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jekde04 · 3 years

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There’s Something About Juvia

For Gruvia Week 2021: Day 1 - Beguile

Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Pairing: Gruvia (Gray Fullbuster & Juvia Lockser)

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Genre: Romance/Humor/Friendship

Word Count: 1,562 words

Summary: His memories were still hazy at best, but Gray swore that damn potion did something weird to him. (Based on the aftermath of Episode 50, "Special Request: Watch Out for the Guy You Like!")

You may also read it on FanFiction.net and AO3! Check out my master list for other Gruvia fics.

Seriously, what did that woman do to him?

His memories of the incident were still hazy at best, only pieced together by bits and pieces he heard from his guildmates.

Apparently, Juvia unwittingly used a potion that made rivals out of each other. He ended up facing off with Happy of all people – err, cats. That probably explained why he kept seeing different versions of a terrified Happy in his mind.

But what he didn't understand was while everyone else stayed inside the guildhall (hence its dilapidated state), he ended up all the way to Galuna Island, where he finally came to his senses.

Just what the hell happened to him?

The door to Master Makarov's office closed with a thud, and Gray watched Juvia as she made her way to one of the guild's tables, eyes guilt-ridden and downcast. It didn't seem that bad, though, as he saw the Master wave her off with a grin on his face as if he were more amused than mortified of the whole situation. That was a big deal, considering that any form of guild renovation angers the tight-pursed old man.

And he wasn't the only one who seemed to be uncharacteristically taking things in stride. He watched Cana as she sat beside the water mage, draping an arm over her shoulders (the other wrapped around a keg, what else?) and whispering something that made the blunette turn bright pink. On Juvia's other side sat Erza, who pressed the timid girl close to her breastplate in what appeared to be a bone-crushing hug.

Gray scoffed at the unfairness of it all. If it were him or Natsu who destroyed the guild, Erza wouldn't be that merciful. He shivered as he imagined all the scary things she would've done to them.

But everything was back to normal now – all the damages repaired and the effects of that damn potion having worn off. At least, for most of them.

Gray couldn't say the same thing for himself because truth be told, there was a funny feeling at the pit of his stomach that would show up now and then. Though he didn't remember much about what happened, that feeling often surfaced with the memory of floating in the warm sea, the rays of the sun hitting his face...

... and a blushing Juvia cradling him in her arms, a soft, almost loving look shining in her dark blue eyes.

The thought of it made blood rush to his cheeks. If he didn't know any better...

Something clicked in his mind.

A love potion.

But no, she wouldn't dare.

... Would she?

Gray sighed audibly, raking his hands over his face. Ever so slightly, he snuck a peek at Juvia and saw her still uncomfortably sandwiched between Cana and Erza, both of whom looked to be teasing her about something.

Sure, she hung out with him a lot, but it was no big deal. She was still quite new to the guild, and he was one of the first ones she met, though the circumstances could have been better. Still, he was probably one of the few people she easily grew accustomed to, as he had gone with her on missions until she got used to being part of Fairy Tail.

In other words, they were friends. And friends did not give love potions to each other. Besides, why would he be the only one affected when almost the entire guild took that potion?

He dismissed the ridiculous thought.

Gray hadn't realized he had been staring at Juvia for quite a while until she looked up and locked eyes with him. He quickly looked away, but the sight of those big doe eyes brought back a rush of fragmented memories that made something in his chest flutter.

Juvia holding him in her arms. Juvia looking affectionately at him. Juvia's voice calling his name.

Really, what the hell was wrong with him?

"Gray-sama?"

He was so distracted that he hadn't noticed Juvia come up to him. She seemed to be a little on edge, her hands clasped tightly in front of her and her eyes looking everywhere but him.

But if there were anyone who could finally answer all those goddamn questions running through his mind, it would be her.

Gray cleared his throat. "Hey, Juvia. That was some wild potion stuff you did, huh," he said, followed by a tiny smirk.

It was meant to be a joke, but the way Juvia flinched as if burned made him immediately regret what he said. Honestly, he was just trying to make small talk! He really had a knack for making things awkward.

He was about to say sorry when Juvia beat him to it. "Juvia's sorry, Gray-sama! She didn't mean to cause so much trouble. She didn't know it would affect everyone that way!"

Her eyes started to water, and Gray felt panic rising in his throat. He could not deal with crying girls, let alone Juvia, who had the ability to flood the guild with her tears.

He quickly shook his head and said, "Hey now, don't worry about it! Worse things have happened here. And no one's blaming you for anything, see?" He gestured towards their guildmates, each one minding their own business as if the guild were not in total shambles just the day before.

Juvia looked around her, then returned her eyes to him. She didn't seem pacified at all. "But you're not mad at Juvia, are you?"

Gray's lips curved into a tiny smile. "Why would I be mad?" It amused him how Juvia looked more concerned about his opinion than the rest of their guildmates. It even filled him with a certain pride that she would have such high regard for his feelings.

Plus, she really looked cute with that bit of crease on her brow and that tiny tremble on her lips.

Wait, what?

Gray narrowed his eyes. "Unless... you did something different with me?" After all, he still didn't have the tiniest idea how he ended up on an island, for goodness' sake.

Juvia looked taken aback. A blush bloomed on her pale cheeks as she started to fiddle with the hem of her top. "Umm, well, Juvia... sort of made you drink the whole potion."

"What?!" Gray asked incredulously. Well, that definitely answered how he made it to Galuna Island. And why he kept on seeing the image of Juvia holding him in her arms. "But why did you do that?"

Juvia quickly turned as red as a tomato. "U-uh... Ju-Juvia... Uhm..."

Suddenly, it all made sense. Why Juvia was always so shy around him. Why she spent a lot of time with him. Why she always invited him on missions. And why she made him gulp a whole potion and not someone else.

A smirk crossed his face. "Oh, I know now."

"Y-you do?" He didn't know it was possible, but Juvia's face got even redder. He was definitely spot on.

"It's because..."

Juvia gulped.

"... you want me to be your rival! Right, Juvia?"

He grinned at her. Juvia might look sweet and innocent, but he would never forget the fact that behind that timid exterior lies a badass mage. Not only had he struggled to battle against her before, but he also fought beside her several times during missions, giving him a pretty good idea of how strong and awesome she really was. He felt a sense of pride swell within him that such a powerful and accomplished mage would choose him to be her rival.

"Err... does Gray-sama want Juvia to be her rival?" she asked him. He chuckled at how she looked so unsure of herself.

Gray was about to answer, "Of course!" but stopped himself. Yes, he was honored that Juvia wanted him to be her rival, but...

"Well, I was thinking more of partners, you know," Gray started. "Don't get me wrong, Juvia. I think you'd be a great rival, but our powers are so alike, so it might be a better idea if we team up instead of –"

Gray wasn't able to finish what he was saying as an ecstatic Juvia suddenly lunged at him and wrapped her arms around his torso. He froze at the sudden contact as he was not expecting such a reaction from her.

Juvia looked up at him and asked, "Gray-sama really wants Juvia to be his partner?" Her eyes were so bright, it looked like a ray of sunlight cracking open a piece of blue sky.

That funny feeling stirred in his stomach again.

"Why not?"

Juvia let out a squeal, hugging him tighter. He wondered how this sometimes shy, always excitable girl could be the same gloomy rain woman he first met months ago. Though he didn't have anything against the past Juvia, he decided that he liked this version better.

Even if she was squeezing the heck out of him.

"Uh, Juvia, could you –?" he asked as he tried to push her away. She relented, smoothed her dress over, and gave him a sweet, loving smile.

There goes that weird, fluttery feeling again.

At that moment, Gray concluded two things: One, that those odd stirrings were probably due to his potion overdose. And two, that they were going to fade over time.

He had never been so wrong in his life.

A/N: I entered the Gruvia fandom during the 100YQ, so it’s challenging to write Gray not yet having strong feelings for Juvia. But their wild ride from enemies to lovers is what endeared me to them the most, so hopefully I get more inspiration to write fics encapsulating their journey. I hope I somehow captured their early friendship here (and Juvia’s little crush on Gray, obvious to everyone except him, lol).

#gruvia week #gruvia #gruvia fanfic #gruvia fanfiction #Gray X Juvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #fairy tail

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bluenet13 · 3 years

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I'll Be There for You

The morning after the fire, an exhausted and bruised TK and Carlos find their family and friends have already taken steps to help them recover from their devastating loss.

Links: ff.net - AO3

Rousing slowly from a deep sleep, Carlos sighed in content as he instantly felt TK's arms wrapped protectively around his body. Burrowing further into the embrace, he ran his fingers over his boyfriend's arm as he enjoyed the moment of silence. If the alarm wasn't currently going off, then it must mean they had a day off, and Carlos smiled to himself already thinking of the best ways to spend their free time. Maybe they could go to the farmer's market, or take a walk at Zilker Park, or they could just stay at home and spend the whole day tangled together on the couch. All good possibilities, and even better when they all included TK close to him.

But then various sounds caught Carlos' attention, rhythmic beeping, voices he didn't recognize, doors slamming shut; all noises that didn't fit into their bedroom. And with his sense of hearing also came smell. Taking it all in, Carlos' frowned when he didn't easily recognize TK's distinct body wash that always clung to their sheets, but the smell of smoke mixed with antiseptic, neither of which belonged in their home. Opening his eyes, Carlos' frown deepened as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. And suddenly a trapped door seemed to have opened below him and Carlos was falling. The memories of the days before overtaking him with such force that his breathing caught in his throat. Gasping for breath, Carlos' eyes went wide as he was assaulted by a coughing fit. All the memories and pain from the last two days returning to the forefront of his mind, and an empty feeling setting deep in his stomach as realization hit him all at once; he had fought with TK, then their home had gone up in flames.

"Carlos?" TK's asked, voice slurred and still laced with sleep and tiredness. "Are you okay?"

At any other moment Carlos would have felt guilty for waking up his boyfriend but right now he was panicking too much to really care. He tried to answer but only air escaped his parted lips, so instead he shook his head, desperate to let the other man know that he wasn't okay.

"Carlos?" TK asked again, carefully disentangling his body from Carlos' and turning around, his own eyes now going wide as he took in his boyfriend's look. "Carlos, babe, breathe. Everything is okay, we're okay." Paramedic mode instantly took over as TK grabbed Carlos' hand and placed it over his heart, hoping the beat would ground him. "Try to match my breathing. Please." Taking in deliberate slow breaths, TK locked eyes with Carlos, his other hand moving to his wrist to take in his pulse, even when there was a perfectly capable machine located to their right who could have told him that information. But TK needed the physical reassurance more than anything.

"That's good, Carlos. Just breath, slow and easy," TK continued to instruct as Carlos' breaths finally began to even out. And at that moment he could only be grateful that neither of them was currently hooked up to a heart monitor or the entirety of the hospital would have been descending on their room right about now. "Here, just breath." Grabbing the oxygen mask that he had been wearing the night before, TK set it over Carlos' mouth before moving his hand further up to Carlos' messy curls, and running his fingers through them, the motion usually able to put his boyfriend at ease.

"Sorry," Carlos mumbled as soon as he was able to take in a normal breath again, his cheeks looking slightly pink and his eyes cast downward.

Nodding, TK leaned forward and kissed Carlos' forehead, giving him a few extra seconds to compose himself.

"What happened?" TK asked eventually.

"I sort of had a panic attack?" Carlos offered not-so-helpfully.

Fighting the instinct to roll his eyes, TK just nodded again. "I figured as much, but why? For how long had it been going on before I woke up?"

"I, uhm, I…" Carlos struggled to find words, his lips parting a few times but only little, nervous exhales coming out.

"Take your time, I'm right here." TK continued to run his fingers through Carlos' hair, his other hand still holding Carlos' over his chest.

"I just woke up, and thought it was a day off. You know, the alarm wasn't on, so it only made sense. But then I remembered everything, the fight, the fire. And -"

"And it all became too much," TK finished for him, "it's alright, babe. But you're okay, we're okay."

"Are we?" Carlos asked softly.

"We are. We're still together and that's all that matters right now, we can worry about the rest later," TK said, not an ounce of doubt in his tone or mind. "Let me call for a nurse so someone can check you out."

"I don't need a nurse, I'm okay," Carlos interjected, his eyes still looking a bit disoriented but his breathing finally back to normal.

"Okay," TK easily agreed, "but we still need a nurse if we want to get out of here." Both TK and Carlos knew they didn't really need to spend the night at the hospital, the oxygen mask sure helped, but there was a reason they weren't hooked to many machines. Their injuries had been mild and they could have gone home after the doctor gave them a clean bill of health. But they had no home to go to, and everyone at the hospital knew that, and knew them, so someone must have decided to take pity on the pair and insisted they spend the night. But there were real patients that needed the room, and TK and Carlos didn't want to inconvenience anyone more than absolutely necessary.

"Yeah," Carlos said softly, briefly remembering his previous thought of spending the night at home tangled in the couch with TK, and he chuckled sadly. They didn't have a couch or home to go to.

TK noticed, but decided to let him be for now, and instead turned around to press the call bottom for a nurse. And soon enough someone was checking them over one final time before bringing in discharge papers and letting them leave, but not before what seemed like every single medical professional in that floor, stopped by their room to wish them their best and apologize for what had happened to them. Not that it was anyone's fault, but most people here knew the officer and firefighter turned paramedic, and were fond of the pair and not-so-secretly rooted for their relationship. It didn't surprise them -it was the sort of thing that came with the territory, both their jobs sending them to the hospital often, to drop or interrogate a patient, or with injuries of their own- but it did warm their hearts.

Walking into the waiting room, Carlos and TK were greeted by Owen, Gabriel and Andrea standing by the nurse's station, no doubt waiting for them.

"My boys." Andrea was the first to speak, only taking one look at the battered pair before she closed the distance and engulfed them both in a hug. "I'm so happy to see you both okay."

"Gracias, mami," Carlos whispered, closing his eyes and letting his mother's comforting presence and touch wash over him.

"How are you two doing?" Andrea asked when they broke the embrace, her eyes soft and pained as she took in their tired faces and slumped shoulders.

"We're alright," Carlos said, his voice timid and doubtful, even as he tried to make himself sound stronger.

"No, you're not, Carlitos. But you will be. And we're all here to help you both." Andrea spoke with the certainty, care and understanding that only a mother could provide, and both Carlos and TK found themselves standing a little straighter upon hearing her words. A little hope blossoming in their chests.

"Thanks, Andrea," TK answered this time, smiling to the woman he hoped was his future mother-in-law.

"Anytime, TK, anytime," Andrea said softly, moving her hand to cup TK's cheek and holding it there for a moment.

During the brief conversation, Owen and Gabriel had continued to stand next to the nurse's station, both looking uncharacteristically quiet and evidently trying to make themselves small. They had accompanied TK and Carlos to the hospital the previous night, Andrea staying in the ranch since Gabriel had driven there straight from work, but the silence between the four had been too charged so they had left early, promising to be back the following morning.

"TK," Owen eventually said, taking a couple of tentative steps forward, his eyes on TK but still looking at Andrea out of the corner of his eye.

"Dad."

"How are you feeling, son?" Owen asked, releasing a nervous breath.

"I'm okay," TK mumbled, still not sure how he felt about his father at the moment. Owen and Billy might have rescued them, but they wouldn't have been in that position if it hadn't been for Owen, Billy, and Gabriel keeping them in the dark, and taking too long to understand Raymond's threat. Painful detail which they had learned the night before when they asked Judd how they had gotten to the condo so quickly.

"Ready to go home?" Owen wondered.

"I -" TK hesitated, turning sideways to look at Carlos, and finding a blank look on his face. And TK wasn't sure if it was due to his earlier panic attack or because he was also having conflicting emotions seeing Owen and Gabriel again.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Owen added quickly, deflating a little but his tone was even and calm.

"You should come with us to the ranch," Andrea offered, "I can prepare some soup for you, or anything else that your heart desires."

"Or to any of your friends' houses. You know they all offered," Gabriel pointed out, speaking for the first time, then wincing as soon as Andrea glared at him. "I'm just reminding them, vieja. No need to shoot daggers out of those beautiful eyes."

"Don't try to flirt with me right now, Gabriel Reyes," Andrea hissed. "You know that's never a good thing when you have made me this angry."

"What's going on?" Carlos asked, joining the conversation again after noticing how both fathers flinched at her words.

"Oh, your father knows, Carlitos. Nothing for you or TK to worry about. I already had a nice, long talk with Gabriel and Owen about what happened in this case, and they both know this isn't over." Andrea's tone was sweet, but her eyes were a storm of emotion, and all the thunder and lighting in it would be directed to the Ranger and Fire Captain in due time. "But, it's your choice boys. You can stay wherever you prefer," she added, well knowing Carlos and TK would be staying together in whatever place they picked, no way they were going their separate ways to each of their parent's houses.

At a sort of standstill, Carlos and TK turned to each other, easily communicating with their eyes as they both nodded silently. "We will stay at your place, dad," TK said softly, hating to be in this situation in the first place, having only moved into his new home less than three weeks ago.

"For now we just want to be closer to the city. We want to start looking for a new place soon, and I assume they're also going to want our statements," Carlos explained quickly, not liking the sad look that overtook his mother's eyes.

"There's time for that, mijo. Just focus on getting better now," Gabriel said, still hanging back and clearly avoiding his wife's gaze. Then he shook his head, and swallowed a few times, seemingly bracing himself. "I'm sorry for what happened Carlos. You too, TK. We're not proud of what we did, we just hope you can forgive us. Next time, if there's a next time, we will include you guys and not let you in the dark."

"Thank you, sir," Carlos said, his tone clipped, not really believing his father's words, and thinking that there would definitely be a next time because Owen and Gabriel seemed to have become a team of their own. "As for the statements, we'd rather just be done with it and put what happened between us as much as we can, so it's better to stay close. But we will head to the ranch this weekend," he added, looking directly at his mom as he finished.

Andrea perked up at that, her eyes regaining their spark. "That's great to hear, Carlitos. Anything special you want me to prepare for you?"

Carlos took a few minutes to mentally run over all of his mother's recipes, a small smile gracing his lips when he finally settled on one. "Chilaquiles? TK tried them at a restaurant a few weeks ago, and really liked them, but I keep telling him that yours are the best."

For a moment Andrea looked horrified that Carlos took TK to eat one of her signature dishes at a restaurant instead of asking her to make them, but remembering what they just went through, she decided to cut her son some slack. "Chilaquiles, it is," she said with a smile that was so much like Carlos' that it almost made TK's heart burst.

"Pero bajo en picante, por favor," Carlos whispered, trying to casually point at TK who just glared at him.

Andrea chuckled, but nodded. "Don't worry, boys. I know our white boy isn't yet used to the Reyes' level of heat."

"Thank you," TK said shily, trying not to look as embarrassed as he felt, especially because he was more than used to that level, just not necessarily in the kitchen.

"No need, my sweet boy," Andrea said, patting TK's cheek again, before turning to her son, who had a big smile on his face because this level of love and interaction between his parents and his boyfriend was a dream come true. "Now, go. You had a long night and need to rest. Nos vemos el Viernes, mi corazón."

"Te amo, mami, gracias," Carlos moved forward and hugged his mother one last time, taking a moment to share a look with his dad who was still standing behind the group. He loved his father, and he knew he would forgive him eventually, soon actually, but his deception still hurt. Especially when it had caused a fight with his boyfriend and then almost cost them their lives. So he deserved some time to process his feelings.

When mother and son parted, Carlos moved to TK and held his hand, fingers instantly being intertwined, before they followed Owen towards the parking lot.

"Owen, you will take care of the boys, right?" Andrea asked with a pointed look, as she got into her husband's truck.

"I will, promise." Owen swallowed roughly, shifting uncomfortably under Andrea's unforgiving stare. Then turned to look at his friend, already sitting in the driver's seat, and shot him a sympathetic look. Gabriel would have it much worse than him as he was going home with the enraged mother. But he knew they would both be in the doghouse for the foreseeable future. And if he was honest with himself, Owen knew they deserved nothing less for being stupid enough to put a case over their sons.

-x-x-x-

Reaching Owen's house, Carlos and TK got out of the car and sadly walked to the front door. Both of them finding it hard to believe that the clothes they wore, and whatever they had left on their lockers at work, were their only material possessions at the moment.

"I already prepared TK's old room," Owen started as he moved to open the door, "but if there's anything missing or anything you want, please let me know."

"That's Mateo's room now, dad," TK said quickly, not wanting to take his friend's room for the second time in three nights.

"Nonsense, TK. That will always be your room," Owen pointed out, "besides, you know how many guest rooms we have. And Mateo was happy to move to one of those and finally have a place to make his own."

"He could have made the other one his own, dad, this is only tempo-" TK's words cut short as soon as the front door opened and his eyes landed on the many bags and boxes occupying his dad's living room. "What's all this?"

"This is all for you, boys," Owen said with a big smile on his face, his arms wide open as he pointed to the room.

"This is too much, Captain Strand, you didn't have to. We can't accept this," Carlos rambled, eyes wide as he took in the sight in front of him.

"I didn't, Officer Reyes. Everyone did," Owen explained proudly, his heart bursting with love because the team that he had put took together not even two years ago had really become a family, always ready to help each other. And whether that was after a shooting, concussion, falling off a bridge, or a house fire, didn't matter; they were just always there for each other. "And call me Owen."

"What do you mean everyone, dad?" TK asked, his expression a lot like Carlos', eyes full of surprise and joy even when some treacherous tears pricked at the corners.

"I mean everyone, TK. That box over there is from Judd and Grace," Owen began, pointing to a different box or bag as his explanation continued. "Paul brought those two bags with Marjan. Those three are from your parents, Carlos. And that big one is from your precinct, Mitchell and your sergeant dropped it off. Nancy and Tommy brought that box on the table, and Mateo bought some groceries he's sure you both like. Those are already on the fridge or kitchen counter."

Carlos and TK looked at each other, both at a complete loss for words. Tears not flowed freely down their faces as they leaned towards each other for a chaste kiss.

"And I got you this," Owen added, grabbing a plain cardboard box with a bow and giving it to TK, "for now. I ordered other things, but they're on the way and should be delivered sometime later this week."

Grabbing the box, TK had a heartbreaking sense of déjà vu as he remembered moving into Carlos' condo a few weeks ago and his dad handing him a similar box. Déjà vu quickly became reality when he opened the box to find another box inside, one for a new blender still in its original packaging.

"It's not Marlon," Owen began, taking a step closer to his son and putting his hand on his shoulder, "but you can name this one together. And I just wanted this to be the first kitchen appliance for your new home." Owen's voice broke at the end, and he had to blink his eyes a few times.

Setting the box on the ground, TK turned to his dad and threw himself into his arms, much like he had done that day back in NY when he OD. His shoulders then started shaking as all the emotions from the last days came pouring out of him. "When we got to the condo I thought we had lost you both, there was just so much fire and smoke already," Owen began softly, his eyes darkening as he remembered the brief moment when it felt like his heart had stopped beating as he came face to face with the inferno that had become his son's home. "I never wanted any of my decisions to trickle down to you, but it happened, TK, and I hate that I can't do anything about it now. My actions cost you and Carlos your home, and I'm just so very sorry." Opening one of his arms, Owen turned to the officer who was standing rooted in place looking at them, his own eyes clouded with tears. "Come here, Carlos."

Not needing to be asked twice, Carlos moved forward and hugged Owen too, his other arm going over TK's back. Not at home, but finally at a place where he felt safe and comforted, so he allowed his tears to fall once again.

When the three men finally broke the embrace, Owen turned to look at the man he hoped was his future son-in-law. "I also need to apologize to you, Carlos. That was your home before you ever opened it to my TK, and I'm sorry my actions took that away from you."

"It's okay, Owen," Carlos said, letting out a little chuckle as Owen smiled widely, and extending his arm to TK and pulling him towards his body, before kissing his temple. "The most important part that made that condo a home is still here with me, so I'm sure we can make another place our home. It will be hard, but we have help," he continued, pointing to all the things their friends had gotten for them. "And, I think my mom already laid into you and my dad because of what happened, so we should cut you guys some slack." Breathing slowly in and out, Carlos made a point to remember those words on Friday night so he could forgive his father too.

"She sure did, Andrea Reyes is a very scary woman, especially when her baby boy is involved," Owen said, laughing as Carlos' cheeks gained some color, "But you're very lucky to have such a strong and loving mother in your corner. You both are. At one point I wondered who was TK's parent because of how fiercely she spoke about you." TK let out a little, nervous chuckle after hearing those words, and his face turned a nice shade of red, but he said nothing.

Silence quickly overtook the room after Owen suggested the boys take a look at the items left for them, TK quickly squealing excitedly as he opened a box to find at least 7 hoodies, all in different colors, and all in his exact size, and various printed button downs with different patterns ranging from Hawaiian to colorful stripes, and dots, which must have been picked out by Marjan or Nancy. And Carlos quickly joined in TK's delight as soon as he looked into a bag from Paul to find a variety of polos and t-shirts, all in various shades of blue, dark green, grey and a couple black ones, along with some sleeveless gym shirts and some shorts. Finally, moving together to a box marked 'From Judd' in black Sharpie, they both frowned taking in its weight. Opening it, TK dropped his hands to his sides, and Carlos' eyes went a shade darker, as they took in the two fire extinguishers stashed inside.

