual seal-protecting and then 3. the finale where meg enacted her grand plan. so while the chapters individually had everything happen out of order, we for the most part did not tend to put anything from one "act" in the section of another, except in places where you might put a dramatic flashback or flashforward anyways. (the prologue actually took place near the end of the fic, and near the end there is a flashback to something that happened at the beginning.)

and speaking on gradual escalation i also really enjoyed doing that in how arthur got his groove back. initially i really wanted to do an a/b structure for this one as well but it wasn't working because i didn't WANT to place equal importance on both characters (you will notice there is only One Guy with his name in the goddamn title and it is the one i am unfairly obsessed with). so i threw that out and instead adopted a system where with each chapter, the events of the plot would force arthur peel back one layer of anti-magic bias until he got to the heart of the problem (daddy issues with a side of existential crisis). i got to do other fun stuff in the spaces between that, but each chapter had a very precise goal, and i think the final product wound up being much tidier as a result (than, say, a fic like broken road, which i am proud of but which also had a much looser structure - the only thing that really gradually escalated there was how alarming dean's possession was becoming and it wasn't the Point of the story).

finally the structure i am working on RIGHT NOW for the undisclosed thing is something i am having fun with. instead of one structure for the entire story (it's too big!) i am having fun with a lot of little mini-structures. the story sort of has two halves, and three main pov characters. character a is actually the protagonist in this fandom, but i really also like character b and wanted her to have more screentime even though in this fandom she's usually someone who doesn't show up much, so i did the first chapter, the ENTIRE thing, from her pov. she and character a start the story in separate places, so i completely cut out her pov until they met one another, did an a/b structure for the first chapter they spent together, and then when they went their separate ways i have a character b scene at the start and end of every chapter, until the first half of the story ends.

meanwhile character c gets only TWO pov scenes in the first half of the story (one during her introduction, another during an event in which neither of the other two pov characters can logically be present) because in the first half of the story she is carrying a very big secret, and it's 1. hard to write around that from her own pov and 2. more immersive not to be able to get to know her in this time, since she is playing it all close to her chest. but later, in the second half of the story, after the secret's out, character a is...taken out of commission for awhile, and she gets ALL the pov scenes he might have had during that time, had he not been uh. unavailable. there is ALSO something of a verrry minor teeny tiny timeskip between the two halves, so in the second half of the story i am opening up the povs to include lots of the side characters, and at the start and/or end of every chapter i am using those scenes in a non-linear fashion to 1. explain what happened during the timeskip 2. solve a mystery about where an ancient-yet-advanced people disappeared to (are they dead, did they leave, not just what happened during the timeskip but what happened before the story even began).

to actually answer your question instead of rambling, i think i prefer that a/b structure and/or something nonlinear (never shall the twain meet, most likely, although i did get tempted to try for 12:46pm which is a deancas thing i will write eventually - part of why that's taking so long is that this kind of structuring is something i am struggling with). sorry for rambling so much! i hope at least some of it was a little interesting to you <3

#liz loves writing #anchor #broken road #how arthur got his groove back #undisclosed project tag #liz answers asks #anonymous #brit marling anon #OF COURSE I REMEMBER YOU. how could i possibly forget!!#thank you for giving me an excuse to explain the entire batshit structure of this fic i probably won't even be able to post #it is literally killing me not to be able to talk about it

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photogirl894 · 1 year

Text

"The Flower of the Lanes"

Chapter 4

"A Jinx In the Plan"

An "Arcane" fanfic!

Pairing: Silco x fem OC, Viktor (friendship/platonic)

A/N: Good grief, I am so sorry, everyone for taking so long to get back to this fic! I had a bit of block with this one for a while and I also ended up concentrating more on my other bigger Star Wars fic, so my apologies!

There's a new player in Azaela's game of back and forth! 😜 This one will be interesting, for sure!

Taglist: @darthzero22 , @oneshot-one-kill , @ilikemymendarkandfictional , @tech-deck , @crazytookalady , @ladykatakuri

《 Chapter 3

》 Coming soon!

All chapters

Explanation: After an alluring first encounter with the Eye of Zaun, Azaela can't seem to get him off her mind and returns to the Undercity once more...only to find herself in the company of a young, blue-haired girl instead.

That damn Silco just would not leave her mind!

Since meeting him for the first time, Azaela found her thoughts drifted to him constantly over the following couple days. She was spacing out at the dinner table with her parents to where her mother finally asked if she was paying any attention. Naturally, her excuse was just that she was tired and having trouble focusing.

