#but anyway i was reading the third chapter of your fic and there were dried flowers in it and i was like WAIT YES YES YES
Text
Of Fire and Featheringtons: Chapter 6
Well hello friends, and welcome to my second Polin fic! This one builds on The Polin Fic (I Could Have Told You 'Bout the Long Nights on Ao3) so be sure to read that before diving into this one!
Like the other one, this fic is safe for work, but a few warnings do apply! If house fires, house fire injuries, mild gore, and mild blood aren't your thing, then don't be afraid to give this fic a pass. I'll be updating it twice a week here and on Ao3, so check back for updates.
I hope you enjoy this Polin fic, I had a blast writing it!
Back at Bridgerton House, hot baths were waiting in all their rooms. Colin dismissed Anna and all the servants from the room they shared, insisting he and Pen would manage. In truth, he simply couldn’t manage the costs of propriety through his panic for Pen. She had stopped crying and gone absolutely silent and stone-faced in the carriage back to Bridgerton House. She hadn’t responded to him or anyone else verbally, although she had managed navigating the house without issue. Her mind simply wasn’t present, and that frightened Colin more than the sight of the blood covering her face and torso had in that stairwell. She was strong, he knew that, but he couldn’t free her from whatever hell her mind had trapped her in.
He had shucked off his charred jacket and waistcoat, hoping she would come back to reality as he did so. He was desperate to get the brownish-red dried blood off of her but was afraid to get her directly into the bath—she could do herself an injury if she came back to herself and was in such a vulnerable position. Instead, he sat her in a particularly comfortable armchair, speaking softly about nothing in particular. One by one, he pulled her singed, sooty gloves off, and then held both her hands in his good one—he had slipped his broken arm back into the sling in the carriage to avoid doing himself an injury—holding them over his heart in the hopes that she might focus on his heartbeat and come back.
“Pen?” No response. Colin was trembling. He couldn’t simply do nothing. Gently putting her hands in her lap and going to one knee before her, he reached for a washcloth and dipped it in the bathwater, clumsily wringing it out one-handed.
“Pen, may I get some of that muck off your face?” Nothing. He shook one of her arms gently, repeating the question. Still nothing. Heart in his stomach and sinking rapidly, Colin gently reached up and began to dab her face. The first swipe or two of the warm cloth elicited no reaction, but on the third swipe, Penelope flinched back. Colin reared back, staying below Penelope and holding up his hand as he would if he had startled one of his sisters.
“It’s only me, Pen. It’s Colin,” he said. For the first time since they had emerged from Lady Danbury’s carriage earlier that evening, her eyes focused and found his face.
“It’s cold,” she said, uncertainly. The blazing fire in the room and the still-steaming tub gave lie to the comment, but Colin was not about to contradict her.
“Let’s get you warm,” he said. She nodded, stood, and reached behind her for the buttons on her dress. After fumbling for a moment, she dropped her arms and turned her back to Colin. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Please?”
“Of course.” He draped the washcloth over the edge of the tub and rose, unbuttoning her dress and sliding it off her shoulders. He left it where it fell on the floor as she stepped out of it, back still to him. It was destined for the rag bin, anyway. He splayed his hand on her waist next to the laces of her corset.
“This too?”
“Yes.”
Mentally blessing Anna for using a knot that came undone with only a few gentle tugs on the free end of the lace, Colin undid and loosened Penelope’s stays, the structured garment sliding to the floor. The front stained with blood but not crusted as her overgown was. Quiet questions and simple, clear answers saw Pen undressed, and Colin wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting and balancing her as she climbed into the big copper tub and promptly curled into a ball, only her nose above the waterline. Her skin was covered in goosepimples, and she seemed to shiver in the warm water. Colin went to divest himself of shirt and breeches but stopped, hesitant. Pen’s eyes flicked to his, and she nodded, barely, and leaned toward him without uncurling.
He slid out of the remainder of his clothing and carefully climbed into the tub with her, hanging his splinted arm over the edge of the tub to keep it from getting wet and sitting up straighter than usual to keep direct heat off his still-tender burn scars. Once he was situated, she scooted into his lap and curled back into a ball, head resting on his chest, still only her nose poking out of the water. He wrapped his good arm around her, simply holding her for long moments as the water loosened fire grime, soot, and blood from their skin.
Between the well-stoked fire, warm water, and his body heat, Penelope slowly seemed to warm up, and her muscles relaxed. He reached for the washcloth again. Although the water was getting the blood on her lower face and chest, she had not submerged her entire face, and she had a patch of blood on her forehead. She sighed quietly through her nose and leaned into the washcloth as he wiped away Felix’s blood. As he rinsed the washcloth in the tub, Pen shifted in his lap, sitting up so her shoulders were clear of the water. She lifted both hands and began fishing pins out of her hair. The ones in the front came out without issue, but she grimaced as she yanked on the ones in the back. Dried blood had more or less glued them in place.
Colin lifted the washcloth, meaning to wring it out over her head to try to loosen the pins, but Penelope gently took his wrist and shook her head. Steadying herself with hands on his shoulders, she arched back, dipping her hair into the water. After a few still moments, she gently shook her still-submerged head, releasing a reddish cloud into the water.
We’ll need a second tub for rinsing, realized Colin. Trying to help her, he took some soap in his palm, threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of her head, and massaged gently, loosening things. Her eyes closed, and she went still. She did not smile—Colin suspected she would not for some time yet—but her jaw relaxed, and she released her neck, letting the water and his hand support her head. Slowly, he worked the pins holding her hair up loose, and it relaxed into the water. She sat back up as Colin set the pins in his hand on the table next to the tub, shivering as her hair cooled in the air and looking sideways at the now-cloudy water. She stood at his gentle pat to her hip and stepped out of the tub to wrap a drying cloth about herself. Colin did the same and then pulled the bell for the servants.
A gentle knock at the door a few moments later revealed several footmen with a second copper tub and kettles of hot water. Anna—who Colin made a mental note to submit for sainthood—was also there with a fresh stack of drying cloths, which she left next to the fire so they would be warm. After preparing the second tub, Colin and Penelope were again left alone. Climbing into the clean, hot water with appreciative hisses, Colin and Penelope settled in again. Pen dunked her hair once more, running fingers through it to ensure no pins had been missed and all the soap was out. Then, she settled against Colin’s chest, eyes closed, breathing with him. Time seemed to still.
It was only when Colin felt Pen’s body relax into the posture that meant she had slipped into sleep that he noticed that the curls at the crown of her hair had largely dried and frizzed up, and the water was not warm enough to be comfortable anymore.
“Pen,” he murmured, shifting her gently. She blinked sleepily up at him. She stood with him and stepped out of the tub. He wrapped her, then himself, in drying cloths. The pair more or less fell into bed with Colin clumsily pulling the covers over them in the moments before Penelope’s gentle breathing soothed him to sleep as well.
It hadn’t happened this way! Penelope stood frozen to the stairs, unrestrained by anything but that strange quality nightmares had to hold your body in place. She watched as Felix grabbed Colin by his lapels and grinned at her, saying, “Don’t worry Cousin, I will not be harmed,” before he threw them both into the roaring flames. Colin’s screams echoed in her ears as Felix emerged from the conflagration, and suddenly Augie and Edmund were in his arms, terrified and struggling. They called for her, begged her to rescue them, but she could not move. Felix backed into the flames with them, laughing.
When he appeared again, he held Eloise in a bridal carry. “How did you fail to see what he is?” wailed Eloise as Felix delivered her, too, to the fire, and Eloise’s screams joined those of Colin, Augie, and Edmund. It was the sight of Violet Bridgerton walking sedately into the fire after her children and grandchildren on Felix’s arm that broke Penelope. She screamed, falling to her knees.
A loud thud and babbled voices interrupted her sight for a moment, and the next thing she saw was flames inches from her nose as she screamed again…
“Pen!”
Her eyes flew open; she was wrapped too tightly in a drying cloth, Colin above her in their bed at Bridgerton House, naked to the waist, his own drying cloth and the bedclothes barely keeping him covered. He called her name, telling her she was safe, that he was there. Also in her field of vision were Violet, Kate, and Eloise. She was still screaming, she realized, and Eloise’s face was white, with tear tracks down both cheeks. She was frightening her friend; she had to stop.
A herculean effort that made her jaw crack in her head closed her mouth, cutting off the scream. Bridgerton voices came from the door. Had she woken the entire household? She was still too tightly wrapped; she needed to breathe. Struggling to free her arms and legs, Kate and Violet reached down to help her. Simultaneously, their eyes went wide, and both whipped their heads toward the door, ordering the men out and admonishing them to close the door for heaven’s sake. A resounding slam heralded sudden silence, except for the rustling of fabric as Penelope fought her way loose and resettled the drying cloth loosely around her in a halfhearted nod to propriety. If Violet, Kate, and Eloise had not been before her, she would certainly have tumbled out of bed entirely.
Penelope lifted her head and met Violet’s eyes.
“I didn’t know what he was, I swear,” she whispered, feeling like she was about to fall off a cliff. Violet pulled her into a hug.
“Of course not dearest. There’s no way you could have known,” she said. A tight band around Penelope’s heart snapped, and she sobbed into her mother-in-law’s shoulder. Kate and Eloise wrapped their arms around Violet and Penelope as well, letting Penelope cry. As her tears subsided, she hiccupped, startling a giggle out of herself. She heard Colin sigh behind her, and she felt the bed move as he began to rise before Eloise shrieked, “Colin, do not!”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Eloise—” he snapped, settling back to the bed as he recalled his own lack of appropriate clothing. Pulling back from Violet, Penelope wiped her eyes on the edge of the drying cloth still wrapped around her.
“Thank you,” she said, for Violet’s ears alone. She received a warm smile and a squeezed hand before the older woman rose.
“Well, we shall let you two compose yourselves. Eloise, Kate.” The three left the room.
Colin rose and pulled on some smallclothes, collecting a clean chemise and shawl for Penelope. Once she was dressed and wrapped in the shawl, she took a tailor’s seat on the bed facing Colin. Her face was down, watching as her fingers fidgeted with a loose loop of yarn in the knitted shawl. Colin sat on the edge of the bed, one foot tucked beneath him, the other on the floor.
“Pen, look at me,” he said softly, almost pleading. Her eyes flicked to his face for a moment and then returned to her hands.
“Penelope, love. Nothing that happened this summer is your fault.”
She did not believe that she held no responsibility for what had happened or for what was likely to come; the guilt weighed too heavily on her heart and roiled too acidly for her to dismiss. However, Colin was exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes spoke volumes, as did the heaviness of his eyelids. He held his splinted arm up at an angle across his chest that told her in no uncertain terms that it hurt him. Sleep was what Colin needed right now, and Penelope’s thoughts and feelings were too raw, too tangled for her to articulate fully. If she told him how she felt now, they would be talking about it until the sun rose. Besides, if Penelope was being truly honest with herself, they had insufficient information at this moment to either allay or justify her guilt and fears. So, rather than argue, she pasted a half-hearted smile on her face.
“No, of course. I’m sure I’m simply overwrought from the day,” she said. Colin’s eyes narrowed.
“Why do I not believe that?” he asked.
“Colin…I have not the words just now to explain it myself. Please, can we try to sleep?” He shifted, pulling his other foot up and allowing himself to slump back down. He didn’t believe her; she could see it in his eyes, but his own tiredness and pain were enough that he lacked the will to fight her, especially given a cogent, reasonable answer.
“This is not a period on the conversation,” he warned her as they lay down and his unbroken arm came across her belly, unconsciously settling above her scar. “We will discuss this when you’re ready.”
“I know,” she whispered, as Colin’s eyes closed. She waited until he was snoring robustly beside her and had turned in his sleep so he was not holding her to carefully slide out of bed and retreat to the library. She was too rattled to read, but paging through books eventually calmed her as pre-dawn light slowly filled the room.
When Penelope dragged herself into the breakfast room later that morning, a clump of Bridgertons surrounded Anthony, and Penelope was too tired to try to sort through the overlapping voices as she collected herself a cup of tea and a scone.
“Good morning, Penelope!” trilled Hyacinth. The babble of voices around Anthony cut off immediately.
“The papers have it already, do they?” she asked, forestalling the inevitable equivocation that they hadn’t all been discussing Felix’s crimes and arrest as she walked in.
“I’m afraid so,” said Anthony. “I shall meet with our solicitor this morning and prepare. It is entirely likely that the crown solicitor will wish to meet with you, Penelope. I assure you that you have our full support.”
“Full support for what?” Colin had entered the room and was at the sideboard, loading himself a plate.
“Mr. Featherington’s trial,” answered Hyacinth, completely ignoring the quelling look Anthony sent her way. “The crown solicitor is going to put Penelope on the stand, like as not.” The lid of the chafing dish slammed as Colin spun to face the room.
“Like hell he will,” he growled.
“Colin, language,” came Violet’s soft voice.
“I am meeting with our solicitor in an hour. Shall I expect your company?” asked Anthony.
“I should think so. For every meeting, Anthony.” Colin did not return to making up his plate until Anthony agreed that Colin should be present at any and all meetings about the issue.
Unready to look at what the papers were saying, Penelope leaned over Sophie’s shoulder to read her scandal sheet. She flinched back at the title: The Featherington Firebug Flames Out! If even the scandal sheets had the story, then there would be no hiding any of the details. Her mama would know about this by now, and her aunt would surely hear by tomorrow at the very latest. She could not put off writing a letter explaining things, but she had no explanation. She needed sleep but was sure she would have nightmares if she tried, so she would have to do her best to compose some sort of letter while sleep deprived. Ought she invite her aunt here?
Her mind was still dully poking at things she really should address until Anthony and Colin left to see the solicitor. They were gone most of the day, and Penelope spent the time struggling to write letters to her family explaining the situation. Overall, it was a quiet day, and it was the last quiet day for quite some time.
The next day, Penelope received a note from her mama informing her that Aunt Ophelia Featherington, née Allen, was on her way into town from her country home and was expected to arrive in three days’ time. Penelope was strongly invited (ordered, really, but her mama had not used the word) to Featherington House to greet her and explain what on earth had happened.
Penelope had refused all offers of accompaniment from the women of Bridgerton House–although she had been surprisingly tempted to accept Hyacinth’s offer of accompaniment; adding Hyacinth to the situation would be akin to dropping a fox among the chickens, and that level of chaos was appealing. Colin and Anthony had another meeting with the family solicitor, and Penelope was grateful that she had not had to explain to Colin why she did not want him at the first meeting with Felix’s mother.
The visit had been painfully awkward. Aunt Ophelia was a willowy, nearly translucent woman with deeply sad eyes, and Penelope had nearly broken a seven-year streak of not crying in front of her mother when she saw the lack of blame in her aunt’s eyes. Both Ophelia and Penelope had let Portia prattle on about how important it was to raise young men correctly so that they did not bring scandal to themselves or their families. Penelope had not so much as sighed in protest when Portia spent nearly three-quarters of an hour explaining that Penelope had been doomed to fail Felix because she had no children of her own after over a year of marriage. Aunt Ophelia had simply sat on the old green sofa in the Featherington sitting room and sipped tea, occasionally tilting her head or humming politely in acknowledgement of Portia’s direct assertions.
After that meeting, Penelope had returned to Bridgerton House and hidden in a back corner of the library to cry herself out. Colin had found her there at dinnertime, trapped in nightmares. She had excused herself to bed rather than come to dinner with the family, somewhat weakly claiming a headache. She had eventually fallen asleep again, and did not hear Colin either come to bed or rise the next morning. Just missing each other became a pattern, and despite Colin’s insistence that they would talk about things, the proper time simply did not materialize.
In the six weeks it took the crown to prepare their case for trial, Colin and Anthony met almost daily with the Bridgerton’s solicitor, as well as the Featherington and crown solicitors. As Anthony had predicted, once the crown solicitor became involved, he did indeed want to interview Penelope. He also sent a request through the Bridgerton’s solicitor for copies of all Penelope’s correspondence with both her aunt and cousin. He had asked for Colin’s as well, but Colin had not directly corresponded with either. He had accompanied Penelope back to their house to collect the letters, but they barely made it to the door through a crowd of gawkers and busybodies who bombarded them with questions and accusations. Penelope had been obliged to redo several copies of letters that day after tears smudged things into illegibility. After that, the only people who visited Colin and Penelope’s home were servants, and only after dark, through the back door, to avoid causing a riot.
#polin#polin fic#polin fanfiction#polin bridgerton#colin x penelope#colin and penelope#colin bridgerton and penelope feathertington#colin bridgerton#penelope featherington#bridgerton#bridgerton books#bridgerton netflix#regency fic#no beta we die like edmund#of fire and featheringtons
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
five valentine’s day that went wrong and one that (almost) didn’t
@queercreators event 02: romance — [ five valentine’s day that went wrong and one the (almost) didn’t ]
[ “Five Things” Fic ] “
dedicated to my dear Reneweys [ @nodrianbcyes @honey-hippie-harper @healing-winston-pratt @alecjamesartino @bluenoctuary-art @everyone-has-a-nightmare ] ♡
Summary: They always managed to ruin their Valentine's Days one way or another, but it didn't matter. Because there was no way they could ruin what the two of them had.Boy, he would like to see someone try.
AO3
Well, hello there!!! It’s been a while since the last time I posted something x’d I know I always say the same thing but it’s true skjdfhkjdfs I started this fic during the first week of febreary when I had this shot of adrenaline and started to do a lot of creative stuff, and originally I wanted to post this during Valentine’s Day, but... the shot of adrenaline passed x’d and let me to deal with this alone.
As you can see for the description, this a “Five Thing” fic. At first I wanted to post each chapter seperately, but idk, it seem a little bit... weird x’d so, here in Tumblr, the six chapters are all in one post. If you don’t like the format, but want to read the fic, you can find it on AO3! Don’t forget to leave kudos and a comment if you liked it:’)
Now... I’m not used to write happy sttuf in general x’d AND I’M LESS USED TO WRITE HAPPY STUFF ABOUT HUGH AND SIMON BECAUSE SKJDFHKJDSF the angst, dudes:))) but I think I did. Like... I actually wrote a fluffy fic:’) I’m so proud of myself dkjfhkfdshjk
Tag list: @the-lady-with-the-pen @chiyuki-hiro @all-weather-is-bad @styeenza
First try
Year 2
It was the second Valentine's Day after the beginning of the Age of Anarchy, and the capacity that the human being had to adapt themselves to the most terrible of conditions never ceased to amaze him. The economy had collapsed, the government had fallen, his school was practically one of the last ones still in open, and there was a “fucking junkie” ruling the city...
But the world celebrated Valentine's Day anyway.
Or at least in his class did.
The teacher had brought a bunch of cardboard boxes, that looked like she had fought with some tramps to get them (which she probably did, they were too many boxes for one person to generate) (unless she was a crazy person who collected boxes). She gave one to each one of her students, took out the last bottles of paint, pieces of colored cardboard, and rusty scissors, and then told them that today they were going to learn how to make a mailbox.
At first, Hugh had no idea what turning a box into a mailbox had to do with the curriculum the school was supposed to follow. It's not like people sent a lot of letters anyway. But when the girls got excited, he remembered that February 14 was something like an important date. And then, he remembered an activity that they did during his first year, when everyone decorated a box for their classmates to put letters and sweets in it.
First year… And now he was in his third year.
Time flies by.
After telling them which parts to cut into (Hugh had to share his scissors with other three classmates because there weren't enough for everyone), she invited them to pick the decorations they wanted to put on their mailboxes. The girls pounced on the pink, red, and even white paint, while most of the boys laughed, saying it was a stupid activity and they didn't want to do it. Hugh felt the urge to agree, but he didn't
He had already tried to make them like him. It hadn't worked for him.
So he grabbed a bottle of navy blue paint, some cartoon bear stickers, some notebook paper, and a bitten pencil. That would be enough to make his mailbox and his cards.
After a while, he started to have a good time. Crafts had never been his strong suit, but he was proud of how it ended up looking. One couldn’t tell his mailbox used to be a cereal box because the paint he used was so dark, that it only needed two coats of it and it dried much faster than Abernathy’s, who had practically finished the pink paint trying to hide the face of that missing child in the milk carton box the teacher gave to her. Hugh realized that she was holding her tears back, and as the good classmate that he was, he told her not to worry, that the missing child could be decoration if she painted him a mustache or something, and it would look very funny. Abernathy, far from finding it funny, acted super offended, assuring she had never met a child as rude and insensitive as Hugh Everhart, and she ran out of the classroom, hiding her face in her hands and screaming like a baby.
Unfortunately, the rest of his class agreed with her, and when it came time to deliver the cards, Hugh did not receive a single one. Although he doubted it had anything to do with that missing boy thing.
They wouldn't have given him anything anyway.
He wasn't sure if they knew he was a prodigy. Maybe they had noticed that it wasn't normal that Hugh had practically broken a chair in two when he placed his backpack on it to get something out, or that he had left the PE teacher unconscious when he accidentally threw a ball at his face while they were playing soccer. The teachers, if they noticed, didn't say anything. After all, that school was supposed to be only for normal kids.
Not prodigies.
But children could be very insightful. Most likely, they did notice and therefore did not want to be associate with him.
Or maybe—
Maybe they just didn't want to hang out with Hugh, because of… that.
Because he was Hugh.
He decided to wait for everyone else to leave before starting to cry (or before breaking another chair, whichever came first). Or at least that was what he was about to do when he heard that someone had come up with the same idea as him and started crying first.
Simon Westwood had never been too talkative. Even before his older sister and mother died, he liked to sit at the last table, not speaking to anyone, and some older kids were constantly picking on him, without any teacher trying to do anything to stop them.
Not that Hugh was paying much attention to him or something.
The teacher practically ran to see what was going on with Simon Westwood, asking him what happened and why hadn’t he finished decorating his mailbox. Simon Westwood tried to explain it to her, but he was mumbling his words so neither the teacher nor Hugh could understand what he was saying.
Hugh didn’t get mad with him though. His mom had died. His sister died too, a couple of weeks later. He wouldn’t be in the mood for doing cheesy crafts if the same had happened to him. But the teacher wasn’t as benevolent as him, and started to say things like she was trying really hard to bring joy to her students, and that she was sure that if he tried a little bit harder, he would be able to enjoy Valentine’s Day, like the rest of them.
“Let’s see what nice things your classmates have said about you,” she exclaimed. But that only made Simon Westwood start crying again.
No one had given him a card.
Like… no one.
And Hugh was listening to all of this conversation, just sitting there, trying to stay as stiff as he could so they wouldn’t notice he was there (as if he weren’t literally right in front of them). Seeing Simon cried like that made him think that maybe he was just acting though when the other kids laugh at him because of his looks, his ratty old clothes (older and rattier than theirs), or just—
His mind exploded.
He suddenly understood why the other kids didn't like Simon Westwood. It was before he was him.
Just like how they didn’t like Hugh Everhart because he was Hugh Everhart.
When the teacher went out of the classroom with Simon, saying something about calling his dad (although he knew they wouldn’t be able to do that, since no one had a functioning phone those days), he took one of the cards he did for his classmates, cards that he never gave to them, and put one inside Simon Westwood’s mailbox/cereal box. He had left his backpack and his things there. When he came back to take them home, he would see the card too.
A voice in his head told him to get out of there before he came back, but another one told him to stay. Maybe Simon Westwood and he could be friends. Maybe he would understand what it felt like to be hated just for the way you were born. Maybe he was a prodigy too.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
He couldn’t take that chance.
So Hugh went home, but promised Simon Westwood (and himself) he would keep an eye on him.
After all, friends were there to have each other’s back.
Because they were friends, even if Simon didn't know it yet.
Second try
Year 9
They were friends.
He had never seen Hugh before meeting him on that alley where Simon got his powers. Like— he had seen him because he was in the same class as him, but he hadn't really seen him. During his childhood years, Simon was more focused on other things. Like being a little depressed and anxious ball with skinny legs and skinny arms, for example.
It wasn’t like he wasn’t depressed or anxious now. Nor it was he had gotten super muscular all of the sudden, like Hugh (he had always been bigger than the other kids, but he practically turned twelve and already looked like a teenager, except for the voice and the face).
But at that moment, he wasn’t depressed or anxious. He felt weirdly at peace.
He and Hugh were walking down the street, thinking about which store were they going to rob that day to get dinner for them and their families, when Simon noticed a couple holding hands in front of an abandoned café. She had dark hair and he had blue eyes, which looked at his girlfriend as if she was the Virgin Mary or something. Then, she kissed him and gave him a small blue flower and a heart-shaped card. The guy looked so moved by the gesture that he kissed her on the lips again, with so much more passion than before.