"That one came with a note," Owen called from behind, handing them a small piece of paper.

'One for the kitchen, and one for the bedroom. We're glad you're both okay. PS: Offer still stands to come stay with us if your parents start driving you crazy. Just give me a call or shoot a text. Or even just show up at the door.'

"He must have heard us," TK whispered, choosing to focus on that inconsequential fact than over the enormity of that and this moment.

"Yeah," Carlos said, voice equally low. "I'm still sorry that -"

"Stop," TK interrupted before Carlos could get another word in. "No more apologies, we both already did, and now it's time to move forward." They had talked about it the previous night and both apologized, even when TK knew he was the only one that really needed to be forgiven.

Carlos nodded, grasping TK's hand and pulling him towards the boxes from his parents and coworkers. "Wow." Was his only response as soon as they began opening them, finding a new video game console along with games and an additional controller, various books, some of which were Carlos' favorites, along with new towels, and a couple of sheets for the bed.

"Everyone left receipts too," Owen pointed out, handing them a stash of paper. "Just in case there's something you'd rather exchange."

Taking in the receipts, TK shared a thought that had just occurred to him. "Dad, it's not even noon, and the fire happened last night. When did everyone have time to drop all this?"

"Oh, I'm not exactly sure, but I think the first knock on the door was at 7:30."

"Wow," TK exclaimed now, echoing his boyfriend's comment from a moment ago. "They didn't have to," TK added more to himself than anyone else.

"They didn't" Owen agreed, "but of course they would, you two are family to everyone that came to drop something. And you would have done the same for any and all of them."

"We would," TK and Carlos said in unison, sharing a smile, and then a more passionate kiss as they turned to look at each other.

"And that's my cue to leave." Owen chuckled to himself, already halfway to the kitchen. "I will be here making lunch, you boys just take it easy and relax. But don't be surprised if there's a knock or two on the door, I know a lot of people want to make sure you're both really okay."

Carlos and TK spent the next few hours opening all the boxes and bags, finding more clothes and other personal items, among other things, but true to Owen's words, they were interrupted every half hour or so by someone knocking on the door wanting to see how they were doing. At the end of the day, Carlos and TK not only had a lot of new items under their possession, but a fridge and kitchen counter full of dishes their friends had brought so they didn't have to waste time cooking and instead focused on their hunt for a new home.

"This one seems nice, the complex has a pool and gym," Carlos said later that night, when they had retreated to their room after eating dinner with Owen and Mateo. "What are you doing?" He turned around to show his phone's screen to TK with his newest Zillow discovery and snickered when he saw TK standing in front of the mirror

"Just trying on some of the new outfits," TK replied with the first sincere smile Carlos had seen in the last days, "need to pick something nice to wear to dinner with your parents on Friday." TK and Carlos had spent most of the afternoon thanking people in person or over the phone for their kindness, but now more than ever TK felt infinitely grateful for the gesture and the distraction and hope it had provided. It seemed that when the world was determined to show them how dark it could get, their friends were there to shine their light upon them.

"I like this one," Carlos said, holding a blue and white button down to TK, before turning back to his phone and continuing to browse the app after bookmarking his latest find.

TK nodded and grabbed the shirt, picking an outfit for Carlos to try and throwing it to him with no words but a little smirk on his face.

Not being able to deny his boyfriend anything, Carlos set his phone on the bedside table, and joined TK in front of the mirror. Taking off his shirt so he could try the one TK had selected for him.

TK's eyes darkened as he took in his boyfriend's body and he had to bite his bottom lip to stop it from quivering. "On second thought, I like you better that way," he whispered, taking back the shirt and throwing it onto a chair. Moving his hands to Carlos' hips, he began to run his fingers over every inch of exposed skin. Their lips colliding a second later.

"I can go to the ranch naked, I don't think my mother would approve," Carlos breathed against TK's lips when they parted for breath.

"We can continue playing dress-up tomorrow, but you can be naked for me tonight," TK croaked, his hand on Carlos' wrist as he pulled him towards the bed. "We need to finish what got interrupted yesterday."

"Your dad and Mateo are here," Carlos hissed, but still followed.

"They can just wear headphones," TK said with a smug grin, "besides, they insisted we stay here. What did they think would happen after surviving that fire yesterday? I doubt they thought we would go for a run or the gym to release all this pent-up energy and emotions."

Carlos and TK had survived the fire the night before and today their parents and friends' actions had warmed their hearts, but now it was time to create some heat of their own.

#911 lone star fanfiction #911 lone star #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #owen strand #reyes family #126 crew #coda 2x12 #The Big Heat

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i-rely-on-you · 3 years

Note

44!!!!!!!

Thank you so much dear!

This is the 50 Ways To Say “I Love You” thingy so here you go @faytalepsy

My ask box for those is still open in case anyone is interested and you can find this prompt list here 50 Ways To Say “I Love You”

You don’t have to pretend with me

He found her sitting at her desk on this late September evening, still working on grading papers. Hunched over forms, an uncharacteristic hand to her forehead seemingly worried.

He had come to check up on her as he had taken to doing since she had come back from the dead.

It was hard for him to be parted from her for more than a couple hours at a time and he knew she felt the same.

After she had come back and they had fought off Rosalind he had been adamant about not leaving her side, fearing their old mentor could come back to finish the job should he not have his fairy within reaching distance at all times.

He had clung to her like his life depended on it when she had started breathing again after they had dug her up. Soil and vines of the surrounding flowers still clinging to her.

He had carried her inside their school and up to her quarters and taken off her clothes, helped her shower and put her to bed, keeping vigil over her until she had woken up again several hours later.

Her sleep muddled brain still in the throes of a nightmare of being trapped underground had not been able to discern dream state from the real world until he had slid into bed beside her, holding her to him tightly. He had soothed her gently, whispering sweet nothings and reassurances into her ear until she had fallen asleep again.

Seeing her like this now, agitated him. She looked stressed and almost frail. A look he didn’t like seeing on his fairy at all.

Looking up from her work upon hearing him enter she gave him a small smile. It was a genuine smile but strained nonetheless making it seem almost fake if he hadn’t known her better.

Quickly closing the door behind him Saul strutted into the room, a concerned expression marring his features.

“Farah what is it? Are you alright?” The questions tumbled from his lips without pause as he came to a halt by her side.

Reaching for her upon coming to a standstill right next to where she was sitting he laid a hand on her shoulder, the other grasping her hand delicately.

Leaning back a little in her chair the headmistress looked at the forms in front of her again, a big sigh escaping her lips.

“It’s nothing, really.” Casting a warm glance up at him she closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. Fixing him with a deep meaningful stare. ”I’m fine.”

Not believing her for a second the soldier stooped down a little and crouched next to her to be more at eye level with her.

Sliding his hand to the crook of her elbow now he murmured softly, “What is it?”

Shaking her head the woman sighed again before loosening his hold on her hand. Letting her face fall into both of her palms dejectedly she let out another sigh.

This worried the man greatly and he wound his arm around her back and took hold of her upper arm gently, his fingers encircling her biceps. Angling himself so as to see her more clearly he tried again. “Talk to me love, what’s wrong?” But the fairy just shook her head once more.

Letting go of her back and arm Saul began to scoot back the chair in a way that she was facing him now and not the desk anymore. He then loosened her hold on her own face as gently as he could taking in her sorrow stricken face and the frown marring her beautiful lips.

She had her eyes closed as he took in her features.

Laying his hand on her cheek softly he made her look down at him with the words, “Hey, look at me.”, to which she obliged instantly.

Her soulful deep brown eyes were pooling with unshed tears and it made his heart stop for a second.

Taking all his willpower not to bundle her up and flee the realm all together right this second the soldier murmured instead, “Come on now, Farah. You don’t have to pretend with me, you know that. Tell me.”

Biting her lip momentarily she looked at him and whispered, “I’m worried, Saul.”

Now it was his turn to shake his head as he frowned up at her, clearly not understanding.

Yes, they hadn’t defeated Rosalind completely and she was still out there but they were careful and had doubled their efforts to keep unwelcome guests from passing through the barrier. He had seen to it himself to have guards patrolling the building at all times.

But they also knew how powerful Rosalind really was and that scared the soldier too. More than he would like to admit.

Standing up tall again he chanced a glance outside the window half expecting to see their tormentor standing at the edge of the training grounds looking up at him mockingly. But of course there was no one there.

Turning back around to look at the headmistress again he wondered, “Did you see something? Was anything amiss today? Has something happened that made you believe something might be off?” He knew when to trust her instincts, as they had rarely ever been wrong. So he contemplated the possibilities that could have spooked her so while letting his eyes scan the training field again.

Her voice shook him out of his observations gently.

“No, nothing was amiss. It’s just-…”, her voice trailed off slightly as if unsure how to proceed.

“I’m just so worried for the children, Saul.”

This he understood. They were under an extreme amount of pressure caring for all of these lives every single day, keeping them safe and away from harm. He instantly knew where she was coming from with this.

“I would not be able to look myself in the eyes again if something happened to one of my pupils. I am so afraid she’ll come back and do something terrible to them like she did to us.” Halting as her words grew more shaky with each syllable passing her lips the fairy closed her eyes again in shame.

Seeing her like this, all worried and frightened made his heart ache in his chest.

Feeling the need to be close to her again he took the half a step towards her and enclosed her in his embrace.

Her arms settled around his lower hips snugly and her head came to rest on the spot between his chest and belly. Pressing her face into the material of his jumper the mind fairy breathed in deeply as if for the first time today, treasuring the smell of him.

Sauls arm snaked around her shoulders and his other hand came to rest on the back of her head where he began to rub soothing circles into her loosely braided hair.

That was also something that had changed with Rosalinds attempt on her life. It seemed like almost losing her life had made her lose her grasp on this stern persona she had crafted so meticulously over the years of being headmistress.

Her trademark hairdos pinning the golden brown locks high on top of her head had given to a more delicate style now.

She had taken to wearing her hair in less strict but no less intricate hairstyles these past few weeks and he liked the look on her. It made her appear softer and slightly more approachable which the students had taken as an open invitation to get closer to her after she had come back.

Hugs had become a daily occurrence now.

Students seeking out guidance in the middle of the hall and after a quick chat grabbing her around the middle gently and letting go just as quickly, throwing her a timid smile in thanks and vanishing off to where they needed to go next.

The first time it happened had been almost comical to say the least but she had taken it in stride and learned to cherish those moments.

The student body was different now. They appreciated her more with each day passing and each and every single one of the pupils made sure that she was well taken care of at all times throughout the day.

Be it juice boxes left at her desk before class had even begun or an apple sitting on top of her books intended for the lesson. It could be a muffin waiting for her on her desk in her office or pupils holding doors for her and accompanying her to her next lecture.

The students made sure to take care of this second chance they had been given with her. Of having their beloved headmistress back.

It was always rather simple things really. But they were greatly appreciated and didn’t go unnoticed by Saul. He was grateful for all these children being there for her.

Rubbing at the base of her neck and sinking his hands into her hair more fully now he massaged her scalp gently, all the while being mindful of the few pins holding the strands up.

He drew her nearer slightly before craning his neck down to whisper to her softly, “We will get through this Farah.”

He knew it was futile to be making silly and unwarranted promises because he knew some things were just out of his control but he could promise her one thing.

Letting his arm drag across her back gently and holding her to him tightly he vowed to her, “We will bring an end to this. She has caused us so much misery for way too many years and she will pay for what she has done to you, I promise you that.”

Feeling her nod into his belly and grasping onto his jumper more forcefully now he promised her one last thing.

“And I will not part from you ever again until my dying breath. This I swear to you.”

He had been given a second chance too, he knew. And he would make damn sure to make this one count.

He heard her sniffle slightly before pulling away from him a fraction to be able to look up at him. Her eyes shone brightly, tears still clinging to her lashes but her face was clear and open.

Her hopeful look had him smile in return and lean down to press the softest of kisses to her forehead. Lingering there for just a minute breathing her in, he relished in the feeling of her warm and soft skin.

They stood like this for a while, never relinquishing the hold on the other. For how long they stood there they didn’t know. And it didn’t matter.

It was Saul who broke away from her first.

Taking in her sleepy look he held out his hand for her to take and pulled her to her feet slowly but surely.

“How about something to eat? I’m famished.”

This made the woman giggle, a sound he would never tire of hearing for as long as he lived he was sure.

“You are always famished Saul.”

Pulling her around the desk he stopped by the coat hanger and helped her into her jacket, making sure to pull her hair out of her collar as he did so.

“Ah yes, that may be true. And you know what really helps with that? Spaghetti!”

The laughter this pulled from her lips made the specialist practically beam with pride at being able to make her forget the world around them even if only for a little while.

Pulling her into his side he began leading her out of the room and into the hallway all the while keeping a firm grip on her side.

To any other person it might’ve seemed possessive the way he was holding her to him but to her it was heaven. She felt safe in his embrace, surrounded by his scent and warmth. His strong arms banding around her, encasing her and holding her close.

“Is it because it’s the only thing you can actually cook without burning down the kitchen?”

Chuckling at her jest he looked down at her and found her gaze seeking out his, her face glowing with mirth.

Positively beaming now he gave back, “Maybe? Are you complaining?”

Shaking her head she whispered a soft ‘no’ before letting her head fall to his shoulder gently. A small sigh of contentment accompanied the movement as she let him lead her through the narrow hallways and dark corridors of their beloved Alfea.

There was nothing they couldn’t get through together she believed that now.

Always had, really.

Because they weren’t just ordinary people. They were Farah Dowling and Saul Silva. A fairy and her specialist. A powerful unit and a force to be reckoned with.

And as long as they were together, they would be fine.

They would just have to make sure to hold onto each other tightly.

Nothing easier than that.

-fin

Thank you so much for reading ☺️ I hope you like it. Be sure to leave a comment to let me know what you think 🥰 kudos is also greatly appreciated ♥️

Find me on ao3

#farah dowling #saul silva #silrah #fate the winx saga #fate winx saga #fanfic #ao3 #farah dowling x saul silva #farahs hair #bring back farah dowling 2k22 #farah dowling supremacy #farah is taking a nap

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abject-chaos · 3 years

Text

I’ve decided to use chapter titles for now so this chapter is called Chapter 2: Bad Faith

@silvermun This is once again sooner than I anticipated, but enjoy! I’ll reveal the story title in the next chapter! HYPE!!!

As soon as the trio reached the castle a servant was sent to fetch Merlina. As the boy scuttled off Sonic walked briskly through the winding corridor that led to his private study. During his year as king, the spacious yet cluttered office had fallen into disuse as Sonic preferred to perform his duties among the court rather than sit cooped up in a room all day, leading to every inch of the office being covered in a fine layer of dust. Cobwebs clustered in every corner and the lone oak desk at the back of the room was piled high with old paperwork and books. Sonic rushed into the room, disturbing the once-settled dust particles, sending them flying through the musty air causing a dull cloud to form. He took a seat behind the desk, his face nearly blocked from view by the sturdy wall of volumes in front of him.

Sonic looked contemplative as he glared at the spine of the topmost tome: The Dictionary. “Not that I’m not thrilled you’re here-” he began, clearly addressing Shadow with his words rather than his eyes.

“Oh, this should be good,” Shadow grumbled, crossing his arms stiffly across his chest.

“But why and how did you get here exactly?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that I fell through a portal and ended up face down in a field somewhere.”

Sonic snorted softly earning an irritated grunt from Shadow and a brief chuckle from Lance.

Before Sonic could ask any more fruitless questions, Merlina appeared in the doorway sporting a nervous look on her face. “You have need of me, Sire?” she asked, uncharacteristically timid. She seemed to notice Shadow just then and eyed him warily for an instant. Sonic noticed this and nodded sagely, motioning for her to come in. She did so and closed the door behind her.

“Is there something you want to say first?” he asked, fully aware of how uncomfortable she was in Shadow’s presence.

Lancelot and Shadow eyed her curiously. Merlina sighed, knowing she couldn’t avoid the conversation. Lancelot leaned against the wall behind Sonic as the witch began to speak, feeling suddenly very protective of the king. Ever since Merlina’s attack on the kingdom, he was taken to avoiding her whenever he could. Sonic, however, did not share his sentiment. “I’m sure you’re all wondering the same thing,” she said, glancing at Shadow then returning her gaze to her hands as she took a seat on the untended leather couch at the lefthand side of the room. “I’m afraid I have some answers.”

“What do you mean you are ‘afraid’?” Lancelot spoke before anybody else had the chance to comment on the wording.

Melina sighed, straightening her posture and looking directly into the king’s eyes. “I had a dream last night… a vision.” At the unexpected news, Sonic sat forward in his chair and moved the pile of books off the desk so that he could see the witch more clearly. Lancelot pushed off from the wall and uncrossed his arms, a rare moment of vulnerable curiosity. “Destruction, ruin, the kingdom razed to the ground. Then I heard a voice telling me that it could be avoided.”

“A voice?” Shadow repeated.

“Yes.”

“And who was the voice? Who spoke to you?” Lancelot inquired.

Merlina paused briefly, gathering her thoughts. “Kilgharrah. An ancient dragon my grandfather spoke of. He said in order to stop the assured destruction of Camelot we would need a saviour from another realm.”

“Okay, but why me?”

“Why not you? You are the ultimate life form.”

“How did you-”

“I have transdimensional knowledge across space and time. I know all who live, all who have lived and all who will ever live. And I know you have the capability to end this senseless destruction.” Shadow seemed caught off-guard for a moment before he schooled his features to remain neutral and unphased. “Sire, I admit I brought him here-” Merlina declared, turning back to address Sonic, “-but I only want what is best for the kingdom. The fact of the matter is that I should have sent you back to your realm sooner for if I had this may have been avoided. But the prophecy is already in motion and because that is so we must act. Please, Sire.”

Sonic was speechless for a moment, though he forcefully shook himself out of his daze and looked at Shadow. The other was turned away from him, glaring at the ground. Sonic ventured to wonder if he was okay with this. “You are excused, Merlina,” he said, still focused on the other standing a little ways from the corner. The witch nodded once then turned to exit, leaving the trio alone. “You too, Lance.”

Lancelot looked like he wanted to argue, but he merely bowed his head and followed Merlina out the door.

Sonic waited until he was certain the others were out of earshot before he spoke. “Are you okay with this?” No answer. “Shadow?” Still no answer. Sonic opened his mouth to ask for a third time before a soft voice stopped him.

“Why did you stay?”

Sonic was confused. “What?”

“If you knew you could go back why did you stay?” Shadow asked, his voice dangerously slow.

“How could I just leave?” Sonic said unhesitatingly, though his voice held a nervous undertone. “These people needed me. Was I just supposed to desert them without a king?”

“Yes, Sonic!” The sudden outburst caught Sonic by surprise and he jumped. “You don’t belong here. How do you not get that? You left behind everyone who ever cared about you to prance around some fairytale land and pretend to be a king? If I hadn’t shown up out of the blue would I have ever seen you again-”

“Yes! Yes, I would have come back-” Sonic desperately proclaimed.

“When? When would you have come back?” A crazed, exasperated laugh passed Shadow��s lips. “You’ve been here for a year. If the thought hadn’t crossed your mind by now it never would have and you know that!”

“That’s not true!”

“Do you even care about the people back home that miss you?” Shadow said and Sonic halted in his speech. “About Tails? About Amy, Knuckles- do you care about me?! I missed you, I was worried, and with no way to contact you for all I knew you could have been dead!”

“I’m not dead, Shad! It was only a week-”

“Not for you! You had no idea that time wouldn’t line up the same way. You had no idea that you didn’t leave us for over a year!” Having gotten that out of his system, crimson eyes glistening with unshed tears, Shadow tried to catch his breath. Sonic could see now how much he hurt his friends, how much he hurt Shadow.

“Shadow, I’m sorry,” Sonic said, reaching out to touch his friend’s shoulder but Shadow simply moved away. A look of betrayal crossed over his face corresponding with the painful sadness that laced the king’s eyes.

“No, I don’t think you are.” Shadow pushed past the smallest feeling of apprehension before he bolted for the door.

“Shadow, wait!”

Sonic knew he could have caught up to him, but he let him go. There was no use going after him when he was like this. It would only push him further away, but as night crawled closer and closer and the sun began to set he started to grow worried.

“I’m getting worried,” Sonic said truthfully as he paced across the width of the throne room, Lancelot and Merlina sitting idly on the dais, having watched the king’s constant marching for over an hour. Merlina was leaning lazily against her palm, animating small images out of the fire in the lit braziers while Lance sat respectfully upright. “I know he doesn’t want me around right now and he can take care of himself, but he doesn’t know where he is or where he’s going and-”

“We understand, Sonic, but if he’s anything like you described he’ll be just fine,” Lancelot reassured, still looking slightly concerned; for his counterpart or for the king Sonic didn’t know.

Sonic stopped his obsessive strides to consider the knight’s words, though the moment was short-lived as he only picked up his pace, much to the annoyance of his company. “Listen, it’s been hours and he hasn’t come back. I know he doesn’t need my help, but I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right, that he’s in some sort of trouble.” He paused once again, the gears in his head turning. Lancelot leaned forward, eager to hear the king’s next words. “I’m going to look for him.”

“What?” Merlina uttered in surprise, the fire puppets dissipating as she straightened.

“He might be in danger and I’m not going to leave him out there alone. I have to go, if only just to check on him.”

“Sire, wait-”

“You can’t stop me, Lance,” Sonic exclaimed as he began marching to the wide mahogany doors of the throne room.

“I wasn’t trying to,” Lance said as he grabbed a hold of Sonic’s shoulder. “I’m coming with you.” The king smiled warmly at the gesture and placed his own gloved hand on the knight’s gauntlet.

“Me too,” Merlina declared, causing the pair to look at her as she strode towards them. “If your instincts hold any merit you might need someone with magic.”

With the help of his capable friends, the king of Camelot began his search for Shadow under the cover of moonlight.

#chapter 2 #bad faith #fanfiction

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arigatouiris · 5 years

Text

Catching Feelings — Connor [01]

Pairing: Deviant! Connor x Reader

Word Count: 3035

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, clumsy!reader, timid!reader (not for long)

Author’s Note: Thank you for coming back to me about the prologue! It does feel nice to know what readers think of your work, it helps so much more than you guys know. Thanks for each and everyone of you for getting back to me. Also, there is a tad bit slow progression but it’ll be worth the wait. I hope ya’ll like this!

Also, those who want to be on the taglist, just send me an ask~

Summary: He finally understood why she reminded him of Sumo.

C h a p t e r One: Cute

○

When there was no case to work on, Connor felt existentialism hit him the hardest.

For most of their time, Connor and Hank remained on the desk—filling out reports and details of previous cases. Connor had no idea why they still needed to be done manually, in the age of androids, but perhaps there had to be a reason. He could fill them out diligently, with Hank complaining for the most part, and not get distracted one bit. However, there was something that changed on that specific day.

Connor’s hands froze when he heard it, he was certain that almost everyone in the office heard it as well. Turning sharply to his right, he observed quietly, feeling an emotion he hadn’t quite understood yet.

“Ah, he’s at it again,” Hank’s voice alerted Connor, but didn’t make him move a muscle, “Poor kid.”

Gavin’s newest teammate was an intern, (y/n) (l/n). Because they were no longer allowed androids to do menial tasks like bring coffee, submit papers, run absolutely stupid errands, it was back to how it used to be before Cyberlife—making the interns do it.

As an intern, (y/n) knew she had no choice but to listen, but on some days, Gavin made it a bit too hard.

He threw the stack of files on the desk and Connor noticed (y/n) flinch.

“What kind of fuckall arranging is this?” Gavin screamed at the top of his voice, while (y/n) earned the sympathy of almost everyone in the station.

But, there was nothing anyone can do. Connor tightened his fist uncharacteristically, something Hank noticed, but paid no mind to. Hank turned to his partner and sighed.

“We have to leave it alone, son.”

“Her cortisol levels are really high.” Connor said, still looking at her.

Hank turned to the intern and observed how frightened she looked, however, there sat a helpless grin on her face. Hank’s heart went out to her, knowing how hard it must be interning in a police station like this one, and let alone working under someone like Gavin served the cream of the situation.

“She’s going to have a panic attack if those levels remain that high.” Connor’s voice was low when he said this, but Hank picked it up nonetheless.

He knew he couldn’t involve himself or meddle, but there was something else he could do. Turning to Connor, he grinned before nodding once, confusing the android.

“Seems to me that you may have a plan, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t make it sound like a mission, Connor, Jesus,” Hank blinked before shaking his head, “Let’s take her out for lunch. Make her feel better about working here. Show her that the station’s not filled with a bunch of assholes.”

Just when Connor was about to say something, Hank put his hand up.