She'd also received a message from Viktor asking for her to look over some of his notes for another upcoming Hextech project, so she met with him on the bridge between the two cities, where she found him sitting on a bench. He greeted her warmly like always and she sat down beside him as he handed her his notebook. She started to glance at his notes...when the orange and black void of Silco's deformed eye came to the forefront of her mind again. His smooth voice sounded in her ear, repeating the words he had whispered into it:

"It's going to get you into trouble one day."

Why was that haunting her? The man was just so beguiling and she couldn't understand why. After all the signs she'd been given or told, she should be scared of him, but she wasn't. She was fascinated by him and she couldn't fathom why. He was just unlike anyone she'd ever seen or met. He was dangerous yet exciting, scary yet enticing, trouble yet a challenge and fierce yet charming. He was a mystery that she was more than determined to solve.

"Azaela?"

Viktor's voice saying her name broke Azaela's thoughts and her head snapped back into reality as she looked back up at him. He had a puzzled but also concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I asked you a question and you were...quite out of it."

"I--I'm sorry, I was...distracted," she responded.

"Coin for your thoughts?" he inquired.

Azaela really debated on whether or not she should tell Viktor about her recent ventures to the Undercity. More than likely, he wouldn't react well, but at the same time, he was her friend and she trusted him. It would be hard to keep something like this from him for long.

Clearing her throat, she then said to him, "I...I went back to Zaun a few days ago...and I met Silco."

Viktor closed his eyes and sighed quietly. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked rhetorically, shaking his head. Then he followed that up with, "So what happened?"

"It went all right...I think," she answered with uncertainty. "He remembered me and let me speak to him alone. I did something stupid near the end and I left after irritating him, but before that...he seemed almost intrigued. He was surprised at how open I was with my thoughts."

Viktor snickered. "Everyone is usually surprised by that," he countered.

She gave him a small, teasing sneer back. "I know you warned me against him, Vik, but I honestly didn't feel in any danger around him. He didn't want to hurt me. In fact, he gave me a replacement canister for the breathing mask and told me to keep it."

"Does he know you're from Piltover?" he asked.

"Uh...no," she admitted sheepishly. "I'm pretty certain he thinks I'm from the upper levels of Zaun...and I gave him a different name."

Viktor seemed to contemplate that briefly before saying, "Well, that won't matter because you're not going back again, right?"

Azaela averted her eyes and chuckled nervously. "Um...actually...I was hoping to go back and...maybe see him again."

"Z, that's only going to get you into more trouble," he warned.

"I know and yes, I lied to him, but if he knew my real name, then my cover would've been blown immediately and things would've gone differently."

"And how do you expect things to go when he learns the truth?"

"I...I haven't thought that far ahead."

"You never do."

That struck a nerve in her. "Viktor, I know what I'm doing," she spat.

He replied, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

"You didn't know what you were getting into either when you trusted Jayce and his Hextech, but that didn't stop you." she fired back. "You still took the risk, even though you didn't know him or if you could trust him."

Shaking his head, Viktor refuted, "That is not the same thing, Azaela. Jayce, I could tell was a brilliant scientist whose ideas were revolutionary to me. Silco is also a brilliant scientist whose ideas are dangerous and he is a violent criminal. The risk I took with Jayce is far different than any risk you take with Silco because they could all result in you getting hurt or worse."

"I don't doubt he's dangerous," she said, "but I get the feeling he's only dangerous when necessary. I wasn’t in fear for my life when I was in his office. There were a couple times I thought he'd be angry, at least, but he wasn't. I'm just...fascinated by him."

He groaned and put his fingertips to his forehead. "Why couldn't you have been fascinated by Hextech like me?"

Azaela snickered. "My mind works differently than yours, Viktor," she said. She glanced back down at his notes in her lap, skimming back over them. "Though not that much differently to where I can't tell you that your notes look well in order to me." She closed the book and held it out to him. "I think your next project is looking promising. Keep me informed of the progress."

Taking the notebook back begrudgingly, Viktor said back, "Only if you keep me informed of things with Silco. If there is even the slightest hint that you could be in any danger, I want to know."

"I will," she said.

After that, Viktor took up his cane, stood up from the bench, slipped his notebook into a satchel and declared, "I'd best be getting back to the lab. Jayce is expecting me Please, take care, okay?"

She nodded. "You too."