Simon looked away before they realized he was looking at them, not only because he didn’t want to come off as creepy, but also because he knew how awkward he would feel if they started to make out or something.
“Love is in the air,” Hugh sang.
Simon chuckled. “You noticed them too?”
“I noticed them when she gave him the flower,” he told him. “I had never seen a girl giving flowers to a guy before.”
“Times have changed, I guess. That’s why they don’t feel uncomfortable giving such public displays of affection. Kids in our day weren’t like that.”
“I know, right?” said Hugh continuing with the joke. “They are so perverted. There are children present, for God’s sake.”
Simon chuckled again and Hugh stopped to tie his shoe. While he was there, Simon noticed he was throwing glances at them.
“You know, giving them the death stare isn’t gonna prevent them from being in love,” Simon told him.
“I can try,” Hugh joked. Then, he shook his head. “It’s not that. I just—”
He waited for him a couple of seconds before asking, “Just what?”
He finally answered, “Someday we’ll have something like that.”
Simon frowned. “Huh?”
“You know,” Hugh mumbled. “We’ll have girlfriends and— and all of that.”
“Oh!” Simon exclaimed. “Yeah, someday, yeah.”
But before Simon could keep talking about it (or just develop some opinion on the topic) Hugh shrugged and urged him to keep walking. “I guess. I didn’t even remember today was Valentine’s Day though. They were my reminder—” he turned around and waved at them “—Thank you, exhibitionists, you reminded me what day is it!”
Now, Hugh probably didn’t mean for them to hear him say that. Simon knew him well enough to know Hugh thought he wasn’t being loud, but the thing was… Hugh was always loud. He could be “whispering” and the whole neighborhood would hear him ask Simon if he knew how bars with strippers worked because he did know, and wanted to brag about it. Then, Simon would feel embarrassed, because, in fact, he didn’t know how bars with strippers work.
Simon immediately turned around and realized the girl was looking at them with an expression he couldn’t read. He turned invisible and pushed Hugh inside of an alley, hoping those trashcans hid them well enough in case the guy turned out to be a freaking animal and wanted to kick their flat asses for calling them exhibitionists.
Simon felt the anxiety kicking in, when Hugh started laughing so loud, that said anxiety turn into the need of punching him really hard on the arm.
So he did it. Multiple times.
“Dude, dude, shut the fuck up, dude,” Simon said keeping his voice low (because he could keep his voice down, unlike others), “that guy’s gonna kick our asses, for real. Dudeeee—”
But his voice kinda cracked when he said that “Dudeee—” and that made Hugh laugh even more, so Simon kept punching him, using a vocabulary that would make the most dangerous of gangster blush. And he probably would have kept hitting him, if the anxiety of being discovered hadn't been overshadowed by how weird it made him feel to see his best friend laugh.
When Hugh laughed, his cheeks would turn red and his eyes would water. They could be in the most embarrassing situation ever, one where no one was laughing, and if he found it funny, he was going to do it, because he wasn't going to be able to help it. And it wasn't like Simon would stop him, either. Not at all. He liked it when he laughed.
Even though he ended up making him laugh too. Like at that moment.
Most of the garbage ended up in the drains, the sidewalk, or anywhere else except where it belonged, the trash can. Generally, Hugh always refused when someone hinted at sitting on the floor, precisely for that reason. However, on that occasion, the two were sitting in that stinking alley, throwing pebbles at each other, playing with some bottle caps they found on the ground, and arguing about who would win a bare-handed fight, Wonder Man or Phantom Feline.
They decided it was time to go home when a cat-sized rat appeared out of nowhere, and the two of them came out screaming like idiots, even faster than they would have run if that guy with the girlfriend would have chased them. They ran until they reached Simon's house, all sweaty and tired, their hands on their bent knees and breathing heavily.
Then Hugh laughed again. And his cheeks were flushed again, and his eyes were watery again, and he made Simon laugh again until Mr. Westwood came home from work and told him to go inside, that it was too late to be outside.
Once he was locked in his room, with his younger sister playing in the living room and his father in the kitchen, the image of that guy kissing his girlfriend did not make him feel anything. So, he tried to imagine kissing a lot of girls that he considered a thousand times more attractive, but just when it seemed that the idea was beginning to be something desirable, Hugh came back, with his laugh, his screams, and his eyes, like one of those freaking trains that he dreamed of having the opportunity to stop one day and that never missed a single chance to tell Simon all about it.
The truth was that Simon did believe that Hugh might be able to stop a train with his bare hands, but he doubted he would be able to stop the train of thought that Simon hopped on whenever he thought of him. And he was so ashamed to know that not even the strongest prodigy on the planet was capable of doing that, that he decided to take those memories from the collar of the old blue hoodie that each one of them wore and bury them alive in the backyard of his memory.
Forever and ever.
Thrid try
Year 12
Two months ago, after their first date, Simon told Hugh he would never plan another important date, forever and ever. But now, Simon had let him plan their first Valentine's Day together without putting any objections, proving that he trusted him. And he was happy for him; Simon had always had problems when it came to trusting other people. It was nice to see the other grow to become a better person.
And it was even nicer when you were no longer only friends, but a couple.
So yeah, he wanted to make Valentine's Day special. It was kind of a big deal.
Georgia and Tamaya brainstormed with him places he could take Simon to. They all agreed that it had to be a place safe enough and that it wouldn't put them in a situation where they had to reveal their powers, and by consequence, their secret identities. But then, everything started going downhill, especially because Georgia had some very odd ideas (like something about flowers, a choreographed dance, and poetry) and Tamaya was as romantic as a rock (“Just don't end up nearly killing yourself in front of him, that should be enough.”)
It was February 13th, and Hugh was on his cot, a bit angry at Georgia and Tamaya, not only because they couldn't help him on such an important mission as they promised, but also because they blamed him for their failure, telling him that he "had no imagination" and that he "thought with his dick", just because he thought all their ideas were horrible.
Maybe he should have phrased that better...
Simon and Evander slept on the bunk bed Simon used to share with his younger sister. Simon was taking a shower, so he was all alone with Evander and Kasumi, who sometimes went there to visit her best friend, even if Tamaya told her not to do it because it smelled horrible in there and she would bring the odor to the girl’s bedroom (Hugh thought the room didn't smell bad at all, and if it did, it was because Evander acted like he was living in the street yesterday and had no sense of personal hygiene). But Kasumi didn’t seem to mind, and she spent most of her afternoons cuddling with Evander on the top bunk, while she read an old book and Evander read one of Simon’s comics (because Hugh would join the Anarchists before letting Evander touch his comics).
They started whispering at each other about who knows what, and even though he kind of wanted to know what they were talking about, he was just too tired, so he decided to put a pillow on his face and try to fall asleep. But then, he heard, quite clearly, that they said his name.
And he couldn’t let slip that.
He pulled the pillow off his face, and said, “What are you saying about me?”
They both peered over the edge of the bunk. “We were talking about how you're not good at romance,” Evander replied.
The audacity of that b— boy.
“You are eleven years old," he told him. “What are you going to know about romance?”
“No more than you,” Kasumi acknowledged, very solemnly.
Hugh made his “See?” face and he looked away.
Then, Evander asked, “Why don’t you take him to Cosmopolis Park?”
Oh, stars. He couldn’t be serious.
Cosmopolis Park.
A freaking theme park.
Evander was eleven, all right. His idea of a date was probably something out of a princess movie he and Kasumi watched from time to time (sometimes Tamaya joined them too and she always acted like she was just watching it to make fun of it, even though everyone in the house knew she had a weird soft spot for cheesy princess movies). But Hugh was technically an adult now. He should know better, and knowing better was not taking your boyfriend to a theme park for Valentine’s Day. That wasn’t very romantic.
“What a stupid idea.”
Kasumi got red all of the sudden. For the look at Evander’s face, Hugh knew he had fucked up even before she said, “It was my idea…”
“Oh— no, Zoomie, I… what I meant was that—”
“Don’t fix it, bro,” Evander interrupted him. “You’re gonna make me want to punch you more.”
He wasn’t afraid of Evander punching him because he couldn’t compare a kid’s strength to his, but he obeyed him and mumbled a small, “Sorry.”
The “sorry” was for Kasumi though, not for Evander. If Kasumi hadn’t been there, he probably would have told Evander something like “Oh, yeah? You’re gonna punch me, little punk? Come on, punch me, don’t be a pussy” (and then Georgia would have stormed into the room, telling him not to use the word “pussy”, and they would have pointed at each other saying “He started it!”)
After giving him a goodnight kiss, Kasumi got off Evander’s bed, with the book under her arm. Before leaving the room, she knelt beside Hugh to kiss him goodnight, as to show his comment didn’t cause her to feel any kind of resentment towards him.
Because of course it didn’t. Kasumi was like that.
“I was just saying— Valentine’s Day is also a day to be with friends,” she whispered. “And you and Simon are not only boyfriends but also... you know, friends. I bet that wherever you take him, it'd be magical for both of you. Because you find magic in each other's company, even before you knew you were in love. So... why not?”
She turned off the lights on her way out.
He never thought Kasumi’s tendency to romanticize everything was odd or weird. It was something that he expected from a teenage girl, especially one who has such a vivid imagination. But he also never expected that imagination would help him in some way. And he never expected for her to say the exact words he wanted to hear, even before he knew he wanted to hear them.
She was so wise.
Cosmopolis Park didn’t sound like a bad idea anymore when Simon entered just after Kasumi, wearing his pajamas, and asked him with a teasing voice, “So… where are you gonna take me tomorrow?”
Hugh didn’t know if Evander was already asleep, so he just smiled at him and told him it was a surprise. Simon rolled his eyes and gave him a soft kiss on the nose before getting into his own bed.
It was his way of telling him he trusted him. And relationships were supposed to be built upon trust. He didn't need anyone to tell him that.
As far as he knew, Simon hadn't been to Cosmopolis Park in years, probably before the Age of Anarchy began. It was no secret that the park was currently full of gangs and drug addicts but it was still a relatively peaceful place. At least peaceful enough that the park was full of families, groups of friends, and tons of couples.
Although there weren’t any couples...
Well, there weren’t any couples like them.
He wondered if Simon noticed that small detail too, but when he turned to ask him that, he knew it would be better if he just kept his comments to himself. Because he wasn't an expert reading other people's emotions, but Simon...
Simon looked so happy at the moment.
The two walked side by side, their shoulders brushing against each other's, but their hands tucked deep into their pockets. Hugh was trying to keep his eyes fixed forward to avoid bumping into anyone, but the small chuckles Simon let out every time he saw something that surprised him, made said task impossible. Suddenly, he no longer wanted to avoid the embarrassment that would cause him to bother someone by bumping into them; he wanted to look at him.
He wanted to look at him trying to hide his laughter by covering his mouth with his hand, as if he wanted to suppress some kind of dark feeling, without realizing that his joy was so full of light that it was practically impossible. He wanted to continue to see how his dark eyes, with very long lashes and deep bags under the eyes, perfectly captured the lights of the Ferris wheel and the food trucks. He wanted to see the tiny smile he had the entire time they were at the park because even if Simon didn't smile like that very often, when he did, Hugh felt as if he was witnessing the most wonderful of miracles.
Hugh took his hands out of his pocket, and when he turned his attention back to Simon, he was looking at him too. They stopped in their tracks, not caring that people passed around them, sometimes unintentionally pushing them a bit or stepping on their shoelaces.
Hugh took a step forward and Simon did too.
Then Simon pulled a hand out of his grey jacket's pocket, making him wonder if he was dreaming or if it was really going to happen.
Hugh held his breath and felt the blood rush to his face, along with the overwhelming feeling that everyone around him was staring at them, with the newly acquired gift of recognizing those two faces that always hid behind pair of colorful masks and now were gazing at each other with true devotion. He desperately wanted to know what was going through their heads, he wanted to know if they still considered them worthy of their admiration and respect, and he wanted to know if he had been right when he assured Simon that, someday, the two of them would hold each other in public without thinking it twice.
But then, just as Simon's fingers brushed his cheek, his attention was completely diverted to someone behind Hugh.
“Are you talking to me?” he asked awkwardly.
Hugh turned to see who his boyfriend was talking to. He was a slightly older man, juggling three balls and standing on the table of his own stand. He was smiling at Simon and he had a mustache that quite frankly made him look like a ridiculous comic villain.
“Yes, you!” and he threw a ball at Simon.
Simon covered his face with his hands, but Hugh caught the ball before it hit him.
Who did this guys think he was?
The guy, far from mocking Simon's reaction, seemed intrigued. “Do you want to win a prize, big guy?” he asked Hugh.
Hugh was ready to say no to him in the kindest way he could, when the guy pulled out a laundry basket, like the one Georgia put on his head every Sunday, saying "Laundry time!" in a voice so high that made birds explode.
“You just have to throw that ball you have in your hand—” he raised the basket “—here. And you can win a prize.”
He finally gave him a chance to reply. “No, thank you, we’re fine.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets again and told Simon to keep going. But the guy did not give up.
“I see,” he crooned from afar. “Your dad didn't play ball with you and that's why you don't think you're capable of throwing it correctly. It’s fine.”
Simon put his hand to his mouth as if thinking "Oh, stars, he did not."
And Hugh looked at him as if thinking "Oh, but he did."
If that guy knew who he was talking to, he would probably think it twice before making comments to strangers mocking their lack of a father figure.
So he turned abruptly and threw the ball into the basket.
If Hugh had been a little calmer, he probably would have been able to remember that, before leaving the house, Tamaya had told him that theme parks were full of games that had the sole purpose of scamming people and that one of them was that game in particular. The balls bounced so much that even if they made contact with the bottom of the basket they would jump back to whoever threw it, making them technically lose.
He would also have listened to himself, to Hugh, who told him that it would be best to turn around and get on with their lives, and not to Captain Chromium, who was determined to win that freaking game because he won every single game the world put in his way.
After three balls, the guy turned to Simon, extended his hand at him, and told him, “It's fifteen dollars.”
That was enough to make him lose his mind. Hugh told him that it was not worth arguing with him, but Captain Chromium did not tolerate that people tried to take advantage of him, and he spent about ten minutes screaming with the mustachioed man, until Simon panicked (or lost his mind), grabbed one of the balls and threw it right in the man’s eye.
Then, he did take Hugh by the hand.
But just to be sure they both got out of there before someone tried to stop them.
They ended the evening at a hamburger stand several blocks away from Cosmopolis Park (because obviously, they weren't going to stay there after the show they had put on). They did not have enough money to buy two sodas, but they bought a strawberry juice carton to share and sat on the sidewalk to eat their hamburgers of doubtful provenance, ranting against the man, against the park, and, especially, against those damn balls.
“I can't believe there are people like him breathing the same oxygen I breathe,” Simon commented, before taking a bite out of his burger ravenously. “He had no right to make that joke.”
But Hugh was so distracted by how attractive Simon looked when he bit his hamburger like that all he could say was:
“If my dad knew I couldn't win that stupid game, he would abandon me again.”
Simon frowned a little bit, repeating the sentence in his head until he finally understood the joke, and laughed so hard he began to choke with his food. Hugh started to panic and told Simon he would give him five back blows like he read he should do when someone started to choke. That was enough for Simon to spit his food on a napkin. Both were so grossed out by it, that they started laughing again. Simon hid his face on Hugh's shoulder, practically using his fit of laughter as an excuse to snuggle against him, and Hugh used his own angriness as an excuse to stay right there, telling the entire world to go to hell, and willing to keep doing it forever, just as long as the conversation didn't end and they had to go home.
Georgia and Tamaya would kill them. It was already late at night.
Fourth try
Year 17
It was already late night when they arrived at the motel.
Simon had stayed invisible the entire time they were at the reception like he always did when they had one of those more… private nights out. Hugh was the one who was in charge of booking the room because Simon got too anxious anyway at the mere idea of having to interact with one of the receptionists.
It was one thing for his entire family (or the Council, as they had been calling themselves lately, as a joke) to know that tonight he was going to have sex. Strangers knowing it was a completely different thing.
He still wasn't quite sure which one was more embarrassing, but yeah. It was different.
He only became visible again when Hugh closed the door behind him.
Simon looked at the huge sports bag that Hugh carried with him. “What you got there?”
“Nothing important,” he assured with a shrug. He was smiling like he was a kid getting a bunch of presents at Christmas, and Simon was extremely happy too, so, without asking any more questions, he kissed him on the lips and went to the bathroom to give both of them time to get ready.
Not that they hadn't done that before. They didn't like having such intimate moments in the house. And even if they had wanted to, it was practically impossible to have even a minute of privacy there. The last time he had slept in a room by himself had probably been… never. And the number of occasions someone had opened the bathroom door while he was there were more than he could count. The door lock had been broken for a few weeks but nobody knew how to solve the problem because they had no idea how doors worked. Georgia had tried to implement a serious policy of knocking before entering any room with the door closed, but the only one who paid attention to her was Adrian because the rest of them were simply too used to walk around the house as if they were in their own houses. (That they were their house, but it was more Simon's house than theirs.)
In fact, it was the first time in forever that he was in a bathroom and he didn't have to put his hand on the door, to stop whoever tried to open the door before they ended up seeing him in the most vulnerable of positions, so Simon took off his T-shirt, his jeans, and sat on the toilet, wearing his underwear and his jacket, trying to enjoy his first moment of privacy in a long time.
At least until his legs started to feel cold and Hugh told him that he could go out now.
When he came out of the room, Hugh, who was lying on the bed, widened his eyes. Simon was already ready to hear a flattering comment, but instead, he frowned and asked, “Are you going to leave your socks on?”
Simon looked at his feet automatically. He had indeed left his socks on.
He didn't see anything wrong with it.
“The carpet is filthy,” he replied. “I don't want to get fungus or something like that.”
Hugh found no fault with his logic. “Okay, but take them off when you get on the bed,” he asked.
Then Simon realized that Hugh, not only never stopped doing that ridiculous pose that pretended to be sexy throughout the entire conversation, but he also had thrown out the (probably dirty) bedsheets from the motel bed and put instead one of the blankets they took out of the closet to cover themselves during winter.
So that's what he carried in his sports backpack.
Hugh seemed to realize that Simon was looking at the blanket and not at him, because he immediately said, “Oh, I hate motel bedsheets.”
Simon couldn't help but laugh. “You hate them?”
Hugh finally stopped doing that ridiculous pose and sat down. “You just never know who sleep in them before us, Simon,” he replied, “and you never know when was the last time they washed them. Maybe they— ” he pointed to the pile of blankets thrown away “—are covered on the… bodily fluids of twenty other people, and you want me to lie on them? Is that how you want us to make love? Like animals?”
Simon kept laughing, but Hugh wasn’t laughing. “Simon, stop it!” he exclaimed. “A new class of bacteria could be there, ‘cause— oh, I am convinced that those things have a new kind of bacteria no one has discovered yet, and— ”
And he went silent when Simon put his hands on his shoulders, still with a smile on his lips.
“What?”
“Hugh, have I ever told you I think you're really sexy when you out crazy me?” Simon asked, running his fingers through his hair.
Hugh stood still, looking directly into his eyes. “No, I think you haven’t.”
Simon shrugged. “Well— I think you're really, really, sexy when you out crazy me.”
“Well, I think… I think—“
Hugh could no longer continue his sentence. Even though Simon wasn't doing anything to stop him from speaking.
He was literally just standing in front of him, one knee leaning on the mattress and one hand on Hugh's head.
“You think?” he asked him. “That’s new.”
“Simon, wait, I'm trying to seduce you,” Hugh said.
Simon took a step back, pointing to the bathroom door. “I think I’d wait over there.”
“No, wait—” he gently grabbed his wrist before he could move further away “—I’m starting to… Let me think of something.”
Simon chuckled. He put his knee on the mattress again and Hugh grabbed him around his waist, pulling him close to him and resting his head on his chest, while Simon rested his chin on his head. He had just taken a bath when they came out of the house, so Hugh’s hair smelled of him and lemon zest because they have been using dish soap as shampoo the last week.
That was the kind of privacy that they sometimes lacked at home. He was no longer talking about sex. Simon craved to have him like this, so close to him. Both in their underwear, both in a practically unknown place, and both completely vulnerable, but together. Feeling at home, even if technically they weren't.
Because Hugh was his home.
He was sure he saw him that way too.
Simon was so focused on trying to capture that moment in his memory so that he could repeat it over and over again for the rest of his life, that he was totally thrown when Hugh blurted out:
“I think you have a nice dick, dude.”
Simon broke the hug ... “What?”
Hugh’s cheeks turned even redder. “Tell me I didn't say that.”
He put a hand up to try to hide his laughter. “No, I think you did.”
He still couldn’t believe that was Hugh’s best try to seduce him. And apparently, Hugh couldn't believe it either.
“Then— forget about it,” he stammered. “Let's all of us forget about it.”
Simon realized that he tried to grab him by the waist again, but he moved away just in time, pretending to be extremely offended. “So I don't have a nice dick.”
“Let's just stop saying the word dick, please.”
“You started it.”
“I PANICKED, ALL RIGHT?”
“PANICKING IS MY JOB!”
“I’M TAKING YOUR JOB THEN. AND I’M GONNA STEAL YOUR BOYFRIEND TOO IF YOU KEEP LAUGHING!”
Simon didn't try to pretend that he wasn't laughing, because he was more than aware that it was already too obvious at this point.
So he decided it was better to play along.
“No, don't take my boyfriend!” he exclaimed dramatically, putting his hands on his shoulders. “Take me instead.”
Hugh took him by the waist and pulled him close. Simon didn't try to walk away this time. “Deal.”
But when Simon was about to start kissing him, he diverted his attention from Hugh for a split second, making him realize the curtains were wide open. “Oh, shoot, wait— the curtains.”
Luckily he hadn’t taken off his socks yet.
With quick steps, he headed to the window. He put a hand on each curtain and was about to close it completely when the lights of a car approaching from the end of the street caught his attention. It was a yellow sports car that looked more like a ripe banana than a vehicle.
Shit.
It stopped a few feet past the motel they were at. Out of it came a short man, with scars on his face and thin hair, and a tall blonde woman in a yellow dress, very inappropriate for the occasion. Not because it was provocative thought. It’s just that no one would wear such an expensive-looking dress in such a dangerous neighborhood unless they wanted to be robbed.
Or that they had enough status not to be.
Simon turned to see Hugh. “Hey—” Hugh looked up slightly. “—Come here.”
Hugh obeyed, a little bit confused, after putting his socks on (obviously). Simon had closed the curtains just enough for them not to be noticed but also not so much that they couldn’t see what was happening on the street.
Hugh gasped. “Are those—“
Simon swallowed hard. “Cyanide and Queen Bee in person.”
“What are they doing here?”
Simon had as much an idea of what Queen Bee and Cyanide were doing there as Hugh had, but he responded with the first thing that came to his mind anyway.
“Probably celebrating Valentine's Day,” he replied. “What a shitty place to take your girlfriend during Valentine’s Day though.”
At least take her to a motel. Like I did with Hugh.
“Do you think Queen Bee and Cyanide are together?” Hugh asked Simon.
Simon shrugged. “I don't know, but I know Queen Bee has a thing for Ace Anarchy.”
He had the slight hope that Hugh would take the bait and give him a chance to discuss his theories about Queen Bee's fixation with Ace Anarchy (which he always talked about with Tamaya), but Hugh, despite being very nosy, just kept quiet, watching Queen Bee and Cyanide argue outside the car.
How could that woman walk in such big heels?
“Or maybe Cyanide is the one who has a thing for Ace Anarchy,” Hugh blurted out suddenly.
Simon turned to see him. “Wait, really?”
“Don't be so heteronormative, Simon,” he scolded him. “Plus, I've never been in the cathedral, but I bet that when you enter there, it reeks homosexuality.”
“Dude—”
“I just know.”
And they kept watching.
There was something very personal about seeing two people arguing from a distance, like old ladies peering out of their home windows whenever the neighbors had a particularly loud fight. Simon almost considered it romantic.
Then, Queen Bee tried to turn around to turn her back on Cyanide, but something went wrong with her heel and she went face first towards the sidewalk, letting out a scream that could make someone think she was being murdered, and causing Cyanide (and the two of them) to laugh out loud.
How could that woman walk with those heels? Well, apparently, she couldn't.
The tension he felt when Cyanide interrupted his laughter and turned around as if he knew someone was watching them, made him remember that they were not gossiping old ladies peeking out of the window of their house and that those two were not some neighbors having a little fight. No, they were Dread Warden and Captain Chromium, stuffed into a hotel room like they were fugitives from the law or something, and those two little people in the middle of the street were two of the most feared and powerful villains in the world.