“Don’t even comment on my choice of words, you idiot. I’ll shoot you in the center of the head again.”

Connor’s eyes widened comically, “That’ll definitely kill me this time.”

Hank chuckled.

A moment after Gavin had yelled at (y/n), she carried all the files she had ‘mismanaged’ and rushed to the cafeteria. Her face was red from the embarrassment of having been yelled at by Gavin in front of the whole station, but she was sure that she’d gulp it down like the several other times it happened. She didn’t really have too many friends in the station, except the cafeteria android who was perhaps the only nice soul she had the fortune of meeting since arriving there, a week ago.

She sometimes ran into Connor in the cafeteria, where he sometimes got coffee for his partner, Hank. (y/n) wondered if Hank treated Connor like an android, especially since they were free now, but it was always Connor who was sent to get someone else’s coffee. She wondered if Connor was deviant, which was a stupid thing to wonder since now almost every android was deviant.

She hated the word. Her grip on her pen tightened when she thought about it.

“Your cortisol levels are normal again. You’re very good at calming down.”

(y/n) jumped with a yelp and turned to face the voice that was coming from behind her. Her eyes were wide, and she noticed Connor standing behind her with an awkward smile on his face. She tilted her head a bit before narrowing her eyes at him.

“Connor,” She gulped, “What are you doing?”

Connor blinked, straightening the smile on his face, (now it looked worse because it was forced), “I was told that smiling at someone helps bring up their mood.”

“Yeah, but you’re scaring me.”

Connor’s smile died a second later. He looked confused.

“Wasn’t I smiling?”

(y/n) chuckled before shaking her head, “Forced smiles make you look like a psychopath.”

His eyes widened and the LED by the side of his head blinked a pale yellow. He nodded once before facing her with a deadpan.

“I take it that forcing emotions out is a bad thing to do?”

(y/n) nodded before fiddling with her fingers, “Well, not that I’m an expert in emotions or the talk of emotions, just that, forcing anything is kind of… unnatural, right?”

“But, you’re forcing herself with Lieutenant Reed, aren’t you?”

(y/n)’s eyes widened, “Y-Yeah, I mean… Jobs are different.”

“Fascinating.”

(y/n) looked at Connor standing behind her and gestured him to sit by the table where she was seated. Connor nodded once before accompanying her, knowing fully well that he was wasting time. However, for some reason, he wanted to sit there, looking at her, observing her movements, wondering if her magnificent dysfunctional behaviour would pop up again.

“I don’t understand what he wants me to do with these files.” (y/n) frowned before grumbling.

“Did he specify a way he wanted these arranged?” Connor asked, perkily.

“He said ‘make it easier for me’. I really don’t know what that means. I can’t read his mind!” (y/n) said, scrunching her face.

Connor immediately thought of Sumo and wondered why each time she did something, he’d be reminded of the dog. Maybe, there was a similarity in their behaviours, there was something that stood out in both Sumo and (y/n) that could be compared.

Connor leaned forward and checked the files, just as (y/n) read a couple of others. There were close to twenty five of them, all stacked up in alphabetical order.

“Perhaps, Lieutenant Reeds wants them stacked in accordance to the nature of the crime.” Connor offered, before his hands rushed to the files, wanting to stack them up for her.

However, (y/n) slapped his hand away, causing his eyes to widen. She was glaring at him, but it seemed a tad bit different from when Hank would glare at him. Hank looked like he actually wanted Connor to drop dead, but (y/n) looked… different. Her lips were puckered out and her frown didn’t look intimidating.

“You’re not gonna do my work for me, Connor. I won’t let you.”

His eyes widened at that second. He retreated his hand, ignoring the need to apologise to her. However, it confused him. Wasn’t it second nature for human beings to have androids work and do their work for them? Shouldn’t it be easier for (y/n) to simply let Connor do her work and avoid her getting into trouble? Why was she resisting?

It didn’t make sense.

“I could help you.” Connor said, staring at her face.

She shrugged and waved her hand in an eccentric fashion. “I know, I know. I know for a fact that you’ll do better than me, too. Far better. But this was assigned to me and you’re not my assistant. I’d feel terrible if I made you do it. Don’t want to burden you with this.”

“But, I want to.”

(y/n) looked up at him and blinked. She shook her head, shot him a kind smile and got back to work. Connor felt his chest warm, it was a feeling of gratefulness, he had understood this feeling when Hank had hugged him the first time.

It was true. Connor wanted to help (y/n) right then, he wanted to ensure that she wouldn’t be yelled at, and appreciated for once. It wasn’t because she was not capable, it seemed like whatever she did wasn’t enough for Gavin, and it brought on more and more anxiety to her.

However, this was perhaps the first time someone had rejected Connor’s advances to help them, only because they didn’t want to be a burden to him.

It was new. This feeling of being treated like a superior and an equal, all at the same time. He could feel his breathing tremble, and he felt an itch to suddenly place his hand on hers and comfort her. Connor couldn’t stop looking at her arrange the files by herself, and he knew even while she was doing it that she was doing it wrong, but everything she did, everything she said, everything she was intrigued Connor in ways he never thought possible.

“Why…” He said, without thinking. “Why are you so kind to me?”

(y/n) blinked and the grip on her pen loosened. She looked up at Connor with a sad expression, wondering if no one had been kind to him before. She was used to people treating androids with a distinct coldness unusual to how people treat each other, and she hoped she would never do the same.

“Why not?”

Perhaps, answering his question with a question left a weird taste in her mouth. But, she had simply assured Connor that there was no agenda behind her kindness. He wanted to ask her so many things but he had no clue how to ask them. He straightened his posture and placed his hands on the table, before leaning forward.

“You’re doing this wrong.”

He heard her groan and Connor chuckled once before looking at her face. She looked like she was concentrating, popping her tongue out just a bit, her eyes narrowed in intense concentration. Once again, he thought of Sumo, but he had no idea why.

“Are you sure you do not need help?” He couldn’t understand the growing need to help her; he couldn’t understand why this need was so strong.

“Um…” Connor blinked and straightened himself once again, preparing for her to give in and just let him help her. “Can you just maybe tell me instead of doing it? A pointer, perhaps.”

He chuckled before reaching out to take the file she was holding. Just as he reached out, she brought the file forward, which made his hands clash with hers. Connor’s LED turned yellow immediately, before he back-tracked his hands, and stared at her as if she had done something wrong. The action was so quick, it startled her, (y/n) looked at Connor like she had once again poured hot coffee on him.

“I’m sorry! Did I… Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“I’m not sure what you did. I’m not sure if you even did anything. I apologise for the sudden reaction. I wasn’t expecting… that.”

She wasn’t sure what that was, but it had made Connor react in a weird way. She placed the file on the table and turned to him with an innocent glance, and offered a soft smile. Connor smiled back before picking up the file.

“These aren’t meant to be arranged alphabetically, Miss (l/n). You can perhaps arrange them in accordance to the nature of crime. Here are crimes committed by younger offenders, and these are by androids. These are—”

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Connor’s LED now flashed a bright red, before his eyes shot up to Gavin who was standing by the entrance to the cafeteria. (y/n) pulled the file away from the android before standing up abruptly, her eyes narrowed in fear. Connor noticed her cortisol levels spike up, her hands were shaking and her eyes were tearing up.

“You’re making this piece of fucking plastic to do your work?” Gavin sneered, dangerously.

“I-I’m sorry, Lieutenant Reed, I was just—”

“I told you to do this, intern,” He growled, “I don’t want my work done by a fucking android.”

(y/n) nodded before looking down to the ground. Gavin clicked his tongue before turning on his heel and walking off, right before muttering something under his breath. (y/n) didn’t catch what it was, but Connor sure did.

“This is why I told them I didn’t need a fucking intern.”

It was then he understood something about what he felt for (y/n). He turned to see her slowly sit down, her hands still slightly shaking, and breathing out slowly, trying to calm her nerves. Connor might not understand why he sometimes thought of Sumo when she did something, but he definitely understood what he felt for her.

adjective

1. intended to protect someone or something.

“Miss (l/n),” Connor said, but earned no response from her. He continued, anyway. “Lieutenant Anderson and I were thinking it would be nice to have lunch with you today.”

She chuckled before saying, “You don’t eat, though.”

“Correct. I do not need to eat to function. However, I would find it interesting to communicate with you on an informal basis during lunch. Lieutenant Anderson also—”

“Are you capable of pity, Connor?” She asked, looking up at him curiously.

Connor stopped speaking and looked at her, earnestly.

“It is not pity that I feel, Miss (l/n).”

Perhaps, it was the way he said it that (y/n) felt relieved. She smiled at him once before turning back to the files. Now that he had told her how they needed to be done, she had an idea better than before.

However, just as she gathered the files and stood up, everything she was holding slipped downwards and splattered on the floor. She bit her lip before fighting the urge to curse, and she noticed Connor bend down to pick the files up. Her eyes widened and she bent down, they were both under the table, picking files.

Crouching on the ground, she grabbed the few number of files she could before head-butting Connor by accident. She knew she was clumsy, but it was as if he brought out another level of clumsiness from her.

“I’m sorry—”She said, giggling, before looking up at him.

Connor’s face was inches away from hers, and her eyes widened. She jerked backwards, the top of her head colliding with the table above them, and falling backwards.

Connor reached for her, ignoring the files and saved her from falling backwards. The situation was, as he could term it, embarrassing for her, but he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

There it was, the dysfunctionality that he had missed so much, and as Connor helped her up to a standing position, the files somehow back on the table, he smiled at her warmly. He released her, before she stepped back, her hand flying to the back of her neck, as she smiled sheepishly.

“I’m sorry about that. I’m called butterfingers—”

“Yes, you told me the last time we met. I looked up what ‘butterfingers’ meant, I realise that it is not a kind term.”

(y/n) laughed a bit before saying, “Well, not everything unkind is something rude so… I guess, it’s fine.”

Connor tilted his head, “You seem to have an apprehensive nature to tackle people around you. May I ask why?”

(y/n) looked up at Connor like he had spoken another language. “Well, I just… I don’t want to be rude.”

His hand automatically fled to hers. (y/n) looked down at his hand connecting with hers, and then back at his face. He offered her a kind smile. Strangely, she felt timid in front of him.

“You’re never rude.”

A moment later, she gathered the files and walked away from Connor, after waving a small goodbye to him. Connor walked back to Hank, who was wondering where the android had gone off to, and sat back down on his desk.

“Where were you?”

“I was having a captivating conversation with Miss (l/n) just now. I seem to be… protective to her, Lieutenant. I don’t understand why.”

Hank shrugged before replying, “Maybe because Reed’s being such an asshole to her, and you don’t like it. It’s natural,” Hank paused before looking up at Connor. “It’s natural for humans, but… Connor, do you feel pity?”

“It wasn’t pity that I felt, Lieutenant. I felt ‘pity’ the day we didn’t take Sumo out for a walk because it was raining. He was making a sad face and I felt that emotion. Today I felt something different. I felt protective. I wanted to help her, and I wanted to make sure Lieutenant Reed doesn’t raise his voice at her. She reminds me of Sumo sometimes when she’s being dysfunctional, I can’t seem to place these emotions around in the right place.”

Hank blinked at his partner, wide-eyed. He nodded once before looking at his reports, and then looking back at Connor.

“You say she reminds you of… Sumo?”

Connor nodded. “The first time she met me, she bumped into me and made me spill your coffee on my shirt—”

“So, that explains the stain on your shirt last week. Fucking hell.” Hank muttered to himself.

“And while shaking my hand, she dropped hot water on me as well.”

“Maybe this girl needs to be yelled at.”

Connor gave his partner a threatening look that caused Hank to raise both arms up in the air as defence.

“So, when she did these things you thought of Sumo?”

Connor smiled a bit before leaning back in his seat, “She was apologising to me, Lieutenant. For no fault of her own.”

Hank sighed, “Connor,” He rolled his eyes, “You just think she’s cute.”

As if the realisation hit him, Connor looked away, muttering an ‘oh’ under his breath. His gaze then shifted to (y/n), who was sitting by Gavin’s desk, arranging the files. Her tongue was popped out and her eyes were narrowed in intense concentration. Connor felt it again, the resemblance to Sumo.

Sumo was cute.

“And so is she.” Connor smiled, before nodding to himself.

○

series taglist:

@ggukachuu @rainbowsithlord @pan-puff-pride @tanya-diggory @toocoldoutsideforyou @margaret-mortem @ohhhhhhsweetfandomofmine @pandacookieowo

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fyeahjacquelinecarlyle · 4 years

Text

The Trouble with Ian

Warning: a Jacqueline spoiler for an upcoming episode is mentioned.

Let’s start at the very beginning - as the legend goes, a very good place to start. We only saw Ian Carlyle in a handful of episodes in the first three seasons of The Bold Type, but everything we saw indicated he was a loving, supportive and understanding husband - so understanding, in fact, that, when Jacqueline couldn’t make it to their anniversary dinner due to a work emergency, he brought the anniversary dinner to her. There were never any signs of trouble in paradise, not until season 4 rolled around, that is.

This whole mess started in the premiere episode, Legends of the Fall Issue, with a perfectly innocent game of chess in the Carlyle residence. Ian and Jacqueline appeared to be having a nice and relaxing time together, reminiscing about the day they met when he encouraged his wife to “press pause” for a while on the heels of her losing her job at Scarlet. He then followed that apparently innocuous and selfless statement, which was not well received by Jacqueline (“I’m not really the press-pause type…”) with, “I wouldn’t mind going back to work.” Jacqueline’s surprised reaction told us that was definitely the first she was hearing of it. After the briefest of hesitations, she was encouraging, telling him that he should - go back to work, that is. She had barely gotten the words out when Ian said, “Ok, I’ll put out some feelers,” got up and left the room to do just that.

Looking back, that was a red flag - this wasn’t something that had recently occurred to him, or that he had been thinking about casually. It was something that he had been wanting for a long time, as he wasn’t even willing to properly discuss the subject with his wife before taking action - hell, he wasn’t even willing to continue their game of chess. He literally got up and left to try and get a job. Judging by Jacqueline’s expressions, she was quite taken aback, either by his wish to go back to work (again, it was clearly news to her) or the very eager way he was going about it. Possibly both.

Let’s also consider something else that’s important here. Jacqueline had just lost her job of a decade. A job that meant the world to her. She might not have been crying in a corner but that’s because that’s not Jacqueline Carlyle’s way of dealing - and if anyone would know that other than the audience, it’d be her husband. She was upset enough she was day drinking with her then former employee (tbf, it’s Jane, who’s more than “an employee” to her, but I digress) earlier that day, not to mention upset enough to admit to said employee her first instinct after the news of her ousting had been to brandish a pitchfork and go burn down Safford. While that was an obvious exaggeration, and Jacqueline would never resort to such (literal or metaphorical) extreme measures, it was a clear indication that she was distressed by what had happened. And did we see Ian being there for his wife, comforting her, encouraging her? Nope. Just like we didn’t see him doing any of those things while she was struggling with Patrick’s arrival and the changes happening at Scarlet back in season 3. It took Jane (once again, Tiny Jane to the rescue!) to give Jacqueline the support and encouragement she needed to keep on keeping on at the time.

All of this to say… there’s a limit to how much credit Ian gets here. As much as their life has played out off-screen the majority of the time, we as an audience mostly respond to what we actually see, and Ian being a loving, caring, supporting husband is something that was basically left back in season 1. We acknowledge and accept he’s been home, taking care of the kids, having put his career ambitions in the back burner. He gets full credit for that. But let’s also not forget that was a decision he made in conjunction with his wife years ago, as it was probably the best thing for their family at the time. The current state of affairs wasn’t imposed on him - it was something he helped decide and required his active participation.

Ian feels differently now, as is his right. He wants to go back to work and that is fine. The problem comes when this wish is communicated, acted on and expected to come to fruition in the literal space of a few days, at most (as every fan knows, time goes by sloooowly in the Bold Type verse). To review - Jacqueline working and Ian being a full time “househusband” has been the status quo for the past ten years (and something the audience suddenly learned about this season). Jacqueline loses her job for a day, at most, during which time he tells her he "wouldn't mind" going back to work, manages to get some leads…

… and then Jacqueline gets her job back! She is left scrambling - let’s not forget she’s just been informed Scarlet is going fully digital, something totally new to her and a completely new direction for the magazine. At first, she thinks Patrick will be able to help out and share the load… but then he jumps ship and she is left all alone to tackle this new professional challenge… not to mention a new, unexpected challenge in the home front--

Yes, because what we soon learn is that Jacqueline being back at Scarlet doesn’t make Ian reassess his plans, which go full steam ahead. Jacqueline continues to support her husband and commits her most egregious offense in episode 2, #scarlet, when she (gasp!) is unable to leave the office in the middle of the day to be home for their son’s tutor - which means Ian has to rearrange a meeting about a potential job (and is angry enough about it that he hangs up without saying goodbye). He’s clearly successful in his efforts to “make it work”, however, because, after a Scarlet event, he simply announces to his wife that he not only received but already accepted an offer for a job that will take him halfway across the world… to the Ukraine.

Does Jacqueline protest? Put up a fight? Put her foot down? Nope. We see her accepting his decision and finding ways to make their home and her work life work, as best as she can. We see her arranging her schedule to fit in a bon voyage luncheon to Ian and a Scarlet photo shoot, which happen on the same day.

Throughout this whole episode, we see Ian pulling faces and making snide remarks under his breath, out of earshot of his wife, who appears none the wiser about his feelings - the one exception being when Ian arrives with the boys at the Scarlet photo shoot (they’re to leave for his luncheon after). The next words out of his mouth after “Hi” are “So… ETD?”. Jacqueline, is once again, taken by surprise, this time by her husband being so anxious to leave after he’s just arrived. Everything indicates they attend the luncheon as planned, however, which means that, that day, at least, Jacqueline is able to reconcile her home and work lives, making both RJ and Ian happy…

…or does she?

That night, as Ian is packing for Europe, still sullen faced, an uncharacteristically timid Jacqueline makes a remark about a clearly favorite shirt he’s taking with him and asks if he has plans to “go out” while he’s away… to which Ian says yes, because he’d like to, and I quote, “have fun for a change.”

This is the final straw. Jacqueline, who appears to finally put two and two together, asks Ian, point-blank, how unhappy he is with their marriage. Instead of giving a direct answer, he turns the tables on her, and says, “I think about as unhappy as you… Jacqueline.” She is, once again, taken aback, and silent for a long time. All she manages, by way of reply, is a simple “Right”, and nothing else. He leaves the room.

There’s a lot to unpack here. He got a job, which is exactly what he wanted. Meanwhile, Jacqueline is willing to hold down the fort at home so he can go back to work. Why isn’t he happy? Is it because she wasn’t perfect right out the gate, unable to “share the load” the first time she had to, and he had to shift some things around to make his brand new career plans work with his long-established responsibilities at home? Is it because we were shown how much Jacqueline cares about Scarlet, at times excitedly talking to her husband about the new challenges she was facing and other times venting to him about the issues she was encountering? Is it because she didn’t appear to be sad or upset that he was leaving or ask him to stay…

…

Ding ding ding?

One of the times we saw Ian annoyed and sulking was when Jacqueline was having a good time at the aforementioned photo shoot, demonstrating her abilities at a game of flip cup to the shock and delight of Alex and Andrew. Maybe jealousy is a factor here - jealousy of how much time and energy Jacqueline devotes to the magazine and how she seems to thrive and come alive when she’s working. Maybe Ian feels he comes second to Scarlet and just can’t deal anymore.

In any event, Jacqueline and Ian’s issues appear to extend beyond his employment status. Perhaps the most worrisome part is that Jacqueline appeared, for the most part, oblivious to Ian’s misery. During these first few episodes, we’d see her being very animated and affectionate towards her husband, indicating she was not the one with the problem... he was. And the depth of his anger and frustration indicates he’s been nurturing negative feelings towards his wife for a long time now. Communication clearly is a major issue here, but as the discontent party, it was up to Ian to lay the cards out on the table and let Jacqueline know how he felt. Only then would we have been able to judge her own behavior when it comes to their issues - as it is, it’s hard to put her at fault here.

As far as Ian going back to work, the most glaring issue here is time, which is something he was not willing to give Jacqueline, who was expected to learn about his desire to resume his career, process the information and then adjust her life to make it happen, practically overnight. Such a drastic change in a family’s life should come with planning - not even short-term, but medium to long-term planning. Ian and Jacqueline are such hands-on parents that, years ago, they made the decision that one of them shouldn’t hold a job so they could be there for those kids full time, despite them having more than enough money to hire nannies and tutors to take them off their hands. Now, all of a sudden, he is more than ready to leave for Europe and not even give these children the chance to adapt to their dad suddenly being away. We know Ian was working for Rolling Stone Magazine in the US when he met Jacqueline back in the ’90s. Couldn’t he have gotten his feet wet with a local job first, that would allow him to be home for dinner most nights? It’s not as though he’s looked long and hard closer to home before accepting the Ukraine gig. Not to mention, it’d only be fair to give his wife a couple of months - hell, a couple of weeks - to adjust to her new reality at work before turning her entire life upside down. The man made it a full decade without a job - surely a few more weeks/months would not have killed him.

One can’t help but wonder what is the intended play here. One of the spoilers for season 4 of The Bold Type says Jacqueline will run into someone from her past who’ll “give her clarity about what she wants out of life”. My biggest fear is that these little moments where we witnessed Jacqueline absorbed in her work and Ian unhappy are supposed to make the audience feel bad for the “supportive” and “sacrificing” husband who put his career on hold so his wife could realize her own ambitions, and, as she is about to lose him, she finally comes to the realization that she needs to devote more of her time and attention to him and their family, or be more clear about how much they mean to her. In other words, she’s a thoughtless workaholic who needs to appreciate her hubby more and just… be better, because women can and should have it all, all at once, all of the time.

I swear to God...

Ok, ok, I’m perfectly aware I’m jumping the gun here. We’re only three episodes in, and a lot of water is about to go under that metaphorical bridge. What I described above is basically my worst, nightmare scenario. The dream scenario would be Ian having an open, frank conversation with his wife where he tells her exactly what his problem is. A conversation where he accepts fault for his passive-aggressive behavior and the way he went about going back to work, not including her in his decision making process. And I’m not saying Jacqueline’s perfect here, by any means - if anything she could’ve noticed Ian’s feelings sooner (seriously, how long has he been this pissy?). The reason I’m not nearly as hard on her is that Ian’s sins are so numerous and so egregious it’s very difficult to look past them.

I hope the show explores why Jacqueline has been so oblivious… or would indifferent be a better word? Is she content with the way things are between her and her husband? Does she care more about Scarlet than she does Ian, at the end of the day? If the answer to those questions is ‘yes’, then that’s bad news for their marriage, but all I ask is that the outcome of this storyline be consistent with the behavior of both characters we’ve seen (and continue to see..) on screen. As fans, we want - we crave - consistency. At the end of the day, a story that makes sense and does justice to the characters we know and love means more than one that has a happy ending.

#the bold type #jacqueline carlyle #ian carlyle #jacqueline x ian #jacquian #my thoughts #the bold type spoilers

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roseyturtles · 4 years

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OFF fanfiction? In 2019? It's more likely than you think.

Hey there! I hope you guys are having a good day, because I sure did NOT recently when finishing OFF for the second time. I'm one of those types of people that can endure any amount of angst as long as there's a definitive happy ending, and I was expecting something good to come at the end of the game the first time, so when my patience was spat on and curb kicked I got kinda bitter. Even the Judge's ending was bittersweet to me. I realize that OFF is an artistic stroke of genius and one of the fathers of the Indie Game Age, and it's highly metaphorical on childrens' imaginations and the morality of ending a terminally ill child's suffering before they die of their disease, but I'm a lovesick sap that wants happiness at the ends of my stories.

So instead of complaining any further I decided to take the world and squeeze every last drop of found family I could out of the game. I hope you enjoy my salt-fueled rambling.

“SHUT UP!! SHUT THE EVERLOVING FUCK UP, YOU MORON!!” bellowed Dedan at an Elsen, loud enough that his voice was starting to get scratchy. “YOU FUCKING IDIOTS DON’T KNOW SHIT ABOUT HOW ANYTHING WORKS! THE ONLY REASON--”

“Dedan,” came a soft, willow-whispery voice from somewhere. Those that could hear it cowered ten times more at its presence than even at the voice of the mighty Zone One Guardian.

“---YOU LAZY ASSES GET ANYTHING DONE IS BECAUSE I’M HERE, WHIPPING YOU INTO--”

“Dedan.” The voice repeated, minuscules louder than it was, hoping it would not have to raise its voice to match the volume of the Guardian.

“HARVESTING THE ELEMENTS!! THE NEXT TIME YOU FUCK UP THIS MONUMENTALLY, I’LL SEND YOU DIRECTLY TO THE---”

“DEDAN.” commanded the voice, patience finally worn thin. The tall, skull-faced man finally halted his enraged tyrade, doing so quite suddenly. The air was silent but thick with tension as Dedan slowly, hesitantly, turned around to face the familiar whisper-toned voice. The Elsen around him whimpered with soft, wheezy breaths as the looming presence of Vadar slowly became more and more overbearing.