He started to walk forward, but then stopped to lay a hand on her shoulder. They exchanged smiles between good friends and then Viktor went ahead and moved along, leaving Azaela alone on the bridge.

For a moment, she watched him hobble away. One of these days, she hoped that maybe his Hextech would be able to cure his disability and he could walk again. He didn't seem to mind, but she had a feeling that it was still something he thought about in the back of his mind.

Her gaze shifted to the other side of the bridge that led to Zaun. Despite Viktor's warnings, she just couldn't help but feel drawn back to that place.

Back to Silco.

It had already been a couple of days since she'd been back and the pull was getting stronger. She wanted to see more and learn more about the Underground...and Silco, too. No amount of research or technology had ever bewitched her as much as he had.

Though, would he even want to see her again after how their first meeting had ended? He hadn't seemed too happy with her. She could always try apologizing, but would he even care?

"Well...guess there's only one way to find out," she thought to herself.

With a turn on her heel, she walked back in the direction of the Undercity.

Even though she didn't have her cloak with her to conceal her normal attire--which she knew Viktor would be frustrated with her about--she'd at least had a mind to bring the breathing mask with her, knowing she was bound to return to Zaun eventually. She was following Silco's advice and using it as sparingly as possible so she could get acclimated to the Underground atmosphere, though it was a very difficult thing to do. The air quality was incredibly bad, it was a miracle that people lived in it.

Azaela continued winding her way down into Zaun, keeping her head low so as to avoid eye contact with any unsavory characters and to take quick breaths from the breathing mask. It amazed her how quickly the sunlight faded the further down she went, even though it was mid-afternoon. She could tell people were watching her as she walked by, but so far, no one was really paying any mind to her.

Surprisingly, she got down to the Lanes without anything happening. It seemed too easy and she even kept stopping and checking over shoulder, paranoid that maybe she was being followed, but every time she looked, there was no one that could see following her. Eventually, she came around a corner and found a small courtyard in the middle of part of the city block and saw a statue was in the process of being built out of scraps of metal. It looked almost finished, from what she could tell. It was a large man holding a pipe that had embers inside of it standing on top of what looked like a wagon in pieces. Whoever this man was, he had to have been important to Zaun to be memorialized like this. He looked intimidating, but he he had a kind face. A very curious thing. Not wanting to get in the way of the builders, she continued on her way.

"Maybe I should head to the Last Drop now...," she thought on her way out.

However, she'd only been walking a few more minutes when she heard yelling nearby and it seemed to be coming from an alley up ahead. Just as she came to the entrance of the alley, someone slammed right into her with a loud "Oof!" and they both went sprawling to the ground.

"Watch it!" she heard a younger voice say.

When Azaela looked up to see the other person getting to their feet and putting their back to her, she saw it was a young teenage girl, probably around thirteen or fourteen, with two long, blue braids running down her back, ending just below her hips. She was in a black crop top, striped purple pants cut off below the knees, loose boots and long leather gloves on her hands. There was a leather bag slung over her shoulder that was clearly filled to the brim with a few things. On her belt, she had what looked like weird metal contraptions as well as a gold pistol.

"Good luck finding me!" she jeered at the people Azaela could now see coming up the aisle. Then all of a sudden, she pulled one of the contraptions off her belt, pulled something out of it and threw it into the alley. A few seconds later, it exploded in a cloud of pink smoke.

The girl then whipped around and looked down at Azaela. "Come on, let's go!" she said, grabbing Azaela's arm and pulling her up off the ground.

Before Azaela could protest, the girl was pulling her along down a few winding streets before ducking back in another small alley. The girl shoved her into the wall and covered her mouth, shushing her. It was then Azaela realized the girl had big, bright blue doe eyes outlined in heavy black eyeliner, dark painted lips, long bangs that fell over her face as well as blue cloud tattoos along her arms and exposed sides. The two of them stayed pressed up against the wall quietly as they heard voices approaching.

"Where did she go?" one voice demanded.

"Damn it, I think we lost her!" cried another.

There was a frustrated groan. "Can't believe she got away with our stuff! We'll get her eventually."

A minute later, they heard footsteps running off. Whoever was chasing them was gone.

The girl removed her hand and stepped back, snickering and grinning to herself.

"Ha, those suckers!" she said with triumph. Then she glanced at Azaela, looked her up and down and stated, "Sorry I had to drag you along for that. Those guys were the biggest jerks."

Still taken aback by everything that had suddenly happened, Azaela stuttered out, "Uh...n--no, no problem. Why...were you running from them?"