There was nothing romantic about that.
So Simon immediately closed the curtains.
But now neither of them was in the mood to have sex anymore, really.
“We should do something.”
“I'm on it.”
Hugh was already crouched slightly by the bedside, pulling his unmistakable superhero suits out of his sports bag.
Simon was so puzzled that he couldn't even stop to enjoy the… image that Hugh was inadvertently giving him by bending down like that.
“Wait, did you actually bring our supersuits to our date?” he asked him.
“Yeah,” he replied without looking up.
Who knows what kind of demon got into Simon at the time, but a not very family-friendly thought crossed his mind, and that thought was the one that made him ask, “Why?”
Hugh, completely unaware of what he was thinking, handed Simon his clothes and dropped the two pairs of boots on the floor as he sat in the bed.
Only the stars knew how he had managed to fit a blanket, their shoes, and their suits in that sports backpack.
“Because I thought something like this was gonna happen,” he explained while putting on his leggings. “You know, crime doesn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day the same way we do.”
Oh.
The little not very family-friendly thought hadn't been right then.
Simon felt a bit sick admitting that he wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed.
“Oh. I thought...”
Hugh looked at him, intrigued, and a second later, he understood what Simon was thinking. “Oh, stars, no. I was not thinking about that.”
“All right then.”
Now it was Hugh's turn to watch him change. Simon knew that was what he was doing.
Because he knew his look better than he knew anyone else's.
When he was fully dressed, Simon reached out to reach for his shoes, and Hugh put his own hand over his', to get his attention.
He already had the mask on, but he could see that he had turned red. If Simon had been white too, he probably would be redder than him.
He swallowed. “Unless— unless you're into it?”
Simon swallowed too. But he didn’t plan to answer him right now.
It had been hard enough to put on their suits. They didn’t need to start taking them off.
So he pulled his hand away and started putting on his shoes.
“Hugh, the villains—” he reminded him.
“Right, right.” Hugh brushed off his knees. “The villains. That’s important.”
After making sure the door had the lock on (and that said lock worked), they turned off the lights, Simon turned invisible, and Hugh climbed onto the roof, pushing himself off the window frame as fast as possible so that Queen Bee and Cyanide, who were turning their backs on them, standing in front of the door of an apparently abandoned building as if waiting for someone, did not see him. Afterward, Simon followed him, assuring him that he could climb on his own.
The two remained hiding behind the building's water tank. Well, Hugh was behind the building's water tank, and Simon was in plain sight, invisible, with his hood on and his cape fluttering behind him, making him feel…
He wanted to say that it made him feel heroic, but the truth was that Simon also felt very sexy when he got into this mysterious and threatening mode.
Simon turned his hand visible and pointed at them as if to say "Are we going or what?"
Hugh turned to see them with a frown, analyzing the situation. But when Simon was about to ask him what they were waiting for, Hugh turned to see him, with the same smile he had on his face when he was about to let the world know the coolest plan of all the plans, completely ignorant that in reality, it was the dumbest thing he had ever came up with.
“Wait, I have an idea.”
And in that situation, Simon had to take the role of being the one to tell him that his idea was bullshit and that it wasn't going to work, but he used to listen to his idea before expressing his comments about it. Not only because he didn't like talking without knowing all the facts first, but because may he could go to Tamaya the next day and tell her what had happened in the last episode of Hugh Had an Idea And It Went Wrong.
(They also enjoy episodes of Evander Acted Like An Animal Again and Queen, Realize That Junkie Doesn’t Care About You, Please.)
“Do you remember that song Evander used to sing to us?” he asked him.
Oh, Simon remembered it and cringed every time he thought about it.
But the cringe wasn't enough to stop him from singing the song.
“The Warden and the Captain are sitting in a tree—”
Hugh cringed too. “That one, yes. Stars, I hate it so much—” and he pointed to Queen Bee and Cyanide “—Let's make them hate it too. ”
Simon seriously tried to take his role as the voice of reason in that situation. He let his imagination (or rather, his anxiety) run wild, making him imagine the thousand and one scenarios in which that specific fight could turn out worse than they usually did if Hugh made that comment. Queen Bee would probably call Hugh a "lesbian" (“You have a lesbian haircut, honeybun, accept it”), Cyanide would go crazy trying to find Dread Warden to melt his skin slowly and painfully, everyone would wish death upon everyone, and the only reason the fight would end would be because either Cyanide would finally manage to injure Simon or because Queen Bee’s stilettos would break.
He didn't see how teasing them with an attack worthy of elementary school kids would make the situation worst.
Besides… it was going to be hilarious to see that.
He didn't see why he couldn't co-star in Hugh Had Idea and It Went Wrong.
“I'm in,” he replied, trying not to raise his voice too much. “I'm super in.”
Hugh rose his hand and Simon high-fived him quietly. But Hugh seized the opportunity to take his hand, running his finger across his knuckles. “Okay, but you sing the spelling part, because—”
“You don't know how to spell,” Simon interrupted.
Hugh let go of his hand. “Well, when you said it in that tone, it sounds a little mean.”
Simon rolled his eyes and took his hand again. Then the logical part of his brain (yes, the same one that always insisted on being the voice of reason in situations like that) began to yell at him that he should convince Hugh to let Cyanide and Queen Bee did whatever they wanted, while the two of them did whatever they wanted.
But that the logical part of him had no voice in that situation because the logical part of his brain was not the part that loved Hugh. After all, there was nothing logical in loving the way he made a kind of mini-horn with both hands, took a deep breath, and yelled with all his might:
“CYANIDE AND THE QUEEN BEE SITTING IN A TREE—”
Fifth try
Year 20
K-i-s-s-i-n-g.
That was what he wanted to be doing. He wanted to be kissing Simon. He wanted to be with him, walking in the park and watching life go by in front of them. The birds singing from the trees, the children chasing each other, and the wind ruffling their hair. The day was going to be so perfect that he was going to be able to ignore homeless people getting high on corners or young people dealing drugs (that should be) illegal, focusing all his attention on Simon and how happy he felt that this time, everything he was going well.
He didn't want to be crammed into the living room with the rest of his family, listening to the thunder and the rain crashing down on the ceiling.
But apparently, that's what he was doing.
Tamaya was sitting on the floor, covering herself with her wings. Simon had sat on the other end of the three-seater couch, looking out the living room window with a thoughtful expression, worthy of a character in a Shakespearean play or something. Evander was leaning over him and had Kasumi on his lap. She was watching him play (or rather trying to play) a Tetris game that he had on his phone, putting her icy feet on Hugh's arm, probably without realizing it, and Hugh was on the other end of the couch, first starting at Simon, thinking of how handsome he looked when he was thinking, and then at Georgie. She had been smart enough to sit on the reclining sofa, which gave her the space she needed to cuddle with an inconsolable six-year-old Adrian.
“The storm will end soon,” she was telling him. “The storm will end soon.”
But that was not enough to comfort Adrian. His mother had already been telling him for about an hour that “the storm will end soon”, but the storm just ... did not end. And each time they heard a new thunder, Adrian let out a howl and clung to his mother with more force, asking her to please not go away.
Everyone knew that when Adrian asked Georgie not to go away, he was actually asking everyone not to go away. If any of them left the room, he would probably lose his mind.
He felt the urge to tell him that she wasn't going anywhere. That wasn’t very Georgie. Georgie didn't leave people who needed her like that, scared, crying, and begging her to stay. So since Georgie didn't do it, neither did the others.
It is not like they could have gone anywhere though.
Georgie realized that Simon hadn't stopped staring out the window.
“I'm sorry you couldn't do anything special this Valentine’s Day,” she whispered. Simon blinked as if he were waking up from a dream. “What did you have planned for this evening?”
Simon turned to see him, disappointed. Hugh decided to answer for him.
“We were going to have a picnic at the park,” he replied.
Georgie blurted out something that sounded like “Awww”, and Evander scoffed.
“That’s gay.” Hugh put his arm behind Kasumi and smacked Evander on the back of his head. “BRO, YOU LITERALLY MADE LOSE ME.”
Tamaya laughed and Kasumi shook her head. “I want to play too—” she tried to take the cellphone and Evander pressed it closer to his chest “—Vandy.”
Georgie intervened (without letting go of Adrian). “Vandy, give Kasumi the phone. It’s her turn. And then it's mine.”
But Evander didn’t want to.
“But it only has ten percent of battery left,” he exclaimed.
“Perfect, it's more than enough for Tamaya, Kasumi, Simon, Hugh, and I to get a turn too.”
“Hugh punched me! He does not deserves a turn.”
“I didn't punch him,” Hugh said. “I just hit him very slightly.”
“My brain almost felt out of my head.”
“Do you still have a brain?” Tamaya asked. Hugh high-fived her. “I've been thinking about that joke for weeks, dude.”
“Evander Wade, share the phone,” Georgia said. “I'm no longer asking.”
“No! It's my phone.”
Desperate, Tamaya reached out to take Evander's cell phone, and he stood up so fast that Kasumi ended up falling on Tamaya.
“MOTHERFU—”
A thunder. Again.
Adrian started crying. Again.
And they all went silent. Again.
Hugh took advantage of the fact that Evander got out of the coach to move closer to Simon. Evander didn't say anything to him because he was too busy handing the cell phone to Tamaya, who then gave it to Kasumi. Kasumi refused to sit down with Evander again and stayed on the floor with Tamaya (although resting her head on his knees, as if they were a pillow).
Simon rested his head on Hugh's shoulder.
“Next year will be better,” he whispered in his ear. Simon didn't answer him; he only put his hand on the window, leaving the trace of his fingers on it. “Are you all right?”
Simon put his hand on Hugh’s waist and pulled him closer to him, closing his eyes for a while. “I'm tired…”
“Rest then.”
After all…
Hugh was tried too.
There had never been a day when they didn't have to face a new threat. It seemed that the Anarchists, instead of getting weaker, were getting stronger. Even with the many new allies the Renegades had, no one seemed to have a second of the day to rest. Adrian got more and more nervous when they went out as days passed by, and it was becoming more difficult to calm down him during his tantrums. Even he, who was a child, could feel the tension in the city.
But precisely because of that, because he was a child, he could not understand the enormous responsibility that the Renegades had on his shoulders and that they could not stay with him, no matter how much they wanted to.
Maybe that was why no one had tried to leave the room. It was their way of telling Adrian that they were still there for him.
He was about to fall asleep when Simon pulled him away. His first instinct was to pull him closer, but as soon as he realized that Simon was just standing up, he let go of him.
Suddenly, he looked happier. Much happier than anyone else in that room.
Everyone noticed that change.
“Are you still too tired to celebrate Valentine’s Day?”
Even Hugh didn't understand what he meant.
Evander turned to see Georgie. “Georgie, you told them no hanky-panky in the house.”
“Vandy—” Kasumi intervened.
“Zoomie.”
“Don't say hanky-panky.”
“Yeah, you sound like a grandma,” Tamaya told him slightly punching him on the leg.
Hugh shushed them. “Shhh, guys, let Si talk.”
“No, go on, guys—” Simon told them “—Let us show you.”
And he held out his hand.
Obviously, Hugh accepted it.
He had no idea what Simon was planning to do, but he wasn't too tired not to celebrate Valentine's.
He was never too tired of him.
Adrian immediately reacted to this. “Hey, no, don't go...” he cried, stretching his little arms towards them.
Luckily, Simon looked like he already had that covered.
“We're not going anywhere, Adrian,” Simon assured him. “You are coming with us.”
Adrian and Georgie's eyes widened at the same time.
“Me?” Adrian asked pointing to himself.
“You,” Simon replied, confidently. “But it's a very special mission,” he added in a lower voice, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can't tell anyone.”
Adrian rubbed his eyes and Georgie looked up at the ceiling as if she were making sure a new leak hadn't magically appeared. Tamaya, on the contrary, didn't understand, and she stared at the scene, very intrigued by Simon's plan too. Luckily, Georgie noticed it, and with a frantic movement of her hand, told her to stop staring. Hugh made the same move, but this time, directed at Kasumi and Evander.
When Adrian opened his eyes again, everyone but the two of them was pretending they weren't listening to the conversation.
“What mission is it?” Adrian asked in a thin voice.
“Look, we can't go out to celebrate Valentine's Day,” Simon explained, “but what we can do is bring Valentine's Day here with us.”
Adrian looked puzzled.
“Hey, but you're going to need a superhero name to be able to participate in the mission,” Hugh commented, trying to get Adrian more interested. “Do you have any ideas?”
Simon scratched his beard, thinking. “Hmm, very good question, my dear Captain,” he commented. “Maybe—”
“Oh, I know what superhero name I'll have,” Adrian exclaimed, grabbing Simon by the cheeks. “Hey, your beard feels funny.”
Simon grabbed him by the cheeks too. “What’s your superhero name, then?”
Adrian whispered it in his ear and Simon's face lit up. “It's a perfect name, Adrian.”
Adrian shushed him. “Shh, don't say my real name! I have to use my superhero name, remember? It's a mission.”
Evander scoffed again and Kasumi shushed him immediately.
“And can he tell me your superhero name?” Hugh asked Adrian.
Adrian stopped to think about it. “Yes, why not?” he finally replied.
Then, Simon stood slightly on tiptoe to reach him and whispered in his ear the most perfect superhero name he had ever heard.
Sketch.
Hugh took Adrian by surprise when he graved him and carried him in his arms, making him gasp in shock and excitement. Even Georgie started to laugh out loud at her son's reaction.
“Ready for the mission, Sketch?” he asked him making his voice lower than it actually was.
Adrian gave a military salute. “I was born ready, Captain!” he exclaimed, moving his feet in the air.
Georgie stood up too. “Where you taking my son, guys?” she asked dramatically.
Hugh placed Adrian on his shoulders.
“Don’t worry, mom,” Adrian told her, “I’ll be fine. I need to accomplish this mission.”
Georgie pretended to start sobbing. “No, but you don't have to, son of mine, you're too young!”
“Listen to your mother, kid,” Tamaya intervened. “Stay with us, stay safe with your family—“ and she passed her wings over Kasumi's shoulders.
“Tamaya has two wings,” Kasumi pointed out. “And they're warm.”
“Really?” Evander asked.
But Tamaya’s face changed immediately. “It's not for you, it's for Adrian.”
“GO WITH THEM, LITTLE SKETCH, GO!” Evander yelled standing up on the sofa. “GO SAVE VALENTINE’S DAY!”
That was enough for Adrian. He kissed his mother on the cheek and told her that he would be back soon. Then the three of them began their journey to the kitchen while the others stayed in the living room.
Simon pulled out a bag of bread from the refrigerator and asked Hugh to pass him the peanut and hazelnut butter jars from the cupboard. Adrian took it upon himself to count the remaining loaves of bread and separate them into pairs, spreading them on the table. Simon encouraged him to count how many pairs there were and Hugh had no problem helping him when he got stuck at number five. Then Simon toasted them on the stove, and he allowed Adrian to pile them up like a tower on a red ceramic plate.
When it was time to make the sandwiches, Simon and Hugh sat at different ends of the table, each holding a butter knife. Simon would spread peanut butter on one of the loaves, Hugh would spread hazelnut on the other, and Adrian would gather them together and wrap them the best he could in a napkin, before putting them in a makeshift basket that Kasumi had made long ago.
“Mommy, no!” yelled Adrian when Georgie dared to enter the kitchen. “It's a secret mission!”
“Don’t worry, don’t mind me,” she told them pretending not to notice what they were doing. “I'm just gonna prepare myself some strawberry milk.”
As soon as Adrian looked away, Georgie winked at Hugh. And Hugh winked back.
“I think we're done with this mission now,” he replied using that ridiculously deep voice again. “You have to break the news to the rest of the team, Sketch.”
Adrian jumped out of his chair and practically ran into the living room, holding the basket with sandwiches in his hand.
The three of them had been so into their mission, they didn't realize that the others had put several blankets on the floor and Tamaya was cursing under her breath for being unable to use a lighter to turn on the candles. Kasumi approached Adrian, with a VHS in each of her hands, asking him which movie he would like to see, and Evander came over too, but to try and tell Adrian to pick the action movie, not the romance movie the girls wanted to see.
Simon seemed like he wanted to join the conversation too, but Hugh thought he had done enough. And he meant it in a good way. So he took him by the hand and they lied down on the couch, not caring that perhaps one of the others wanted to sit on it.
Adrian had already chosen the movie (he chose the period drama over the action movie, thankfully) when Georgie walked into the living room with a stack of plastic cups under her arm and a jug half full of strawberry milk, carrying it as it were a trophy. During her birthday, everyone in the house had raised money to buy her a huge pot of strawberry milk powder, which they made her promise that she would not share.
Some promises could not be kept.
The adults got two sandwiches each, but Adrian had practically all of the strawberry milk. Throughout the movie, Kasumi was sighing and muttering how much she wanted to wear a dress like the one the main character wore in the movie during that elegant dinner. From to time, Tamaya frowned and muttered something about how problematic she found a line or scene. Georgie braided their hair and when she finished, she would undo the braid and start over, laughing out loud at Evander's comments about how horrible the romantic interest looked and that he did not understand how that was the ideal of beauty that women had. Adrian fell asleep in Simon's arms about halfway through, and about that exact time, Hugh began to notice that Simon was starting to have a hard time trying to stay awake.
He looked adorable when he was thinking, but he liked it even more how he looked when he was falling asleep.
He kissed the back of his head. “Are you tired?”
He nodded slightly. “Yes… but never of you.”
Hugh kissed him again. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“What thing?”
Georgie turned around for a second and realized that Adrian had fallen asleep. She stopped braiding Evander’s short hair (for some reason, Evander had let her braid his hair) and sat on the recliner chair, hugging Adrian like a stuffed animal.
She winked at him once more. And Hugh winked back, one more time.
“Nothing— ” he laid himself more comfortably on the couch and allowed Simon to get on top of him, resting his head on his chest. “—Sleep for a while.”
Simon made no further objection. “You too.”
Hugh did not fall asleep. In fact, he stayed awake for the three hours the movie lasted, even though by the time the credits started, Tamaya was snoring and Kasumi and Evander were under her wings, rolled up, and cuddled up to her. Georgie ended up falling asleep on the couch, covered in the same blanket Simon used to cover himself a few hours ago.
When the clock told him it was 7 PM, Hugh knew it was time for them to go patrol. However, the rain had gotten even worse, and Simon...
Simon looked so peaceful.
He hadn't realized how deep the bags under his eyes had gotten, nor that his face hadn't looked as relaxed as it looked right now for weeks, because he frowned most of the time. He hadn't held him that close either or had the opportunity to give him as many kisses as he had been doing in that time. Not because he didn't want to, it was just ... well, they had been busy trying not to die.
How tiring it was to try not to die.
He knew Simon was tired because, again, he was tired too, and he bet that the rest of their family felt the same as them. But Simon was the only one who had overcome his tiredness and his moodiness to just... make them forget their sorrows for a moment.
He was like that.
Hugh gave him one more kiss on the cheek.
Thank you.
If Simon had been awake, he would have asked him "Thanks for what?"
And Hugh would have answered him, "For just being you."
Someday they would get their happy ending. But for the moment, all he wanted was to be crammed into the living room with the rest of his family, listening to the thunder and the rain crashing down on the ceiling.
He doubted that happiness would ever end.
Sixth (but not last) try
Two years after the Day of Triumph.
Just over a year ago, Simon had been on the roof of the same building he was currently in. Of course, it looked very different from how it looked now. It didn’t have any windows, no furniture, and, obviously, no electricity. It was the vile shell of what had once been one of the most beautiful skyscrapers in the city. Simon was thinking about that when he realized that he did not have a single memory of having seen that place when it was in its maximum splendor and that the only proof he had of it was the stories of those adults who arrived before him.
That sooner or later, he would become one of those adults. Those who told stories of the past to the generations that came after them.
He thought of Adrian. He thought that there would come a time when he would be curious to know certain things that happened and would ask questions that Simon would not be too sure how to answer. Not precisely because he didn't want to or because he thought he wasn't ready to hear the truth; he just didn’t know those truths at all.
Why did people change for the worst? How did the world use to be when prodigies weren’t divided by heroes or villains?
What happened to Lady Indomitable?
How did the world use to be before she was gone?
Then Simon, with tears in his eyes, looked up at the crescent moon and the six stars lined up in such a way that they seemed to form a smile. He hadn’t seen anyone in his family smile for… a very long time.
Because when Georgia Rawles left, she took with her their capacity to smile.
Yet, at that moment, Simon could feel her. He could feel her when he was crying, asking her to please fly again and to help him get down from that skyscraper. He felt her hugging him, keeping him from falling to his knees and cutting his skin with the shattered glass that was on the floor. She promised him that she would never give up on him and assured him that every time he saw the sky, he would find those six stars forming that smile, which from that moment on, would be hers.
Simon didn't want her to make promises, but… it was Georgie. His Georgie. The Georgie who made pinky promises even though she was about to turn thirty because you were never too old for pinky promises. The Georgie who always protected him and never gave up on him, even though there were times when Simon thought she should.
So since she was his Georgie, Simon accepted the promise. As she turned around and rose again to the sky, he wondered what would happen when the city was so full of light, that the stars (Georgie’s smile) faded away and everyone, including them, forgot about them (about her).
But, after all this time, Simon was looking at the stars, on the roof of that same skyscraper that had now been turned into a fancy restaurant, holding Hugh's hand across the table, and noticing that Georgie was still smiling at him from above.
As it always should be.
“Did you ever expect things to turn out like this when you were little?”
He turned to see Hugh again. “What things?”
But Hugh kept staring at the stars. Simon didn't care. He liked to think that the sparkle in his blue eyes was due to them. “Us.”
Simon shook his head, “No,” he answered when he remembered Hugh couldn’t look at him. “Did you?”
Finally, Hugh saw him again. “I think that when I was little, I didn’t know one could be as happy as I am with you right now.”
Simon rolled his eyes.
“I'm serious,” Hugh insisted, taking him just a little tighter by the hand. “I'm so glad we finally made it out.”
Simon leaned forward slightly. “We really did, huh?”
Then, Hugh gently pulled him closer to him, making their foreheads bump and closing his eyes. “And I'm so glad that now, nothing bad is gonna happen to you, to us, and to what we have.”
Simon closed his eyes too. He would have liked to promise Hugh that it would be like that. That this new chapter of their lives, the chapter of getting married, having kids, and rebuilding a city together, was would turn out as well as the last one, when they fought crime, defeated the bad guys, and held hands only when they were not wearing the armors that protected them from the outside world.
But he could not promise that. And anyways, Hugh was not very fond of promises. He said they were very easy to break.
So he grabbed his chin and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before saying, “It's getting late. We should ask for the check.”
Hugh nodded and called a waiter. He noticed that Simon was reaching into his pocket and quickly told him not to do it, that he got it. Simon knew there was nothing he could do to make him change his mind, so he instead just asked if he could get a slice of chocolate cake to go. Adrian would love to have chocolate cake for breakfast.
The waiter returned a few moments later with the bill (and Adrian’s chocolate cake). Simon almost winced when he saw the amount of money they had spent on a meal that hadn’t been that good in the first place (although he did not know if it was because of the lack of ingredients or because gourmet food kind of sucked). However, Hugh didn't seem at all concerned and reached into his pockets to get his wallet.
Suddenly, he leaned his elbows on the table. “Simon.”
Simon leaned his elbows on the table too. “Yes?”
“Have I mentioned you look very handsome tonight?”
He tried to remember. “No,” he replied. “But thank you for noticing. I even took a shower.”
“Wow,” Hugh exclaimed with too much enthusiasm. “Feeling fancy today.”
“I do feel fancy today,” Simon replied, adjusting the jacket he had put on over his pink button-up shirt at the last moment because Hugh had told him that the restaurant had a pretty rigid dress code.
Simon almost didn’t put on the jacket out of pure spite. In fact, he spent all the way ranting about how it was stupid to have such a specific dress code in a place like Gatlon City, and that he bet that the owners of that restaurant, who now were acting like total snobs, had spent most of their lives wearing only a t-shirt and old jeans, like the rest of them.
Hugh, who had been wearing the jacket from the beginning (a blue one), was quiet, listening carefully to what Simon was saying until he blurted out:
“We can do something else if you want to.”
He didn't say it in an “I’m hurt by your comment” tone. Instead, he said it the same way he would tell him that they could watch another movie or that they could get take out instead of cooking dinner. He said it as if the reservation he made was not at stake, or as if he hadn’t been sending him hints of wanting to go to that specific restaurant since New Year.