“M-my queen,” Dedan started with uncharacteristic softness, dropping to one knee immediately afterwards, face flushed in embarrassment at his behavior.

The queen looked around at her other subjects. Though she had no eyes, her gentle yet firm gaze could be felt by everyone in the room just as strongly as if she did. The timid elsen slowly calmed as the silence became less angry and more soothing, and when the queen spoke they were ready to listen without fear.

“At ease,” she commanded simply. “Return to what you were doing before.”

In pairs or trios, the elsen slowly shuffled to their feet and dispelled, and within two minutes the queen was left alone with the still-kneeling Dedan, who began to tremble in fear without his subjects there watching her behavior. What would the stoic queen do with him now? This was the third time this week alone she had caught him in a tempermental rampage.

But the queen was not angry like Dedan, nor saddened like Japhet, nor mad like Enoch. Instead when she spoke to him, her voice held nothing but queenly coldness underlined with compassion.

“Walk with me, my guardian.” It was a command, yes, but equally so was it a suggestion. She began to walk off beyond the smoke mines, into the grazing fields of the cattle. Dedan scrambled to his feet and began to walk with her, trying desperately to hide the thoughts assaulting his mind.

This is it, Dedan thought with fear and sorrow. She’s finally going to revoke my status and fire me. She’s finally going to make me the sad nobody in the shack I was when she met me. The longer these thoughts went on, the more sure he was that it was true, until finally he decided to state them outright.

“I’ll...pack up my things and leave,” he stated with a heaviness to his voice.

The queen, surprised, but not at all taken aback, turned and placed a gentle, open, soft palm on his shoulder.

“Dedan. I am not here to fire you. You are my guardian, and that is a title I cannot so easily revoke,” she stated matter-of-factly. “If I were to fail the transfer of power to another being, what would happen would be worse than any amount of yelling and cursing you could begin to do.”

Dedan, frozen in place, listened to Vadar with an intent face that the elsen never knew. He was curious to know what that meant, but dared not ask any questions while she was speaking.

“Besides. You are not committing any great atrocity. You simply have a temper.”

He finally bowed his head and stated,

“I know, my queen. I am sorry.”

“Have you been doing the exercises I have sent to you through e-mail?” she asked. The files she sent were “relaxing” videos of willowy-voiced women instructing the listener to breathe in and out while quiet instrumental music played in the background. Dedan had tried listening to two or three of them after tyrades similar to this, but found them just as frustrating as the wheezy elsen. In truth, the only voice that could calm him down was the gentle whisper-tones of the queen herself.

After all, she had been there when he was still a nobody in a shack. She had been there when his wrath had no direction or reason, and he destroyed everything in sight on a rampage. She had been there with unearthly calm whispers, unafraid of what he had done.

“No, my queen,” he stated, embarrassed to finally admit it.

“Why?” she asked. It wasn’t an accusation.

“I…” Dedan swallowed hard. “The files. The voices...enrage me.”

The queen nodded slowly, deeply, expecting as much in her wisdom.

“I see. Then we will need to attempt something else.” The queen turned to leave Dedan’s presence, but he whipped around equally as quick, instincts screaming to stop her.

“VA-” He cut himself off before he could finish the name. This did, however, give the queen enough pause to listen to her guardian’s desires. The guardian could not look at her face at all. “...my queen. I. I wish to spend more time with you, my queen.”

Beneath the stoic surface of politeness and regulations, Vadar’s heart melted at the confession. This was part of why she had chosen him to be guardian in the first place. His wrath was not reasonless; it came from a place of caring for himself, his people, the rules, everything, and his mind didn’t know how to handle that other than the output he was giving. She turned back around and placed both palms on both shoulders again, a grounding move for when he was in fear.

“Then we shall,” she granted. “Perhaps if you come to The Room once or twice weekly we can discuss ways to quell your wrath over coffee. I am free Tuesday and Thursday evenings.”

Dedan’s embarrassed scowl melted away into almost childish joy and relief at the suggestion. He wanted desperately to meet her contact with his own hands, or to lean in for an embrace, or any sort of affection they used to do as younger beings...but this was public, and Vadar had an image to uphold. Instead he spoke, almost too quickly, to answer her.

“Y-yes! Yes, my queen, yes, I will meet you those days!”

“Good,” the queen purred softly. “Now please, for the rest of the day, retreat to your office. Let your subjects prove their worth.”

With that command, the queen turned again and walked away for good, off to her next stop on her constitutional.

#OFF #OFF game #Vader Eloha #Dedan #Dedan off #the queen off #Elsen #Elsen off

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frenchcirce · 5 years

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Pride, Narcissism and Prejudice- chapter 30

"Oh my poor nerves! Lord Hara! Lord Hara!"

Lady Hara's shouts resounded throughout the house, making her husband look up from his correspondence in mild irritation.

Mai and Masako, who had taken advantage of the lady's excursion in town to sit with their father in the morning room, stopped their embroidery to share a look of surprise. Lady Hara's usually came back from her stroll with fresh gossip. What sort of news could she have heard to be riled up so early in the day?

The lady appeared in the doorframe, her complexion an unhealthy shade of puce, clutching her heart in an apoplectic manner.

"Lord Hara, Masako, there you are! Oh this is terrible, terrible!"

The sisters' curiosity morphed into alarm at the sight of their mother. Masako got up immediately to help her sit down while Mai rang the bell to call for Jenkins. Both were used to the theatrics, but Lady Hara seemed genuinely affected this time, panting and struggling for air.

"What happened my dear?" Lord Hara asked, quite startled himself by his wife's state of disarray.

The lady slumped ungracefully on the chair Masako was leading her to, fanning herself uselessly with her handkerchief.

"You will not believe it. I have-" Her head bobbed right and left in utter desolation -" terrible news to share!"

"Mother, I beg of you, do tell us what is affecting you so greatly!" Masako implored, growing more and more agitated herself.

The timid voice of Jenkins dared interrupt the pandemonium.

"You rang miss?" she asked Mai hesitantly, staring wide-eyed at her usually scary but currently weeping employer, who was very uncharacteristically half sprawled on her chair.

"Indeed, please fetch a cup of tea for Lady Hara immediately," Mai commanded, leaving it to Lord Hara and Masako to try to wrangle a coherent explanation out of her mother. "Oh, and add some brandy to it," she added after a worried glance at the lady.

Jenkins bowed and promptly left. As soon as she passed the door Lady Hara started crying.

"Oh my poor Masako," she sobbed. "The Yasuharas…"

The mention of their friends had the two sisters gasp in horror, fearing for their friends' wellbeing. Were they ill, or did they suffer some accident? Even Lord Hara frowned, concerned.

"The Yasuharas?" he prompted, the room suddenly very still.

Lady Hara hammered her answer through ragged exhales and sobs. "They... They left Netherfield... just... yesterday!"

Masako and Mai released the breath they had been holding and stared at her mother reproachfully for giving them such a scare.

Lord Hara's concern vanished immediately before the lack of actual catastrophe. "Is that all?" he asked in disbelief. "You had me fear someone was on his deathbed! The Yasuhara fellow going on a business trip is nothing to lament about, from what I know he does that pretty often," he grumbled before returning to his correspondence, feeling foolish for having taken his wife's theatrics seriously.

"No, no! You do not understand the gravity of the situation!" Lady Hara insisted, waving her handkerchief frantically. "They left for good!"

Lord Hara merely shrugged. "Still not a matter of life and death. We did quite well before their arrival, and the new neighbours may entertain you as much," he snapped, sitting back on his chair to show he didn't want to partake in the ridiculousness of the scene anymore.

"But they left Masako behind!" Lady Hara shouted in a last bout of indignation.

Her comment was lost on her husband who was already absorbing himself in the content of his letter.

It felt, however, like a slap for her daughters. Masako became so pale that Mai went to her side, fearing she would faint.

Her reaction had Lady Hara to suddenly straighten up in her armchair to grab Masako's trembling hand. "Masako," she breathed, hope shining in her feverish gaze. "Could it be…"

She licked her dry lips, eyes set on her daughter so intently she looked almost insane. "Masako," she resumed, "have you, by any chance…have you concluded… you and Yasuhara, could it be… "

The question was left untold, but both sisters understood it perfectly. Masako took a few breaths before shaking her head and averting her eyes, not wanting to see the disappointment her answer was about to bring.

"Nothing of the sort, Mother," she said in a strangled whisper. "We are not and have never been formally engaged."

Lady Hara fell back into her armchair and let go of her daughter's hand, releasing a long and dramatic wail.

"That wretched Shibuya!" She sobbed. "If only he hadn't persuaded Yasuhara to leave!"

"Shibuya?"

The name left Mai's lips in a grief-stricken cry before she could help it. Thankfully Lady Hara was too focused on her own desperation to notice the oddness of Mai's reaction.

"Their laundry maid told me." She sniffled. "Shibuya had to leave, good riddance, but he made the Yasuharas follow him. On such short notice! How could he, that… that horrible man! All is his fault!"

Once again the old lady surrendered to desolation, impervious to her husband's annoyed stares and her ghastly pale, shaken daughters.

Naru.

Yasuhara was gone and it was because of him.

Mai's hands fumbled to clutch the back of the chair before her, her legs threatening to give out. Her ears were ringing and her head was spinning with unanswered questions.

What had Naru done? What had she done?

Had they left because of her treatment of him?

Was it her fault?

Her heart turned to lead as she begun to decipher the situation. Naru hadn't lied that night. His last words had been his farewell indeed.

Yasuhara wouldn't ask for Masako's hand.

And it may have been her doing.

As she regained her bearings Mai realized that her sister, taking advantage of Jenkins' return with a fuming cup of tea, had excused herself with admirable countenance and was now fleeing the scene.

Mai ran after her without even bothering with manners, leaving behind her adoptive father to deal with his wife and her litany of cries about the unfairness of the situation and the impossibility to find a better suitor in their county.

She caught up with her sister in the middle of the staircase.

"Masako!" she called, breathless.

Masako slowed her pace and stilled, facing the floor upstairs to avoid looking at Mai, her back unnaturally straight.

"Masako-", she repeated, softly this time.

She approached her sister and quietly took her arm. Masako smiled, in a way that would have appeared quite natural for most, but that Mai could tell was strained.

"Do not worry on my account Mai," she said, her face still stubbornly looking away. "The situation does not affect me as greatly as you seem to think. I shall miss the former residents of Netherfield, naturally, their company was most pleasant. But they were nothing more than strangers to us after all, and I see no harm in things staying this way."

Mai shook her head, the gesture lost on her sister. "I do not believe any of those words. I know what tender feelings you harbour toward Yasuhara. And I am fairly certain he holds similar ones for you."

Masako let out a sound between a sigh and a laugh. Her mouth contorted in a wry, desolate smile. "If he did, he would not have left so suddenly, without even a word for me."

Mai opened her mouth to retort, but found herself unable to utter a word. She could have spared Masako the shock of discovering Yasuhara wasn't to ask for her hand, yet two days after hearing about it from Naru she hadn't gathered the courage to crush her sister's dreams still. It was because of her cowardliness that Masako was in such a situation. What right had she to comfort her?

So she just tightened her grasp on Masako's bristling arm, wishing this simple gesture would convey all the feelings her voice couldn't.

Masako's shoulders slumped under the touch and she finally turned to face her, unable to completely hide the sadness behind the stretch of her lips this time.

"No," she denied as she delicately but firmly pried her arm out of Mai's hands. "We must simply admit that we have been mistaken in our assumptions, and that his behaviour toward me was simply the expression of fraternal-like affection, and nothing more. Really Mai, I am feeling perfectly fine. Now please let me go, I feel the need to be alone for some time."

Mai's heart sank as she let her hand fall back limply at her side, watching Masako's back go further and further away. She didn't try to stop her, nor did she offer any consolation.

How could words alleviate the grief of a broken heart anyway?

—

It was enough, Mai decided.

A week had passed since the uproar caused by the Yasuharas' departure, and things seemed to have returned to normal at home.

Lady Hara was bedridden, moaning every passing second about the loss of the rich and handsome suitor and terrorizing the poor Jenkins, who had to replace Masako who her mother couldn't bear to see.

Lord Hara was gleefully spending his days in the peaceful privacy of his office, or in the morning room now devoid of the presence of his wife.

And Masako…

Masako was behaving as usual. She was being polite, demure, her chiseled features always drawing the perfect picture of the emotions she was expected to show. She smiled at jokes, widened her eyes appropriately at surprising news, frowned when the discussed matter required disapproving. She was acting perfectly unaffected. Too perfectly.

She may be able to fool everybody else, but she couldn't dupe her. Mai could tell she was still heartbroken.

It had been difficult to leave Masako by herself to grieve. Her sister deserved an explanation, and a shoulder to cry on, and Mai had wanted more than anything to offer the two. But she could also sympathize with the need to sort her thoughts by herself and let time soften the shock, so she had given her the privacy she wanted.

But now Mai had enough. Enough of the sorrowful atmosphere. Enough of the guilt eating at her, enough of the secrets which seemed to constantly come between her and her friends. Enough of leaving her sister in the dark about Shibuya and what had transpired at Netherfield's ball. Enough of Masako pretending.

She needed to speak to her.

The opportunity arose when she spotted Masako putting her hat on in the parlor, a light shawl on her shoulders. The day was too young and her attire too simple for visiting, so the young woman was most probably going out for a stroll.

"Are you perhaps going on a walk?" she asked.

Masako nodded, her hands fastening the ribbons of her hat under her chin. Mai put the basket with her embroidery supplies on a nearby chair and hastily grabbed her own hat.

"What a wonderful coincidence, I happen to need to visit a few shops in Merryton -"

"I am not going to Merryton," Masako interrupted, patting the artful bow she had just made. "I just plan for a little stroll in the fields."

That didn't deter Mai in the least. "Is that so? Well, I feel like taking some exercise myself," she said while tying her ribbons haphazardly, not wanting to leave her sister the time to find an excuse to go without her.

Masako narrowed her eyes at her. "I would have thought the hour too early for your taste."

"Not at all," Mai lied with a blinding smile. "I enjoy the peace offered by the wee morning. I hope you do not mind my coming with you."

It wasn't a question, so Masako could only nod and sigh at the hurried way her friend was getting clothed for their walk.

"Take a shawl," she instructed when Mai made a move to pass the door. "The air is still crisp in this season."

Mai complied, chuckling fondly. Even the annoyance in her tone couldn't hide Masako's caring underneath.

"Here, shall we go now?"

Masako nodded and both geared toward the door.

The weather was indeed breezy despite the cloudless sky, and in these early hours of the morning the fields were basked in a misty fog the timid sunshine hadn't managed to dissipate.

Mai tightened her shawl around her shoulders, grateful she had listened to Masako's piece of advice, and inhaled deeply, feeling her anxiousness dissolve in the peaceful atmosphere. The golden colours of the scenery, the delicate warmth the sun was dusting on her cheeks and the soft chirping of the birds were a balm to her tormented soul, putting her mind and heart at ease.

Masako was walking beside her in silence, her features serene and unusually open.

"What a beautiful landscape," Mai breathed. "Had I any talent, I would have made it a painting."

"I do not think a painting could do it justice," her sister remarked in a soft, even tone. "The merit of the scenery is to be alive, fixing its colours on a canva would simply kill its magic."

"Then I am glad that I am here to enjoy it with you, for we can share this moment and its memory."

Masako hummed in agreement, and the two sisters walked for a little while in a companionable silence, the sound of pebbles rolling under their feet the only telltale of their presence in the fields.

"I came to understand why you savor these morning walks," Mai sighed softly, admiring the swirling colours of the sky.

"Do you, really?" Masako muttered. "Or did you use this excuse to have a talk with me?"

Mai smiled sheepishly. Considering how unsubtle her behaviour generally was, it was no surprise Masako had seen through her pretending.

"Both, to speak with honesty," she said gaily while taking her sister by the arm. "I do want to have a word with you, but being here really soothes my aching heart."

Masako frowned, confused. "Aching heart?"

Mai's smile vanished. "We shall have the long tour if you want me to explain from the very beginning. For now, I shall simply say that your grief is related to mine."

"My grief?" Masako exhaled sharply. "Mai, I already told you that there was none involved-"

She stopped short when her sister suddenly let go of her arm to turn and block her path, her expression serious.

"Stop this nonsense!" Mai cried. "I already told you that I do not believe those words."

Masako shook her head and opened her mouth to deliver yet another denial, but the determined, pained stare of her friend was enough for her to reconsider. Conflicting emotions animated her usually stoic features until resignation settled in.

"Neither do I," she admitted. "But what else shall I say on the matter? Pride is the only thing I have left."

Pride.

Mai tried to conjure the sudden image of a livid, dripping Naru leaving her house with his back straight and his head high after she had been too prideful to accept him. Or the dignity of a dashing Shibuya inviting her for a dance, rescuing her from both gossip and prejudice. Naru biding her farewell, his gaze troubled and his lips hot on her wrist.

Pride.

What good had it ever done?

"What happened to the Masako who told me to listen to my heart's command?" she asked softly.

Masako resumed her walk, seemingly absorbing herself in the contemplation of a faraway patch of wildflowers.

"She realised her own heart was not as sound as yours."

Mai followed suit, smothering a wry laugh. If she knew the real state of her heart right now, her sister may reconsider her statement.

"Even the most unsound heart has its inclination," she remarked.

Masako stayed mute, but her lips pressed together into a thin line.

"There is no need to pretend with me," Mai insisted. "You love him, I know it."

"And what if I do?" Masako asked flatly. "Would admitting it shield me from the pitying stares or the whispered gossip of our acquaintances? Would it make Mother less miserable? What would it change, except give them a reason to talk?"

Mai halted her steps and grabbed the hem of Masako's shawl. Her sister stopped and shot her a challenging look, as if daring her to say otherwise.

Mai clenched her fists, both angry and saddened by the impossible situation her sister was in. She was aware that their social circle had its eyes set on Masako, avidly awaiting for the slightest faux-pas, and that Masako could only conceal her emotions to avoid their feeding on her turmoil. But she certainly didn't want to let her sister suffocate under the stifling pressure of their expectations.

"You could simply acknowledge it to me," Mai suggested in a gentle plea. "Then, you would not have to bear this sorrow alone."

Masako's defiance slowly morphed into hesitation at her words. "It is… I am afraid that acknowledging it even once, even to you, will shatter my resolve," she conceded in a strangled whisper. "I cannot afford it."

Mai reached for her hand and squeezed it lightly, encouraging her to continue. Despite the warmth the sunlight was pouring onto them Masako's hand was as cold as ice.

The silence stretched for a minute, only interrupted by the melodious chirping of the birds and the buzzing of some stray bee.

Masako finally spoke, her voice unsteady.

"I cannot help but wonder, should I have told him more clearly how deep was my attachment to him? Would have it been enough for him to stay? Or was his inclination a mere passing feeling, already forgotten? I think too highly of him to even consider I have been played, so the only explanation I can muster is that he simply lost interest in me. And I-" she shook her head, tears now freely spilling on her cheeks, "-I cannot bear the thought."

"Masako…"

Mai felt on the verge of tears, frustrated by the unfairness of the situation. Her sister had finally found someone she could give her unadulterated affection to, someone who could elicit strong enough feelings from her that she would shed tears. But this person was now gone without any mention of return.

She shouldn't have been the one walking with Masako in this bucolic landscape bathed in sunlight. No, this place was for Yasuhara. Would he ever stand at her side?

"We were dancing and laughing together just two days before," Masako resumed, "yet he did not uttered a word about his leaving. He didn't even come to say his goodbyes! This speaks well enough about how unimportant I have become in his eyes."

"No." Mai shook her head vehemently and gently wiped her sister's tears. "He used to look at you in such a manner, that I will never believe his feelings for you were anything but tender."

Masako sniffled a last time, already reining her emotions in. "He would not have left it they were."

Mai hesitated a second, her conversation with Naru about Yasuhara's intentions toward Masako weighing heavily on her mind. She glanced at her sister's uncharacteristically puffy eyes and wondered briefly if she should tell her about it, or bury the memory in the depth of her mind to not add to her burden.

No, she decided, Masako deserved to know the truth.

"I cannot say what the exact reason of his departure is, for I do not know. However-" she cleared her throat and steeled her resolve, "However, I was told that his circumstances did not allow him to ask for your hand. I surmise cutting ties with us was his way of preserving you, so you did not wait for an hypothetical return."

She glanced at Masako warily, already dreading the question which would inevitably follow.

"You were...told?" Masako was making a valiant effort to talk calmly despite her growing agitation. "Who could have-" Her gaze suddenly lit in understanding. "Did Madoka, by any chance-"

"No."

Mai took a deep breath, deliberately ignoring the way her chest constricted at the mere mention of the gentleman. "It was Naru."

After a moment of shocked silence Masako seemed to regain the ability to speak. "Naru, you mean Shibuya?"

Mai nodded.

"Why would he…" Masako looked unsettled, torn between the trust she naturally had in her sister and the doubt the unexpected source of her statement was inducing. "Do you trust his words?" she finally asked in disbelief. "Considering he has already deceived us at least once-"

"I am certain he said the truth."

Mai had spoken barely louder than a whisper, yet her admission seemed to rang deafeningly loud.

Masako's didn't inquire about her reasons to suddenly trust a man she had sworn she despised. She simply stood quiet, her features unreadable.

"What else did he tell you?"

"Nothing much." Mai's throat was painfully tight, giving her voice a raspy tone. "Only that Yasuhara had his hands tied, from what I could gather."

"I see. May I ask why you kept quiet about it?"

The question didn't hold any animosity, but Mai felt shameful about her silence nonetheless. If only she had spoken, back then...

She felt Masako's hand gently grip her own.

"Did Shibuya… Did he perhaps threaten you?"

"No," Mai shook her head, "he did nothing of the sort."

No, she realised, Naru had never done anything hurtful to her. She had neither connections, position, nor wealth, he could have easily ensured her silence about his secret by bribing or threatening her. But instead of getting rid of her, he chose to disregard his own probable resentment toward the woman who so rejected him so harshly to shield her from their peers' prejudice. To spare her feelings, he had ignored his.

Mai wanted to cry. She had been so blind.

She closed her eyes, unable to deal with the guilt and mortification drawn by the realisation. "It was my own cowardliness which stopped me from breaching the matter with you" she confessed. "I was afraid to bring you pain and disappointment. Also…Also, I feared they left because of me, and that I was responsible for the ruin of your happiness."

"You?" Masako raised incredulous eyebrows. "Ruining my happiness? What could have given you such a ridiculous idea?"

"It did not seem ridiculous in the least!" Mai defended. "Well, not until I realised he was not this sort of person…" she amended. "Naru- I mean, Shibuya- and me…" She let out a frustrated growl. "I do not even know where to start!"

"The very beginning sounds like a reasonable starting point."

Mai didn't even berate her sister for her dry humour, already lost in her explanation.

"I acted without thinking, because, would you believe it, this idiot asked for my hand, at the worst moment, and in the most terrible way I must say-"

"He what?" Masako almost shouted , an owlish look betraying her incredulity. "Mai, when-"

"- My state of mind at the time was not exactly suited to welcome such a proposal, not so soon after rejecting my cousin, not after hearing about his false identity, and it made me so angry that I acted like a fool and-"

"Wait, Mai!" cried Masako to stop her sister's rant. "I beg of you to calm down!"

"I cannot!" Mai answered in kind. "I rejected him so harshly, and so unfairly, all because of my wounded pride. I refused to hear his explanations, I trampled his feelings, I told him the most horrible things. In my anger I told Naru I was aware of his deception, it was not my intention to let him know, but…"

Masako's gaze softened as she finally understood.

"Did you believe he left because you knew of his secret? And that it was enough of a reason for Yasuhara to follow him?"

"I-" Mai put her head in her hands. "I did believe it. But I am not sure anymore."

"I do not think you are responsible for their departure. And in the case you were," Masako said while gently prying Mai's hands from her face, "we should not regret they left, for it would mean they were not worthy of our trust and affection. Now," she added with a thunderous gleam in her eyes, "you have to tell me in detail what happened with Shibuya."

So Mai confessed everything to her, from Naru's disastrous proposal to his farewell during the ball.

"He was right," she breathed once she had related their overly complicated story to an equally bewildered and indignant Masako. "I accused him of being too prideful when I was the one who let pride dictate my actions. My treatment of him was the most unfair."

"It was certainly not unjust to reject him," her sister objected hotly, still peeved by the so-called gentleman's behaviour. "Not because his proposal was awkward, if not awful, but because he did lie to us. To you. You were absolutely right in telling him hiding his identity from you was ungentlemanly!"

"But I rejected him in such a manner that I can only think of it with mortification now. I proved to be obtuse and unyielding, I disregarded his feeling, which I came to understand, were sincere. At the ball-"

Mai had to pause, overwhelmed by the onslaught of memories from that night. "-At the ball, I finally realised the extent of my unfairness. I could tell how much I hurt him."