"Oh!" The girl revealed the inside of her bag, showing a bunch of different metal parts, and giggled. "I stole all of these from them. Pretty neat, huh?"

"I suppose so," Azaela replied. "Though, it's also pretty dangerous, too."

The young girl got a mischievous look on her face as she flashed a toothy grin and stated excitedly, "I know. That's what makes it so fun!"

To Azaela, this girl was incredibly peculiar. Though, knowing where she was, she wasn't all that surprised to have come across someone who found stealing fun.

The girl looked her over, put a hand on her hip and said, "Don't think I've seen you before. What's your name?"

"Zaeli," she responded. "Who are you?"

Gesturing to herself with her thumb, the girl said back, "The name's Jinx."

"And what are you doing with all of those parts you stole, Jinx?"

"I make things with them. I'm pretty big into gadgetry and stuff like that."

"Is that so? How interesting."

Jinx gave her a grin and inquired, "You wanna come with me and see what I'm working on?"

Zaeli was a bit taken aback at such an offer from this young girl that she'd only just met. Jinx certainly seemed very open and friendly, which was a change from just about everyone else she'd seen in the Undercity, sort of apart from Silco.

"Uh...sure," she answered hesitantly. "Though, why, may I ask? You only just met me."

With a shrug, Jinx just said, "I don't know. You seem cool and you're the first person who didn't yell at me for running into them."

As she listened to Jinx's answer, Zaeli took notice of the young teen's eyes. There was a sadness in them that it seemed that she was trying to hide with her words. Zaeli figured out the meaning behind it almost right away. While she believed Jinx's answer was truthful, there was more to it.

The young girl was lonely.

Something about this realization made Zaeli suspect that Jinx probably didn't have many friends, which tugged at her heartstrings. While there was a bit of an age difference between them, it appeared as though Jinx didn't care. She just wanted some company and wanted to share her gadgetry with someone. Zaeli didn't think she could say "no" to that.

"I think you're cool, too, Jinx, and I'd love to see your projects," she told her.

Jinx's eyes lit up in response and she clapped her hands with glee. "Oh my gosh, nobody ever wants to see what I work on! This is the best day ever!"

Zaeli chuckled at Jinx's reaction, pleased that she was able to make her smile.

Jinx grabbed her by the wrist and cried out, "Come on, let's get going!" Then she proceeded to pull Zaeli along behind her excitedly.

It didn't take terribly long before Zaeli found herself in what seemed to be an abandoned mining shaft in one of the lower parts of Zaun. Not only that, but the area Jinx led her to was one giant set of flat propellers suspended over a deep chasm, which made her incredibly nervous. Though, Jinx didn't seem to mind as her entire set up was on these propellers. She had a work station near the center and other furniture and decorations spread out on the rest. It seemed as though the girl lived here. Personally, Zaeli couldn't imagine ever living in a space like this, but then again, there were plenty in Zaun that she was sure weren't lucky enough to even have a small apartment or house. There were still many that lived on the streets or in improvised spaces like this. If Jinx seemed comfortable here, then she supposed that was all that mattered.

As they were walking in, Jinx informed her, "Just a heads up: my old man's also probably coming by here soon. Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I can get out of your hair before he shows up," Zaeli replied.

With a dismissive wave, Jinx said, "No, you don't need to do that!" Then she got excited again as she added, "You should stay and you can meet him!"

Zaeli chuckled. "Sure, all right."

That being said, Jinx jogged over to her work station and gestured to a large metal contraption laying on the ground that had a couple metal tubes sticking out of it.

"I'm making my own rotary cannon," she told Zaeli. "It isn't done yet, but that's what I needed the parts for."

That was definitely not what Zaeli was expecting to hear was one is Jinx's projects. "Wow...that's quite an undertaking," she commented.

"Oh, I know," she groaned. "You won't believe how long I've been working on it."

Out of curiosity, Zaeli started walking around the work station to the other side of the giant propeller, wanting to see the rest of Jinx's area, as Jinx was explaining how she was building her cannon. It was such a peculiar place with a bit of a chaotic aesthetic. Seemed to fit the young girl well.

A few seconds later, she then heard Jinx call out, "Hey, old man! You got here quicker than I thought."

"Hello, Jinx."

The voice that responded to Jinx on the other side of the propeller was one that made Zaeli freeze up. She recognized it and it was the last voice she thought she would hear there.

"Oh shit...!" she thought in a panic.