Simon knew that if he had said yes, Hugh would have taken him wherever he wanted. However, Simon also knew that it didn't matter where they went. They had spent Valentine's in an alley, at a fair, fighting villains, and in a house too small for seven people. And in all those places, he had a great time.
Surely that place was… snobbish, but he could have a great time there too.
After all, they were together.
He was sure Hugh knew that too.
Hugh nodded, agreeing with him. He hardly ever agreed with someone other than himself anymore.
“Is this your strange way of making me say you look good too?” he asked him then.
And Hugh’s smile grew bigger. “Simon Westwood, you are the love of my life,” he replied taking his hand, “and this is my strange way of telling you I forgot my wallet at home.”
Simon laughed so loudly that the other customers turned to see him. But he couldn't care less. He kind of wanted them to saw them. He wanted them to notice how much he was laughing and he wanted them to see him kiss Hugh as he reached for his pockets…
Oh, no.
“Hugh.”
He tensed. “Yes, dear husband of mine who’s going to pay for this dinner?”
“You look good too.”
That was enough for Hugh to realize that Simon had also left his wallet at the house.
The two remained serious for a long time. But then, Simon could see how Hugh's brain clicked in a very strange way, which made him see this whole situation as the funniest thing that had ever happen to him.
He kissed him once more.
They always managed to ruin their Valentine's Days one way or another, but it didn't matter. Because there was no way they could ruin what the two of them had.
Boy, he would like to see someone try.
#queercreators#queercreators02#renegades#archenemies#supernova#renegades trilogy#hugh everhart#simon westwood#humon#obsi's writs
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
Connecting Flights w/Iwa
Summary: On Hajime Iwaizumi’s flight back to Japan, he meets an unexpected friend from his past who is a little hung up on someone else.
Iwaizumi x fem!reader/Oc || Read it on A03
Genre : romance, friends to lovers (wc: 2.2k)
Notes: Hiromi Miura is an original character, but readers are free to put themselves into her shoes! Coming of age fics are fun to write but I wanted to explore a world centered around adulthood that included a work life outside one’s significant other. Hope you can give me feedback on whatever world-building I’ve done. Successive chapters will def have more Iwa.
Hiromi Miura packed the last of her toiletries into her large black check-in luggage. Rolling the luggage out into the hallway, she checked her phone for the third time in ten minutes. Her boss, Hayate Hoshizora stood in the hallway waiting for her with her own luggage standing beside her.
“Where’s Tsuchida?” she asked.
Itsumi Tsuchida was the third member of their team of three and Hiromi’s room mate for the trip. She handled production and logistics so Hiromi and Hayate could write and shoot their articles on food history without worry. Despite her astounding efficiency with her work, Itsumi had a habit of being late.
“Itsumi is almost out. She’ll be here in a minute.” said Hiromi.
The three checked out of the small business hotel before going their separate ways for their last minute shopping. Hiromi wanted to window shop for shoes and cosmetics while Hayate set out to buy some omiyage for her family. Itsumi offered to accompany Hiromi on the condition they stop by for milk tea.
“Let’s meet outside of Time Square before 12 for lunch. I’m going to buy some jerky and maybe some dried goods. Do you guys want anything?” asked Hayate before they set off.
Hiromi declined. Itsumi asked for some jerky for her own omiyage.
As the two junior members of Hayate’s team entered Time Square, Itsumi noticed Hiromi was checking her phone again. She had been doing so whenever she could during the trip.
“Still no texts from Eita?” she asked Hiromi.
“Nope,” sighed Hiromi. Everything had been going smoothly just last week. She had been texting consistently with Eita. He even offered to call. She would send him photos of their first day in Hong Kong and he would eagerly reply.
Come the day before yesterday, he stopped replying all of a sudden. Hiromi had begun to worry that things had fallen apart without knowing why. Their last conversation was on Hong Kong protests. Eita fumed against the injustice, Hiromi agreed with him and nothing came after that. Maybe he joined the resistance?
“I don’t know what went wrong. I thought he liked me.” she moaned, “We have similar political views. Maybe I wasn’t enthusiastic enough when I replied to his call for justice or something.”
“Maybe you should just ask him about it.” Itsumi suggested, rolling her eyes.
“He ignored me for two days what else is there to say?”
“So why are you still looking at your phone?” Itsumi asked, with her brow raised at her co-worker, “Come, let’s go shopping to keep your mind off things.”
————————————————————————————
Hiromi and Itsumi had a penchant for hole in the wall restaurants. For their last meal, they asked to eat at a restaurant at the back of Time Square, nestled between narrow shopping alleyways. It was the first restaurant they ate in upon arrival and it would be their last meal too. They both ordered a bowl of wonton noodle soup and a serving of bok choy shared between the three of them. Hayate ordered chicken noodle soup for herself.
The restaurant was small and narrow, not to mention humid from all the steaming and the boiling from the kitchen. Although the lunchtime service was quick and brash, the two did not seem to mind. The girls were well-travelled and cosmopolitan. They were used to environments different from the quiet efficiency of Japan. Hayate found it chaotic but the team did not get many out of country assignments so she took what she could.
Hiromi in particular specialized in writing about Southeast Asian diasporic (meaning a scattered population whose origin lies in a separate geographic locale) cuisine. Noise hardly fazed her but apparently boy problems did.
“Hiromi, you looked so forlorn. Are you really that sad about leaving Hong Kong?” she joked. Hiromi’s focus in her work was second to none. Her tolerance to mediocre young men, less so.
“There’s a boy who hasn't been texting back…” trailed Itsumi.
Hayate didn’t pry, but the girls opened up to her for just about anything.
“Oh, hmmm don’t overthink it.” she said.
“It’s ok, I mean he’s smart and artistic and he knows my friends, but I guess I wasn’t interesting enough.” wailed Hiromi in between bites of her noodles.
“Honestly, if he can’t be bothered to speak with you clearly, he doesn’t deserve your time.” said Hayate, sipping her scorching hot red tea burning a bit of throat in the process. Her eyes grew wide as her throat grew numb.
“That’s true, besides I feel like you’re more worried about why he doesn’t like you than the actual relationship.” sighed Itsumi, mixing some soy sauce, chili oil and black vinegar for their wonton dip.
“Enough moping, let’s eat and talk about something else.” exhaled Hiromi, raising her hand to call for cold water for Hayate.
The topic shifted to work. They were excited about editing the photos. Hayate couldn’t wait to unpack but was a little sad about going back to the office again. Itsumi dreaded doing the liquidation and desk work for their Hong Kong trip. Hiromi was buzzing with ideas for their next assignment and was hoping to pitch recipe ideas to the cooking staff at their next meeting.
Just before boarding, a familiar figure caught Hiromi’s eye. A tall, tanned boy with a lean muscular physique stood a few rows in front of her. He was wearing a white shirt and black athleisure pants. Iwaizumi from college?
The three were seated separately on the plane. Hiromi was seated near the back while Hayate and Itsumi were on the second row. As she got to her seat, Hiromi was surprised to find Hajime Iawizumi beside her, blinking sleepily at the seat in front of him.
“Miura-san!” he said in incredulity realizing that his college friend was right beside him in his Hong Kong layover.
“Iwa! It is you! I thought I saw you while we boarded.” she said, shoving her carry on onto the storage, “Also, do you really have to be so formal?”
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“What are you doing in Hong Kong?” she asked simultaneously.
“I just finished my time in LA. I’m moving back to Japan. This is my last layover.” he yawned, popping a breath-mint into his mouth.
“I work as a food writer and researcher for a publication in Tokyo. My team and I are just finishing up our assignment in Hong Kong. We get out of country assignments from time to time. I’m still kind of new, but when I become a veteran I’m hoping to get more regular trips.”
“Cool! I’m moving to Tokyo next week because I got a gig training members of a Division 1 Volleyball League! This week, I’ll be home to do some laundry and just get things in order.” he said.
“If you need help moving or settling in let me know. I moved to Tokyo just last year.” she offered, “It was crazy.”
Iwaizumi nodded and thanked her for her offer. They continued catching up as the plane took off and soon the stewardess began handing out food.
“I’m so tired of plane food. It’s all I’ve eaten in the past twenty four hours,” he sighed.
“This has definitely got nothing on everything I’ve eaten so far” she exhaled, “I can’t wait to go home, even my own cooking is better than this. I got lots of new recipe ideas to try too.”
“I thought you said you were a writer. Do they make you cook at work too?” he inquired. It seemed like her job required an awful lot of skills for one position.
“I can cook to some capacity. I don’t really cook at work, it just helps if I know how.” she waved.
They ate in silence, chewing through the mediocre airline food.
“By the way, I need some boy advice. Do you have space to hear me out?” she inhaled, gathering her courage before she unloaded her questions on her friend.
“Sure? What about it?” he shrugged.
Hiromi opened up about her latest romance and its frustrations. She gave him a bit of background on who he was and how they started the relationship particularly the wishy washy feelings about their courtship.
“Do you really like this guy? You’re having more questions and doubts than answers. That’s not really a good sign. You can go ahead and be upfront but is this guy worth it?” he asked thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. I want to give it a chance but each time I think about him I get more confused and anxious.” she sighed, putting down her utensils. She bumped her head against the chair in front of her.
“He also hasn’t texted back in a few days without saying why.” she promptly added, looking to him. Iwa jerked back, his arms in a flurry.
“Scratch what I said. I don’t think the relationship is going to work. It’s not serious enough for him if he can’t at least let you know why he goes off the grid.”
Her face fell, shoulders sinking into her back.
“Sorry,” apologised Iwa, pausing to empathize with her.
“I kind of already know this and I guess I just hate uncertainty suspense. I don’t know why I feel so affected to hear it out loud.” she groaned, massaging her temples. Iwa was not good at hearing about boy problems. He didn’t really know what to say.
“Why’d you go for him anyway?” he asked, thoughtfully chewing some eggs and shifting in his seat. The seat was obviously a bit narrow for his shoulders. Hiromi moved a bit to her right to allow him more space.
Her poster straightened up while she plopped her elbows onto the table. She clasped her hands together and thought for a bit before turning to him, her eyes wide and a tad bit glassy.
“He just ticked the boxes you know? I knew him from college and we understand the other worlds we worked in. He’s smart, artistic and apparently he’s been crushing on me since freshman year or something like that. I wasn’t seeing anyone so I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“But why are you adamant to make it work is what I mean?”
Hiromi shrugged her shoulders, “I can’t help but feel like it reflects on me. I feel like I’m not worthy enough when I can’t make a relationship work with someone who ticks the boxes.”
“I really hate dating and letting someone have this much control over my emotions though.” she growled at the chair in front of her.
Iwa had a small smile to himself, glad he was not in her place. She had always been the one better at giving advice when they were in uni together. He wished he could return the favor.
Before he got together with his college girlfriend, he was swimming in a lot of doubts about himself. It was difficult for him to speak about just anyone, but Hiromi was one of few who could coax the subject out of him.
“So how are you two getting on?” Hirom had asked him.
They were sitting together in the school cafeteria for lunch. Usually they sat with common friends and some classmates, but today they were alone which meant she could pry on Iwa’s love life. Even when Iwa wanted to talk about his girl problems, he had difficulty opening up. She saw it as her mission to initiate the conversation to help him out.
Iwa scratched the back of his head and sighed, “I don’t really know how I could be a better replacement for her ex. I’m not her first anything. I’m not any more good looking, or smarter or more athletic than he was. I’m not even nicer. I really don’t know if I’m worth the shot.”
His brow furrowed in concern. His lips were midway between a pout and a scowl.
She choked on her lunch. More often than not, it was Iwa encouraging other people and giving square judgement. Iwa was by no means arrogant, but he was also not self-deprecating. Hearing him speak about himself this so despondently was out of his character.
“Iwa, dating is not a competition!” she managed to say while pounding on her chest. Iwa handed her some water.
“I guess…” he mumbled.
After slugging down some water, Hiromi composed herself, “Yeah, her ex may have been great, but you’re great too! She likes you now which is why even if her ex is still in some of her friend circles she’d still rather date you.”
Iwa perked up a bit and smiled at his food.
“Just because you’re not her first doesn’t mean you can’t have a meaningful relationship right? What’s this obsession with being first? It’s not added value.” she said thoughtfully, putting her face between her hands as she leaned into her tray.
That lunch seemed so long ago. Who would’ve known that their next lunch after college would be a plane in between Hong Kong and Tokyo?
“Hey, are you still using the same email? Let’s keep in touch when we get back. I’m holding you by your promise to show me around.” he grinned, handing her his phone.
She continued sulking in half-hearted despair at the seat in front of her while she took his phone.
“Cheer up! I’m sure you’ll find someone in Tokyo.” he added, settling himself back into his chair looking at her.
-------------------------------------
Taglist: @scrappydaisies @itstheee-ha-chan
#iwaizumi x reader#iwaizumi x y/n#iwaizumi x you#iwaizumi hajime#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfiction#hq fanfic#hq iwaizumi#hq writing#haikyuu fanfic#hq fic#hq fics#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x me#haikyuu x you#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu fic
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
(The first chapter of my 18+ Undertale Fic ‘Monsterous Skeletonus’ is complete!)
(It’s gonna be a -very- slow burn, but there will be a whole lot of the UF Skelebro’s (G included!) in later chapters and a whole lot of eventual smut to go with it, even if the plot is gonna be heavier than a semi as it maps out 👀)
(Once I get it proof read fully I’m going to post it on A03!)
.................
‘Alright, alright! Easy now. We don’t need anyone breaking a leg, do we?’
‘Ugh, why do we need to go -all- the way down here? It’s not like the machinery for this shit doesn’t exist. I feel like a old school miner or something, y’know?’
‘Hey! That’s no way for a brave explorer to talk, Meg! Don’t you want to see what’s down there? Could be all sorts of cool, weird stuff!’
‘Like what? More rocks and dirt?~ Oh! Maybe some ‘sand’ even? Give me a break’
‘Guys, d-don’t start arguing. We’re going to be down here f-for a while so it’s best to get along~’
.................
The varying chatter of excited, muffled voices ringing down into the unknown, inky blackness of what was assumed to be a rather hidden among the weeds and rocks but still wide crevice leading into Mt. Ebott that had been only recently discovered, the forested area had been well scouted out over the past few weeks and had been mapped well so that the current team leading the charge wouldn’t have to contend with trying to figure out where their destination would be by sight alone.
The ‘team’, otherwise known as FTL (Future team leaders. A cheesy name if there had ever been one) were simply a group of third year Geo students who had been tasked with taking core samples from the innermost caverns of Mt. Ebott for substrate testing. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous job by any stretch of the word but it was good experience for the youngsters in terms of field work, the leader of the group of ragtag students, a rather burley, bearded man named Sean and his partner Gunter already being at the bottom of the cavern as they waited for the rest of his team to follow suit, the impatient Sean watching as Meg and Desmond, the third and fourth oldest on the team respectively, carefully sidled their way down the craggy rock surface, arguing all the way much to the usually cheerful but honest mans chagrin.
“The more you guys complain the more time your gonna spend down here getting the damn samples. We still have to set up camp too so I suggest you guys pick up the pace”.
A collective groan coming from the duo grappling down, Desmond and Meg soon reached the bottom of the dimly lit cavern while two other members on the surface still suited up, Terra and Mira, a pair of naive adventurers if there ever were any, looking seriously nervous as they prepared to begin the descent down into the unknown.
“You ready?”, Mira smiling nervously at the freckle faced Terra as her friend nodded back hesitantly, it was more often than not that Mira was the braver one between the both of them, Terra being more of the ‘I’ll just follow you for safety sake’ type ever since they were children and Mira often having had to assume a’leadership’ role because of it.
Not that she minded it at all though! If anything, the short-stack of a girl enjoyed leading her best friend through the forest and hills when they were merely kids, the both of them often fighting imaginary monsters and imagining what it would be like to climb the forbidding and dangerous Mt. Ebott that had the reputation of housing -real- beasts and all sorts of angry spirits for centuries.
Well, according to many a scary bedtime story it did at least, Mira no really longer believing such childish fantasies and thinking them about as real as a monster under the bed. The girl had always been terrified as a kid by the thought of some horrific creature climbing down the mountain and snatching her up in the night when she misbehaved, her being unable to look back at those times without laughing at how her own imagination used to run wild.
“Y-yeah, let’s just take it easy though, alright?”.
Terra blushing nervously as Mira grinned and the both of them began the slow descent down into the inner workings of the massive Mt. Ebott, the dark slag that covered most of the upper surface area soon gave way to crumbly, brown flecks of caked in dirt about halfway down that rained into the depths below at the smallest touch, the bright entrance to the surface growing smaller and yet smaller still as eventually it was merely a pin prick of light far, far above the teams head when Terra and Mira finally hit the weirdly soft and rather squishy ground beneath.
“See? We made it down okay~”, Mira helping to unclip Terra’s equipment as she could tell her fellow team mate was uneasy, she was used to Terra being a bit of a worry wart but she seemed to be especially unnerved today for some reason, “Told ya we would make it in one piece”. Sticking her tongue out playfully at Terra as the girl batted her hand away with a sigh once she was unclipped, Mira laughed as Sean meanwhile approached with bottles of water for both of them.
“Hey now! Looks like you made it all in one piece!~”, Sean smirking broadly as he playfully patted the nervous looking Terra on the back, the girl smiled small as she watched the others in the group already beginning to set their bags down alongside the smooth, stone covered walls of the wide, expansive cavern they had landed in.
The circular area where they stood being lit by a few torches that Gunter, a rather quiet short man that was second in command to Sean had placed around what would be their designated base area, it was easy to tell that whatever this place was it must have been pretty damn old, scraggy bits of moss and thick, thorny vines creeping up the strangely, almost ‘carved’ looking walls that were reminiscent of a oversized well in a way.
The dirt covered ground being rather soft and squishy as was mentioned previously, it wasn’t ‘wet’ but had the texture and feel of a half absorbed sponge that had been wrung out and left to dry, bits of dried plant matter, green and yellow, making up a bulk of the signs of life that had floated down from the surface to the seemingly lifeless cave over the years, a large pile of the shriveled mess having formed a rather neat mound directly below the gleaming entrance far above.
Meanwhile, the lack of hardiness in the soil was proving difficult for Desmond to drive the stakes for his tent into by his annoyed grunts and frustrated strings of cusses.
Nature wasn’t for everyone apparently.
A naturally formed but crooked arch towards the east appearing to lead deeper into whatever lay beyond the teams immediate landing spot, it was oddly convenient, almost as if it was beckoning anyone who fell or grappled their way down here to enter it and take a chance with whatever dangers laid beyond Its dismal, abyss like entryway.
Mira getting a bit of a odd vibe from the area as she decided to stick by her team mates side for now, there would be plenty of time to explore later, her taking a sip from her water bottle with a content sigh as Sean soon formed everyone in a loose huddle to discuss their next plan of action.
“Alright!”, Clapping a hand to get everyones attention as he visually assessed that his team was safe and sound, Sean held his constant, positive outlook proudly even as most of his members looked exhausted from the day trek up Ebott and grappling down here, “Now, we all know why we’re here, collecting samples and all that fun stuff. Of course, to avoid outside contamination from -that-“, Sean pointed upwards at the tiny prick of light to the surface above them, “We are going to have to do a bit of traveling inwards once morning hits!”.
“Oh! Does that mean we get to see how far all this goes?~”, Mira speaking up as she genuinely seemed excited about the possibility of traveling farther into the cave system, she ignored the sound of Meg behind her muttering something annoyed under her breath, “I hear some of these caves can stretch for -miles-!”.
“Andddd your exactly right, kiddo! Of course, we only need to collect samples unspoiled by outside contamination. We won’t need to travel too terrible far in for that, but I wouldn’t discount the idea of another trip down here if funding for this pans out”, Sean winking at Mira as the pint sized girl blushed and internally swooned, a intentional, rough cough from Desmond seemed to break the pair out of whatever little ‘thing’ was blooming between them as he motioned to the tents that still needed to be set up.
“Yeah, uh, a-anyways, another thing guys, I don’t want to see anyone wandering off either, got it? We have no idea where these caverns might lead and the last thing we need is to have to send out a rescue squad to find one of you. I’m sure everyone has heard the horror stories of those idiots who decide to go off alone and wind up wedged under a boulder or something”.
Sighing a bit awkwardly to himself as he seemed to get the hint across to his team judging from the murmurs of acknowledgement they gave, Sean was a natural leader and the head of this group obviously....but sometimes it was a bit difficult to get everyone on the same page, the only real ‘friendship’ between them all outside of being grouped students and cavers being Terra and Mira, two of the youngest mates among them.
This was going to be a long, difficult journey if they couldn’t all manage to find a common ground to communicate on, but at least in the end their mission was likely to prove successful now that they had arrived safely in the interior workings of Ebott as planned with barely a scratch.
Soon enough everyone would be back on the surface and they could all go their separate ways, but for now there was work to be done in terms of getting tents set up and dinner ready, the long hike just to get to the top of Ebott having been almost a full days worth of energy.
“Meg, you get a fire and dinner set up since Desmond already has the tents”, Pulling out a small note paid from his pocket as he scribbled something down while he spoke, Sean than looked at Terra and Mira as his usually eager eyes seemed to grow a bit more tense in thought as he rubbed his temple slowly with his free hand.
“And you two....Just...don’t do anything stupid, okay? We don’t want another Cauldron incident. That -especially- goes for you Mira, got it?”.
“Uh...yeah, y-yes Sir”, Mira blushing and nodding once as she glanced at Terra who now had a chance to smile and nudge her friend back playfully, neither of them particularly were proud of the unspoken ‘Cauldron’ incident but it was good reason for them to stay put and out of the way.
...........................
The team taking the next hour or two to set up tents and unpack gear, the plan was for a three day excursion to take samples from the depths of Ebott for both sediment and groundwater exploration. Of course, no one had really ever been -in- this mysterious cave system until now to map it out, the next few days having the potential to be longer or shorter depending on exactly how difficult the terrain proved to be to navigate.
By the time Meg had managed to scrap together a decent fire and everyone had settled down around it for a meal of rationed leek and potato Soup, the group seemed to be more than happy to simply have the chance to relax and take off their worn jackets and boots, The night sky far, far above them having the faintest sparkle of stars and moon mist to indicate the time of day on the surface.
Mira sitting to the left of Terra and near Sean on a blanket while Gunter sat near Desmond on the ground and Meg had perched herself on her bag, it could have almost be called a crude form of camping in a way if any of the said campers shared any sense of shared camaraderie.
“I’ve always heard weird things about this mountain, y’know? Things like ghosts and goblins and the like”, Desmond sipping his soup as he spoke with a sly grin, the flannel shirted man seemed to enjoy the way he made the nervous Terra especially perk up and shuffle ever so closer to Mira like a lost pup.
“How they especially like to eat little kids that wander away from home....Yeah, I bet they are just waiting to snatch some new prey up when they get a chance~”.
“Real mature, Des. I bet it took you all day to come up with that one, right?”, Meg rolling her blue eyes as the man continues to grin and simply drank his soup, Mira meanwhile seemed to be quite curious about what Desmond was getting at though as she suddenly became a bit more attentive.
“Well...I’m not a kid and neither is Terra, so we should be fine~”, Smiling lightly as she kind of wanted Desmond to continue talking about his little stories of what might be in these mountains, her gaze silently urged him to keep speaking as she let Terra cuddle close to her for warmth.
Desmond chuckling and shaking his head at Mira’s assertion that she wasn’t a child, he closed his eyes for a moment in thought, “ Nah, you don’t wanna hear stuff like that before bed, believe me”.
“B-but, I mean it, I’m really curious about -all- that kind of stuff! Cryptids, ghosts, you name it! I-I mean I don’t -believe- in any of it...it’s just, uh...fascinating I guess”.
“Mmm, I think he might be right, Mira. Besides, we should be hitting the sack soon anyways. Everyone’s got a big day ahead tomorrow”, Sean raising a brow at Mira’s apparent interest in what might be lurking around the inner workings of Ebott, his input seemed to only fuel Mira’s insistence in knowing more about what she thought Desmond was ‘hiding’ from her because he saw her as merely a kid.
“Come on, just -one- story?~ You can’t just lead me on like that”, Mira feeling Terra cuddle a bit closer to her even more so as she seemed to be persistent enough to convince Desmond to give in, the man sighed and put his empty cup down as Mira internally cheered that he seemed he was going to tell them more about his creepy tales.