Masako sighed softly, her resent toward the man ebbing before her sister's genuine remorse. "It would have been fairer to let him explain his motives indeed. You were both at fault, and both right in your accusations. I must admit that his later behaviour casts another light on his character."

"I almost wish I had not seen this side of him," Mai mumbled, absentmindedly rolling a pebble under her shoe, "for I cannot despise him now that I did." Her lips stretched into a half-bitter, half-indulgent smile. "What a sly man, he managed to have the last word, once again."

"Mai," Masako started hesitantly, probing her friend's reaction, "what you said earlier about our grieves being related, did you imply… did you imply that they are of a similar nature?"

Mai raised her dejected gaze to meet her sister's enquiring one. She could still feel the remorse and longing coursing through her veins when Shibuya had left her after the ball. She could still feel the softness of his lips brushing her pulse. She could still feel the erratic beating of her heart, the fire his troubled gaze and parting words had lit in her heart. Denying her feelings would be fighting a losing battle.

"I fear they are," she replied in a broken whisper. "And that I misjudged him."

Masako's dark eyes softened in sympathy.

"We are both fools," she said, and snatched a flower from a thornbush. "Longing for such secretive men."

"We are," Mai agreed in a resigned sigh.

"It is a shame that Takigawa is not available anymore, I would have chosen him for myself. Mother would have been delighted."

"Masako!"

Mai sent her sister a scandalized look. Masako could only keep her serious expression for a short moment before she burst into laughter.

"So gullible," she managed between giggles.

Mai's incredulous expression slowly left place to a grin which turned into bubbling laughter.

Soon enough the two of them were bent in half, letting the fit of uncontrollable mirth wash their sorrow away.

"You are impossible," Mai muttered after her last giggles died down.

"Yes," Masako replied quite proudly, wiping her tears in a careless manner.

"I am glad I have you by my side."

Masako smiled affectionately as her arm linked with Mai's.

"I shall not leave it until we find another Takigawa for ourselves," she joked, bumping her sister's hip lightly.

"We could beg Ayako to give us some advice about snatching men of his kind," Mai replied in kind. "I am afraid I only know how to reject them."

Her smile fell as she remembered. "Their wedding is drawing near."

"I know."

"I will miss Ayako immensely."

"So will I. But for now," Masako said wisely, "we shall just look forward to what is to come. I think this trip to Hertfordshire in a few weeks is most timely. A few days far away from Netherfield and its memories sounds extremely appealing."

"My cousins shall provide enough distraction with their bickering," Mai chuckled. "Being the witness their matrimonial bliss may have us think twice about marriage."

With that the two sisters headed back home, walking arm in arm at a leisurely pace.

#PN&P #chapter 30 #GH #fanfiction

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techxbillionaire · 5 years

Text

A Better Man

I compiled an old RP between me and @icexandxcool so it is easier to read. I don’t think we will ever continue it but I was asked about doing this so I have. It begins at the end of legends of tomorrow season 2. They drop Len back off in the time line without his memories of being a memeber of the legion of doom. It hasn’t been edited and please remember it was an rp so that’s why there are weird perspective switches. Anyways enjoy!

A Better Man

“No, I mean better.”

Ray can hear Mick’s gruff voice from just beyond the warehouse door where he is hiding and waiting. The sound of the new tech he designed, let’s him know that it’s done. Leonard’s memories are gone. Mick appears at his side only moments later with a grim expression on his already grim features. “You sure about this pretty?”

“He has an eidetic memory. If someone can beat my tech it's him. We don’t want remnants of events sticking around. He needs to get on the ship with us. The team wouldn’t be the same without him.” Ray recites the answer he’s been giving everyone when asked about his decision to stay in 2012. He’ll be playing henchman to captain cold.

Mick pats Ray on the shoulder a rare physical gesture obviously strategic, “which is the bullshit you fed the team. What’s your angle.”

Unable to resist looking at Mick when the pyromaniac initiates contact Ray is the cause of his own undoing. He is a horrible liar at the best of times and Mick knows something more is at play here, has known for a while just hasn’t called Ray out on it. Sighing deeply Ray let’s his gaze drift over to where Len is standing, still looking so uncharacteristically confused. “I just want to know him,” he admits quietly.

Mick shakes his head, “he ain’t the guy from the waverider, pretty. He’s cruel and guarded. He’ll hate you more than he did the first time.”

Ray nods, “I know.”

“Moron, then why you doing this,” Mick demands.

“Because he changed my fate Mick.” Ray boldly declares, “I was supposed to die. Yes, you intervened but ultimately it’s Len’s fate that was cut short so mine could be altered. I just… I just want to do the same for him.”

Mick drops his hand away from Ray’s shoulder and nods. He leaves him too it then. Confident that if anyone can melt the icy heart of Captain Cold it was the boy scout.

No one was willing to change fate with the spear but maybe fate would let them have this one gimme for being so good about that. There had to be a loop hole somewhere and Ray would find it. In Len’s past he would find a way to save the man’s future.

Taking a deep breath Ray steadies himself. Pushing off the wall he turns to enters the room currently occupied by one Leonard Snart. He takes another deep breath and runs his hand over his newly shaven head. Ray had drastically changed his look so he could convince anyone who notices that he only closely resembles Ray Palmer. A buzz cut and a thick coat of stubble give him a rougher look. His already toned body and broad shoulders help as well. He at least looks the part.

“Heya, Leonard Snart right? I was told I could find you here. Names Lucky.” Too bad that all goes to shit as soon as he opens his mouth.

Len leans back against a desk he’d dragged out of the offices weeks ago for this armored truck job that’s been completely botched. It’s thanks to a new player in town he’d been almost entirely unaware of in any capacity of acceptance when it comes to rumors about things called “the Streak.” The impossible… made flesh.

This place is feeling… off to him today. He’s never put much stock in feelings of deja vu. Mostly because his mind never forgets and so he simply knows whether he’s been somewhere or met someone before, but right now he completely understands why so many people find it so frustrating. His whole being feels taut. Pulled in an unidentifiable direction, and he does not like it.

He’s alone in the warehouse at first. He shot a member of his crew here yesterday, knowing he would lose the others and not caring in the least. He has a reputation to maintain in the criminal underworld or he’ll have just any fool coming to his calls for grunts who can follow orders. Besides! He’s discovered he has bigger fish to fry. In the form of the very same Khandaq diamond going on display at the local museum now that “the Flash” has botched the truck heist. He’s going to need a way to defeat this fast moving Do Gooder if he’s ever going to get his hands on his current goal.

He wants that chunk of ice.

That thought carries far more weight inside of him than he understands souring his mood even further. His right hand twitches, fingers folding into his palm by his right thigh as if he were reaching for something that should be there but isn’t and he finds his frustration mounting. He shakes his hand out after a millisecond post the involuntary response to thoughts of the Flash as his enemy. Brow furrowed, he rubs his wrist when a voice breaks his concentration on his sense of loss. As if he were missing some vital part of himself somehow. He’s perfectly whole but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something… something beyond his scope of comprehension of the moment. He hates feeling like this, but he pushes aside his irritation. His frustration he lets bleed off his aura in waves. He’s all out of patience after losing his crew yesterday.

The man is tall, broad shouldered and built like a mixed martial artist. Heavy enough to take on a middleweight wrestler. Maybe even a heavyweight if he’s skilled. He looks intimidating… except for the softness around his eyes and the fact that he sounds like a friendly neighbor rather than any kind of criminal.

“Lucky, hm?” He drawls and folds his arms aginst his chest, low and relaxed, as he increases his lounging position against his work bench desk. He is the king of his castle and he will not tolerate unwanted intruders. “I have a fairly good idea of who you’ve spoken too… shall I assume then that you are looking to join my new crew despite recent… unfortunate events?”

‘Unfortunate events’ was one way to put it and yes Ray was prepared. How well that preparation holds up under pressure is a whole other thing. He’d been warned by Mick, and then Sara, and then by Stein of the kind of man he was attempting to help. It seemed kind of cruel to have such a negative outlook on a man who ultimately dies for them all but Ray understands.

They warned him because of what happened to Amaya, because they don’t want it to happen to him. Liabilities get disposed of by this current Cold. This is the time in which he earned his mantel, and Ray wasn’t allowed to stop him. Some deaths shape not only Len but Barry as well. Ray has been warned and believes himself mentally prepared for this but Len’s words of introduction crack his resolve.

Len has openings in his crew because he killed one of his previous crew members. It was cut and dry. Calculated and cold. Ray swallowed down the bile rising up into his mouth. No point in getting cold feet now, he wanted to bare witness to the man Leonard Snart will become. All his broken pieces included. Rubbing his sweaty palms onto his thighs he holds out his hand Ray knows it’s going to be rejected but it’s a sign of respect and he can’t shake all his habits.

“I heard, not from whoever your thinking of though. Just heard… but that’s besides the point, I was looking for you because you’re you.” Ray was not getting anywhere fast but still he keeps going, “no, well, yes… what I mean is, I’m a tech specialist, support. I want to be part of a team that utilizes my abilities but in order for that to happen I need a leader who isn’t a muscle head.”

That’s interesting. “What makes you think I need a tech expert, Lucky? Or that I actually will build another crew after… terminating the last one? It’s bold of you… to just walk into the bear’s den like this…”

Len stares Lucky down, sizing him up, measuring his mettle. “And if I wanted a practical interview? A… demonstration of your technical prowess of sorts? Are you prepared to fail knowing that you became a liability the moment you walked through that door?”

Ray laughs because maybe he was a little giddy from getting to actually talk to Len. The entire time he’d been with the legion it was only fire fights and one liners. Eobard was obviously careful to keep Len from the team. He also maybe laughed because showing off is something he can do. Taking a reckless step foreword Ray replies with two fingers moving in a sign for running in front of his face.

“The streak.” Ray says confidently despite feeling a little silly for saying it like this, “is why you’re looking for a new crew. The rest of the criminals are running scared but you, you aren’t that timid.” He sugar coats his words with compliments, stroking the illustrious ego of captain cold. He readies his ‘miniature bomb’ in his hand, shows off the little throwing star to Snart before tossing it towards a cargo box. With a blue flash the box shrinks down small enough to fit into the palm of his hand.

Ray leans down picks it up and tosses it towards Len, “I only have one stipulation for my continued loyalty and services. I’m purely support. I tinker with the tech, but I never, NEVER set foot in a bank, vault or armoured car.” His words gruff and harsher than he would normally phrase things thanks to Sara and Mick practically writing this bit out in script format.

Len catches the tossed container with deft efficiency and then opens his hand to study the oddly light rectangle of metal. “Cool under pressure. A trait I admire.”

He lifts the shrunken container and then tosses it back to Lucky. “Let’s take better care of our potential assets and targets though shall we? That’s going to be a mess in there… if you can return it to its normal size again that is.”

He’s got this…. itch at the back of his mind. It’s triggering his sense of knowing, but that usually flawless recall is stymied and Len is quickly becoming irritable with frustration. “How do I know you’re not a plant? How do you plan to earn enough of my trust that I don’t send you straight to the coroner?”

Ray sets the container down on the ground an appropriate distance away from them. “The affects wear off after a time limit. You can’t sustain this amount of atom minimization without constant power output. Depending on the materials it can be as quick as a minute or as long as a day. It’s still a prototype so there are some bugs. Not ready for heists yet.” His explanation is said mostly to his watch as he counts down. It takes another thirty seconds but than the crate returns to its original size.

“Mm, alright. Fair enough. You’re tech savvy. I’ve heard rumors that some things were taken from STAR labs and they’re being fenced to the highest bidder. I meet the… “man of business” in two hours. You’ll come with me. Make sure there isn’t anything else of value besides the two pieces I’m already taking. Got it?“

That sense of knowing, like he should be familiar with this whole scene… but… that something was still… off.

Ray nods excited to be included so quickly and on an excursion he had heard about prior. Makes preparing his mind for the impending murder easier. The man stole the guns because of financial problems and Barry later takes care of his family so it isn’t all bad. Ray still feels a lump of guilt forming in his gut but he pushes it aside in favour of winning Len’s trust. "I can do that. What kind of tech are you already interested in?? And from STAR labs too” ray whistles, “that’s some fancy stuff. Cutting edge even.”

“You’ll see soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve ordered us something to eat. The pizza delivery boy will be here soon. See that he’s taken care of. I have some research to attend.”

Len straightens and swings around to the working side of the desk, settling in the chair and waking up his laptop. He’s irritated with this sense of wrongness and he can’t seem to shake it. He wonders if it might be that he finds Lucky attractive and that it’s been far too long since he’s gotten laid… but deems that ridiculous. He’s not that hard pressed yet.

Ray nods and turns to go keep a look out for the delivery boy but hesitates. He looks back at Len and clears his throat to get the man’s attention. “You can trust me Len. I know that doesn’t carry weight but…” cutting himself off Ray shakes his head. His eyes are a little sad when he turns back to the entrance of the warehouse. Sighing deeply he pushes himself to walk away.

Each step feels like it’s sinking deeper in mud pulling him down. Ray, if anything could persevere. So, he ignores his heavy emotions in favour of playing his part. That little slip up can’t happen again. This needs to be organic, he doesn’t want to trigger Len’s sharp mind and eidetic memory. Auto pilot takes over as it often does when Ray is working out a complex problem. He pays for the pizza and returns to the room Len was in, a bit of a daze floating over his head like a cloud.

Len had been about to bristle and growl at Lucky that they weren’t so well acquainted yet that he should be calling him by his first name, but something in that sad, sad expression stops him. He feels that sense of not knowing something he should know spike and lets the incident go in favor of searching for answers on the internet. Lucky returns looking dazed. “Let me guess. She was beautiful and you’re in need of a little… alone time.”

Ray startles, “wah?!” He blushes at the implications behind Len’s words and stammers through a few more attempts at ‘what’ before managing, “no uh, just thinking out a problem I haven’t solved yet.” Coming up to the desk he lays the pizza between them turned toward Len so the thief can grab his first. Ray takes this moment to cool off his cheeks hoping his beard mostly covered his blush. He leans on the desk and grabs himself a slice to munch on.

“So, have you had a chance to catch the hobbit yet?” Rays asks reaching for anything to talk about to fill the silence. He avoids personal questions or questions that could appear as digging for information which left little to be desired in conversation starters.

Len goes stone silent. Swallows his bite of pizza and then stands, setting his bitten slice on a napkin on the desk. “Will you excuse me.”

Then he disappears down the hall that was behind him. He locks himself in the bathroom and paces. Now isn’t the time to let that ice cold need for revenge rise to the surface. Lisa has been dead for a long time… he’ll never rest until Lewis Snart is rotting in hell. But… he isn’t about to tell any of that to Lucky.

Ray startles back up into a standing position almost dropping his slice of pizza as he nods to Len’s words. He watches the man stalk out, worry etched into every line of his face. Ray was missing something. He closes his eyes and places greasy fingers on the bridge of his nose. He’d picked the hobbit because it came out around this time in 2012. What significances does that movie hold for Len. Outside of being a closet nerd there was no reason for such a uncharacteristic reaction to the mention of that movie.

Pursing his lips he tries to go through all the little facts he knows about Len. The things he discovered by overhearing conversations he wasn’t supposed too and then the stories Mick told to him after Len… well after. Nothing is clicking which just cements his growing concern he is missing something important. How to discover what it could be is going to be hard.

After going around in circles Ray gives up for now. Living alongside Len is the only way to find answers so he will just have to stick it out. He goes back to eating his pizza well he waits on Len to return.

Len returns composed and cool and settles in his chair. He resumes his research - now on the growing numbers of reports on the Streak - and starts on his pizza slice again. Absently he asks, “What can you tell me about the Streak, Lucky?”

Wasn’t that a question and a half. Ray was tempted to start off with correcting the name because ‘the streak’ is lame but he holds back. What can Ray say? Gnawing on his pizza slice he considers his options. Would providing no insight make him useless and then disposable. Was this a test from Len or just an inquiry. Ray honestly doesn’t know and no amount of studying Len’s face was giving him answers.

The script was used up, now he needed to stick around all by himself. He was clever, a genius even. He could do this. Hopefully. “Uh… he’s fast?” Ray answers and it is no where near as confident as it needs to be. Throwing caution to the wind he adds, “probably weak to the cold.”

Len’s brow raises. “My thought exactly. All that lightning generated from heat and friction, the speeds he travels and all molecules slow to a stop at Absolute Zero… so what better way to slow him down than giving him a little… chill?”

Len can’t help but be relieved by the topic change and to have someone agree with him rather than run away for fear of the consequences of failure.

Ray can’t hide his eyebrows rising up in surprise. He’d known that Leonard learned that gun inside and out after he got it but his current reasoning suggested an understanding of science beyond what the thief ever let on before. His surprise almost caused him to miss the pun but he doesn’t. Ray covers his chuckle with a cough, hand coming up to cover his smile. It doesn’t work.

“Chill right…” he agrees hiding behind opening the pizza box because he can’t get his amusement under control. He picks a piece of pizza up and shoves it in his mouth as a last ditch effort. Well he chews he asks, “you’ve studied physics?”

“I have nothing else to do when I manage to find myself in lock up… and I never perform a heist without knowing everything I’m dealing with… and every escape route. I’ve robbed top floor penthouses and never had those thefts pinned on me. It’s nice to be… underestimated.”

Len’s smirk is cocky as he finishes another piece of pizza. He’s pleased that Lucky finds his puns humorous. So many people are just… too stupid.

Humming thoughtfully he finishes off his pizza and begins licking his fingers clean. The image of Len behind bars studying science books leaves a lingering smile on his lips. “I guess,” ray concedes to Len’s underestimated comment. He can’t really relate though. To be underestimated feels the same as not leaving a lasting impact which he is really not a fan of.

He wants his time, effort, and accomplishments to have meaning. When you do things that matter you aren’t underestimated but held in high regard. Ray wants to matter, maybe too much. Doesn’t Len want that too? “What other subjects have you studied?” Ray changes gears trying to pry more about Len out of him well still keeping a respectful distance.

Len lifts a shoulder. “I speak several different languages among them Russian, Italian, Sindarin and Vulcan. I’m a fair mathematician. But mostly I’ve studied people. Like right now… you’re fishing. I just don’t know for what.”

Len shrugs again and hums as he finishes off his third and last piece. “I like you. You’re earnest. Don’t push your luck.”

Being read and being honest were apparently different things because Ray feels a little raw and exposed at being seen through. If Len liked that he was ernest than he’d stick with that. Creating a persona too different from his own personality would be hard to maintain for a long period of time.

“I was fishing.” Ray admits, “for more about you. Not really a particular detail just trying to get to know the man behind some of the stories I’ve heard.” Every word one hundred percent the truth. It felt good not to hold back to not have to hide behind half truths and half lies. “Kohlinar!” Ray exclaims with a snap of his fingers, “you totally do that don’t you. Okay not that extreme but you try to mute your emotions. That’s what earlier was abou…. and okay, uh you know when something just kinda clicks. An answer to a problem and it’s like eureka? You just… you mentioned Vulcan and then my mind went Spock and your so cool and collected but earlier when you excused… I’m sorry I should really stop talking. Shouldn’t we be going now? Imma just shut up now. Don’t get mad.”

It wasn’t like he didn’t know this about Len before but it just felt like his understanding over what that practise truly is to the thief just expanded. It was to suppress powerful overwhelming emotions.

Len’s expression is neutral for a long moment. He’s never been pegged so accurately in his life. Not even by Lisa when she had been alive. He stands and is about to say something scathing when his mental clock has him look at his watch. “We need to go. Come on. The meeting place is across town and we have to account for traffic.”

If he doesn’t acknowledge Lucky’s eerily accurate insight then perhaps he’ll assume he’s off base and leave it be without Len having to lie to his newest crew member.

Ray blows out a long breath relieved that he was still invited. He was totally okay with bypassing his outburst. Doesn’t make it any less true but he can let Len believe he’s dismissed Ray’s observation. “Okay sure,” he replies as he bounces on his toes waiting for Len to lead the way.

If only he hadn’t done that… they could be talking Star Trek right now instead of awkward silence. It made Ray want to twitch. Inside the car he chewed his lip and drummed his fingers anxiously.

Len drives like a calculated law abiding citizen. He even waits to start the car until they’re both buckled in. It’s a few moments of silence in when he can’t hold back the question any longer. “Which series?” He asks cool and calm, feigning indifference.

Ray is so grateful Len is a big enough nerd that he can’t resist a chance to talk to someone with similar interests. The accompanying smile lights up Ray’s face with an obnoxious amount of happiness. He hums and hahs for a moment before dropping an answer with a ‘duh, isn’t it obvious’ inflection to his words, “the original. I mean it’s what started all of it.”

Len nods approval heavy in his expression. “And the movies?”

He normally doesn’t want to get to know his crewmen. But there is just something about this man that puts Len at ease. A dangerous situation that he’ll have to be more wary of from here forward.

“The wrath of khan.” Ray answers easily but then adds when his brain connects the dates to the new movies, “I’m also excited for the next movie ‘into the darkness’ because the rumours are all talking about them revisiting that storyline.” Which they do, and it was glorious. Ray kind of wants to tell Len all about it but bites his tongue. Letting the thief speculate instead.

“I haven’t had much time to follow the movie rumor mill. If they revisit Khan, I’m sure they’ll do the storyline justice.” Len pulls them into the warehouse parking lot. “Let me do the talking. Speak up if you notice anything pertinent.”

Ray nods biting his tongue again when the thought of asking Len to go see it with him pops into his head. A similar inquiry about movies is what caused the storm of emotions earlier and ray doesn’t want to unbalance him when they are about to go do something so pivotal. He also has to stop his hand from miming locking his mouth closed because Lucky tech criminal specialist would not do that.

“Will do boss.” He says instead which was a sufficient alternative. Calling Len boss made him chuckle internally but it also lets his intent known. He plans on listening. He will be on his best behaviour. Following Len into the warehouse Ray keeps his word and doesn’t speak up. The guns Len look at he already knows well and nods approvingly when looking them over from behind Len’s shoulder.

It was actually interesting to see the gun’s in their original state, being able to compare to the upgrades he knows exist. Part of Ray wonders how many of those upgrades Len did himself. He’ll have to be careful not to take over the process in fear of a predestination paradox. He’d do the upgrades because he saw the gun already with the upgrades meaning the upgrades have no proper beginning.

The idea of teaching Len the science and know how to upgrade his own gun seems like the best way to avoid that. How to offer that without Len outright rejecting it would be the trick though.

Len is an observant man and he picks up on Lucky’s approval of the tech. Len wastes no time in icing the dealer. He grins, pleased by the results. “Bring the rest. I have a fence already lined up.”

Len picked up the cases for the Heat and Cold guns once he’s tucked away the cold gun and goggles. He heads back to the car and tucks the cases behind his seat. Then he pops the trunk expecting Lucky to be right behind him.

Ray’s mouth falls open in horror over how quickly Len makes the decision to kill the man and take all the things. Though it wasn’t actually quick because len was prepared for the results of icing the man. It makes ray queazy. He stays behind staring at the iced statue holding the bile rising in his stomach down with will power alone. Wiping unshed tears form his eyes he does as he was told collecting all the gear of any value and scurrying after Len.

His heart is heavy with the weight of a life being taken right in front of him. He could have done something. Knew it was coming and could have prevented it in some way. He hasn’t felt this helpless since Anna. A new wave of nausea washes over him when he makes it back to Len’s car. Carefully he dumps the stuff into the trunk his forehead beading with sweat as a clammy sickly feeling takes him. He can’t throw up though. He’s Lucky. This is his normal. He will have to get used to this. There is more to come.

Those thoughts do little to settle his stomach. He looks at Len and offers a weak smile silently saying ‘job’s done.’ Once the message was relayed he slides back into the car and covers his face with his hands trying desperately not to wear his heart on his sleeve and failing miserably.

Len gets them on the road. The car is quiet while Len maneuvers them through Central City traffic. He’s torn. On one hand, something is definitely off here. On the other, he can see why Lucky doesn’t like to be in the front row.

“I won’t be needing you in the field after this. You’ve proven valuable…. and given good reason as to why you don’t want to be on the front lines. Not everyone has the stomach for what needs to be done.”

“Does it though?” Ray finds himself saying despite himself. He looks over at Len his eyes pleading the shadow of the man he knows to let the real deal shine through. Swallowing down such shallow feelings he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “No, never mind. You’re right. I just don’t have the stomach for it, but I like the freedom to tinker and create what I want without board members and grants hanging over my head. So here I am.” It was a lie seated in things Ray honestly doesn’t like about being an inventor in the 21st century.

He rubs his hands over his face and then through his hair collecting himself. Licking his lips he takes a breath carefully controlling the things about to come out of his mouth. “I trust you to do what’s necessary and only that. Like I said before I did my research and you aren’t one for needless casualties I … we might not be on the right side of the law, but that doesn’t make us bad people either.”