Then Jinx exclaimed, "I have a new friend I want you to meet!" Before Zaeli could protest, Jinx came around from the other side, grabbed her arm and yanked her forward excitedly. They moved around the propeller and Zaeli found herself once again face to face with Silco. He didn't have as shocked of a reaction as she expected. His eyes widened ever so slightly, but he kept a still demeanor in his face.

"Zaeli," he simply said in greeting.

She bowed her head nervously. "Silco," she replied.

Puzzled, Jinx looked between them. "What? You didn't tell me you already knew each other!" she stated.

"I didn't know he was your dad," Zaeli said in defense.

"That and we only just met a couple of days ago," Silco added.

"Well, at least we can skip the introductions, then. Those are always so awkward," droned Jinx. Then all of a sudden, her eyes went huge and she cried out, "Ooh, I need to get some drinks! Don't you guys go anywhere! Be right back!"

Before either Silco or Zaeli could say anything, Jinx darted off somewhere, they weren't sure where, leaving the two of them alone. Zaeli was unsure of what to say and just stood there, awkwardly holding her arm.

Finally, Silco broke the silence, stating "What a surprise to find you here."

"You're surprised? I just found out you have a kid and it's that blue-haired spitfire who I just came across on the street!" she said back in disbelief.

He hummed in agreement. "An apt description of Jinx," he said, looking back in the direction Jinx had run off.

Feeling as though she was now intruding, she suggested, "I can leave if you'd rather not have me here."

Turning back to her, he asked in response, "Did I give any indication that I wanted you to leave?"

"Well, no, but...this is time I'm sure you want with your daughter and our last meeting didn't exactly end on the best note, so I thought--"

"It was an unfortunate misunderstanding, one we can both leave behind us. Do you agree?"

That wasn't the response she was anticipating. She thought after how she'd left things in his office before that he wouldn't want her around, but he didn't seem to think too badly of her because of that incident. That at least brought her a sense of relief.

"I guess I do," she said back, a small hint of a smile on her face.

Silco simply nodded in return.

"Now that I know he has a kid, this would explain the chalk drawings I saw in his office," she thought in her head. Then she spoke out loud, moving back to the previous conversation, "Jinx is quite the character. Probably the most charismatic and outgoing person I've ever met."

"That, she is," he agreed.

"With her firecracker attitude, I assume she takes after her mother," she said, starting to feel more comfortable with the situation.

However, he said back to her, "There is no mother."

"Oh damn it!" she inwardly cursed, now thinking she'd messed up yet again.

Though, he went on to explain, "She isn't my daughter by birth. I found her and adopted her a few years ago."

"I see. Ugh, I'm sorry. Me and my big mouth again," she said, embarrassed once again.

"You're not the first to make that assumption," he simply assured her, seemingly unbothered.

She slightly shrugged her shoulders. "That makes me feel a bit better, I suppose."

All of a sudden, Jinx reappeared between the two of them, having dropped from somewhere above them and making them jump back. "What makes you feel better?" she questioned, handing the two of them cups of something.

Taking the cup from Jinx, Silco lightly chided her, "A conversation between two adults is not any of your business, Jinx."

The young teen scrunched her face at him and whined, "I'm almost an adult!"

Unfazed by her whining, he just took a sip and said in reply, "You still have a few years."

"Ah, whatever. You're no fun," she droned. Then she whipped around to Zaeli and asked with begging puppy eyes, "Zaeli, will you tell me?"

"Nope. Not if your dad says otherwise," she countered, not even taking a chance at going against Silco.

Jinx rolled her eyes and let her head fall back, frustrated. "Ugh, you’re supposed to be my friend!"

After taking a drink, Zaeli replied to her, "Who says I can't be both your friend and his?"

Zaeli glanced at Silco and saw he had a bit of a taken aback look on his face. She supposed he hadn't expected her to refer to him as a "friend".

Jinx bobbed her head back and forth in contemplation before rambling off, "I guess I can live with that. Though, most of my dad's friends don't like me. Then again, a lot of them aren't girls. I mean, there's Sevika, but she's a miserable troll and she definitely doesn't like me, so she doesn't count. It's nice to meet another girl who isn't incompetent."

"Jinx...!" Silco scolded her with a warning tone of voice.

Hoping to move past that little snag, Zaeli told Jinx, "I don't have a lot of girl friends either."

"Well then, you and me, Zaeli! We gotta stick together!" declared Jinx, nudging Zaeli with her shoulder.