“Alright alright, but only one, got it? Man, you kids these days know how to work a old mans feelings”.
........................
................
.........
Sleep coming easy for the exhausted group by the time Desmond had sufficiently managed to spook nearly everyone out with his tale of a creature called the ‘Crooked handed woman’, Terra had, as usual, decided to remain by Mira’s side even when they were comfortably safe inside their tents and was cuddled up next to her best friend once the group had decided to call it a night.
It wasn’t as if Mira minded much that the perpetually nervous girl wanted to share a tent, her honestly thriving off the warmth that the both of them being this close gave in this unnaturally cold cavern.
Desmond’s tale still ringing in the back of Mira’s mind as she fell into a mild sleep not long after getting herself comfortable, the thought of some old, crone like hag with skin like old onion paper and a twisted and gnarled hand with a ‘mind of its own’ was enough to keep her up a little after everyone else had fallen asleep, the occasional sound of what Mira assumed was dried leaves shuffling outside her tent instinctively making her cuddle up a bit more in her sleeping bag to feel smaller.
Yeah, maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to beg Desmond to tell his tale after all....
‘T-there isn’t anything out there! Stop being stupid and get your mind off of it already!’
Maybe Desmond was right to not want to tell his creepy stories when what she really needed was to sleep for tomorrows expedition deeper into the cave, Mira sighing a bit to herself as she watched Terra’s soft, unworried, sleeping face next to her own as she slowly tried to lull her body into rest as well.
............
......
-scerch scerch...scritch....~
‘W-what? What is that?’
Mira cracking her groggy eyes open after a minute or so of letting her mind rest, the sound of rustling ‘leaves’ outside of her tent had for a second or two became a bit louder than before, her senses instinctively going on high alert as she waited in silence to see if she wasn’t truly just going crazy from exhaustion.
...............
.........
‘scritch scritch....-c r u u u u n c h-
.............
The sound of what Mira could best describe as one of the Lit-A-Fire portable logs that had been put out by Sean earlier snapping slowly in half, the girls heart was pounding in her chest by now as it was more than obvious that someone, or some t h i n g, was out there just beyond her tent, her wide eyes focusing on the still sleeping Terra in front of her as she debated on waking her friend up to investigate.
‘No, she is just gonna freak out. Just stay put Mira...I-it’s probably just Sean or someone out there....’
............
-c r u n c h-
The sound of another one of the logs seemingly being split in half reaching Mira’s ears as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to panic, a odd tapping noise, almost like long nails clicking on stone, was a new sound to emerge after a few seconds of silence, the story she had heard from Desmond earlier returning to her already panicking young mind ten fold.
The old lady with her crooked hand and it’s long, gnarled nails....t-there was no way it was real, right?
............
.......
-tap tap-
A terrified, muffled squeak coming from Mira as she buried her head in her bag, the sound was now right outside of her tent as she felt Terra stir besides her, her not wanting to see who or whatever was attempting to seemingly try to get her attention as the front zipper of the girls shared tent opened rather slow and quietly.
“G-go away!!”.
Mira bolting up and slamming a pillow directly into the face of a most perplexed looking Gunter, the sleepy, heavy set man crunched his brow together as he put his hands up in a mock fashion to show he surrendered.
“Hey there, just calm down!”, Shaking his head once as he tried to speak quietly to avoid waking Terra, Mira blushed heavily out of shame as she immediately seemed to realize how stupid she had been to think that the kindly second in command to Sean had been some kind of ‘monster’.
“Was wonder’in if ya had the first aid in here. Kinda stepped on some of the logs while going to take a leak...and, well...”, Gunter running a hand along his hairline as Mira immediately went to hand off the box of medical supplies to the sleepy looking man that resided safely by the tent entrance, the pink blush she had sprouted didn’t leave her face as she sighed and retrieved her pillow she had thrown at him as well.
“Sorry bout that....”, Speaking quietly as she hugged the parcel to her chest, Mira was merely given a nod by the typically introverted Gunter as he went to zip the tent back up, her and the still sleeping Terra once again being left in the dark, Mira feeling like a total fool for letting Desmond and his stupid story get to her to the point of her actually thinking some terrifying beast had been shuffling about outside.
..............
........
-Scritchhhhhh~
Laying back down to -finally- get some much needed sleep, Mira paid little mind to the sound of what she assumed was Gunter bandaging up his wounded foot, her giving a mighty yawn as she wrapped a arm around Terra and-
..........
-B A N G-
.............
A heavy, extremely loud jolt rocking the pairs tent and apparently the others nearby as she could hear the sound of confused yelling and tired murmurs almost all at once, the startled Terra too blinked her eyes open as she gave a scared, confused look to Mira, her putting a finger to her lip to silently signal to the younger girl to remain quiet as she unzipped and peeked out of the tent to see what the heck was up now.
.......
-B A N G!!!-
A heavy, hot pressure nearly collapsing the heavy canvas tent in on both Terra and Mira as the girls let out a terrified cry of confusion as the fabric fell around them, Mira even under the mess could tell that Sean was shouting indistinguishable words to the others in a apparent panic at whatever was going on, Meg’s just as muffled, frantic pleas mixing in with his orders as Mira tried to yank Terra out from under their collapsed tent as another heavy bang and a sudden, strange whistling noise erupted around them again.
“T-Terra! We need to get out of here!!!”.
Terra, fearful tears streaming down her face as Mira grabbed a hold of her wrist while a bright flash of what could only have been described as a ‘ball of green hued flames’ slammed into the opposing wall nearest where Desmond and Meg’s tent had been, Mira squirmed out from the remnants of tent fabric as she didn’t bother or try to look at whatever or whoever was causing this havoc, her only instinct telling her to run as far away with Terra as she could while she still had the chance.....
Whatever was going on m-must have been some weird, natural cave phenomenon....that was the only real explanation Mira could come up with on the fly e-even if it made little sense logically....
Flames just didn’t shoot out of nowhere like this though.....but maybe since Ebott was rumored to be a long dormant volcano t-that had something to do with all of this?
As little sense as it made it was the -only- logic running through Mira’s imagination as she tried to block out the frantic sound of yelling and screaming back from base, the loud crack of a shotgun being added to the fray as Mira practically dragged Terra towards the archway nearby.
The dimness of the cavern making it nearly impossible for the pair to get their footing as the torches from earlier had been put out by Sean in anticipation of a good nights rest, Mira blindly ran towards the stone archway that led deeper into the yet unexplored inner cavern, her bare feet scrapping painfully along the much rougher, cement-like surface of the pitch black entry way into the unknown depths.
Her nearly crushing Terra’s wrist in her grip as she pulled the hyperventilating and crying girl along, the sound of the carnage from the base camp was now only a muffled, distant drone as the wide eyed and fully shocked Mira eventually stopped to take a breath once they reached a narrow alcove that was eerily silent and still compared to the chaos outside.
“Y-you alright?~”, Whispering softly to Terra as she held her sobbing friend close to her chest, Mira tried to shush Terra but it wasn’t doing much good, the easily terrified girl unable to calm herself as she clung to Mira tightly.
“I want to go -home-, Mira! Coming down h-here was a mistake! I -knew- it was a bad idea and now look what happened! We need to g-go back and help them!!”.
“I know, I wanna go home too....but I don’t think going back there is the best option right now”, Mira trying to give Terra a little smirk to lighten the mood but failing miserably, it didn’t help much at all as Terra simply broke out into a fresh round of sobbing, “We will figure this out, okay?~ I-I’m sure things aren’t as bad as they seem and we probably just over reacted. To be honest I bet this is one of Sean’s stupid pranks”.
“Thats -not- funny and you know that isn’t true!! F-for all we know Sean a-and Desmond and everyone else is hurt back there! I don’t know what happened but whatever a-accident or...-thing- tore up all our tents...but we are going to have to go back and help them!”.
The sound of the distant drone of chaos back from the base slowly growing less urgent as a unnerving silence began to replace it instead, Mira gave Terra a look that said to not even try it, her keeping her grip on her friends wrist as tight as ever.
“Listen...”, Mira taking a hold of Terra’s trembling hand as she tried to be the braver one between them, she sensed that the agitated girl was going to run off the first chance she saw to who knows where and wasn’t going to take the risk of letting that happen.
“Your going to stick with me until we can figure out what’s going on, okay? Going it alone in this place...seems a bit, uh, dangerous...”.
“B-but Mira!-“.
Mira letting out a deep, exhausted sigh as she shuffled Terra to her chest for comfort with the girls protesting, it was partially to avoid letting her see the nervous tears forming in her own eyes, Mira not being cut out to be a leader on the fly like this by any means.
“We need to see if there are any other exits out of here. I know this is scary a-and all, but I know you can do this, Terra~ I know your really brave deep down even if you don’t think it”, Giving her friends hand one last squeeze of determination as Terra seemed to brighten up slightly at Mira’s kind words, the darkness ahead of them seemed to be silently daring the inexperienced pair to take it on, there being no chance of going back now as Mira gave a slight tug of Terra’s arm to prompt her along into the unexplored and potentially hazardous new world, “We are going to get out of here together, I promise”.
Unfortunately for the unwary girls, the journey ahead of them wasn’t going to be easy and the chance of either making it back to the surface at all was slim, a certain green eyed, rather dirty furred ‘beast’ already being well aware of Mira and Terra’s presence~
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
one more ahaha but the cherry blossom scene at the end of catch up game ch 3 because i'm still thinking nonstop about it all the time 👀👉👈
ABSOLUTELY I CAN also for anyone reading this go look at Mika’s art which inspired this scene. It’s the tumblr version so you can reblog it too, which you should do, even if you don’t read my long rambling,
okay once again rambling below...
Traditionally, Larry Butz arrived at any social gathering anywhere from half an hour to three hours later than the time he was told, so all things considered, he was actually early. Phoenix wasted no time informing him of the latest betrayal among their small elementary school friend group.
this is a direct callout to one of my friends from high school, where we started seriously considering telling her that any social event we were planning started an hour earlier than it actually did so that she’d make it there on time. We never did in case this turned out to be the time she actually made it on time, but still.
“Larry, remember that one time we were trying to make that gigantic hopscotch game, and we ran out of chalk?” He pointed an accusatory finger at Edgeworth, who sighed. “It turns out, Edgeworth hid it all along!”
Larry blinked, then shrugged. “Oh yeah, right, that. Well, I kind of had an idea…”
“Wh — You hid this from me too?! D-Death! The death penalty for the both of you!”
“Why does this all sound so familiar,” Edgeworth commented under his breath.
I think this part is mostly there so Larry actually does something because I couldn’t find any real way to fit him into this fic...? Anyways the dialogue there with Phoenix threatening the death penalty on Miles and Larry is pretty much directly lifted from the end of Turnabout Goodbyes, which is why Miles comments on it sounding familiar.
They continued on in that vein for some time, dredging up old elementary school memories. Phoenix proclaimed to be the only innocent member of that group, before Edgeworth brought up a set of very nice gel pens Phoenix reportedly stole from him. Phoenix and Edgeworth got caught up in their argument, and barely even noticed when Larry wandered away, joining Maggey and Gumshoe at the fishing pond while Franziska critiqued them.
This sort of familiar banter was normal. As Edgeworth teased in that same way he had ever since Phoenix first faced him in court, he had to wonder if he’d just imagined the way Edgeworth had been looking at him during the party. Maybe everything was fine, after all.
Not pictured: Phoenix and Miles leaning in closer to each other as they argue. too close. Larry tries to comment but neither of them hear him. Eventually he just walks away because he’s sick of third-wheeling with these two. It’s my firm belief that if there weren’t the court benches in the way that they need to slam, these two would slowly walk closer and closer to each other as they argue because they. uh. want to “intimidate” each other. that’s why they’re nose to nose like that. the whole courtroom is suddenly very uncomfortable.
Haha anyways also I think these two would pick the dumbest things to argue about all the time? Never seriously arguing, the just like bickering because they don’t know how to hold conversations about their feelings.
“You still haven’t explained exactly what happened to my gel pen set,” Edgeworth accused, as they circled around the argument for the third time.
Phoenix threw his hands up in the air. “I just forgot to return it! I didn’t know you were so bothered by it. You should have brought it up!”
“Back then? You were so sensitive. If I brought up that you might have upset me in the least, you would have burst into tears.”
“I wasn’t that sensitive.”
Edgeworth sighed. “Wright, you cried when I got a question wrong on a spelling test, because you thought I would be sad about it.”
“And you were!” Phoenix retorted. “You cried for like an hour!”
“Because when you started crying, I thought it was something I had to be ashamed of!”
More bickering, pretty much! Also I do think Phoenix cried A Lot and was super sensitive up until the whole Dahlia trial which traumatized him pretty badly...
Anyways the REAL story behind this incident which I am making up just now is probably that Miles was on the verge of crying because of Getting Something Wrong -- which I totally get, I absolutely almost cried over spelling tests as a baby -- and Phoenix picked up on this and realized his best friend was sad and started crying, which made Miles start to fully cry, and it just became a mess.
Meanwhile Larry with the 3/10 on his spelling test was just like “I don’t get what you guys are so upset about a 9/10 is great” which just makes them cry even more.
(Then Gregory probably found out about this incident and sat Miles down and gave him a speech about “everyone makes mistakes and it’s okay to not be perfect all the time, this is a learning opportunity and it shows you what you need to work on!”
:)
That sentiment didn’t last very long.)
Wow I’m getting off topic, moving on --
Phoenix crossed his arms. “I remember this whole thing very differently than you do. You cried first.”
“I never cried in fourth grade.”
Phoenix leaned in and whispered into his ear, “Origami.”
“Do not bring that up!” Edgeworth hissed as Phoenix reared back, laughing.
I don’t know if you need to lean in super close and whisper that in his ear though Phoenix, that might be a bit unnecessary. Miles got lucky here in that his Eternal Shame over not being able to fold an origami crane in fourth grade overrode whatever reaction he undoubtedly would have had about Phoenix’s face being very close to his face.
Anyways this banter is here in the fic mostly because I really wanted to show them being all comfortable and happy with each other. That was a major thing I wanted to push as much as possible in these earlier chapters, that they do care about each other a lot even before we enter the more outright romantic territory.
“Regardless, I am certain you took my gel pen set, so don’t try to blame faulty memory on that one. I bet you carelessly used them all up, didn’t you?”
“Hardly! I wouldn’t even touch it after you left. It reminded me of you.”
Some of the fight left Edgeworth’s stance. “Really?”
“Well… yeah.” He wasn’t sure why the admission suddenly felt like a confession of an entirely different sort.
aw man Phoenix you brought feelings into your banter NOW what are you going to do.
I’m preeetty sure I have books that I lent to my friends in fourth grade that they never gave back so it’s of course not an inherently romantic thing, they probably just forgot it was mine and obviously aren’t going to bring it back now ten years later, but for Phoenix in this case it was probably more like “I borrowed these gel pens from Miles and then keep forgetting to give them back but was going to after winter break, and then he left, so I need to hold onto them until he comes back”. Miles was taken from his life so suddenly it probably had a huge effect on him, especially since he had few friends at the time and Miles made such a big impact on him.
The two of them sat underneath the tree in a sudden, serene quiet. They’d both discarded their suit jackets at some point, down to their dress shirts and waistcoats. Phoenix pretended not to notice the way Edgeworth’s eyes darted across the line of his shoulders and lingered longer than they should have.
I don’t ever really pay much attention to what people are wearing or what they look like at any particular time when I’m writing, but in this case I took extra care to make sure they were in the same outfits as in the art that inspired this!
Maybe I’ll ramble a bit more about that! Pretty much the “theme” of narumitsu week this year was “cherry blossoms”, so I wanted to find some way to incorporate them into this fic somewhere somehow. I decided to have that as a focus on Free Day because I enjoy having structure and wasn’t sure what to have for the day.
Some of this scene, mainly the picnic, is inspired by that one official art here. The first iteration of this chapter had everyone in it (with the obvious exceptions of Diego and Mia) but then I took out Maya and Pearl for reasons I explained when I was talking about the scene in chapter 6 where I decided to cut a lot of Maya’s scenes out of this fic... even though I love her a lot.
And of course when I thought about cherry blossoms and narumitsu I thought about Mika’s art, yes I am linking it again, which I believe she posted about a month or so before I started planning and I was Thinking About It Constantly. It’s gorgeous and since there was the perfect opportunity to use it here I just couldn’t resist and here we are.
Back to the paragraph: Miles attempted to subtly check Phoenix out. It was not subtle.
“Do you still have those gel pens?” Edgeworth asked, softer. “I think you owe me them, after everything.”
“Oh, shut up,” said Phoenix, but it was difficult to have a heated argument right now, for some unknown reason. “If I still have them, they’re in a box somewhere. Plus, they ought to have dried up by now.”
“I doubt it.” A faint smile was beginning to crawl on Edgeworth’s face. “Those gel pens were state of the art.”
“Sure they were,” Phoenix dismissed. “And, what, you’re going to use them? Sign your fancy prosecutor documents in bright pink?”
“What makes you think I don’t do that already?”
“You wouldn’t — oh, wait, of course you’d have customized ink in the same colour as your entire wardrobe, who am I even talking to…”
“Mhm.” Edgeworth brushed his bangs from his eyes, a motion that Phoenix’s brain decided to fixate on for some reason. “But really, you went to all the trouble of keeping the set, and you never used any of them?”
(Miles voice) “oh so you kept something as trivial as that for so long because they reminded you of me? Tell me more. Why do you want a reminder of me. What exactly do you think of me, Wright,”
hm pretty much as soon as Phoenix brought Feelings into this conversation the atmosphere kind of changed and you can now imagine Miles staring with the most adoring expression at Phoenix while Phoenix is ignoring this with such intensity that it doesn’t even show up in his narration. But he also watches the way Miles brushes his bangs from his eyes, so he’s not much better.
And thinking about it now this scene really went on for too long about gel pens hahaha...
“Objection!” Phoenix declared. “I used the blue one to write you letters at first.”
“Ah, of course you did. I never got any of those… How many did you send?”
“I don’t even want to know…”
Edgeworth hummed and looked off into the distance, where Gumshoe was demonstrating how to cast a line. “Your level of dedication is something else,” he said, as if to himself.
“Well, yeah. You were my only non-Larry friend. You were…” Phoenix swallowed. “You were important to me, you know? You saved me.”
“You keep bringing that up. You’ve more than returned the favor, you know that, don’t you?”
“I’m inclined to disagree.”
I don’t have a consistent headcanon about whether Miles got or read the letters, in this fic presumably von Karma intercepted them and got rid of them... and then presumably Miles ignored any that were sent to him as an adult.
Also these two are going to have ridiculous arguments about who saved who until they’re on their deathbeds, I’m sure.
Edgeworth turned back towards him as if to retort, but stopped halfway, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at Phoenix.
“... Something on my face?” Phoenix asked, trying to quell the feeling of some sort of anxiety that bubbled up when Edgeworth stared at him like that.
insert mikacherryblossomart.png
Miles turns away for one second and then suddenly oh no he’s even more gorgeous now
Edgeworth was silent for some time. Then, very softly, he said, “You have cherry blossom petals in your hair.”
“What? Do I?” He reached a hand up to brush them out, but Edgeworth stopped him by grabbing his wrist, freezing Phoenix.
“With your hair, you’ll never get them out like that.” With his spare hand, Edgeworth began to pick each individual petal from his hair. “You look so — silly, Wright.”
Partially a callback to the beginning of chapter 3, when they were kids:
“Y-Your hair,” Miles managed to say through stifled laughter. “One of the flowers fell into it.”
Phoenix hands shot up into his hair. “Really?”
“You look so silly, Phoenix.” When Phoenix failed to find the flower, Miles reached out. “Here, let me.”
Phoenix remained still as Miles reached up to the top of his head and picked the flower out of his hair. “Your hair’s really soft,” Miles said quietly, before handing it over to Phoenix. “Here you go.”
because Miles apparently remembered that it was difficult for Phoenix to get the petals from his hair the first time, and also, wanted an excuse to touch Phoenix’s hair again.
But also the dialogue and interactions are ONCE AGAIN INSPIRED BY MIKA based on this reply to my reply to the art on twitter. look at that you can go and retweet the art on twitter too!
Overall this gives us an accurate Thoughts to Speech translator for Miles:
Miles: You have cherry blossom petals in your hair and it is going to kill me.
Phoenix: What? Do I?
Miles: No, wait, don’t brush them out, I want to touch your hair because it is soft and this is the perfect excuse. You look so captivating.
if Miles had said that out loud though it would probably have killed both of them.
Phoenix let out an awkward, low laugh, starting somewhere deep within his chest. “R-Really.”
“Mhm.”
Edgeworth’s eyes locked with Phoenix’s, and time seemed to freeze. There was a sudden thrum of tension in the air, as if Phoenix were in a play and he’d suddenly forgotten his lines, forgotten he was supposed to be in a play at all.
(chanting) “kiss kiss kiSS KISS KISS --”
But before either of them could break the sudden spell over them, a fishing hook whirred through the air, and —
“Ack, I — I think I got it stuck!”
but of course that needs to be interrupted at the worst possible time because this is fanfiction and this is how things work!
“In the tree?! How did you even manage to get it that far?”
“Don’t worry about it, Maggey, I can climb up the tree and get it unstuck, just hang on —”
“No, no, if I just give it a big yank—”
“Maggey—!”
I broke the first rule of writing dialogue because I can’t really remember who’s supposed to be saying what. I think that Maya had a few lines here and then I didn’t change them since there were no dialogue tags...
Pretty much -- Maggey with her eternal luck tried to fish but released the line too early as she was swinging back so the line went back and got caught in the tree branches directly above Phoenix and Miles.
I think the dialogue progression goes Maggey -> Originally Maya but now either Larry or Franziska -> Gumshoe -> Maggey -> everyone going MAGGEY NO!!!
I remember going fishing with my grandpa once a long time ago and either I or my brother did get the fishing line stuck in a tree. would not recommend.
The branch above Phoenix and Edgeworth jostled, and pink petals burst all around them, fluttering down and catching in their hair and on their clothes. One petal even fell behind Edgeworth’s glasses.
They stared at each other for a moment, stunned, Edgeworth’s hand still loosely wrapped around Phoenix’s wrist, as Maggey shouted apologies from the distance.
There are no cherry blossom trees where I live so I have no idea if we’re even in the right season for this or if cherry blossom trees even behave this way - but I’m basing it off of... you know when it’s that point in fall where if you shake a tree branch leaves will just scatter everywhere? That.
Also RIP to the other four who were just having a grand old time fishing and then turn around seeing these two sitting really close to each other almost holding hands about two seconds away from a kiss... which they’d just interrupted...
And then — the most incredible thing happened, and Edgeworth began to laugh.
Phoenix could have catalogued all the laughs he heard from Edgeworth: the usual, short laughs often mistaken for a scoff by those who didn’t know him as well as Phoenix did; the triumphant, smug, courtroom laughs when he thought he had Phoenix cornered; to the quiet, restrained ones in private that were more of a hum than anything else. This laugh was new.
This was a full-on fit of laughter bubbling deep in his chest and spilling from his mouth, which Edgeworth quickly covered with his free hand, with the additional bonus of covering his reddening face. It wasn’t something hidden or faked or triumphant, it was genuine, and open, and Phoenix could swear it was one of the most beautiful sounds he ever heard.
Miles here is going through an emotional rollercoaster having been two seconds away from finally kissing the love of his life only to be interrupted at the worst possible time, which is just so on brand for the two of them that he can’t help but start laughing hysterically. Plus Phoenix probably looks absolutely shocked suddenly covered in petals, which doesn’t help.
Then the next two paragraphs are brought on by Phoenix Pining and also me wanting Miles Edgeworth to laugh more...
From my notes for this scene:
They stare at each other for a moment and laugh, and Miles’ laugh just utterly captivates Phoenix and makes him fall so completely in love immediately and oh no he is screwed he is utterly screwed.
So pretty much I had to encapsulate the “falling so completely in love immediately” part which I decided to do by focusing on Miles laughing. I wanted to draw a lot of attention to that which is why there are so many paragraphs dedicated to Miles laughing and Phoenix thinking about Miles laughing.
Trucy’s laughter always made the world feel a little brighter, and made Phoenix feel stronger. Edgeworth’s laugh did the opposite; it dislodged something inside of him, it weakened him, it made the whole world go soft and fuzzy around him. Instead of illuminating all the good in the world, it turned Phoenix’s world into one person.