“How incredibly progressive of you, Lucky. My partner’s going to disagree with you there. My advice? Don’t argue with him. He’s got a hot temper. We’ve been apart for a bit so he could cool down… but! If for some reason cold isn’t the answer… Mick will take the opportunity to overheat his engines. With pleasure. The Streak won’t be fouling up any more of my heists. One way or another.”

Len turns them toward a red light district and parks in the lot of a pay by the hour motel. He gets out of the car and then leans back in. “Don’t speak and get in the back seat.”

Ray nods interested in Len’s perspective of Mick. It was all helpful advice because the mick that is his friend on the waverider had been through a lot. Like time master kidnapping and brainwashing, then unbrainwashing and Len dying. A lot a lot. Those kind of experiences change a man and ray hopes that the mick Rory he knows is still in there now though. It will always be easier for ray to get along with mick because like ray he wears his heart on his sleeve. Len despite how Ray is drawn to him, was an enigma to ray more often than not.

He hopes to solve some of the man through this ordeal though. “Okay, good to know about your friend. I’ll keep out of his way,” ray comments as he slides out of the front seat and into the back. He still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent but there was nothing he could do about that. This was his life he kept reminding himself because he was worried if he didn’t he’d forget and start preaching at Len. Which would do him absolutely no good. When Len is gone ray plays with the radio leaning up into the front seats awkwardly.

He was just bored and trying to keep busy so his mind would stop replaying when Len iced that man. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone die and that man wasn’t the nicest of men but even still the heartless killing over business is what gets to ray. What shifts Len’s axis so he decides not to do such things. Where he decides to give his life for his team and all of time.

The conversation with Mick goes exactly as he’s planned and before long, Len and Mick come out of a motel room each holding their respective gun cases. Mick slides into the passenger seat and twists looking Ray over for a moment. He asks, “Who’s this?” once Len has settled his gun in the foot well behind his seat and settled himself in the driver’s seat.

“Mick. Lucky. Lucky. Mick. He’s a tech expert. Hates the scene, loves unauthorized, unmoderated tech projects. He seems useful.”

Mick grunts and settles back. “He looks like a cross between one o'those punk hipsters and a some pretty boy billionaire.”

“Now Mick. Where are you manners?” Len chastens as he drives them back to the safehouse.

Ray freezes mouth open gawking at Mick. His mind a little broken at the all too observant and accurate assessment. He eventually shakes the shock away and holds out his hand awkwardly from the backseat, “and you seem like there is more to you than meets the eye. Looking forward to working with you.” It was a simple statement but one that ray knows beyond a doubt is true. Mick was more than a muscle brained fire obsessed broken individual. He was clever, resourceful and one day Ray’s friend.

Mick looks back at him again, looks down at his hand and then shakes it once briefly. “Yeah yeah.”

Len chuckles once, just a soft huff, and then says baldly, “I sleep in the corner office on the second floor. There are five other offices to choose from. Once I close my door leave me alone outside of emergencies. Now, I expect to see both of you at ten AM sharp. I have a plan for testing what we’re dealing with. Understood?”

Ray nods relieved on two levels. One mick shook his hand which did not happen the first time they met. The other was Len was putting him up. Ray isn’t certain if the arrangement is long term but for tonight at least he doesn’t have to figure something out. His plans to stay at Len’s side weren’t all that well thought out beyond becoming a member of his crew.

He picks the office that was between where Len and mick settled. He would have preferred to be closer to Len but thought the nearness would raise suspicion. He doesn’t really sleep that night, haunted by an icy face he didn’t save. How does Len bare such burdens so effortlessly. Do you really get used to it as he’s suggested before. Ray doubts it.

In the early hours of the morning he gives up on sleep and heads out for a run along the docks. The sun was barely beginning to rise when he makes it back to the warehouse. He’d stopped for ingredients on the way and was making use of the kitchen when the first sound of stirring could be heard. Hopefully Mick and Len like gluten and dairy free blueberry pancakes.

Mick makes his way in first, and makes a pleased, gruff noise as he moves over to take a plate of the pancakes. He’s in the process of adding syrup when Len strolls in as well put together as ever.

“You cook too? I might just end up keeping you on if you keep surprising us.” He glances at Mick who is wolfing it down and then starts plating up breakfast for himself.

Ray can’t control the blush. It hits him hard and fasts which he wholly blames Len for. He never complimented him before what is with all this positive reinforcement now. Was Len always so free with, even in a teasing manner, such kind words. It made Ray’s head spin a little. He glares down at his plate trying to cool his cheeks off well he eats his own share of the pancakes.

He swallows down a big bite and in an attempt to steer the conversation away from himself asks, “so you mentioned a plan last night.”

“I want to gain an appreciation of how fast he is. How agile. How… tethered he is when given a choice between catching the villain… and saving a life.” Len finishes off his small stack of pancakes. “I want to know what makes him tick… not his powers, but the man who wields them.”

‘Between catching the villain… and saving a life’ are the only words ray really hears. He knows what’s coming next. Another icy face to add to his conscious. He can’t bare it. Feeling a panic grip him ray has to fight off his desire to beg Len not to. To suggest there is a better way. Instead he bites his tongue in favour of a rougher assessment.

“An ultimatum then? How cliche. Though I guess it’s still used cuz it’s effective… just thought you’d have something more ingenuous up your sleeve.”

Mick whistles, “the balls on this one. Thinks making pancakes gives him a right to an opinion.”

Len’s eyes flick to Mick then back to Ray. “Tried, true and reliable,” he confirms airily and finishes off his last bite of food. “I need to know his mind, so I can make certain he and I can reach an understanding. It will be far less of a headache than outright killing him…”

“You just love a challenge,” Mick rumbles.

“True,” Len responds though his eyes are on Ray alone.

“What if he IS the hero he claims to be?” Ray counters because he is curious, will Len continue to sacrifice civilians. Ray knows ultimately Barry convinces him otherwise but if he hadn’t would that have been Len’s go to for escape. Then ray has a thought. One he would never say outloud.

Was Len testing Barry because he wants him to fail at being a hero, because he believes there is no such person. Tilting his head to the side he meets Len’s eyes his own gaze intense like when he looks at the inner workings of a new machine. He watches each gear and cog carefully figuring out how they work.

Shaking his head he goes back to finishing his pancakes letting Len off the hook from answering. If he is right and Len is testing the flash Ray’s inquiry will only be met with silence or cool indifference. He offers up instead, “Guess I’ll just have to wait and see what you do. I can understand the allure of a puzzle.”

It’s subtle, but Lucky’s questions and final statement have him looking hard at Lucky, his gaze calculating. He doesn’t let the expression get him down. He just adjusts his perceptions of Lucky. He’s wary but none of his warning instincts have truly been triggered. His eyes wander over Lucky for a moment. The man is, after all, exactly his type.

“I suppose you do,” he responds a slight purr to his voice.

It wasn’t like Ray hadn’t heard that sort of tone coming from Len before, just never used towards him. It made the hairs on his arms stand on end like an animal being targeted by a predator. Ray swallows down the last bite of his food and looks up at Len smiling a big broad grin mostly out of nervous habit. He pushes his feelings on what that tone could possibly mean out of his mind.

As he does this his mouth goes on a tangent well his mind is preoccupied. “Like you’ve already discovered I have no stomach for on the job action but I do hope you remember I’m offering my services to you because you’re a thief not a murderer.” Ray drums his fingers on the table looking between Mick and Len as he makes what appears to be a random assessment of the two men, “Neither of you are. Your survivors, and I have faith when you see an opportunity that will lead you away from having to be so extreme… you’ll take it.”

Standing he scoops up the empty plates and starts walking off to the kitchen a wave of his hand over his shoulder as he concludes, “Sometimes all it takes is a little faith, Leonard.” It wasn’t until he was wrist deep in suds washing the dishes that he thinks maybe he’d said a little too much. He wasn’t supposed to know these two men that well yet. Even on the waverider he probably wouldn’t have taken such liberties. Though he’d never been included in their inner circle there either. Ray was getting ahead of himself. His excitement and nerves were beginning to show in an unexpected manner.

If only Len hadn’t purred at him like that.

It was all his fault, with that voice and drawl… and.. and… sharp clear blue eyes. Ray closes his eyes and takes a breath trying to clear his head. What was he even thinking about. He needs to think of a way to be useful. surveillance maybe, miniature cameras… what was that queen bee villain chick ollie fought called again? Doesn’t matter, he can set something like that up to record Len’s encounters with Barry for future analysis. He is sure Len would appreciate that.

#coldatom #coldatomfusion #ray palmer #legends of tomorrow #lot #the atom #captain cold #leonard snart #darbble #A better man

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aenigmaticdays · 6 years

Text

Coda

Summary: The mythic invincibility of Fitzsimmons is just that: a myth. Fitz and Jemma learn the most painful way that even the foundation of a once rock-solid friendship that everyone once thought can weather any the test has its own cracks.

Notes: This fic is based on a very unpopular opinion that I have of how the writers tackled Fitzsimmons in S3, particularly during the Maveth-related episodes and the insertion of Will Daniels. I came to realise that 'Coda' was a story I wanted to read, but more than that; it was a story I wanted to write, so I did.

(Well kids, I think communication is important.)

On AO3, and FF.net

Who would have known that the previously-believed unbreakable bonds of a decade-old friendship wouldn’t have withstood the perfect maelstrom of time, the odd chance and more than a few debilitating circumstances?

Lost in this particularly boat-shaking revelation, Fitz starts mentally taking stock.

That much he is sure about: the confidence he has in his abilities and his understanding of science (and some newfound knowledge on astronomy) to bring Will back from that godforsaken planet.

So sure, that he leaves a hastily-written letter at Coulson’s desk before joining everyone else in the lab for the final but delicate stage of the operation.

The insistence whines of the machines take precedence over his morose thoughts. Fitz parks himself at a computer terminal in a corner of the lab, with an eye on the door and an eye on the screen scrolling data that would revolutionise NASA.

After all, he’d crossed the universe for her, and quite possibly bent and twisted several theoretical laws of physics in the process and is alive and well to talk about it should he wish to. But what could have ordinarily been considered one of the few miracles of his career—the leaps and bounds he’s single-handedly made in pushing through to achieve the impossible—has instead shattered his entire world.

The scene in front is hard to take in.

Fitz averts his eyes and stares instead at his dusty shoes as Jemma lavishes sobbing kisses on a ragged and dazed Will, taking small comfort in knowing that his last deed for her is one that will at least, guarantee her happiness.

Locked in a tight embrace, at this very moment, Will and Jemma form a grotesque parody of a medieval triptych that he’d taken in as a wide-eyed boy so long ago in the National Gallery: a woman who weeps over a fallen man, the folds of her skirt draped carefully over him. The pose is intimately timeless, a perfect framing of devotion between two people so intense that every other subject fades into obscurity in the background.

Fitz has never felt more like the outsider. To keep on looking would be intrusively profane in this sacred moment that relegates him to the role of the dispassionate observer. To insert himself into this would render its perfect symmetry askew and disrupt the harmony of its composition.

He uses that frozen moment as additional validation that his place isn’t here any longer.

Close on the heels of relief in knowing that he’d brought Will back are the tiny pinpricks of resentment, anger and throbbing pain that he’d managed to shoved into a deep, dark box the very moment that Jemma had made it clear where she stood.

Fitz raises his head and forces himself to watch as Simmons reluctantly disentangles herself from Will, her movements awkward and anxious as she moves to prep him for a period in isolation.

Coulson approaches slowly in his peripheral vision, tilting his head sideways at the flurry of activity in front of them.

“I think they won’t miss us just yet. Come to my office.”

Fitz slips from the room numbly. The blankness occupying a huge part of his mind is welcome; he has no more words to give. Having kept a promise he’d made himself a while ago—that is, to do all he can to make Simmons happy—he’s nonetheless still floundering as the realisation dawns on him that this winding journey can end today.

His feet take him past the lab—a place which had once freed him to be in his element, then later became a refuge when Simmons was off to Hydra—and the common area (another place where the memories now weigh like a yoke on his neck) and finally to the office, his walk not unlike a prisoner making his way to the gallows.

Those memories of what he and Simmons had accomplished in the years together, both good and bad, flit past until they’re like intertwined catacombs, a haven in the hell he felt he’d just endured, or maybe like a hell that he needed to carve his refuge from.

His breaths automatically quicken, the sudden onslaught of emotions leaving his bad hand trembling more than usual.

Fitz moves two steps past Coulson’s doorway and tries to shake the panic free. With deliberate slowness, he tucks his hands into his pockets. He clenches his fists, then unclenches them, bunching the already-wrinkled fabric of his trousers.

The suffocating weight of claustrophobia that he’s kept at bay now tunnels his vision to the very spot on Coulson’s desk where the letter lies. Nestled haphazardly in the pile of paperwork on the director’s desk is the envelope that he’d left on top of everything else, which means that Coulson has probably read it.

His acceptance of it, however, is another issue altogether.

In fact, it’s surprising to see the letter in a sorry state, as though it’d been read, crumpled and tossed away, before it was reluctantly plucked from its grave and re-read.

Coulson’s appraising sigh echoes loud in the small space, signalling the reckoning that’s coming.

“I’m not going to mince words, Fitz. The last few months have been hard. On you, on all of us, but on you especially. Too much has happened and I know that you and Simmons haven’t been—”

Hearing this from Coulson himself…excruciating doesn’t even begin to cover this.

Interrupting what he thinks might be a speech—whether a bureaucratic or a heartfelt one—that would deter him from doing what’s necessary, Fitz raises a hand in an uncharacteristic plea for silence which catches Coulson off guard.

“Please, Sir.”

Fitz hates himself already for that weak response, for the plea dripping with a desperation that mirrors all the times he thinks he’s lost Jemma.

In any other circumstance, he would have marvelled at how he’d managed to turn the tide—as short as it is—and take control of a conversation that he doesn’t want to have with a man he’s always looked up to.

Because allowing Coulson to go on would be to allow the director’s blunt words to mercilessly chisel through the emotional fortress that he’d been building brick by brick every sleepless night he’d spent in his bunk since Jemma’s return from Maveth.

And alone in his bed, he can be honest with himself: flaky talk of the cosmos aside, reciprocity had always been at the heart of the problem, and the shy hope he’d constantly nurtured about Jemma actually wanting him for who he is? That had finally disintegrated into nothing more than the dust of Maveth just as he thought they were both getting over his difficult recovery and her absence.

An extraordinary combination of circumstances making up the perfect storm, has moved them past the realm of potential and into impossibility.

The ugliest of the confessions he’s painfully admitted to himself is one where he knows he’s always needed Jemma more than she needed him. And she’s always needed him as a friend, an academic equal and as an esteemed colleague.

But as a romantic partner, he’d be her consolation prize.

It’s a kind of proof that he’d never wanted to face, until the sharp reality of it is shoved deep in his guts.

The conclusion he reaches doesn’t come easy, but what finally pushes him forward is the timid and defeated acknowledgement that he simply needs to de-couple himself from the unbreakable idea of Fitzsimmons.

Hard, fast and cleanly.

Having functioned so long as half of a pair, the time has come to shed this unhealthy co-dependency that has him clinging to Jemma longer than he should be. Her undercover work with Hydra, the quickness with which she’d fallen in love and into the arms of another man, the difficulty she had in facing his quasi-confession of love at the bottom of the Atlantic…aren’t these events proof-positive really, that the way forward is one where he needs to stumble onwards and upwards and alone in the journey ahead?

Maybe years later, their paths might cross again and a professional relationship between them could be in the cards. And if time was really said to flatten some scars, this would all be but an unpleasant memory that’s lost its sting.

Coulson eyes the letter once again, leaving Fitz to wallow in discomfort for a few seconds of absolute silence.

He shifts slightly from foot to foot, stilling only when Coulson asks him very quietly if this is truly what he wants.

Cut this right now, is the sinuous whisper in his mind. Cut it now, cleanly and quickly, and you’ll be free.

All he needs now, is the courage to ask for it.

Taking a deep breath as he battles the roil of guilt and anger in his stomach, Fitz merely nods, curtly and decisively.

He’d dug Jemma—no, he would now only think of her as Simmons—out of rubble and dirt, but perhaps, it’s time to dig himself out of this special hell that no one else will pull him from.

Coulson’s reluctant acquiescence is the executioner’s blade that helps cleave Fitzsimmons in half.

oOo

His bags wait at the heavy doors of the base; he’d packed the last few things of his with a single-minded determination that his mother would be proud of the moment Coulson accepted his resignation letter.

It’s this last bit that has him testy and nervous, but his feet nonetheless take him to the medical bay where Simmons still bustles around a sedated Will.

Leaning against the doorway, Fitz watches her for a minute, taking in the utmost care she gives to the people around her. How often had she done that for him as well, while he’d merely repaid her by being an emotional burden that she shouldn’t have to carry in more ways than one?

Simmons catches sight of him when he finally takes a tentative step in, her smile wide and a little wobbly.

“Fitz! Oh good, you’re here. I wanted to—”

She trails off, as though sensing the struggle in him, the curve of her lips turning downwards into a confused frown.

Best to get this done fast, he tells himself.

Because, despite what he’d seen of her videos and what she’d imagined of them in a planet that brought out the basest of instincts and wants that aren’t really there, she’d still chosen Will. In the moments where she’d thought he wasn’t looking, the distant stare that he’d mistook for fatigue is one that he now knows had been for another man who was stuck a universe away.

And unless he considers Simmons utterly lost to him, he knows that every last shred of hope he harbours for the both of them would merely keep him coming back for scraps even as a small part of him resolutely insists that he is in fact, deserving of more than that.

Finally, the words spill out of their own accord, the finality of this conversation akin to a swinging sledgehammer in his chest.

“I’m here to say goodbye, Simmons.”

Fitz glances once more at the sleeping man on the bed and then shifts his gaze to the familiar, beloved face that he’d grown up with for a decade.

The rush of grief and regret bursts from its dam when he sees the dawning look of wretched understanding in her eyes, to the point where it almost has him marching back into Coulson’s office to tear up that letter and rescind his resignation.

But his eagerness to give Simmons what she needs wars with the only selfish decision he wants to make for himself and as much as he wants to be there for her in any capacity at all as she sorts herself out, he is of little use to her as a pillar of support when his own blind need for her would only cripple them both.

She throws her arms around him in a quick, tight hug that he misses already before the sobs start to come.

In a soft whisper, he tells her not to cry for him, then releases her, in all senses of the word.

She doesn’t offer platitudes or any offers to keep in touch, for which he is grateful. Juggling the hurt she must feel with his own …it’s an unbreakable cycle (she had to have known this, surely?) that could only be ruthlessly broken by one of them somehow.

Maybe it’s the last time he’ll ever see her, maybe not, and in the moment before he spins on his heel to walk out, he turns back partially for a last look at her. But it’s a stolen and mute glance as always, like one of the many he’d sneaked in over the last few months because he always feels as though he’s taking something from her without her express permission.

The approach of quiet footsteps stops him in his tracks when he nears the exit.

“Sorry to see you go, mate.”

Hunter swings a brotherly arm around him then hugs him tightly, the exuberance of the action in stark contrast to the quiet words of farewell, then tucks a slip of paper into his pocket.

Baffled, Fitz fishes the paper out curiously but finds that it’s nothing more than a name and a number, neither of which are familiar to him.

“Call the number when you’re ready. Edwin,” Hunter gestures cryptically at his near-illegible scrawl of that mysterious name, “will be expecting you.”

It’s all Hunter leaves him with before turning back and rounding the corner.

Fitz shoulders his bags and waits for the heavy door to open. His eyes are burning (it’s just a trick of the light, he’s sure of it) as he walks forward into the bright sunlight.

It takes every effort not to look back.

oOo

The journey back to Glasgow is brutal, but that’s because he takes the slow way with too many connections for his liking, eschewing Coulson’s offer to use the quinjet to cross the Atlantic.

With nothing but time on his hands and his meagre belongings sitting in the cargo hold of a commercial flight, Fitz only remembers traversing the distance with lingering pains in his tailbone and the occasional drink that he takes from the flight attendant.

When time is catalogued as an endless stream of memories, night can meld into day and into night again outside the plane’s window, he finds that even jet-lag is no match for the movie in his mind. There’s no transcendental epiphany as much as he wishes for it, but merely an emptiness and a longing that he knows he has to fight, this time, for himself.

He’s come too far now—there’re literally thousands of miles between him and Simmons—to look back.

That decision to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., in truth, had been made the day when he slowly realised she’d increasingly become a crutch for him but had been too deep in denial to say so. The growing distance between them had spoken volumes about their once-in-sync relationship, professional civility replacing the platonic familiarity they once had with each other.

Then the revelation of his feelings which apparently repulsed her so much that she’d gone off on assignment to Hydra (what was he to think, after all?), their tentative truce before the damn planet whisked her away, her admission of love for Will...it’s a cosmic hand dealing him odds he can’t overcome.

He knows that the cracks in this once invincible pairing had formed long ago. Only later can he painfully conclude that excising himself from her life is the only option for his sanity, because he doesn’t think he can bear being there (it’s just perfect timing, innit?) when Will Daniels gets back on his feet and starts building a life with Simmons.

It’s only when he raises his fist to knock on the door of a modest home in Glasgow that he realises the late hour he’s arrived. But just like the stalwart woman he remembers who’d brought him up single-handedly, she opens the door in her pyjamas sans robe, shock and delighted surprise on her face when she sees him.

For the third time in two days, he’s engulfed in a hug.

Clinging to her to as long as he can, he tries to give her a smile when she asks about Jemma, though he doesn’t say a word in reply to her rapid-fire questions.

In fact, just the mention of her now brings up the roiling emotions he’s promised himself to keep tightly locked down—Fitzsimmons is no longer a fixable thing, he’d made sure of it and well…fuckthis skewed crisis of conscience that he can’t get past.

After all, how does he tell his mother that long, complicated story that starts with him nearly giving up the ghost at the bottom of the Atlantic, then giving up on a complicated friendship—if one could even call it that still—that had uttered its dying breath even before he’d walked away?

This close to breaking point, Fitz just shakes his head and avoids the intensity of her stare. He simply tells his mum that he’s tired from all the travel.

That is enough to galvanise her into action. She literally pulls him inside and pushes him into the bathroom to clean up, then sets out to make a full Scottish breakfast for him in the middle of the night.

It’s morning somewhere else around the world, she tells him later after the first helping of tatties and buttered toast and bacon, and her returning, prodigal son gives her an excellent excuse to eat a huge meal at the wrong time.

Much later, tucked into his childhood bed, all scrubbed raw and unpacked, he tosses and turns, and stares unseeing, at the crack in the window that he’d accidentally made the day before he left for the Academy all those years ago, contemplating the journey that has him coming back full circle after far too many losses.

The tears only fall hours later, when there’s no one at home.

oOo

Apart from Simmons, Fitz learns to live with a terrifying vulnerability that he hasn’t felt in years. Having been sheltered by her constant presence and then twinned with her in so many ways for so long, going solo makes him wobble like a new-born foal struggling to find its feet.

After the cathartic breakdown a week ago, he feels just a little bit stronger to face the world, so he ventures out and around Glasgow, keenly feeling the cold Scottish air nipping at his cheeks and nose and reddening the tips of his ears.

So much has changed, yet so many things have stayed the same. He walks past the high street in somewhat of a daze, still fingering the slip of paper that he hadn’t bothered to remove from the pocket of his jacket. He revisits old haunts—these memories, from before the Academy, now take on faded, sepia tones—and tries to remember what that time had been like.

Never has Fitz imagined a life past S.H.I.E.L.D. and in these uncharted waters, it’s either sink or swim. The former is something he’d literally already experienced and has no wish to go through again.

So that leaves him with learning how to swim, just as he tries to put the memory of the last sacrificial breath of oxygen out of his mind and the ill-timed confession that went with it.

Slipping his phone out of his pocket, he dials the number written on the piece of paper.

oOo

People can say all they like about Hunter and his ilk but Fitz is nothing but thankful for the man’s outstretched hand of friendship and help in his darkest hour. The only caveat being, all bets are off when it comes to their favourite football teams.

Edwin (the man with no apparent last name), as it turns out, is an English owner of a large private security firm and apparently, Hunter has said enough to Edwin that he’d been willing to hire Fitz on the spot as a tech-and-weapons specialist, with just that single but lengthy phone call.

Edwin’s proposal is simple and tempting: he wants Fitz in his first team, convinced that the addition of a tech-and weapons specialist of Fitz’s calibre can only be an asset to his expanding business.

The job role after all, isn’t too dissimilar to what Fitz had been doing all along, though he would be expected to participate more in fieldwork this time around and not sit in a van or in a lab behind a screen to remotely toggle switches or calibrate his readings. The lifestyle can be a nomadic one at times, but with the firm’s permanent bases in London, the Middle-East and North America, he’s guaranteed downtime and the choice of several countries to be based in, if he chooses to.