Chuckling, Zaeli told her, "Sure thing, kid. Though, I really should go. I don't want to impose on your guys' time and I should get home."

"Oh, all right...! Promise you'll come visit me soon?" Jinx held up her pinky to Zaeli, a serious look in her face.

Zaeli hooked her pinky with Jinx's and said, "I promise."

Then she was surprised by Silco stepping forward and stating, "I'll walk you out."

Though she hadn't expected such a gentlemanly move from him, she wasn't going to refuse, so she gave him a bow of her head, waved one last time to Jinx and then walked out of Jinx's hideout with Silco in tow.

As they made their way down the tunnel back to the lift that brought them to Jinx's hideout, Zaeli commented to Silco, "I suppose I should make sure it's all right with you first if I can spend any time with Jinx."

He answered nonchalantly, "She is free to do whatever she wants as long as it doesn't interfere with my work or involve me getting her out of trouble."

"And how often does that happen?" she asked.

With a small groan, he told her, shaking his head, "More than I care to admit."

She snickered. "I would imagine."

Almost a minute later, they could see the lift up ahead and Silco said to her, "I had wondered if you would return to the Last Drop after last time."

Zaeli looked down as they walked, a nervous pit forming in her stomach. "I won't deny, I certainly thought about it," she admitted to him. "I figured I might make a better impression this time instead of coming in and immediately passing out in the doorway. I was considering going there before I ran into Jinx." As she said this, they reached the lift and she pulled the gate to it open.

"Do you still wish to?" he inquired.

She shrugged. "Maybe." Then she stepped inside the lift, but then halted when she heard him say behind her:

"Then come back to the club tonight."

Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to burst it open at the Eye of Zaun's statement. He wanted her to come back to the Last Drop, even after last time. She supposed that maybe their last encounter hadn't really irked him as much as she thought after all. As anxious as she was, though, she had to play it cool in her response.

Turning back to face him, she smirked at him and asked in reply, "Is the infamous Eye of Zaun extending me an invitation?"

He frowned slightly. "With that attitude, I may just withdraw it."

"Oh, what a pity," she said, feigning disappointment. Then she grinned and stated, "I'll be there. Give me about four hours."

Silco folded his arms across his chest. "Three," he countered.

Zaeli raised her eyebrows challengingly. "Three and a half."

His nose turned up at her and his eyes narrowed, seemingly weighing his options as he surveyed her, before he finally responded, "Very well. Until then."

Satisfied, she closed the gate in front of her, pressed the button to activate the lift, gave a small wave to the Eye of Zaun and said, peeking at him through the bars, "See you soon, Silco."

He watched as the lift raised up until it disappeared from view with the peculiar lavender-haired woman inside. There was something about her that he still couldn't quite place. Any other time, he would've never invited a random woman he barely met to his office. He wasn't that quick to trust. Then this woman...Zaeli...something about her was different and somehow, it intrigued him. That and he couldn't deny, he was moved by how much Jinx seemed to like her, even after barely meeting her. That was definitely a contributing factor to it all.

Soon, he made it back to Jinx's room in the cavern and she was sitting cross-legged on her desk, her head propped in her hands and grinning deviously from ear to ear.

"Ooh, did you just ask Zaeli on a date?" she asked eagerly.

Supposing Jinx had followed them somehow and overheard the conversation, Silco cast her a warning look and clarified, "It is not a date, Jinx."

However, Jinx wasn't convinced and she let out a laugh. "You invited her back to the club and I assume you're both just going to be alone in your office. Sure sounds like a date to me," she teased.

"It'll just be two acquaintances having drinks and conversation. Nothing more," he told her.

She narrowed her eyes and smirked, still not buying it. "Mmm-hmm, sure, whatever you say." She pushed off of her desk, put her hand behind her back and said as she walked up to him, rocking back and forth, "She is pretty, though."

"Enough of that," he stated sternly.

Jinx simply giggled, wagged a finger at him and replied in a sing-song voice, "You didn't deny it!"

Silco rolled his eyes and was about to lecture her, but she quickly changed the subject by taking his hand, pulling her to her desk and stating that she wanted to show him her newest project. He relented easily enough and paid close attention to what she said as she went on. Jinx held a lot of influence over him that sometimes he feared it would end up being his own undoing.

He would spend a little time with Jinx and then return to the Last Drop to prepare for his rendezvous with Zaeli...which, deep down, he had to admit he was actually looking forward to.

#arcane #silco #silco arcane #silco fanfic #silco x oc fic #flower of the lanes fanfic

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