More focus on Miles’ laughter but also... kind of drawing attention to Phoenix’s reaction to this being different from his reaction to other people he cares about laughing? Because feeling warm and happy when seeing someone you care about non-romantically laugh is normal, but then I wanted to make it clear that this is a different sort of feeling for Phoenix.
Also Phoenix has to realize this is a different sort of feeling for him because otherwise he could brush it off like he’s probably dismissed all of his romantic feelings throughout the years as “oh I’m just glad my friend is happy, and I rarely ever hear Edgeworth laugh so him being relaxed enough to laugh like that makes me feel happy too,” but it’s not what he’d expect if he just sees Miles as a friend. And it’s described as weakening in the paragraph because right now the subject of his romantic feelings for Miles isn’t something that Phoenix can fully or easily accept right now (as chapter 5 would indicate).
Edgeworth’s fit of laughter subsided, and he shifted his hand so he could look at Phoenix again, the hints of a shy grin peeking out between his fingers, his hair and his shirt and his face adorned with a sweet, gentle pink. It was like looking at an entirely different person — or, no, the same person, but with all armor off, all guards lowered.
Miles is very embarrassed right now but kind of... in a good way...? Like again, almost kissed the love of his life then rudely interrupted at the last possible moment, plus Phoenix’s whole reaction to the thing gave Miles the impression that Phoenix wanted to kiss him as well, so he’s feeling a little giddy. Plus he was just laughing a lot when he normally doesn’t do that. Overall he’s not used to expressing his emotions so he’s embarrassed and a little shy about it...
The part about Miles’ “hair and shirt and face adorned with a sweet, gentle pink” refers to both the cherry blossom petals (in his hair and clinging to his shirt and a bit on his face) and also him blushing quite a bit.
It all feels a little out of character honestly haha because Miles isn’t really the type to be blushing hardcore like this and be a little shy, buuut in this case I let myself get away with it because he’s dealing with romantic feelings he hasn’t ever dealt with at this level before, and it’s also out of character just enough to really strike Phoenix in the heart. You can just imagine him staring at Miles with the most lovestruck expression on his face because he hasn’t seen this side of Miles before and he loves it.
Phoenix’s heart stuttered in his chest, and may have stopped entirely.
He was screwed.
He was completely and utterly screwed.
And even Phoenix can’t deny that he’s super in love at this point.
I think I wrote this part, changed the words “screwed” to “doomed” right before posting, and then switched it back again for no particular reason. The Vibe just felt a little off but oh well.
Then the next chapter skips over the rest of this picnic but honestly Phoenix’s brain skipped over the rest of this picnic as well. Imagine the two of them just kind of standing around in a lovestruck daze for a while. I think Franziska had to physically drag Miles out of there. no one knows how Phoenix got home, not even Phoenix and least of all me!
But thank you Mika for requesting this!! And for drawing such incredible art for me to base the chapter around haha!!!
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Song You Might Have Been (Chapter 6)
Link to Chapter 1 and Chapter 5 !
A/N: This one is a little short, my apologies. And this is around the point I got stuck back during NaNoWriMo, so I can’t promise consistent updates from here on out, but I promise it’s not over yet.
The poem quoted at the end is called “Wild Duck” by Lola Ridge. It’s a lovely piece.
And I’m a horrible person, because I keep forgetting to credit @timelords-13 as my beta for this fic. Your help is greatly appreciated, my dear, and I apologize for falling off the wagon!
---
When you wake up, feeling strung out and dried of all the moisture in your body, you realize you’ve been tucked into your bed. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and see Yancy at the foot, legs crossed underneath him, reading the Sound and the Fury.
“Have you been there all night?” you croak.
“Not a bad book, this one,” Yancy says. “A little...boring, but the writing’s nice. Confusing--”
“It switches perspectives a lot,” you agree. You wipe the crust from your eyes. “You...why did…” You sit up, slowly. “You stayed down here with me?”
Yancy shrugs. “Youse asked me to.”
“No, I didn’t. Not really.”
Yancy looks sheepish. You’d dare say vulnerable. “Don’t push youse’s luck, we’ve got plans to make.”
His reminder pulls you further into the waking world. “I assumed you were joking, last night, when you said you had a plan.” You lean closer to him. “You were joking, right?”
“Does this look like the face of a joker, to you?” Yancy winks. “Listen, youse was right. This is big. I can only do so much to keep you safe if even the guards can be turned by this guy youse investigating. So, best bet?” He shuts the book dramatically and tosses it between the two of you. “I get you back on the outside, youse take down the guy trying to kill you, and I get no more assassinations I don’t order myself in here.”
You roll your eyes. This is mostly a cover to keep you from outwardly freaking out over the fact that Yancy just said he’d break you out of prison. “You are so lucky I’m off the clock. So where do we go from here?”
Yancy taps his fingers against his chin. “I need to get some...affairs in order. But we should be good to go by tonight.”
“So soon? You don’t need more time to plan?”
“Eagle, I know every single nook and cranny in this place. Getting out’ll be a piece of cake. Just gotta wait for nightfall again.”
You nod. “Enough time to...to say good-byes. Or, well, I imagine you don’t want me giving away the plan, so...I’ll be subtle.”
“Eh.” Yancy waves his hand dismissively. “I think some of them suspect. They’ll help you get ready, no worries.” He leans forward to whisper conspiratorially, “Might wanna give them a refresher on that library system youse trying to set up.”
---
It catches you off-guard, the realization that you aren’t going to get to hang out with Yancy’s group in this capacity ever again. (What does it say about you that you have no doubts that Yancy will get the two of you out without a hitch?) Here you are, standing with them in the yard, wondering how the hell you can cope with saying good-bye.
Oddly enough, they make it easier for you. Jimmy pulls you right in for a hug. “Yancy may not have wanted to see it, but we knew you wouldn’t stay here forever. Good luck on the outside, Eagle.”
You receive similar farewells from Sparkles, Shithole Hank, and Bam-Bam. Tiny, on the other hand tackles you hard into a much harder hug than Jimmy’s. “Don’t die out there, Eagle.”
“I’ll do my best, Tiny.” You hug her back. “Look, I’m going to get that volunteer program for the library set up as soon as possible. Every third Sunday won’t be enough to see all of you guys. You all better stay safe too, okay?”
And then, later, when you’re heading back to your cell, Rex passes by and nudges your arm gently with his club. “I’ll miss seeing you in that cell, Eagle. But I better not see you in there again, you hear?”
You can’t help but laugh, despite how serious he looks. “I hear you, Rex. I’ll try to get more poetry sent to you, okay?”
Rex turns away and strolls down the hall, but not before you hear him sniffling.
Yancy is waiting for you in the cell, on his top bunk. “You ready, Eagle?”
You suck in a breath and let it out, taking one last look around the cell. The one that was decorated after you started reading poetry to the inmates every night.
This was very close to a home for a long time. You won’t forget that.
“Yeah, I think I’m ready.”
“Good.” Yancy pops up and holds up a long length of black cloth. “Now, before we do, I need you to put this on.”
“...I’d like to remind you of my trust issues--”
“Listen, Eagle, much as I like you, I don’t need anyone else knowin’ the way out of here. You think it’d be so good for peoples in here to be breakin’ out when they shouldn’t be breakin’ out? Didn’t think so, now put the blindfold on and we’ll get started.”
You take in a breath through your nose and take the blindfold from him. “It’s cute that you think I’d broadcast the path out of the prison.”
“I’d rather not take my chances, Eagle, now youse wanna be free or what?”
---
“And here we are!”
The blindfold drops from your face and you take a step back in utter astonishment.
You’re outside. On the other side of the prison gate. The free side. Just yards away is the woods.
Yancy’s still inside, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Told ya I knew all the nooks and crannies, didn’t I? Oh, and uh, one other thing.” He flicks his hand and the photo of your mother suddenly appears between his fingers. “I took a little detour by the warden’s office for a ‘chat’ and thought I’d swipe this back for youse.”
So the warden is most likely dead, you think. I’ll need to work on my surprise when it pops up in the paper later.
Your thumb traces over your mom’s face. The lump in your throat grows and you try to clear it so you can speak again. “Thank you.”
It doesn’t hit you until that moment. You’re out. You’re free. You’re not out of the woods (literally or figuratively), but this is a start. You can seriously get to work on your case and get your name cleared.
And yet...you can’t bring yourself to look away from Yancy.
When you don’t immediately run off, Yancy’s brow furrows. “Everythin’ alright, Eagle? Freedom is just a gander-on that way.” He points behind you. You can’t tell if you’re imagining the slight trembling in his hand or not.
“Yancy,” you start. You don’t know if you’re just stretching out this last moment together or if you’re honestly hoping he’ll accept the offer you’re about to make, but here you are. You can’t help but feel like if you don’t at least mention it, that you’ll regret it later. “Do you want me to look into your case? See if I can get you a parole hearing scheduled?”
You try to make it clear that this is his choice. That you aren’t presuming what he wants. That you aren’t coming from a place of pity. Lord knows this man has a big issue with pity and presumptions.
Yancy seems floored by your offer. But the next moment, he shakes his head. “I’d...nah, don’t do that. I’ve done bad things, Eagle. A lot of them. And...well, I belong here.” He gestures back at the prison. “This is home.” He doesn’t sound as sure as he normally does. “I...it is for now, I mean, I don’t...”
You nod your head slowly and pocket the picture. “Well...if you change your mind, or if parole comes up without my help and you decide to take it…my guest room is pretty cozy.”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You’re offering the human equivalent of a semi-feral street cat a place to live and somehow you are not questioning your sanity at doing so.
(The last person to live with you besides your mom was Damien, but those days are long past. Maybe...maybe it’d be nice to have a housemate again.)
Eventually, you look back up and, to your surprise, Yancy looks as if you just plucked the moon from the sky and handed it to him.
How can I say good-bye to you? How can I just leave you here? I know it’s what you want, that you’re taking responsibility for your crimes, and it’s one of the reasons I think I--
No, no, cut that thought off at the roots, do not even let it linger--
“I’ll, erm…” Yancy clears his throat. “I’ll keep that in mind, Eagle.” His hand rubs anxiously at the back of his neck. “Maybe when parole comes around, I’ll...maybe…” He shakes his head hard, then, and forces a grin. “Anyway, I better get back. Don’t get arrested again, and hey, don’t forget about visitation! Every third Sunday, Eagle, you hear?!”
“Yancy, wait--!”
But he’s already faded back into the shadows. Back into the prison.
The gaping ache of regret in your chest threatens to swallow you whole. Out of nowhere, you remember Lola Ridge.
So my soul...emptied of the known you...utterly... / Is yet vibrant with the cadence of the song / You might have been…
You swallow past the tumor in your throat. You force your hands to release the bars of the gate. One step back. Another. Another. Another. Until you manage to turn away and scurry into the woods.
The last line of that damn poem drops into your brain like a feather, but no less devastating than a comet crushing and burning you to ash.
A word that rattles well in emptiness: / Good-by.
---
Thank you for reading! Please reblog/comment! If you want to be tagged/untagged for the rest of this series or this pairing, please leave a message in my inbox!
@starcrossedforever87 , @dontworryaboutanything , @beereblogsstuff , @falseroar , @intemperantiae , @memetoyoko , @soul-wolf , @marki-dumb , @withjust-a-bite , @raimeyl , @scribbeetle , @its-dari , @neverisadork , @silver-owl413 , @sassy-in-glasses , @chelseareferenced , @sketchy-scribs-n-doods , @axolittle-boi , @wildfandom , @shrinkthisviolet , @purple-anxiety-blog , @conceitedink , @skidspace , @missksketch , @day-dreaming-fox ,
#kat writes#prison attorney#ahwm yancy#ahwm#y/n district attorney#wkm#who killed markiplier#why do we have to say goodbye?#when we don't know why it hurts so much?
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fraxus Week 2020: Day 4 - Drunk
Summary: After a crappy post-college first year, Laxus jumped at the opportunity to leave town for a week for a road trip with his friends. He intended it just to be a week away with his friends, but when he meets an unfamiliar stranger, the vacation turns into something much more. [Fraxus Multichapter]
This is the fourth part of my Fraxus Week admissions, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. This year I’ve made the prompts into a single multi-chapter fic. You can see all the chapters in the Masterpost linked below. Hope you enjoy.
You can read this on Fanfiction, Archive of our Own, and under the cut. Read the other chapters from this masterlist.
Chapter Four – Out of the Rain
The contrast between the two days was ridiculous.
Laxus almost couldn't believe that it had been a day since he was lounging in the hot summer sun, whereas now he was narrowing his eyes as he drove the RV through the onslaught of rain. The storm had come from nowhere and according to the weather forecast, it would be sticking around for the rest of the night. The clouds were thick and covering the stars, meaning it was almost pitch black on the empty roads.
Unlike the day before, everyone was still awake as evening turned to night. They had spent the entire day driving, trying to catch up for the time they'd used at the water park. Bickslow had driven through the morning and early afternoon, and then had switched with Laxus.
At that moment, Laxus was fighting off sleep. They needed to find somewhere to park soon.
Not that they'd have a good night's sleep, though. The sound of rain battering down on the RV echoed loudly, and Laxus knew that it would sway and creak in the wind. It would be safe, but not anywhere near easy to sleep in. All he could do was hope that the forecast was wrong, and that the storm would end a lot quicker than they had stated.
He also hoped that he didn't fall asleep at the wheel.
"We have some money left over from renting the van, don't we?" Evergreen asked Bickslow, looking up from her phone.
"Yeah, a little over a hundred dollars. Why?" Bickslow asked, yawning into the thermos of coffee he was drinking.
"Well, there's nowhere close that'll let us park up and stay in the truck," Evergreen said, and Laxus cussed under his breath. "But there is a motel at the next rest stop. We should be able to get two double rooms with that."
"Sounds good," Laxus nodded. "Nobody's got a problem with that?"
When everyone agreed it was the best use of their spare money, Laxus got the directions from Evergreen and started to drive towards the motel. It was clearly a good choice, as soon after they made it lightning and thunder started splitting apart the sky, with even heavier rain following it. With his tired state, Laxus knew that it was best to get off the roads as soon as they could. It was certainly the safest thing to do.
Eventually they pulled off the highway and followed the illuminated signs to the motel. It was a nice enough looking place, which probably was a lot more welcoming in the day and when it wasn't a storm. It would certainly better than staying in the RV though the night.
Bickslow, who still had the money saved for the RV in his account, was the one who went to the reception. It took him a short while, but he eventually returned to them all with two keys from two double rooms, soaking wet with the water dripping off him. As he dried himself off with a beach towel they had brought yesterday, he claimed that he wished to share a room with Evergreen for the night.
"Why, exactly?" Freed asked, packing the clothes he would need for the night into a bag.
"Because I've had sleepovers with the two of you and you're both really boring," Bickslow claimed. "Evergreen lets me paint her nails and we gossip. You two just like sleeping."
Laxus was almost certain that it wasn't the real reason as to why he wanted to share his room with Evergreen. Given that both of them knew that Laxus had developed a crush on Freed, it seemed likely that this was some way for them to torture him by making him sleep in a room with him and nobody else. If the room they shared only had one bed, he was going to kill the bastard.
"It is appalling how we want to sleep at a sleepover," Freed commented, and Laxus sniggered.
"And that's the kind of boring attitude that makes me and Evergreen the best friends and you two the boring people on the side-lines," Bickslow grinned as he tossed a room key towards Freed, who managed to catch them without difficulty. It was an annoyingly attractive feat. "Room 203. Top floor."
Apparently leaving no room for argument, Bickslow turned is back and started to pack an impromptu overnight bag. Laxus and Freed shared a glance before picking up their own bags. They opened the door to the RV and winced at the rain they needed to walk to.
Despite the fact it had taken less than a minute to get under the protection of the building's veranda, both men had been drenched by the heavy rain. They quickly found their room and unlocked it, and Laxus let out a small breath when he realised that there were indeed two beds waiting for them. It was a nice enough room, with a small kitchenette – if a coffee machine, mini fridge, sink and microwave could be considered that – and a large enough TV mounted onto the wall. The large beds were rather appealing, given how Laxus had been curled up as he slept since they'd left Magnolia.
"It's better than I thought it'd be," Laxus commented, placing his bag at the foot of the nearest bed. "Kinda nice actually."
"It is," Freed agreed, walking to the bathroom and looking into it. "And a shower that might actually fit you inside of it."
Laxus grinned, mainly at the teasing tone in Freed's voice, and glanced into the bathroom to see that there was indeed a large shower. He reached over Freed and picked up one of the towel's hanging up. He started to dry himself off as Freed shucked off his jacket.
"I think I might have a shower before I go to sleep," Freed commented. "I need to wash my hair, might as well do it now."
"Sure," Laxus nodded, then he chuckled. "I get what Bickslow meant when he said we're boring."
"So do I," Freed said thoughtfully. "It's quite annoying that we're proving him right, isn't it," He sighed, and Laxus couldn't help but smirk. Freed really was quite a competitive person; Laxus enjoyed seeing it. "Why don't we try and prove him wrong instead?"
"How d'you suppose we do that?" Laxus asked with furrowed brows. He expected Freed wouldn't want to prove Bickslow wrong in any way Laxus was thinking.
"Well, our judgemental friend payed for this on his card, and all charges from the room will be his to pay," Freed commented absently as he walked towards the small kitchenette, and opened one of the cupboards. "And this place has a rather well stocked mini bar."
Laxus grinned when Freed pulled out a bottle of tequila.
"Sounds like fun."
~~~
"Oh come on," Laxus proclaimed with a slight slur in his voice. "That's bullshit."
"I told you, she's vicious," Freed said with a tipsy laugh. "It's why she always wins her fights."
They had gotten drunk. Well, maybe not drunk. But they had passed tipsy.
After they'd taken shots of the tequila, something that Laxus hadn't done since he was in college, they had both finished bottle of high percentage beer each. That was when they had turned on the TV, looking for something to watch to put off sleeping. That was how they had gotten where they were: sitting side by side on Freed's bed, a bowl of hot nuts, chips, and chocolate between them, watching The Real Housewives of… somewhere.
"She threw a plate at the guys face," Laxus argued. "It's bullshit."
"It's what she's paid to do, be stupidly annoying and start fights with people. It was probably staged anyway, so I wouldn't worry about it," Freed argued, reaching into the bowl of food between them. His head snapped up when the woman on the screen threw a champagne glass at the man she was arguing with.
"Bet that hurt," Laxus said with a grin. He was winning this argument.
"You can't be sure," Freed said indignantly.
"I can throw a mug at your face and we can see if it hurts ya," Laxus threatened with a grin.
Apparently, the alcohol in Freed's body had made the false threat hilarious, as he let out a loud and boisterous laugh. Laxus joined in, watching the shorter man as he almost doubled over as he laughed, the handful of food dropping onto his bedsheets.
"How often do you watch this crap," Laxus asked with a grin.
"Ever makes me watch it. Every night we went to one of our dorms common areas and watched something. Ever got obsessed with it, and then got Bickslow into it too," Freed laughed, shifting himself so he was sitting up again. "I would have complained about it, but Bickslow used to make me watch awful kids' films, so this is better."
Again, Freed started to laugh, and Laxus found himself unable to resist the charm of it and joined in too.
That was how they spent quite a lot of the night, eating the snacks that Bickslow would be overcharged for while watching crappy reality TV. They got a little bit more sober as time went on, as the only thing left in the minibar was champagne and they weren't going to be so cruel as to make Bickslow pay for that as well.
Part way through the night, Laxus had taken note of how close they were to each other. Their sides were pushed together, shoulder to shoulder and thigh to thigh. In his drunken state, Freed also seemed to be just a little bit more physical. He gesticulated a lot more, and Laxus often found himself with the other man's hand on his shoulder when he was making a point. At one point, Freed had even grabbed Laxus' wrist to get his attention, and it sent a thrill through Laxus that set his blood on fire.
On their third episode of rich people fighting, Laxus found his gaze on the man beside him. He was watching the show with contentment, a tipsy smile on his face as he made comments about the people on screen. It was endearing, and Laxus was left with an equally happy smile.
His smile faltered when Freed's did.
For a second, Laxus had thought that the other man had noticed him looking and was uncomfortable with it. But he didn't move away and Laxus realised he was now almost glaring at the TV. Laxus looked towards it to see that they were on the 'next time' part of the show. One of the women was shouting at a man, and it took a moment for him to realise that she was accusing him of cheating.
"He cheated on me," Freed commented, with a smile that was most likely sad. "My ex, not the man on the screen."
"Oh," Laxus mumbled, not sure of what else to say. "Sorry."
"Don't be," Freed sighed, closing his eyes. "I shouldn't be sad about it; I don't understand why I am. I wasn't in love with him, I'm not even sure if I particularly liked him by the end of the relationship. I was actually going to leave him, for heaven's sake. So I shouldn't feel bad that he found someone else, but I do."
"Well," Laxus began again, not sober enough to think of anything eloquent to say. "He cheated on ya. It's a shitty thing to do. You get to be pissed off at that."
"I suppose so," Freed sighed, almost as if he was disappointed in himself. "What does annoy me is how it happened, though. I didn't walk in on him, or find out myself. He just told me," He laughed bitterly at that. "Just sat me down, said he was seeing someone else and that we weren't together. I didn't get to be a dick about it, really. I didn't yell, or really react at all. It just sort of ended, and then I came back home again."
"Should have punched the fucker," Laxus commented indignantly. "Sent him to the other guy with a black eye."
"It wouldn't have been productive," Freed waved the idea off, eyes still closed. "It's a tempting thought though, I must admit."
"You can punch me if you wanna. Get it out of yer system, y'know," Laxus suggested, and it was clear the booze in his blood had made him suggest that. Freed looked to him with a small smile.
"You're far too good a man to be compared to him," Freed commented.
Laxus blushed a little at the compliment, even if it wasn't much. He looked down at the man, who was watching the TV and clearly trying to act like he wasn't affected by what he had just said. But even drunk, Laxus could tell that the man had lost his easy posture and his hands were clenched at his sides. Laxus frowned at this, reached for the remote and muted the show they were watching. Freed frowned and looked up at him.
"I'm sorry the bastard cheated on ya," Laxus said with as much seriousness in his tone as he could show. "I know that you said you wanted to leave him, and that ya think it's stupid you feel bad about it, but the guy betrayed ya. And you didn't deserve to feel like that, or to be treated like that. So, I'm sorry."
"As I said, you don't need to worry about it," Freed said with a sigh. "It's not your fault, and I'll get over it."
"But you shouldn't have t' get over it because you shouldn't have been cheated on," Laxus said with an insistent tone in his voice. "I mean if I were dating a guy like you, I wouldn't even think about looking at other guys. I mean who fucking would. Yer hot, you're and interesting, and know how to make a guy enjoy himself. Who wouldn't want that?"
"Well, it seems that my ex disagrees with you."
"Then he's stupid," Laxus said firmly. "Seriously, this guy is clearly a dick head. Because if he looks at you and thinks he wants something more, or different, then he's an idiot. Cause you're fucking… just look at yourself. Can't think of anything I'd change."
"Oh," Freed said, a little shocked. Was he blushing as well? Probably not. "Well, thank you. That… that's nice of you to say. I appreciate it."
Freed turned and looked towards him, and only then did Laxus realise just how close they were to each other. Their noses were almost touching, and Laxus' mind screamed to him that it would be easy to close the gap and press their lips together.
"Well, I mean it," Laxus shrugged.
With the booze flowing through him, and his good sense all but gone, Laxus listened to the voice in his head. He pushed his face forward, cupped Freed's face, and kissed him.
#fraxus week#Fraxus week 2020#fraxus#Freed Justine#Laxus Dreyar#fairy tail#fanfic#writing#event#multichapter#Modern AU
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Flower Shop Around The Corner (VIII)
Part 8 : Revelations
Here I come with a new chapter for this fic. Quite a lot going on in this chapter, a little emotional but still cute (yeah, I cried writing it), you've been warned ;)
I hope you like it!
Gif not mine
Word Count : 3155
Chris picked up the sheet of paper and crushed it in his large hand, turning it into a ball of broken things.
He heaved a deep sigh, staring at the clock hanging on the wall to his left. Almost nine in the morning. He was supposed to meet you to go for a walk to the Empire State Building at ten, and he wasn’t even properly dressed yet. He was only wearing a pair of sweatpants, hadn’t taken a shower yet, his bowl of cereals and his coffee rested disregarded next to him on the table, pushed away in favour of paper and ink.
He bit down on the end of his pen, struggling to find the right words. Would he say them out loud? He wasn’t sure yet. He wasn’t certain he would have the courage, although he knew it would be the right thing to do.