He accepts the offer after the hour-long conversation, then returns to his mother’s house to pack his bags once again.

oOo

As spring breaks the harsh colours of winter, Fitz learns once again, what it means to be part of a team.

It’s different but not unpleasant. Less grounded in alien tech, more focused on immediate threats that don’t come from realms unknown.

The fieldwork training is hard, but whatever he’s taken from those short years with Coulson helps him along somewhat. Whatever foundation S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, Edwin’s team now build ferociously on it.

Fitz still finds himself out of his depth—it’s knowledge of a different sort after all and acting on it with a calm head under fire is bloody difficult because he’s inclined to give into panic first—but instincts can be honed and sharpened and that’s exactly what his new team gives him.

The leader of the team is not the Cavalry, but he comfortably holds his own in hand-to-hand combat and it’s his patient training that returns some of Fitz’s confidence in his own physical abilities. He isn’t the strongest man around, but he discovers he’s quite a natural at taking shots and that the odd but precise task of packing his go-bag for every mission (one of the first things they teach him) soon becomes a routine that he can do in his sleep.

They also give him a small lab to work in and even if it isn’t the state-of-the-art kind of technology he’s used to, it’s space that he can call his own where no one bothers to disturb him unless it’s a reminder about deployment or down-time. Engineering improvements to their safety gear becomes his creative outlet and soon enough, the teams start squabbling among themselves to see who gets to use the enhanced tech first.

The camaraderie between the guys is solid and despite their intimidating sizes, they’d been nothing but welcoming to him, more so when he manages to save their collective arses (he’d just gotten his own arse singed in the process), first on a black-ops mission in Honduras and then later, during a covert operation where they’d been inserted into deep in the Kamchatka peninsula.

But maybe what Fitz likes about them best is how they don’t see the occasional shake of his bad hand and how they ignore the stutter that still emerges from time to time (they don’t say anything if they notice it anyway). With the ribbing and joking aside (being the new guy can still suck at times and the pranking doesn’t go away just because he’s come highly recommended), he learns that there is a life apart from S.H.I.E.L.D. and it isn’t a dark path as he’d previously imagined without Simmons at his side.

Edwin had merely introduced him as a former agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and that had been enough to stir some gossip amongst the more…curious ones. There are things Fitz knows that the guys are dying to ask him, but it’s not something he’s ready, or will ever be ready, to talk about.

His unnatural silence when they jokingly question him on girlfriends and the other missions he’d been on might show that while he’d walked past the light at the end of the tunnel, but his inability to say the words perpetually stuck in his throat is also a reminder of a dull, lingering ache that still throbs when he slides his own mental shielding up for a bit. The pattern of silence that he takes henceforth when it comes to anything remotely related to Simmons becomes as natural as breathing. Pain and other thorny emotions, rendered into muteness, had become his salvation.

But Fitz isn’t too daft as to think that it’s all sunshine and roses. Such moments are milestones in some ways, or at least, indicators that he has still not fully come to terms with the past few months yet, not when they still feel like a jagged knife in his gut.

Still, he meticulously builds layer upon layer of personal armour, strengthening the walls each time to keep out the thoughts of S.H.I.E.L.D. (and Simmons) that creep unwittingly into his mind.

He slowly gets used to having his own locker in the boys’ room with his name printed on it—the term ‘operative’ is so laughable when it’s applied to him—as well as the tactical clothing that he dons more often now than the shirts and ties that have been stowed and largely forgotten in the bottom of a drawer.

He learns of adrenaline highs and lows during and after missions and how to manage them.

Mostly, it’s found at the bottom of a beer bottle with the rest of the rowdy crew or in an intense lab session where he takes things apart and puts them back together again on his pristine workspace, and on a memorable occasion, in the bed of a young prodigy of a physics professor staying in town for a few nights for a conference.

Maybe it’s a rebound, maybe it’s not; he doesn’t quite know how to classify this thing between them that’s so not him. But he’d loved the past few days of laughter and easy conversations, along with the surprising amount of heat two people can generate when they’re genuinely into each other minus the baggage, the expectations and the heartache.

She looks nothing like Simmons yet speaks his kind of science language, and her own beauty stands on its own. But her exuberant nature is infectious—she tells him quite honestly that the general air of brooding he carries around, along with the delectable accent, are like catnip to some women (he laughs shyly at that)—and by the time she fondly kisses him goodbye at the end of their short time together, she’d inadvertently gifted him with some measure of understanding that maybe, just maybe, his brokenness is not unfixable, and that his world really hadn’t started and ended with Simmons.

Mostly, despite the gaping hole that’s still in his chest, she leaves him in awe of the passion she has for the life ahead of her, though it isn’t without some shock to discover how far he’d come since joining Coulson’s mobile unit.

He learns to disassemble and reassemble his weapons as quickly as the rest of the guys (timed competitions that he can’t resist help make this second nature to him), joins them sometimes in the gym (he develops a fondness for the punching bag in particular because it helps blank his mind) and slowly, starts accepting their invitations for after-work drinks.

He learns, for the first time, what bromance really means after seeing how the guys have each other’s backs, and that he’s actually grateful for this sort of masculine connections that had he’d sorely lacked for the first part of his life. Their don’t-ask-don’t-tell attitudes compel him to shed the last of the awkwardness that he has around them, though it takes more than a few drunken nights to achieve that.

He also learns to call London, Bahrain and Colorado home, where temporary but luxurious apartments house the teams on their downtime. Eventually, he thinks he might want London as his permanent base—it’s the closest to home where he’s just a few hours away from his mum should she need him around.

With the weeks marked by some periods of mad activity and sometimes, even longer periods of lull, the cool spring gradually transitions into the scorching heat of summer. Without really knowing when it happened, Fitz realises that he’d completely slipped into another kind of life—and down a very different path—that he couldn’t possibly have conceived of when he’d first stepped into the Academy.

The only connection with the past is the rare but treasured phone call from Hunter, who never fails to take some credit for this new life Fitz has made for himself. They steer clear of the sensitive topics because Hunter can be perceptive when he chooses to be and he always grits his teeth and swallows back the questions he wants to ask about the rest of the team and well, Simmons.

Or Simmons and Will Daniels.

The only time Hunter tangentially mentions her is when he slips in a side-complaint about her new engineering partner who has had more than a few difficulties filling the shoes he’d left behind.

But Hunter also never fails to make it clear that he is sorely missed.

Just like that, the dull ache returns with a vengeance.

#fanfic #Marvel: AOS #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d.#Fitzsimmons #fitz x simmons #fanfic au #Leo Fitz #Jemma Simmons

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jokerfan99 · 6 years

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A Taste of the Wild Side by MugenKeiji

Naruto Uzumaki walked through the main entrance of Konoha's hospital, he'd decided that after the day he'd had and the chaos he'd tried to prevent Hinata from unleashing, he had to have some normal company, if only for a few minutes.

Naruto moved down the labyrinth like corridors till he found the door he was looking for, a simple wooden door with the words “Sakura Haruno” engraved onto the door. Naruto clenched his hand into a fist and rapped on the door.

He waited for a few seconds, but there was no reply; Naruto sighed “Great, guess she's busy with a patient, well may as well wait inside for her, I'm sure she won't mind” he thought to himself as he turned the door knob and entered the small office.

Naruto looked around; both walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls about Medical Ninjutsu, near the back of the room, next to a large, open window, was a small wooden desk that was absolutely covered in various bits of paperwork, to the point that very little of the actual desk could be seen.

“Must have been knocked over by the wind from the window” Naruto thought as he strolled over to the desk and began to put the sheets of paper into some kind of order, it was better then reading the medical books after all.

It was while he was absent mindedly moving the pieces of paper, that he saw a dark green shape in the corner of his eye and froze in a mixture of shock and horror; there, on Sakura's desk laying under a few sheets of paper, was the same mask Hinata had worn.

Naruto grabbed it quickly and picked it up “Wh-what's this thing doing here?” he thought out loud as he examined it closely. Suddenly though, he sighed in relief “Good thing I found this thing before Sakura-chan, imagine what would have happened if she'd have put it on.”

As he thought that, Naruto's mind began to flash with images of Konoha being destroyed, with all men in the area in critical condition, especially him, and a wave of destruction moving from the Leaf village to the surrounding Elemental Nations.

It was during this nightmare-like day dream that Naruto began to wonder “Wait...What if she had put it on?” Naruto began to have flashbacks to Hinata and Ino, okay so they were over the top and crazy, but they weren't exactly doing anything that would cause harm, then again...they didn't have Sakura's temper.

Of course, the main reason Naruto was still thinking about it, was because of how Ino and Hinata became love obsessed and hit on him.

It's no real secret that Naruto has a deep seated crush on Sakura, and the prospect of said crush returning his affections did appeal to him, but there was the possibility that Sakura would be too destructive to hold back.

As he was deep in thought, the office door opened, and in came the object of Naruto's desires Sakura, carrying even more paperwork “Naruto?” she said as she saw the blonde.

Hearing Sakura's voice, Naruto whipped around “H-hi Sakura-chan” he said nervously as he hid the mask behind his back.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Naruto as she placed the stacks of paper on the now somewhat neater desk.

“Oh, well I was just in the area and thought I'd say hi and see how things were going with the hospitals rebuilding” Naruto replied.

Sakura looked at him warily, he was acting strange, well stranger then usual “It's going fine, Captain Yamato and Tazuna made it top priority so most of it's finished now” she said.

Naruto nodded in a vague showing of him listening, but in reality he was debating with himself, one part of him had the urge to put the mask on Sakura's face, in the hopes that it would help him win her over, maybe releasing those inhibitions of hers might make her think of him as something more then a friend.

But there was another part of him that claimed it was too dangerous, the normally shy and timid Hinata almost attacked three innocent civilians while wearing it, and with Sakura's fierce temper and penchant for violence, it seemed stupid to willingly make it worse.

Both sides had compelling arguments, and Naruto was struggling to choose “Oh if only I had someone who could give me advice...What would the Pervy Sage do?” he thought.

Suddenly, an image of Jiraiya appeared in his mind and smiled at him in an almost fatherly way “Naruto, life is always full of risks, being a Shinobi means that sometimes, you have to take those risks and hope for the better” he said wisely.

But as soon as that was said, the mental image of Jiraiya's face contorted into his typical perverted smile “Plus this is your chance to finally win her over kid, the worst that can happen is that she destroys the village, but hey seems to me like you run that risk every time you annoy her anyway, so do it”.

Naruto still wasn't sure and was starting to doubt the imaginary Jiraiya's words “Oh come on kid, your dad would do it, don't you want to be a great Hokage like him or something?” the Jiraiya lookalike said.

And that was all the convincing Naruto needed.

“Naruto, are you alright?” Sakura said with a worried tone as Naruto snapped out of his daydream.

“Sorry Sakura-Chan, I kind of dozed off there, I've had a lot on my mind today” he said. “By the way” Naruto said as he pulled the mask out from behind his back “I found this in one of the stalls down by the market, and I thought you might like it” he lied.

Sakura stared at the ugly wooden mask he held in front of her “It looks...nice” she said, not wanting to hurt his feelings, though she wasn't sure why, but something about that mask creeped her out.

Naruto suddenly out it into her hands “Glad you like it” he said a little too enthusiastically “Say why don't you try it on, see what you look like?”

Sakura stared at the mask in her hands “Oh I'd love to, but I can't I'm very busy” she started to say, but the disappointed and somewhat hurt look on Naruto's face made her change her mind “Well, I guess I could try it on for a second” she said as she began to raise it up to her face.

Naruto's blue eyes glued themselves to the mask as he watched her put it on almost achingly slow, but soon enough, the mask was hovering just above her face, then, with a final movement, Sakura placed the mask onto her face.

Almost instantaneously, the mask began to violently react, as it's hard wood surface began to soften and stretch.

Sakura gasped in shock and started to grab at the mask “What's happening?” she cried out as it continued to consume her head.

Naruto watched on, a bit unsure about what to do, on the one hand, he'd planned this, but on the other hand, he didn't like seeing Sakura in distress like this.

Soon enough, the mask had fully enveloped Sakura's head, her pink hair now trapped under the masks surface, and just as the mask finished encompassing her head, Sakura began to spin around.

Sakura turned into a small red, black and pink coloured tornado and began to move around the room, leaving destruction in her wake.

Naruto dived behind the desk and took cover “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea” he thought as e shut his eyes due to the intense wind being kicked up.

Unbeknownst to Naruto, the tornado's colours began to shift, the black disappearing, being replaced by more pink and red.

Suddenly, a loud screeching sound signalled that the transformation was complete, and with both fear and anticipation, Naruto slowly peeked his head over the desk and gasped.

There stood a very different Sakura Haruno from the one he'd grown up with.

She was clad in some kind of an evening dress, however its motif was similar to that of a kimono or yukata.

One side of the outfit was the same shade of pink her hair was, while the other side was a dark red, with a white trim along the edges.

On the pink side of the outfit, was the large white circle she typically wore on her outfits, while on the red side, there was a green face-like symbol surrounded by cherry blossoms with the face bearing a resemblance to the mask.

The dress was held in place by a pale green belt that wrapped around her midsection, with dark red buttons running down the centre of it.

Of course, the biggest change was the bright green colour Sakura's face now was, and the uncharacteristically large smile she wore on her face.

“S-Sakura-chan?” Naruto said as he cautiously rose up “This is it, moment of truth” he thought “How do you feel?”.

Sakura looked at him with a sly smile “I feel pretty good Naruto, thanks for asking” she said simply as she pulled a small hand-held mirror out and admired her new look “Wow, who'd have thought green would suit me this well” she said.

Naruto gulped “She doesn't seem too bad, maybe I should try asking her out” he thought as he mustered up all the courage he had.

“S-Sakura-chan, umm I was wondering” he said in an embarrassed tone as his face turned bright red as he looked at his shoes “Would you like to go on a date with me to Ichiraku?” he finished.

Sakura looked at him for a moment before sighing loudly and saying “No”.

Naruto's heart broke in two and he had to fight back the tears “Oh, okay Sakura-chan” he said as he turned to the door and started to walk away.

However, he felt a hand land on his shoulder that made him stop “Oh don't be like that, I just didn't want to have ramen again, it's a nice treat every now and then, but some people have other favourite foods you know” Sakura said.

Naruto saw a faint glimmer of hope and turned to face her “Does that mean you will go on a date with me?” he said perking up a little.

Sakura just smirked slyly and began to walk out of the office “I don't know about date, but you can treat me to something special, something that's not ramen”

Naruto watched her leave, the new Sakura wasn't what he had been expecting at all, he couldn't really tell what she was like, she had just told him it wasn't a date, but the way she'd said it made it still seem so enticing, and was it just him, or was there an extra swing in her hips when she walked?

Either way, Naruto wasn't going to let her out of his sight, though it was more to do with the fact that he liked what he saw, then his fear of what the super powered Sakura could do.

And with that, he took off after her.

Naruto walked side by side with Sakura, watching the people of the hidden leaf village stare in shock and fear at the new Sakura, who just ignored them.

“Man, it's a good thing this mask hasn't heightened her aggression, otherwise we'd all be dead by now” Naruto thought.

“So, where do you want to go Sakura-chan?” Naruto asked.

Sakura's eyelids descended slightly as she put a hand on her chin “Hmm” she said as a small light bulb appeared over her head.

Suddenly the bulb lit up as her eyes widened in realisation “How about we get some Dango?” she said to Naruto who nodded his head in agreement, he really didn't care what it was they got, he was on a kind of pseudo date with Sakura and that was all that really mattered.

“I'll go and get the Dango then Sakura-chan, you go find some place to sit” Naruto offered, causing Sakura to chuckle slightly “Why Naruto, I had no idea you could be such a gentleman” she said as she took off, once again adding a bit of a swing of her hips in her walk.

Naruto just stared at her “What is with these mixed messages!?” He yelled in his head as he walked to the Dango stall and grabbed two sticks.

As he walked back to Sakura, he noticed where she'd chosen to sit, a rather familiar looking bench, in fact, it was the one she'd sat at on the day they'd been made teammates, and when he'd transformed into Sasuke in order to get a kiss from her; his plan would have worked if it wasn't for that damn milk.

Naruto started to remember about his promise to Sakura to bring back Sasuke, but ultimately he decided that he could forget about his friend for one day if it meant having a date with Sakura.

Naruto sat down next to Sakura “Here you go” he said as he held out the stick of dango for her “Thank you” she said politely as she took it.

Sakura then crossed her legs, causing the dress to sneak up a bit and show off a bit more of her legs, something which didn't go unnoticed by Naruto.

“Sweet!” he thought to himself as a perverted smile started to form on his face, a little bit of blood began to trickle from his nose, and a lot of drool cascaded from his mouth.

Naruto suddenly realised how much he was gawking at her “Crap, she must have seen me! She's going to kill me!” he thought fearfully as he quickly made eye contact with Sakura, who had her head slightly tilted away from him, though she was still watching him out of the corner of her eye, and she smirking.

Naruto didn't feel like risking it again, so he started to eat his dango and tried to not faint from blood loss when he saw her dig in to her stick “Damn pervy sage!” he thought mentally.

Soon enough, the two had finished their snack and started to talk about various things, training, the village, their friends, for all intents and purposes it was just like talking to Sakura normally, and that was all well and good, but Naruto could do that any day.

Naruto began to think, Sakura had been pretty relaxed since she'd worn the Mask, maybe he could push her a bit further then he would normally.

Suddenly a evil grin appeared on Naruto's face “Oh Sakura-Chan” he said innocently.

Sakura turned to face him directly “Hmm? What is it Naru-mmmph!” She was cut off mid-sentence by a certain blonde haired shinobi diving forward and pressing his lips to hers.

“Yes! She's not struggling, she doesn't seem angry, if anything she seems to like it. This is the happiest day of my life!” he declares mentally, as he and Sakura closed their eyes and enjoyed the kiss.

Feeling even more adventurous, Naruto moved his hands up and placed his hands on Sakura's face, however, the sudden action caused Sakura to jump back in surprise and as a reflex, Naruto gripped her even tighter, till suddenly her face felt a lot less smooth and rubbery, now it felt kind of...coarse.

Sakura gasped for air “What the hell just happened?” she thought to herself, “The last thing I remember was Naruto giving me that weird mask in my office”.

Sakura then looked up and saw said blonde haired shinobi, sucking face with a wooden mask “Naruto?” She said “What are you-” she stopped mid-sentence as suddenly flashes of memory came back to her, the green face, the dango, the subtle flirts, the kiss.

Suddenly a dark aura began to appear around Sakura, and a wave of killing intent hit Naruto with such force, he was broken out of his stupor “Sakura-chan?” he said confusedly as he noticed she was back to normal, and did not look happy.

Sakura glared at him and yelled out “NARUTOOOOOO!” before gathering a large amount of Chakra into her fist and slamming it into his face, punching him so hard, he was lifted off the ground and flung into the air, dropping the mask somewhere in the village as he flew up high, and impacted into the ground on the other side of the village.

Naruto's eyes fluttered open as he felt the pain from the punch and landing start to fade “Wha?” he said as he noticed that a certain pink haired Kunoichi was healing him “Sakura-chan?”

Sakura looked at him, but turned away in anger “I'm only healing you so I can beat you again, that was a really low thing you did Naruto” she said angrilly as she stood up and began to walk away.

“Wait! Sakura-chan” Naruto yelled out “Please, I'm really sorry, it's just, I really like you and I thought that the mask was the only way I could get you to like me, I know I was stupid and wrong, and that I've pretty much blown my chance with you, but can we at least still be friends?” he begged.

Sakura looked at him thoughtfully for a second before sighing “I guess I can't blame you for being tempted by that thing, and so long as you never ever bring up this incident again, we can forget about it, deal?” she said.

Naruto nodded his head happily “Yes! I'll never talk about this ever again, I give you my word, and you know what my Nindo is”.

Sakura smiled and said “Yeah, you never go back on your word” and with that she started to walk off and tried to forget about what had happened but there was one solitary thought in the back of her head “Who said you blew your chance Naruto?”

#sakura haruno #naruto #naruto uzumaki #the mask

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leomelettedufromage-blog · 7 years

Text

Error pt. 2 (yoongi x reader, sort of)

cred. for gif: agu5td

Description: “Do you know who you are?” you nervously ask, hoping that the vocal program functions. The robot stares at you, cocking his head to the side. “I am not programmed with a name,” he replies. “However, I am under the property of Y/n. Programmed to assassinate.”

Word count: 4.3k

Warning: major character death, mild violence

As the days progress, Seokjin, the robots, and you learn to work in an efficient harmony. Even Tae occasionally visits to help and hang around, adding a light and refreshing mood when things become too serious and stressful. The atmosphere becomes especially serious and stressful when Namjoon sends his robot, Jungkook, to check up on your progress. The robot is always pure business, no nonsense. He expects improvement and results as soon as he arrives, much like his owner. However, Tae never seems to sense the frigid mood the robot brings with him, or if he does, he is always ready to counter it with his warmth.

“How are the robots coming along? I expect the recent issue with the hand to hand combat has been worked out and fixed?” Jungkook looks at you with expectant, icy eyes.

You begin to stutter out a response when Tae rushes to the robot. “Jungkookie! Where have you been? It’s been so long since I last saw you.” He pouts and gives the robot a slight shove, causing you to widen your eyes in fear at how the robot will respond.

The robot, however, has grown accustomed to Taehyung’s usual push and shove personality. “I’ve had some business to attend to,” he replies with an indifferent tone. “Please let go of my arm.” He moves his arm in an attempt to shake off Tae, but the drug dealer remains resistant.

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Jungkookie,” Tae coos, bringing his hands up to the robot’s cheeks, squishing Jungkook’s face. You stifle a laugh at the sight of Jungkook’s face, lips open and puckered while his eyes shoot daggers at Tae. “Look at your itty bitty bunny teeth!”

Yoongi watches curiously at the interaction, surprised and curious as to why the robot has waited so long without even trying to kill Tae. Jungkook could’ve killed Tae in seconds yet here they are both alive and bickering.

“Kookie~, you are my favorite robot, did you know that?” Taehyung ruffles the robot’s hair lovingly.

“Kookie?” The robot shakes himself out of Taehyung’s grip with an outraged and disgusted expression. You marvel at how well he has been able to mimic his master’s facial expressions. “If my master saw me now.. Don’t interrupt my work.”

Jungkook is about to ask for a report once more but suddenly pauses, stiffening for a moment. He brings his hand to his ear, pressing on an earpiece to listen. “It’s Namjoon; we have a mission.”

Your heart rate skyrockets, quickly turning to Yoongi in panic. He notices your anxiety, flashing you a soft smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Seokjin pats Hoseok on the back. “Not that you need any reassurance, but I’m sure we’ll succeed this time too. Let’s go.”

Jungkook leads the five of you out of the laboratory, past the maze of hallways to Namjoon’s office. You watch in awe as Jungkook strides to the full bookcase in the back, pushing it aside as if it were a piece of paper, revealing an empty corridor. He motions you to come in, but stops Yoongi and Hoseok

“We need you two to carry out this mission. Use these,” Jungkook pulls out two earpieces. “You’ll follow your creators’ orders with this. Go to this location.” Jungkook pulls out a map from Namjoon’s desk, a red circle drawn on it to indicate the point they must travel to

“Wait! Where are they going?” you cry, reaching out to Yoongi.

Seokjin stops you, pulling you back. “Don’t worry. Hoseok has done this multiple times,” he reassures. “We’ll monitor their actions in here.”

You squirm unsuccessfully, being pulled backwards into the corridor. “Yoongi! Be careful, alright?” The last thing you see is his smile and thumbs up before Jungkook pulls the bookcase closed.

“You’re not going with them, Jungkook?” Tae asks.

“No. I’m Namjoon’s personal robot. I’m supposed to stay situated at the base.” Jungkook deadpans. You follow him down the corridor to a small room, a soft glow coming from underneath the door. You jump as it suddenly swings open.

“Ah,” Namjoon greets. “You guys are here.” He motions the four of you into the room. It’s roughly the size of Namjoon’s office, but the atmosphere of the room remains more tense, causing chills to creep up your spine. The only light source comes from three large screens lining the wall.

“This screen,” Seokjin motions to the one on the right, “...shows you Yoongi and Hoseok’s points of view. As he said, you see the screen is split in two. It’s as if you are in the robots’ position, watching Hoseok appear in the corner of the screen displaying Yoongi’s view. Under the screens rests an ebony desk, taking up the entire wall. Namjoon motions you to take a seat, handing you a headset with a microphone attached to it.

“You can hear and command your robots with this.”

Your hands eagerly grab the headset, cramming it onto your head. “Yoongi, can you hear me?”

“I can.” You sigh in relief at the sound of his voice.

“What’s this sudden mission?” you demand, all previous fear of Namjoon erased by the adrenaline coursing through your body.

“We’ve pinpointed the location of Park Jimin.” Namjoon states. Tae becomes rigid beside you, face draining of color. Seokjin’s breath hitches, lips drawing into a thin line.