He reckoned that putting down the words he meant to say was a first step he needed to take in the form of a letter. The rest would come when he would face the moment. And for now, he wasn’t very successful in finding these words, anyway. He heaved a tortured sigh and buried his face in his hands.
The kitchen was quiet, bathed in the early light of a late summer. He could hear the rushed whisper of traffic outside, punctuated by a few ringing honks now and then. By the window, if he had turned his attention towards the world beyond his flat, he would have noticed how clear the sky was: not a lazy cloud in sight, only blue to look back at him. He would have noticed the way the sun was reflected by the windows of the skyscrapers, how it licked the tops of tall buildings, making New York shine like a sea of diamonds. But he had no place in his mind for anything else than these words he was looking for, and failed to find.
The paper ball found a place on the pile of previous letters abandoned mid-way and already thrown aside.
And he tried again.
Dear Peony,
There is only little time left and I
But he let out a frustrated groan, tore the paper apart and started all over again.
Dear Peony,
But he stopped there again, and started on a new sheet once more. He let out a deep breath through his nostrils, trying to calm down. His heart was rushing and his head messy, in this state he had no chance of finding the right way to express his thoughts. Or well, actually, it wasn’t his thoughts he needed to express, but his feelings. Maybe that was why it all felt wrong, why he couldn’t do it. It was a worth a shot.
He forced his brain to shush, at least a little, and instead, focused on how he felt, all these feelings bubbling right under the surface that waited for nothing more but a tiny crack through the walls around his heart to flood out. And Chris opened the doors wide for them.
Dear
He stopped there, letting the pen hover above the paper. He realized, he had it wrong already. Because his letter wasn’t meant for Peony.
Dear Y/N,
You must be frowning right now and wondering how on Earth I can know your name. Let me reassure you, I haven’t stalked you or researched you in anyway. Although, I have learnt to know you by now. You told me once with a smile that you had to set the bar so low for men, not being a psychopath was a valid and fair point in my favour. I am still sane, and if you’ll let me explain, you’ll see it too.
There is a truth I have meant to say for a long time now. It’s hard for me to know where to begin, but I’ll do my best. I merely hope, that once you have finished reading this last letter, you will forgive me.
He let the pen rest on the dot, leaving too much black ink there. He sniffed and dried his eyes. It was so hard to let it all out, and yet the truth had to be released; because it was the right thing to do, and because the lies were slowly killing him. If one had asked him, he would have said that he was a terrible liar, that the signs giving him away were so obvious, one could not fail to notice them. Yet, for once, he had been so good at slipping into someone else’s skin without a script, you were still unaware of the truth. He couldn’t go on though. Only one week left before you would fly away. Only one week left to tell you who he really was, why he had lied, and finally kill that monster eating him up from the inside.
A lie is a burden to carry on anybody’s conscience, but to keep one towards a person you love turns the weight into a living beast feasting on fears, and remorse, and guilt.
It had to be done. No matter how much it hurt to let the words out, the lie was killing him instead. So, he forced the pen up again, and moved it across the page.
I was there. That night, at the café, I was there. I saw you by the window, you were beautiful. I don’t think I will ever be able to forget how beautiful you were that night, in the dim light, outshining the whole room. I saw you, and I recognized you, because I know you.
You spent some time hating me (or well, not liking me very much, as you would correct me if you were here). And then, we became friends. After that night we became friends, because I tried to be kinder to you, to learn to know you. I wanted to see if I could find Peony in you, but I’ve found so much more.
I started by walking away that night when I saw you, but then I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you like this, I needed to talk with you. So, I went back, and walked in, and pretended that I wasn't Wallet Guy at all. And I was terribly annoying, and I broke everything.
I have no doubt you have guessed my real name by now, but please, keep on reading. Don't stop here.
What to do with that truth then? You hated me, and I will easily admit that I didn’t like you much either at the time. It broke my heart to see it was you, and I didn’t want to break yours too. So, I didn’t tell you anything, and let you wait for a man who had already left.
But the next day I read your letters again, and I thought that I should try to learn more about you instead.
And the more I learnt about you, the more tender my feelings grew.
I haven’t told you anything before because I didn’t want to push you away. I hoped that with a little time you would learn to like me better than this alias I’ve created. I don’t know if I've succeeded. I don’t know if you will hate me all over again for lying to you. If it is the case, then I hope you will at least believe me when I tell you that none of my actions were meant to hurt you. At first, I was afraid to lose Peony. And now I’m afraid to lose you.
I am terrified that I might lose you, because I have lied to you, and I will not pretend to be innocent. And maybe, despite that lie, and my best efforts, I will not have convinced you that the real me can be better than the Wallet Guy. I am so scared of that possibility and yet I know the lie can't go on.
Y/N, I am begging you to give me a chance. Maybe you're still disappointed that I am this stranger you like so much. Maybe I have lost your trust. But I would do anything to have just one last chance.
I cannot imagine my life without you anymore. Because, Y/N, I
Again the pen froze above the paper, and Chris couldn't bring himself to form the words, even in his head. He wasn't ready… for now, this truth could still be pushed away.
He was finally distracted from his letter by a weird sound coming from the living room. He frowned, paying more attention to the noise. He finally recognized Dodger softly crying.
"Hey, buddy, what's up?" he called.
But he was met by nothing more than crying.
He walked to the next room, and found his dog lying on the floor. He hurried by his side, a worried expression painted all over his features.
"What's wrong, heh?"
He tried to run his hand through the dog's fur on his abdomen, but Dodger yelped in pain and backed away.
Chris went pale. Something was terribly wrong, he could feel it. He suddenly realized how loud Dodger's breathing was.
He didn't think more about it. There wasn't any hesitation in his mind. Whatever was wrong with Dodger, it seemed quite serious, and Chris had no idea what it was. He needed to go to a veterinarian, and quickly.
He checked the time: it was half past nine.
He hurried to the bathroom and got dressed as fast as he could. He grabbed his phone on his way back, frantically looking for his car keys.
You answered at the third ring.
"Hey Chris! Don't tell me you're calling because you'll be late, again!" you answered the phone with a jolly tone.
"Hi, Y/N. Look, I'm sorry, but I won't be able to make it this morning."
You frowned hard on the other side of the phone, not that he could see it, of course. And you couldn’t see him rummaging through his pockets and other piles of random stuff either.
"Why? Is everything alright?"
"Huh… No, Dodger is sick. I have to get him to the vet. Emergency. I'm sorry. We'll take a walk later, okay?"
"Where are you taking him? Are you already on your way?" you asked, standing from your sofa to grab your coat.
"I'm leaving right now," Chris answered as he finally found the keys. "There's a vet not far from Central Park…"
"The one with the green light around the sign?"
"Yeah, exactly. I'll take him there."
"Okay."
"See you later, Y/N."
"Chris I…"
But he had already hung up, throwing his phone in the pocket of his jeans and bending down to carry Dodger in his arms. He tried to calm down the dog as he wriggled in his arms with soft words, and carried him out of the flat.
Meanwhile, you were already closing your door and walking towards the subway.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
You rushed inside the building, looking for Chris with urgency.
You could hear in his voice on the phone that it was serious, it was easy to detect the fear shaking his tone. You didn't want to leave him alone go to the vet. You knew how much he loved his dog, there was no way you would leave him being terrified on his own.
It didn't take you long to spot Chris, still holding his sick dog in his arms, and you hurried towards him.
He didn't notice you before you had dropped on the chair next to him, and he looked at you with astonishment.
"Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?"
"You sounded very upset, it seemed serious. Thought you could use some support."
He didn't answer, and instead, he stared at you with round eyes.
"Hey, buddy," you petted Dodger's head. "What's wrong with you, huh? You can't scare us like this."
The dog leaned against your hand, calming down a little under your soothing touch.
"Can I do anything? Would you like a coffee or something?" you asked Chris.
He slowly shook his head, and you gave him a reassuring smile as a silent way to tell him that everything would be alright. In a spontaneous gesture, you took his hand, and gave it a warm squeeze.
It was a simple gesture, and yet, he knew the meaning was greater. It meant that you were here for him now, and beyond that, it felt like a promise whispered in his ear that you would always be here.
You had felt that he was in distress, and you had run to his help. No matter your own plans, no matter that it wasn't your dog who was ill, no matter that he hadn't asked for your help at all. You knew that he needed help, and you came. For him.
There was something incredibly soft in your gaze as you looked at him, something so soothing in your touch, something so warm in your quiet smile…
He was suddenly overcome by something… a feeling growing through his chest, bright, burning, solar, that he couldn't control and seemed to quickly fill up his ribcage until he feared it might explode. It was pouring through his whole frame, rolling through his veins like a wild stream down a mountain slope. It was so much that he couldn't deny what it was anymore. And he was so overcome by it all that he almost let the three words escape his lips. But he swallowed them back right on time.
"Thank you," was all he could muster instead, letting the gratitude escape in a breathy whisper.
You grinned.
"Don't be silly. It's normal. Anyone would have done the same."
But he shook his head.
"No, Y/N. No, I reckon not many people would have done that."
You seemed worried again all of a sudden.
"Would… would you have preferred for me not to come?"
He finally smiled.
"No, of course not. I'm glad you're here. You're right, I… I do need someone by my side right now. I'm scared."
"I'm sure Dodger will be fine."
"Thank you. For being here."
You exchanged a smile, and there was no need for more words.
You were here. You would always be here.
---------------------------------------------------------------
As it turned out, Dodger would indeed be fine. The beginning of a sort of stomach flu, that would be healed in a few days thanks to the medicine the veterinarian had prescribed. Chris offered you a ride home, and you accepted with a grin.
"What about we go to the Empire State Building next week?" Chris proposed, now back to his usual merry mood as he was certain that his dog would be alright. "I can't believe you haven't been there yet!"
"Never took the time. But yes, for sure, next week is perfect. Tuesday?"
"Sold."
"Monday will be a big day," you heaved a sigh. "So many scenes to shoot."
You didn't say it out loud, but you were also particularly worried about that scene. The kiss. Usually you weren't nervous about that kind of things, but for some reason, the fact that you had to kiss Chris made it unbearably stressful. You preferred to ignore the reason behind your nervousness, and instead, shook the thought away.
Meanwhile, Chris was trying to learn all over again how to breathe. He knew perfectly well that this scene was to be shot on Monday. He had no idea how he would survive it though. How could he kiss you in front of a camera, pretending that it didn't mean anything, when… when he wanted to kiss you now?
But he chose to push the thought away, and merely nodded.
"Yeah, crazy day."
"Do you need anything for Dodger?" you chose to change the subject as Chris kept his eyes on the road before you.
"We'll be fine, thank you. Again, thank you for coming."
"Don't mention it."
"He likes you a lot, you know?" he smiled, throwing a glance through the rear-mirror at the dog asleep on the backseat.
"He's a good boy," you smiled.
"Not that he generally doesn't like people, but… I think he really likes you."
"I like him too. More than his human, that's for sure."
You both let out a laugh.
"That's why you're spending so much time with me these days, then! Just to see my dog."
"Well, of course! What did you expect?"
"Me? Nothing else than this statement."
"Good."
You exchanged an amused smile.
"You're gonna be okay? You're sure?" you asked again as Chris was pulling over before your building.
"I'm fine. We'll both be fine. Thank you."
You gave him another smile, before resting your hand on his on the wheel, and leaning across the car to drop a soft, delicate kiss on his cheek.
"See you on Monday then. Take care," you whispered as you pulled away.
"Yeah…"
He couldn't articulate anything else as you climbed out of his car and walked to your front door.
He could still feel the warmth of your fingers covering his, the softness of your lips against his skin… He raised his fingers to brush the spot on his cheek that you had just kissed, as if feeling his skin there would make the gesture feel more real.
His lips cracked into the brightest grin.
"See you on Monday," he breathed, although you were long gone.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
He had set down Dodger in his bedroom, on his bed, under a warm blanket. He was still fast asleep and had not so much as blinked when Chris had carried him out of the car and into his flat.
He walked back to his kitchen, where he found his coffee and cereal that he had left that morning still untouched on the table, along with the pile of dismissed missives and the letter he was writing when he left, the black pen resting on the white paper.
He took a deep breath as he stared down at the letter, standing next to the table. He read a few times the last sentence he had written, and left unfinished.
I cannot imagine my life without you anymore. Because, Y/N, I
Finally, he reached for the pen, and traced the words he had not dared to express the very morning.
I cannot imagine my life without you anymore. Because, Y/N, I love you.
He felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders, a relief at the thought that he had finally revealed the truth he had kept hidden even to himself.
And yet, a tear rolled down his cheek as he blinked.
Could he really tell you this? Was he ready to confess so much? Could he give you this letter that revealed so much of him?
He put the pen down again, and instead picked up the sheet of paper. He read the letter again, one more time.
And he tore it apart.
***************************
Tag list : @ponycake27 @horsesreign @xinyourdreamsx @jbluevelvet @fudgeflyss @stuckupstucky @snek-shit @suchatinyinfinity @i-padfootblack-things @buckybsarmy @heyohheyitsgabi @madamrogers @marvelcapsicle @bookgirlunicorn @theonelittleone @simamenickk @tessxblxckthorn @xceafh @illi-vanilli @panic-naran @lahoete @humandasaster @thenormreedus @symonlyjen5 @whothehellisspideypool @sing4mejensen @draqcnheartstrinq @humandasaster @beckastark @biba3434 @itsallyscorner @daegustd @silent-loucidity
#Chris Evans#chris evans x reader#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans imagine#imagine#fanfiction#fanfic#writing
112 notes
·
View notes
Note
if tang yi discovered that shaofei kissed another person for a work mission what would he do?? Have you an headcanon?
heya!!! hi again if you’re the anon who sent me the two previous asks on what my headcanons are - i don’t get enough of those so THANK YOU and also like i’m blown away that any person who ask me about my headcanons HAHAHA i’m sorry it took so long btw I HAVE BEEN SWAMPED WITH WORK
okay, so let’s break it down: tang yi discovering that shaofei kissed another person for a work mission - i can totally see this happening AND it’s likely that when shao fei is first assigned the role (he’s the captain, and he HAS to take one for the team because okay, the mark is gay and unfortunately, zhao zi isn’t his type so shao fei has to volunteer himself after a process of elimination, but he’s super reluctant to do it because shit, if tang yi ever finds out about this- NO, tang yi CANNOT find out, over his dead body, but then good boyfriends communicate right? what if tang yi finds out and then gets angry at the fact that shao fei didnt tell him? okay, maybe he’ll tell tang yi AFTER the deed is done, at least by then it’s done and they don’t have to think about it anymore)
and so he gets it done, tries to avoid kissing the mark as much as possible but alas, his efforts were for naught and the mark totally sneaks a kiss in and shao fei freezes but he has to do his job!!!
after, when he gets home, after he’s showered and brushed his teeth a gazillion times, he’s very quiet and keeps sneaking glances at tang yi - tang yi who looks so perfect with his hair all fluffy and down at home, tang yi in those pajamas that shao fei loves, tang yi already seated in bed, reading a book quietly as he waits for shao fei to join him in bed. shao fei could barely look tang yi in the eye earlier, and lucky for shao fei, tang yi doesn’t seem to have noticed anything wrong with him yet, but he also knows that it’s only a matter of time before tang yi finds out (and come onnn zhao zi will probably tell jack anyway and then jack somehow, for some reason, will get this information back to tang yi even tho the man isn’t working for him anymore)
secrets between the both of them have never been a good thing - just look at the four years they spent disliking and fighting with each other on the tang guo dong and li zhen jie case. and after everything they’ve been through, they promised that there wouldn’t be any secrets between them. not the important ones.
and frankly, shao fei loves and respects tang yi too much to hide this from him.
so he makes his way slowly to bed, a towel slung around his neck as he idly dries his hair, and he sits on the bed, on his side of the bed. after a moment, shao fei turns around, bites at his lips and calls-
***
“Tang.”
Tang Yi looks up from his book, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, “How was work today?”
At that, Shao Fei is once again reminded of what he had to do for work. His face crumples almost immediately.
“What’s wrong?” Tang Yi asks, his brows furrowing as he sees the look on Shao Fei’s face. “Did something happen?”
And the story just comes tumbling out. Stammering and also shooting furtive looks at his boyfriend, Shao Fei explains how he had to kiss the mark today, and he tried to avoid it as much as he could, and oh my god please don’t be angry-
Shao Fei is fully prepared to face Tang Yi’s wrath. He’s seen the man’s anger enough times over the years to know that Tang Yi is going to be pissed. Pointing his own gun at him in the car a while back and also shoving him to the floor the other time with Hong Ye before Shao Fei realised that he loved Tang Yi, and even after, that time when he revealed that Chen Wen Hao was Tang Yi’s father. Even when Tang Yi was in prison, and after he got out and they started living together for real, they had their fair share of fights, just as any couple would.
Shao Fei is prepared to spend the night in the guest room. He’ll think of how to grovel his way back into Tang Yi’s good graces tomorrow. Seriously, this wasn’t even entirely his fault, he didn’t want to kiss the mark either!
So deep he is in his thoughts that Shao Fei literally jolts when Tang Yi kisses him. He hadn’t even seen Tang Yi move so close to him, and he startles when he feels the familiar press of lips to his, because he really doesn’t expect the warm response. He was already picturing a cold, lonely and miserable night without his boyfriend wrapped around him in sleep. But he still melts into it, especially when Tang Yi presses even closer, a warm hand caressing at his cheek, at the side of his face, over his skin, and deepens the kiss.
When they finally pull apart, Shao Fei frowns, confused.
“You’re not angry? I kissed him. I really did. I mean, I tried not to and it was for my job, but I still kissed him.”
Tang Yi nods and raises an eyebrow, then hums, “So you said.”
“You’re really not angry?”
Shao Fei asks again in disbelief. Is Tang Yi lulling him into a false sense of security for some reason… What’s going on? And if Tang Yi really doesn’t mind, if he really isn’t angry then…
Shouldn’t Tang Yi be angry? As his boyfriend, seeing your boyfriend kissing some other person, it’s only normal to be all jealous and angry, is it not? What does this even mean? Why isn’t Tang Yi jealous?
An unpleasant memory surfaces. A tall vixen in a see-through mesh shirt, locking lips with Tang Yi under the dim lights of a bar, a terrible melody played by the saxophone drifting through the air-
Seeing Shao Fei’s frown and pout, Tang Yi can more or less guess what’s going through Shao Fei’s head. He feels a rush of absolute fondness for this idiot sitting in front of him, and Tang Yi knows he must definitely love this man, because how would he be so willing to put up with this dumbass otherwise?
“Ah Fei. You said it yourself, you had to… seduce your target as a part of your job. Am I really this petty in your eyes?”
“You are,” Shao Fei snorts, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking away.
Tang Yi rolls his eyes, but continues anyway. “Did you want to kiss him?”
“No! Of course not!”
“You tried your best to avoid having to kiss him?”
“Yeah, definitely!”
“Are you dumping me for someone else?”
“What?!” Shao Fei exclaims, almost jumping to his feet if Tang Yi’s hand wasn’t wound so securely around his waist. “Of course not! How could you think- Of course I’m not dumping you for him! Who the hell is he?”
Tang Yi nods, and amusement shines in his eyes. “And you love me.”
“And I-” Shao Fei repeats, and when his mind finally processes what Tang Yi just said, his entire body just… slumps over, all the tension leaving him as he leans into Tang Yi’s hold properly.
“And I do love you. The person I love is you. Only you,” he murmurs, the words both a declaration and a promise.
Tang Yi pulls Shao Fei closer, his chin resting on the top of Shao Fei’s head. He breathes out, enjoying the way Shao Fei fits just so naturally against him. It’s been more than three years since they got together, and every day Tang Yi thanks his lucky stars and Boss Tang who’s definitely watching over him, for sending Shao Fei to him.
(He thanks his mother too, and these days its easier to think about the woman who gave birth to him but never got to know him as his mother.)
“Are you an idiot?” Tang Yi huffs, almost in laughter. “This was what got you all tied up in knots all evening? Ah Fei, you’re lucky I love you.”
He doesn’t doubt Shao Fei’s love for him. He cannot. The man waited for him while he sat in jail for a year and a half. If Shao Fei was the type to cheat on him, he would’ve walked away while Tang Yi was rotting in prison, but Shao Fei stayed.
Shao Fei stayed for him, visited him every week without fail and lit up those dark days with his bright smiles that were only for Tang Yi. It was sometimes blinding, just how much Tang Yi could see the love for him, all in Shao Fei’s eyes.
If given a choice, he would choose to drown in those eyes forever.
His voice muffled against Tang Yi’s shirt, Shao Fei says, “I really thought you would be so angry. I was already prepared to sleep in the guest room tonight!”
“Well, I’m not. Although…”
As he trails off, humming in consideration, Shao Fei pulls away with wide eyes and stares at Tang Yi. “You said you weren’t angry!”
The corners of Tang Yi’s mouth curve into a smirk, and he replies, “I’m not. But you did kiss someone who’s not me. You have to make it up to me.”
Narrowing his eyes in suspicion, Shao Fei asks, “How?”
Tang Yi taps at his own lips. “You have to give me ten times the number of kisses you gave him.”
“That’s all?”
“Mmhmm,” Tang Yi makes a noise of assent. “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Shao Fei’s disbelieving look morphs into a bright, bright grin at that.
There you are, Tang Yi thinks fondly.
“You said it yourself! No takebacks!”
Before Tang Yi can reply to that, he finds himself with an armful of Shao Fei again as the man tackles him. The force of the hug causes Tang Yi to fall back, Shao Fei ending up on top of him.
Shao Fei gives him a peck on the lips once, then pulls back. Kisses him again for the second time. Then a third, and a fourth, and-
-and they lose count after that.
***
WOW OKAY so i finally got like a free hour to do stuff and was just gonna briefly take a shot at this ask and headcanon and then of course i kind of died and ran away with it and as everyone knows I’M LIKE THE SHITTIEST WRITER and that’s why i do gifs and shitposts but this ran away from me literally and i’m so sorry if any of you were forced to read through this. and i’ve literally never written a ficlet/fic before whatever THIS DOESN’T COUNT and yup no worries guys gonna get right on Trapped Novel Ch. 7 and other chapters huggles
TL:DR anon i hope this makes sense?!!! thank you for sending me a headcanon, and have a cute Chris/Jake and all my love
#history 3: 圈套#history3: trapped#history 3: trapped#tangfei#asks#OMG IDK WHAT I WAS DOING#this is a monstrosity#my apologies#stebeee will stick to gifs#if you made it all the way to the tags#wow#yes ch 7 will come#what have i done
71 notes
·
View notes
Link
Forgot to put this on on Tumblr! Day 5 of @drawlight‘s Ineffables Advent Calendar: Fire. And the 4th of my 31 First Kisses. If you’re wondering what happened to 4, it went all scope creep in both research and writing and is now going to be a chapter in my Big Bang fic (tease: 1976 Soho basement gay club), but I will open that day’s window soon. I’m determined to do all 31.
South Downs Cottage, because I am shamelessly doing all the tropes. Series!Good Omens.
On AO3
On Wattpad
Home and Other Fires
Aziraphale tried to decide where to put Crowley's cup of tea. It was more difficult than it used to be, seeing that Crowley's head was dangling down towards the floor, his spine bent at what seemed like a terribly uncomfortable angle in order to keep his buttocks tucked in the depths of the couch, his long thighs extending up the back and his knees looped over.
What was even more disconcerting than the inhuman bendiness was how nicely Crowley fit the couch in that position. It led to the speculation that he had purchased the chair--no, it was Crowley, he would have had the couch custom made--to exactly the proportions needed to dangle upside down over it, baking his face and chest next to the fire.
Aziraphale sighed and put the cup near Crowley's dangling hand. The demon opened one eye, hissed "Thanksss," and apparently went back to sleep.
That was one of the unconsidered quirks of living with Crowley. He slept more of the time than seemed reasonable, and in more places than seemed possible. Another was the amount of heat Crowley liked. The fire tended to be stoked so high, on top of the central heating, that Aziraphale had reluctantly discarded all his layers one by one until he wore nothing but his shirt sleeves, not even a nice cotton vest underneath. After a few centuries of being fully clad, he felt naked.
The third was that Crowley himself apparently didn't wear a lot of clothes inside. That was probably, Aziraphale told himself irritably, why he needed the fire stoked so hot. Right now, Crowley's thin chest was bare, and like his face extremely flushed by proximity to the fire, his skin reddened and warm looking and--
Aziraphale himself felt like he was on fire a lot of the time. Maybe this whole South Downs thing was a mistake.