“Who’s he?” You frown, perplexed at the others’ tense reactions.

“Jimin used to be a part of BTS,” Namjoon states through gritted teeth. “He used to be a drug dealer with Taehyung-” Tae’s head drops down at the mention of his name. “He left, because he couldn’t handle the stuff we were doing. He got too soft along the way and sent us some sort of letter saying he couldn’t ‘do this anymore’ and he was ‘tired of it all.’ The day he ran away was the day we discovered our whole drug supply gone. We had to go out and scavenge for more, losing profits and everything.” Namjoon sighs, rubbing his temple. “That brat escaped with all knowledge about our gang and took all our profits. We found him in some hideout leading another gang of his own. They’re playing some sort of ‘Robin Hood’ game, taking crap from gangs and stashing it away for others to use.”

“All… all Jimin wanted to do was help others,” Tae’s uncharacteristically timid voice cuts through the room. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt us--”

The sound of Namjoon’s fist meeting the table interrupts Tae’s sentence. “If he wanted to play the hero, he shouldn’t have gotten involved with gangs in the first place!” He growls. “He got away with all our info; he knows all our strengths and weaknesses, knows every nook and cranny of the damn headquarters and we can’t have him spreading that around. We’re going to have to kill him and that stupid little group he built for himself. That’s why your robots,” he gestures to the screen, displaying Yoongi and Hoseok riding in a car, “...are on their way to wipe him out.”

Taehyung’s breath hitches in his throat. He almost crumbles into himself at the thought of his best friend being so close to death. “Jiminnie...” You go to put an arm on his shoulder, as both his shoulders move up and down softly.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Jimin’s been found in an abandoned hotel building at the edge of town. Hoseok and Yoongi are to find him and assassinate him on the spot, as well as anyone who gets in their way.” He shifts his eyes, looking at Taehyung’s sullen expression to the screen. “It looks like they’ve arrived.”

You step away from Tae and bring the microphone closer to your mouth. “Yoongi, did you get that?”

“Loud and clear.” He replies. “Jungkook gave us a photo of Jimin to identify him. We’ll get out of here in no time.”

Namjoon leans into his microphone. “Don’t take Jimin too lightly. Go into the building with caution; take out the guards manning the post first.” You hold your breath as the screen in front of you displays a blur of movements, grunts emitting from the speakers of your headset. After a series of thumping noises and cracking of bones, you see Yoongi’s grinning face emerge in Hoseok’s line of vision.

“Done.”

“Good. Now proceed into the building and find Jimin,” Namjoon commands. “Do not let anyone who sees you live.”

“Let’s split up,” Hoseok says. “We’ll cover more ground and meet up again when we find Jimin.” Yoongi nods in agreement before taking off in a different direction than Hoseok.

Yoongi runs up the stairs, finding himself in a maze of halls. “Here goes,” he grunts, kicking open the door to the first room. He scans it, looking under the made beds and in the small closet. “Huh. Must be empty--” He’s cut off with a heavy object smashing into the back of his head.

“Who the hell are you?” A gruff voice yells behind him. Yoongi spins around, coming face to face with a burly man twice his size

“Was that some sort of lamp?” Yoongi questions, looking down at the shattered glass lying at his feet.

“I asked you a question!” The man pulls out a gun, shooting straight into Yoongi’s abdomen. The impact of the bullet causes Yoongi to flinch, but then realization dawns on him. Yoongi mentally thanks you for investing in bulletproof metal, brushing off pieces of glass in his hair. The man’s eyes widen, aiming his gun at Yoongi’s head.

“Yoongi,” the sound of your voice appearing next to his ear stops him from moving. “Stop messing around.”

Yoongi’s sudden laugh causes the man to cautiously step back. “I just wanted to have a little fun.” You respond with a sigh, watching the man’s body crumple to the floor on the screen and Yoongi moving onto the next room.

Unlike Yoongi, Hoseok wastes no time going through all the rooms, mindlessly gunning down everyone he comes into contact with. Hoseok flies through the basement, already having covered three floors when Yoongi finishes his second.

“Go quickly, you two. We want to find Jimin before he escapes--” Namjoon pauses when a man enters the screen displaying Hoseok’s line of vision. The man stands at around Yoongi’s height, his pink dyed hair is pushed out of his eyes. You hear Taehyung shift beside you, jumping to get closer to the screen.

“It’s Jimin,” he breathes.

“I’m assuming Namjoon sent you,” the man sighs, slowly approaching Hoseok. He pulls out a knife from his pocket, ready to protect himself. He eyes Hoseok carefully, examining him and keeping his distance, before his expression shifts.

“You’re not a human, are you?” Curiosity colors his voice. Hoseok remains silent, unsure whether to accept or distract his target. “I’m impressed, you look so life-like. Namjoon must be pretty well off to have this technology.” He sounds impressed, however, his voice is tinted with something else. Sorrow? Affection? Does he miss Namjoon? His eyes leave the robot’s for a second and Hoseok takes the opportunity to prepare to attack.

“Hoseok, shoot him!” Seokjin orders just as the robot is about to do the same, as if reading his creator’s mind. Hoseok aims the gun and shoots but the robot’s aim is no match for Jimin’s agility. The bullet ricochets off the wall as Jimin crouches and tumbles out of harm’s way. While on the ground, Jimin kicks out Hoseok’s feet from under him and the robot crashes to the ground, losing his gun in the process.

Seokjin yelps as he watches his robot tumble to the ground. Meanwhile, Namjoon’s eyes never leave Jimin’s flexible figure. Namjoon’s eyes are also tinted with an underlying emotion. Anger? Disbelief? Jealousy?

Back on the screen, Jimin kicks Hoseok’s weapon away from him. With his opponent on the floor and unarmed, Jimin swiftly flips his body into a standing position. However, he doesn’t notice that Hoseok has uncovered a smaller gun from his weapons belt. The robot shoots Jimin as the pink-haired man is turning away from him. As the bullet grazes Jimin’s arm, he yelps in pain.

“Jiminnie!” Taehyung lunges but Jungkook holds him back, his reactions lightning sharp. “Is he okay?” Taheyung turns to Namjoon but Jungkook’s grip remains steady on his shoulder. Not able to move, Tae sobs hopelessly into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Don’t harm Jiminnie!” The robot looks uncomfortable but stands still while supporting Tae’s weight.

Meanwhile, Jimin has picked up Hoseok’s gun and holds it with his uninjured arm. The screen then displays Jimin’s arm coming up to knock the side of Hoseok’s head with the gun, causing the earpiece to fall out. A gunshot rings from the speaker before Hoseok’s side of the screen turns into static.

“Did he… did he die?” Taehyung gulps.

“No,” Seokjin says, his voice slightly wavering. “I’m pretty sure he just hit something in Hoseok’s system that just messed with his connection to this monitor. I’m pretty sure Hoseok is still up and running.”

“Yoongi! Hoseok needs back up right away! On the top floor!” you command into the mic.

“I’m a little tied up right now,” Yoongi grunts, snapping the neck of one of Jimin’s workers. “They all suddenly found and targeted me.” He kicks a person into another, allowing them both to fall before shooting them both. More groups of people approach him, all firing their guns. One man staggers back, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.

“Is he wearing some type of bullet proof clothing or something?”

“Nope,” Yoongi grins at the confused expressions painting the faces of Jimin’s workers. “Just really tough skin.” The screen morphs into a blur of motions again, and soon you see blood splattered and dripping on the walls. Yoongi nods in approval before dashing up the stairs to meet Hoseok.

Now that Hoseok is without the commands of Seokjin, he is on his own. Where is Yoongi? After Jimin disabled Hoseok’s earpiece and vision, he sprinted off into the darkness. Not only was Hoseok not able to display what he was seeing to Namjoon and the others, but his night vision was also disabled and his sight was blurry. Where is Yoongi?

Almost as if reading his thoughts, a figure appears in the same room as Hoseok. Hoseok hears him long before he is actually in the room and prepares to attack the intruder.

“Hoseok?” the intruder whispers, identifying himself as Yoongi. As soon as Hoseok is able to locate where his partner is standing, he runs at him and delivers a blow to Yoongi’s head. Caught completely off guard, Yoongi has no time to react. His earpiece falls to the ground, shattered, and as he raises his head to meet the eyes of his attacker, Hoseok notices that he has also successfully cracked Yoongi’s silver eyes. No one will be able to hear or see them now.

Yoongi looks at his partner, a confused and betrayed look in his eyes. “Hoseok? What the hell was that for?”

“Yoongi, listen to me,” Hoseok says, putting his hands and Yoongi’s shoulders. “I couldn’t have anyone else seeing or hearing us. Listen, I put a tracking device on Jimin; he managed to slip away.” He let's out a shaky breath. “He set off a bomb in this building and you need to get away quick.”

Yoongi scrunches his nose, staring into Hoseok’s emerald eyes. “But what about you?”

“Don't worry about me. I'll be out later than you will because we need to complete the mission. Jimin may have gotten away, but we’re destroying this hideout and every trace of this gang that Jimin has built. I need to stay behind and make sure that no one escapes this building alive.”

Yoongi shakes his head in protest. “I can help you--” Yoongi starts, hand coming up to touch Hoseok’s

“No, I need you to go back first and report the whereabouts of Jimin as soon as possible. This is important, Yoongi. The tracking device is connected to Jungkook’s system, so I need you to tell Seokjin to activate it right away. I’ll stay behind and monitor the building and make sure that none of Jimin’s groupies run out of here screaming about BTS and put the gang at risk.” Hoseok moves to leave but Yoongi grabs his hand and keeps him from leaving. Hoseok looks back at his partner, a question in his gaze.

Yoongi tightens his hold on his partner’s arm. “Promise you’ll be back?”

The corners of Hoseok’s lips turn upwards, eyes crinkling into soft crescents. “Promise. Oh,” Hoseok pauses. “And just a small reminder,” the robot clears his throat, voice shaking. “Seokjin is stupid. He's an idiot that always over thinks and goes back to look at his work even though he double checked it twice. He always thinks he's made a mistake and doubts himself even though everything is perfectly fine. He needs some reassurance from time to time, a little nudge forward to stop him from wallowing in his own self-doubt. So when he's throwing a pity party and underestimating himself, I need you to be there for him and protect him. Make him stop thinking all that depressing crap in his head and remind him that he's a great person. Remind him that he's intelligent and that he’ll figure out a way to solve whatever problem he wandered into. Alright?”

Yoongi scans Hoseok from head to toe with puzzled eyes. The other robot’s eyes are determined; if Yoongi had skin, Hoseok’s fingers would be digging bruises into it.

“Hoseok, why are you telling me all this?” Yoongi’s voice is almost a whisper.

His partner grips Yoongi in desperation. “I just need you to do that for me, okay? Please.”

Yoongi scans Hoseok again, the puzzlement in his eyes deepens. After a moment, he sighs. “I got it. I'll let him know first, but you have to give him a refresher on that when you get back.”

Hoseok smiles again, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, when I get back.” He releases his iron grip on Yoongi’s shoulders. “Now get out of here, Yoongi. Take that window out there; you're programmed to land perfectly.”

Yoongi does as his partner says, running up to the window and swinging his leg over the window. He turns back to look at Hoseok, “I’ll see you later.”

Hoseok nods in reply. “Goodbye, Yoongi. Don't forget what I said.” With that, Yoongi jumps out, sprinting back to the hideout.

You pace the cramped room, gnawing at your finger nails. “Have you heard anything?” you ask, peering over Seokjin’s shoulders.

“No. I'm trying to track Hoseok but I can't find him. Yoongi’s heading back here.” Seokjin frowns, a slight hint of worry in his voice. “Should we call Jungkook back?”

“No,” Namjoon sighs. “We sent him out for a reason. He might be able to give us information on the base that Yoongi and Hoseok missed.” You peer at the screen, now displaying Jungkook’s field of vision, traveling along the familiar path Yoongi and Hoseok had set off on hours ago. In a couple of minutes, you hear footsteps approaching the room.

“That's Yoongi, maybe Hoseok is with him!” Seokjin exclaims, bolting up to open the door

Yoongi steps in, hair disheveled. His clothes are torn and blotched a reddish brown color from the blood of his victims. Seokjin pushes past him, looking around the space behind him.

“Where's Hoseok? Why didn’t you guys come back together?” Seokjin demands.

“Hoseok said he'd come back later. He stayed back at the building to kill everyone.”

“And Jimin?” Namjoon questions, rising to his feet.

“Jimin got away, but Hoseok said he planted a tracking device on him. It's connected to Jungkook’s program so Seokjin can access it.” Yoongi pauses, contemplating. “Hoseok said he'd stay behind, because Jimin planted a bomb in the building--

“A bomb? Wouldn't it kill all his men?” Taehyung interrupts, confusion apparent his face. “Jimin wouldn't do that, would he…?”

Yoongi shrugs. “That's what Hoseok told me. He stayed behind with the building to make sure everyone in there wouldn't escape and spread information about BTS. He should be coming back any moment.”

Namjoon inhales deeply, pressing his hands to his face in exasperation. “At least we have an idea on where he is right now. We can activate the tracking device when Jungkook gets back.”

You press your lips into a thin line, walking up to Yoongi and taking his head into your hands. You observe his head, searching for any signs of trauma. “You didn't get any dents did you? Nothing punctured or anything?” you ask, concern plastered all over your face. You look him in the eyes and gasp. “Yoongi, your eyes are cracked! And your earpiece is missing. What happened?”

Yoongi is about to answer when he remembers what Hoseok said to him earlier when he attacked him. I couldn’t have anyone else seeing or hearing us. He shakes his head. “One of Jimin’s men got to me, but it’s alright. I can still see, I just need another earpiece. I think I’m fine.” You look at him, trying to read his unreadable expression. The rest of him seems fine, so you decide to drop the subject.

“Okay, I’ll fix your sight once we’re back at the lab.”

Seokjin hands Yoongi another earpiece and the robot puts it on. Then he gives you a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Y/n.” You nod and return the smile then the two of you stand next to each other, awaiting any instructions

“Namjoon.” Jungkook’s voice weaves through the room. You all turn your attention to the screen, the abandoned building that stood high just moments ago blown to bits. Concrete and wood litter the floor, clustered into a gigantic pile. “Everything's gone. The whole place is wrecked and there's no signs of life.” Jungkook looks down, kicking a dismembered body out of the way. “It just smells like a pile of burnt shit.

Seokjin hurries to put on his head set again, positioning the mic close to his mouth. “What about Hoseok, have you seen any signs of him?”

“I'm currently scanning the area right now,” Jungkook replies. “My system isn't picking up on any traces of him at all. Not even footprints-” Jungkook pauses, freezing in his tracks

“What's going on? What did you see?” Seokjin demands. “Jungkook, answer me!” He slams his hand on the table, voice quivering with desperation.

“It's an arm.” Jungkook moves pieces of debris and wood out of the way, uncovering an arm that's been cut off at the shoulder joint.

“That… that could be anyone’s arm.” Seokjin says, voice hoarse.

“It's not human. The flesh would've been burnt and charred.” Jungkook states, turning the arm over. Pieces of metal and wire juts out of the shoulder of the arm, slightly frayed and singed due to the bomb. “There's number on it: 02-18.”

“That's…” Seokjin whispers, bottom lip trembling. “...That's the date I made Hoseok. I inscribed it into his arm.”

“This is Hoseok’s, then,” Jungkook sighs. “I doubt he just tore off his own arm and ran. He probably got caught up in the explosion too.”

“Stop.” Seokjin says, tearing the headset away from his head. However, Jungkook’s voice is still connected to the speakers Namjoon set up next to the screens

“If I dig around a little, we might find the rest of his body-”

“Stop!” Seokjin repeats, voice growing frantic and louder in volume.

“I don't understand why you're telling me that,” Jungkook snaps, continuing to dig through the fallen rubble. “Robots were made to be easily replaced.”

Seokjin forces his way past you, Taehyung, and Yoongi, slamming the door behind him.

“I don't understand,” Yoongi says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Hoseok said he'd be back. How did he get trapped in there?”

“It's because this is all Jimin’s plan.” Namjoon seethes. “He did something to Hoseok’s program and probably caused a malfunction or something. That's why we lost him, that damn-” Namjoon clenches his fist into a ball and charges at the wall at full force, “-bastard!” He roars, powerfully striking the wall. You flinch, cautiously backing away while Namjoon fumes. He exhales loudly, running a hand through his hair. “Go to Seokjin. Jungkook and I will finish the rest.”

You scramble to Yoongi, dragging him and Taehyung out of the room before the vein bulging out of Namjoon’s neck popped.

“Seokjin?” You call, scanning the laboratory. He's seated at the worktable, head buried in his hands. You slowly approach him, hand soothingly rubbing his back. Taehyung takes a seat next to him, slinging an arm over his broad shoulders

“What did I do wrong?” Seokjin murmurs through his arms. “I’m positive I programmed him correctly. There wasn't a code or wire out of place; it was perfect…” his voice cracks, words replaced by soft sobs.

Taehyung tightens his hold on Seokjin, leaning down to embrace him. You do the same, still rubbing his back in comfort. Yoongi clears his throat, causing Seokjin to cease his sniffling. He looks up to peer at the robot over his arms, eyes swollen and puffy.

“Hoseok…” he begins, searching for the right words, “...before I left him, Hoseok said he'd come back and tell you this.” He exhales a breath of air. “He said that you're stupid-”

“Yoongi,” you warn, glaring in disapproval.

“No, not like that!” Yoongi exclaims. “He meant that you were stupid in the way that you don't realize your own potential. You're too hard on yourself and you doubt yourself too much. You always think you've done something wrong when you're doing fine. You blame yourself too often when you're not at fault.” Yoongi pauses, watching as Seokjin slowly sits up straight, removing his face from his arms. “Hoseok thinks -- thought -- you were a great person. You did everything perfectly; there was nothing wrong with his programming because you're so careful in your work. You shouldn't shoulder the blame for the outcomes of this mission, because it's not your fault. Hoseok would've wanted you to know this.”

“Did he really say that?” Seokjin whispers.

“They were one of his last words to me,” Yoongi confirms. “Hoseok wanted to tell you when he got back, but…” he trails off, eyes dropping to the floor.

A hoarse chuckle drifts from Seokjin’s lips. He gently removes himself from your’s and Taehyung’s embrace and wipes his tears. “I guess Hoseok wanted to give me a little hope before he departed.” He sniffles.

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believe-that-you-can-my-friend · 7 years

Text

Center of Gravity

Summary: A small scene about the aftermath of Betty’s and Jughead’s kiss. Takes place after they find Jason’s car and notify Sherriff Keller.

(I’m not neglecting you prompts, I promise!! Just this idea came to my head and I had to write it! Hope you all like it!!!)

They are at the police station and the air is filled with questions and disapproving looks towards both of them but mostly towards him, the boy with the jet black hair and the funny looking beanie. He gets it; being the son of Forsythe Jones isn’t really appreciated in the Riverdale police department. But he is here to help, both of them are, so the Sherriff has the good sense to offer them some hot tea and two blankets to warm their soaked forms as they explain again and again how they knew about Jason’s car, who told them, why they went there, where this there was.

The off the record interrogation is finally over and they are let alone in the small office, watching from the semi glass wall as Sherriff Keller is pacing up and down in his own office across them, giving orders to some deputies, making calls and writing down theories and facts. Jughead steals a small glance at the blonde next to him, slouching at the very end of the olive green leather couch, uncharacteristically away from him and his personal space, clutching her mug on her freezing hands and having her green eyes focused on the man across them, studying his every move. She fears that he’s going to involve her parents again, that he will let them now about their daughter’s Nancy Drew activities, but what she fears more is how involved in this will be her sister; the last thing Polly needs right now is police officers marching on her room and pestering her with questions during her grieving state.

Jughead brings his own eyes to examine his fingers. Is she shocked by what they found in the woods? Is she bumped that she didn’t have the change to fawn over Archie on stage? Or, worse, is she avoiding him? He had sure blown it. He made a move on her way too fast, she probably isn’t even over Archie yet and definitely she sees him as a close friend and nothing more. Stupid Jughead with your stupid urges and your stupid hopes getting up for nothing.

He doesn’t regret it. If anything he got a glimpse of what it is to have a taste of the perfection that is Betty Cooper; to catch a small moment of raw intensity and brush his fingertips against the edges of his long-term fantasy about him and her sharing the same level of affection. He felt alive in that kiss, like a new man, exhilarated and born again, like all those years before her didn’t exist, like he was just living in grey and that moment he got drowned in colors. What he does regret is this feeling of bitter emptiness that fills his chest at that very moment and it stings badly, even though he felt it a lot of times in the past and even though part of him was prepared for facing emotional rock bottom once again.

He steals another glance; she still looks focused on the action out of the small room they occupy. He hates the silence; he of all people hates the silence. He wants her to say something, even reject him and his earlier confession of heart. That way he will have something concrete, something that will shutter his heart in million pieces but at least it would make him stop thinking and overanalyzing and being in that constant loop of thinking that he knows everything but in the end he knows nothing.

“I’m sorry I ruined the moment.” Her words come crashing down between them and Jughead gets startled by her soft voice that breaks the unwanted silence and disrupts his sea of thoughts.

He opens his mouth to say something but he feels a chock paralyzing his tongue so he just nods curtly, hoping to not appear as hurt as he feels.

“I wish we had that kiss at another time, in another place.” Jughead finds her voice rather steady and sure and he thinks that she doesn’t have second thoughts about maybe giving him a chance. There is another nod from his part; he was never good with spoken words and right now even a pen and paper wouldn’t help him express the rollercoaster of emotions he is feeling.

“Because truly that was the best kiss someone could experience in a lifetime.” Her voice breaks at the end of her sentence and it throws him off, sending his head flying to face her for the first time since they had set foot in that ugly colored room.

“You think so?” he doesn’t even recognize his voice, small and softer than it was earlier in her room, the emotions giving it an odd thickness. His heart flatters as he waits for her next answer and at that moment he knows he is doomed, a hopeless victim to her breathtaking green eyes and their hints of blues and greys. Their color is a mystery to him, his feeling for her the same.

Betty only nods, chin wobbling and head dropping to the floor, as two tears form a straight line from her eyelashes to the rusty tiles that lie underneath her ankle boots. “I’m so caught up in this bubble that’s seconds from being popped violently and that seems to make me pass out on things that are big events in my life.”

His heart flatters again at the description she sets for their electrifying moment. She is definitely the biggest event in his lonesome and boring life. But big is everything around them right now, big secrets, big scandals, big revelations and big scares them both, two sixteen year old kids trying to find themselves in a world that everyone labels as big. “We can go small, timid. One step at a time, even half if you want.” He proposes with soft eyes gazing her profile and, for the first time it seems that life decides to offer him a smile in the form of an agreeing nod from the girl that, up until now, only got to have in his wildest dreams.

“You keep me grounded, Juggie. Just like gravity; you’re pulling me to your safe place when everything is madly twirling around me.” Betty looks him in the eyes and he understands. There’s a pull, an unbreakable urge to stay connected and he relishes to it, even if the heavy feeling against his chest scares the hell out of him. “When you’re in the room, it’s impossible for me to look away.” Yeah, he understands that very much so.

“I wanted to kiss you for a very long time.” The raven haired boy confesses and sends her one of his signature glares, those intense ones that he only keeps for her and they cause a gorgeous chaos of intense emotions inside her chest.

“Now I came to understand that I did want that too, badly.” She shivers and it’s not from the cold or the clingy wet clothes she wears; it’s from his stare and the rerun of their first kiss inside her head. She finds herself closing the space that she had left between them on the couch and brings her hand on his cheek, caressing the cold skin and brushing away some dripping black waves.

He keeps staring down at her and he isn’t sure what to do. His body is telling him to go for it once again but his mind interferes and advices him to hold his horses, be timid as he promised. He feels the feather light breath of hers against his lips and his eyes flatter close, and if he still had a heart he would swear that it will jump off his chest and escape. But his heart is on her hands now and he prays that she is delicate with it because he doesn’t know how many more plasters and stitches it can handle.

She finally closes the inch between them, soft lips meeting sore and chapped ones, and the feel is indeed magnetic, like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly with each other. It brings a tiny whine on Betty’s lips and Jughead sighs all his nerves and his frustration away, slender fingers coming to dance over her waist lightly, him testing the waters and wanting to touch her, to confirm that she is real. She loves it and her thump brushes lightly over his cheekbone, both angling their heads and sharing some sweet, loving pecks with each other.

“My very own center of gravity…” Jughead murmurs inside the kiss and he feels her hum on his thirsty lips, a pleased smile curling her rosy bubblegum ones and being the sight Jughead comes across as he decides to step back into reality and open his eyes. They put their love on hold once again, the world around them revolving in spinning circles and leaving them no choice but to hop on for a ride, but this time they are going to be ok.

Gravity is an unbreakable force.

#bughead #bughead fic #bughead fanfiction #jetty #betty x jughead #betty and jughead #riverdale fic #riverdaleships #otp:sundaes & plaids #mywriting

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