* * *
"You don't like my flat, do you?" Crowley asked one day, without anything prior leading up to it.
Aziraphale looked up from the dried dog food he was feeding the swans--a small child had lectured him on the wrongs of feeding bread to birds, and he had been mortified and seized with centuries of accumulated guilt--and tried to think of an appropriately tactful answer.
"It's a very impressive showcase for you, dear. Properly demonic."
Crowley made a sound between a snort and a hiss. "You always find a reason to meet somewhere else."
"You don't like your flat," Aziraphale said defensively.
Crowley stared out across the lake, the wind ruffling his short auburn hair. "Perhaps," he said contemplatively, "the thrones are a bit much."
"Perhaps, dear."
"After all, who do I have to impress, these days?" Aziraphale had the distinct impression that Crowley was looking sideways at him, although it was difficult to tell with those closed-in glasses.
"You just have to please yourself, now."
"Hmmph. Let's go back to the bookstore, I'm frozen and I need drinkable coffee." At some point, Crowley had installed a ridiculously expensive and complicated espresso machine in Aziraphale's office. He never seemed to buy coffee beans, but it produced heavenly--no, not heavenly, definitely an earthly pleasure--smelling coffee every time.
Crowley hadn't mentioned his flat again for several weeks, until he asked, "Mind if I borrow some of your things?"
Aziraphale, who had thought he was asleep on the couch, looked up from the book he was rebinding. "My things?"
"That light thing over there." Crowley thrust a casual hand out towards a priceless directoire table lamp. "And that little olive-wood figurine of Auxesia from Aegina, great century, the fifth BCE. And some books."
"Books?"
"Yeah. I think they feel, you know, home-like. So long as I don't have to read them." Crowley frowned. "Can you pick out some of your favourites? It will stop people buying them. And if you want to read them you can always come over."
"I--of course I will, dear boy." Aziraphale felt sentimental tears come to his eyes. Crowley was trying to make that dreadful flat comfortable for him. He should stop avoiding it so much.
But Crowley stopped inviting him over at all, although he kept borrowing things. One day, out of the blue, he announced that he had bought a cottage as a holiday home.
"You can come stay for a while, I suppose," he said, with an air of grudgingly giving into pleading. "Get you out of London for a bit, until you stop seeing angels on every corner. 'S'nice," he added, defending himself against accusations never made. "Near the ocean. And it's pink. Thought I could repaint it black, but apparently there's regulations and stuff. Might have to see what I can do about that. Anyway. Can't expect me to live in a pink house by myself, at least until I get used to it."
"It would be a kindness to come stay," Aziraphale said, thoughtfully.
Crowley made a disgusted face, but Aziraphale could tell he was pleased by the tiny quirk at the edge of that mobile face.
The cottage had been a revelation. More of Aziraphale's favourite things had travelled from the clutter of his bookshop to the shelves and mantlepieces than he remembered Crowley asking for. He knew he had perhaps become a little overenthusiastic in lending Crowley books, but the packed shelves everywhere were an unexpected delight, and he knew some of the books were not his own purchases.
There were cosy chairs and tartan rugs and a general, heady feeling that Crowley had been feathering a nest for Aziraphale, for his personal comfort. It wasn't something that could be spoken, but--
--there were twenty nine different teas in the kitchen, carefully arranged by region and levels of oxidisation and fermentation. A beautiful gramophone as well as a modern sound system. "The softer sounds and crackling are soothing sometimes," Crowley said, shrugging. Real velvety dressing gowns and fluffy slippers and merino scarves n the wardrobes.
"How long were you intending me to stay?" Aziraphale asked, feeling oddly shy.
Crowley shrugged. "Don't care. Long as you like, makes no difference to me. No reason not to, now. What's the harm?" Too many sentences, his voice too jerky despite his air of nonchalance, just a hint of a nervous hiss. "Look, there's fireplaces all over this place. I know you love a good fire."
The harm, Aziraphale suspected, in what it was doing to him to share living space with a demon who clearly felt shirts were optional and tended to stand with one hip jutting out, showing the top of an enticing hip bone. Or drape himself across counters, denim-clad behind perched--"It's a food preparation surface, Crowley, please"--on the counter-top, legs spread, leaning back on his elbows. Or doze spread out across any available surface, including the wall. Or lean halfway across the table staring fixedly at Aziraphale while he ate, like the serpent he was. Crowley was always there, and pretty much half naked all the time, and Aziraphale wasn't sure if the tight jeans or the silk pyjama shorts were more aggravating.
Crowley had also developed a new, and odd, habit of curling around Aziraphale at unexpected times, sliding hands around his waist from behind and leaning a bare chest against him, as Aziraphale made tea, leaning on his shoulder as they watched the bizarrely tedious television he seemed to enjoy so much, tangling half-bare legs with Aziraphale's legs as the angel read and Crowley did something dastardly on his phone.
"What brought all this on?" Aziraphale asked once as Crowley put his head on his lap and wound his arms around Aziraphale's arm. Aziraphale was torn between pushing him away, petting his hair or--no. He could be misunderstanding, mislead by the ache in his own body.
"Snake." Crowley said. "Like to wind around warmth. You're warm, angel. And it's not like anyone will stop us, anymore." He hesitated, and his voice was suddenly vulnerable. "Unless you hate it?"
"No, of course, it's fine," Aziraphale said, and let himself card his fingers through Crowley's hair. Crowley tightened his grip and went to sleep, and Aziraphale resigned himself to a couple of hours of fire raging through him and not being able to concentrate on his reading at all.
The worst of it was that there seemed nothing flirtatious in it at all. Crowley never said anything provocative or tried to kiss him, except in Aziraphale's secret mind. He just seemed content to be close, and revelling in all the heat, and the fondness--poor darling thing, he must have been starved of affection for thousands of year-- and completely aware of how unbearable it was all becoming to Aziraphale. That every exposed inch of skin, every casually intimate embrace made Aziraphale desperately want to touch and kiss--oh, yes, kiss and kiss--and everything that followed.
Friends. Open friends, without having to hide from the world or each other how much they enjoyed each other, was good. It was wonderful. It was just that Crowley's delicately protruding clavicles were unexpectedly fascinating, and the way his spine curved behind the waistband of his ridiculously tight jeans, and the way that, despite all his boniness, there was a slight soft rounding of his belly right before the trail of auburn hair down to that same waistband.
Six millennia of being uncomfortably aware that this demon creature was literally infernally pretty hadn't prepared Aziraphale as much as he had hoped for living with an accountably affectionate and half-dressed, infernally pretty demon creature. One that kept touching Aziraphale, and gazing at him like he was the most adorable creation in existence. Or snarling irritably at him in a way that also somehow seemed to suggest Aziraphale was the most adorable creation in existence, followed by making him perfect cups of tea. Or driving him across three counties to a book sale, where he would mope and glower and stab at his phone and stay just as long as Aziraphale wanted, then take him out to dinner somewhere lovely he had apparently just found on his phone.
It was bliss, and it was torture. Reward for saving the world and punishment for betraying Heaven, Aziraphale supposed. Trial by hellfire.
So long as they believed he could survive hellfire, he would be fine. And he could survive this. He would.
He sighed, and set his own cup of tea down on a side table, prepared to settle down and read and not at all stare with unabashed craving at an upside-down dozing demon who--
"Surely it can't be good to let your skin get quite so red, Crowley. Move away from the fire."
"It's not too hot. C'mere and see."
Aziraphale hesitated, then moved to the couch. It really wasn't too bad. Warm. Odd, sitting next to Crowley in this position, though. He arranged himself primly.
"But my dear fellow, you are so flushed."
Aziraphale reached out and down and, unthinking, brushed his hand down hot skin, slightly furred with hair. Incredibly, the skin turned even darker, and Crowley said, "Ngk."
Aziraphale pulled his hand down as if he had been burned. "Sorry. I shouldn't have touched you."
"Don't be sorry. Please don't be." Crowley managed to move to a proper sitting position, by way of swinging his legs over Aziraphale's head and across to his lap, revolving the rest of his body with them. It was a distinctly inhuman movement, and one that ended up with him sitting halfway across Aziraphale's lap. "You can touch me. Any time and in any way, angel. Do you hear that?"
"Yes," Aziraphale managed. It was suddenly very hard to speak.
"Angel. Aziraphale. I want--this is probably a bad idea, but you did--angel, promise that whatever I'm about to do, you won't get upset with me and go tearing back to Soho."
"i can't make an open-ended promise like that to a demon."
"Retired demon." Crowley cupped Aziraphale's chin with one hand and turned Aziraphale's face to look at him. "Retired demon who loves you and is going crazy and when did you stop wearing so many clothes, anyway?"
"Ah, yes," Aziraphale said, his vocal cords working automatically while his mind whirled in dizzying circles around the word loves. "It's hot. All the fires."
"The fires? Oh. Is that any reason to subject an innocent demon to your blessed provocative wrists?"
"Provocative wrists?" Aziraphale squeaked. "You don't have a shirt on!"
"The fire's warm!"
"Yes!"
They glared at each other for a moment, then Aziraphale said, "I promise. I--"
The rest of his sentence was lost in Crowley's mouth.
Some minutes later Aziraphale surfaced, discovering he was pressed back into the couch, his shirt somehow come unbuttoned, although he couldn't remember any of them doing it, and his skin was trapped against Crowley's bare chest.
"Oh, darling," Aziraphale said.
"Angel." Crowley pressed clinging, hungry little kisses all over the corners of his mouth, his chin.
"I'm not going back to Soho."
"Thank you." Crowley kissed him again, pushing his tongue against Aziraphale's, and oh, it was fire, fire licking through Aziraphale, fire licking down his veins and gathering at the pit of his belly.
"I love you too, Crowley. More than I could ever say."
"Angel. Oh, angel, I've loved you so long, so long." Crowley kissed his eyelids, his ears. "Imagined kissing you so many times, never thought it would be here... in our own nest, in front of our own fire. Not having to be afraid. Just you and me, my angel love."
"I never thought we would have this, either. Oh, you wonderful thing."
"I was beginning to think you were impossible to seduce," grumbled Crowley. "Didn't matter what I wore or what I did, you would pat me on the hand and call me your dear boy. Cold as ice."
"Cold? Oh, Crowley, I've been burning."
"But that's the first time you looked at me like that."
Aziraphale pursed his lips, blushing.
"Oh," said Crowley. "That's the first time I've caught you looking at me with lust." Crowley's mouth drew up into a smug smile. "Oh, I love you."
"You do pose very prettily," Aziraphale said defensively. "Oh, stop smirking and kiss me again."
The flickering light from the fire lit up Crowley's hair and eyes in dancing red and orange for one moment, and then they were kissing again, and the only fire Aziraphale could think of was his own.
#31 days of ineffables#fire#ineffable husbands#south downs cottage#Aziraphale/Crowley#goodomens fanfiction#so much fluff
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stranded: Epilogue
First | Previous
Gwen sat on the ledge of a skyscraper back home in Connecticut City, posting a five-star Welp review for her phone provider. They had provided quality interdimensional cell service.
She closed her browser and was about to switch off her phone when she accidentally selected her photos app. Intrigued, she scrolled through them.
The first one was super blurry, but she had kept it because Noir didn’t have his mask on in it. Ham had pulled it off, and Noir was considerably less than pleased.
The second one was the selfie on the bus home from Alchemax. Gwen’s gaze lingered on the photo, precious because it had captured rare footage of her being happy. Such moments were few and far between these days, but she wondered if they would increase. After all, she did have hope now. And she knew that she wasn’t alone.
Gwen smiled softly and switched off her phone, sliding it into her pocket. She pulled on her mask and hood and pushed herself off of the roof, falling into the emptiness below as though she were descending into a pool, knowing that something would catch her.
That safety net was her.
A webline blossomed from each of her gloves and adhered to the side of the building across the street. Gwen yanked downwards on the lines, redirecting her momentum.
It was time for her to fly.
But first, she needed to make a long-overdue pit stop.
Gwen landed in the cemetery a few minutes later. She approached the headstone of a certain Peter J. Parker. Nobody was around to see her, so she pulled off her mask and sat down on a mixture of dry grass and dead leaves.
“Hey, Peter,” she finally said. “It’s… it’s been a while.
“I should have come earlier. I, uh, I should have been at your funeral. But… but, you know, there are lots of things I should have done. And it’s no use dwelling on them now. The past has already passed.”
That last sentence was a good one. Gwen paused to jot it down in her notebook.
“Anyway… I’m here now. I’m here, and I just got back from an adventure. I… I hope you’ve been having fun, wherever you are. I hope you’re having a less interesting time than I’ve been having.”
Gwen sighed, pressing her hand to her forehead.
“I, uh, I went to another dimension a couple days ago. It feels like longer. It was longer. I think. Time is weird. Time travel, that is. So is dimensional travel. But you probably knew that already. I’m sure you’d love to hear more about the sciencey stuff, but I don’t really get it. You’d be able to explain it to me, I know that much.
“Well… I met you in that dimension. Not the real you. I mean, he was real, that’s for sure. He was Peter, but he was a different Peter. Older. Blonder. He had spider-powers, like I do. And he married Em Jay, who was a lot less of a jerk in that universe.
“You… he died again. And I didn’t stop it. Even though I could have.”
Gwen exhaled deeply.
“Then I met you again. This Peter, Peter B., was from a third dimension. He was older. A lot older. No glasses. Spider-powers, too. Consider yourself lucky you didn’t have to live that long.
“There were other Peters, too, but they were a lot less like you.
“Then there’s Miles. He ended up getting spider-powers. And he took over from the Peter in that dimension, the one I went to, after he died. Miles was really sweet. He was kind and nice and went out of his way to make people happy. He’s a lot like you, at least in terms of personality.
“Seeing all of them… it made me remember you, even though I didn’t want to. It made me remember what I did. And… I’m not trying to put blame on you or antagonise you or anything, but… I wasn’t in the right, but neither were you. We both made mistakes, and we both paid a price. You paid a bigger price than I did, obviously.
“But I’ve died, too, in some ways. Really, from learning about the other dimensions, I should be dead and you should be alive. And that makes me feel super guilty. I feel like I’ve stolen something from you, the life that you should have had.
“I… I don’t really know what it is I did that made you so, uh, vitriolic. I could try and guess, but then we’d be here all day. I know you have all the time in the world, but I don’t.
“Whatever it was that I did… I’m sorry. I’m sorry for ticking you off. I’m sorry for not caring about you. I’m sorry for making you envy me. I’m sorry for being a bad person.”
Gwen blinked. Tears brimmed in her eyes.
Why did she bother bottling up her emotions, anyway? What good had that ever done? She was going to lose people. People were going to die, to move on, to leave. She would do the same one day. It was the way of the world. But did that make friendship, or love, any less worth it?
She hung her head. A valve hidden deep in her heart swung open.
“I made a silent promise not long after you… after I killed you. And I’m repeating it here and now, so that you can hear me. You can quote me on this. I mean, you probably won’t, but... you know what I mean.
“I said I’d never stand back and watch another innocent die because of me. Or because of anybody. I’ll never take a seat and watch somebody’s suffering. Not again. Never again.”
Gwen sniffled, her voice cracking.
“You always made me a better person, Pete. And now… now I’m gonna be better. Forever. For you. I’ll never forget you again. I promise.”
Gwen stood up and dried her eyes, pulling back on her mask. Her father’s “missing” police scanner was abuzz with chatter. She listened to it.
“...suspicious blue-and-red man with a skull on his chest walking down Birch Avenue. Appears to have some sort of glowing watch.”
Gwen turned back to Peter’s tombstone. “I’ll visit you again. I’ve got so many more stories to tell you. I’m sure you’d love them. But right now… I’ve got a job to do.
“See you around.”
She shot a webline into the air and swung away.
THE END
First | Previous
WARNING: LONG AUTHOR'S NOTES INCOMING
I started writing this story on my phone during a long car ride on the 28th of December. It grew from a small what-if concept into... this. This is the most ambitious fanwork I've yet published. I say "yet published" for reasons I'll discuss later.
A huge shoutout to @gammathetaalpha, who was kind enough to betaread this story for me in its almost entirety. If there are problems in Days 1 or 9, I'm to blame. Please check out her other fics; she writes lots of MCU stuff! And thanks to my other friends off of whom I've bounced the occasional idea!
Of course, thank you all for reading this story, whether you've been here since the beginning, left halfway through, or joined near the end! It's been a heck of a ride completing this thing, but your continued support has helped make it worth the while!
Now, I'm sure you're all wondering, "What's meow up to next?" Of course, you probably aren't. But I'll tell you anyway! I'm working on a webcomic, due to be released in December! Keep up with my Tumblr blog (the username's the same) for more info! Also, I fell headfirst into the Homestuck fandom a month ago, and I started writing a fic. The first chapter will be posted tomorrow, on the 25th! For those of you who are only here for the Marvel, I'm sad to say I don't have anything much ready for you right now. I have a one-shot regarding Endgame and a couple of Spiderverse fic ideas that are both halted. But stay tuned, just in case I do anything else!
Oh, yeah, and I'm thinking about posting dramatic fic readings on YouTube! This is definitely one fic that I would love to record myself reading! So stay tuned, yet again!
Thanks again for reading! I hope it was as much worth your while as it was mine!
#stranded#stranded fanfic#gwen stacy#spidergwen#spider gwen#ghost spider#spiderverse#into the spiderverse#spiderman#marvel#writing#writers on tumblr#long post#fanfiction
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sapphire And Steel
Summary: When Detective Rip Hunter is given the task of tracking down the notorious jewel thieves Sapphire and Steel he has no idea how it's going to take over his life.
All he wants is to put them in jail while they want to play with him.
In more ways than one.
Author’s Note: This was a small idea I had that started out as a quick fic that suddenly blossomed into a much longer fic.
There will be some sex scenes later on and I apologise now because I'm not great at writing those types of scenes.
Anyway, hope you enjoy and more will be up soon as I have a few chapters already written.
*********************************************
Part One
The envelope sat on the breakfast bar when Sara walked into the kitchen. It had Rip’s name on it in neat script but was still sealed.
“Aren’t you going to open your mail?” she asked the man standing washing dishes.
Rip glanced over at her, “No.”
Rolling her eyes, Sara picked up the dishtowel and started to dry for him. It was never intentional for her to live with Rip. When she moved to Central City, her dad had asked Rip to keep an eye out for her, which he did. They met up for coffee every so often and she knew he would always be there if she needed help. Then the moron above her managed to flood Sara’s crappy apartment making it even more crappy. Rip had a spare room which he’d offered to let her use and Sara had now been staying in it for the past three months. Even though her apartment had now been fixed.
“Why aren’t you opening the letter?” Sara demanded after several minutes, “You’re a cop. I thought that came with an inability not to snoop into everyone’s business.”
Rip levelled an annoyed stare at her, which never worked since she had grown up with a cop who could do the same glare.
“I already know who it’s from,” Rip replied, “And I am not going to give them the satisfaction.”
Sara frowned confused.
They continued doing the dishes in silence for several minutes before Sara let out an annoyed cry.
“Who sent the letter?”
Rip shrugged, “It’s one of my cases.”
Sara rolled her eyes, “Rip, come on give me some actual information because this is making me more curious.”
Finishing the final plate, Rip dried his hands and picked up the envelope handing it to Sara.
“Open it.”
Confused, Sara used the knife she was holding and sliced open the envelope before pulling out a Christmas card with two penguins kissing under the mistletoe. At the cute cheery card Sara became even more bemused. Opening it she read the message;
Detective Rip Hunter,
Merry Christmas,
Looking forward to playing with you,
Sapphire & Steel
“Who the hell are ‘Sapphire and Steel’?” she asked bemused.
Rip sighed, plucking the card out her hands and tossing it onto the breakfast bar.
“They are my latest case,” Rip told her.
Sara’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, “Do you want to run that past me again? I know Dad never got Christmas cards from the criminals he was chasing.”
Rip opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, handing Sara one before opening his own. Taking a long drink, he leaned against the counter.
“Sapphire and Steel are the nicknames two jewel thieves have somehow become known as,” Rip explained, “They’re notorious and have managed to avoid being caught for years. I was handed the case when Detective Perkins retired. I’m the third lead detective on the case.”
Sara mused on this, “Okay.”
“He told me that they liked to send him cards at Christmas and on his birthday,” Rip continued, “Their way of letting him know they’re out there.”
“So, they’re telling you they know you’ve taken over the case,” Sara chuckled.
Rip nodded, “Precisely. And I’m not playing.”
Christmas went by quietly but on New Year’s Eve, Rip arrived home from the station to find a box addressed to him waiting on his doorstep. Knowing exactly who had sent it to him, Rip opened the bin sitting at the side of the building and dropped it in.
Smiling he headed inside to change for the party he was going to, but it was New Year and Rip had promised his girlfriend he’d go. It was quiet in the house with Sara home in Star City for the holidays. Despite reluctantly letting her use his spare room after the apartment disaster, he’d become used to her presence. It turned out that Sara was a good roommate to have since she had grown up with a cop, so understood his shifts. They communicated mostly via text or notes as they were rarely in the house at the same time. When their paths did cross, they didn’t get in each other’s way and got along fairly well. They also both ensured there was always food in the fridge and made sure the house was always clean.
Jumping in the shower, Rip closed his eyes as the water cascaded down over him before quickly washing. Shutting off the water he grabbed a towel and headed into his room to get dressed pulling on the black denims and light blue shirt he’d set out.
Hearing his phone buzz in the other room, Rip frowned when he passed the box that he’d just thrown out sitting on the dining room table.
“What?” he answered his phone sharply.
“It’s me,” Caitlin said, “Were you expecting someone else?”
“Sorry,” Rip winced, “Just…never mind. Is there something wrong?”
“No,” she assured him, “I’m just calling to let you know you don’t need to pick me up. Cisco is going to give me a lift, so I’ll see you there.”
“Okay,” Rip replied, “I’ve got the wine and I’m almost ready to head out the door.”
“Of course you are,” Caitlin laughed, “I’ll see you soon.”
Hanging up Rip frowned at the box sitting on the table. This meant that not only were they watching him, but they’d been in his house.
Perkins had warned him, but only about cards never presents. Grabbing the bottle of wine for the party, Rip decided he was not letting them get to him and ignored the box. He’d bin it again when he got home.
“He’s not opening our present,” Gideon gave an exaggerated pout.
Miranda laughed as they watched the detective in charge of finding them leave his house, dressed nicely carrying a bottle of wine.
“He will,” Miranda assured her, “Give him time and he’ll get curious about what we’re sending him. All cops are the same.”
Gideon watched Detective Rip Hunter climb into his car and leave the driveway before turning to her partner, “Are we putting the cameras in now?”
Miranda grinned at her, “Yes,” at Gideon’s smile, Miranda kissed her, “He’s far enough away. Let’s go.”
Sliding out the car, Miranda waited for Gideon to disable the alarm system before opening the door. For a cop it had been surprisingly easy to get a copy of his keys. Walking into the house, Miranda looked around thoughtfully.
“Neat freak,” she mused, “How like a cop.” Turning to Gideon she grinned, “Let’s do this.”
It took them about ten minutes to set up Gideon’s surveillance system. They then wandered through the house looking through all of Rip’s things. Studying the man who taken over from Perkins, so they had all the information they needed.
“He’s going to be gone for a while,” Gideon said with a seductive smile, leaning against his bedroom door, “We could…”
“No,” Miranda cut her off, “We’re not leaving any evidence we were here.”
“Spoilsport,” Gideon pouted.
Miranda wrapped her arms around Gideon, “We’re going to have a lot of fun with him. Don’t get overexcited.”
Chuckling Gideon lifted the picture they’d found of their new friend, “He is nice to look at. Don’t you think?”
“He is,” Miranda agreed studying the photo, “His eyes are kind, he looks as intelligent as the reports say and I like the beard. The last two were so clean shaven, they didn’t fit the rugged detective look.”
“I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” Gideon said.
Miranda’s eyes lit up with an idea
Gideon asked, “What?”
“Miller was gay, Perkins married and…” she grimaced, “Old.” Studying the photo again, Miranda smirked, “Are you following my train of thought?”
Gideon grinned, “Definitely,” she sighed musing, “We can have a lot of fun with him.”
Miranda chuckled, “And we’re going to. But….”
“There’s always a but,” Gideon sighed.
“Finesse, darling,” Miranda reminded her sliding arms around Gideon, “If we push too hard at the beginning he’ll break quickly. We watch and play with him a little first before getting to the real fun stuff.”
Gideon smiled mischievously.
“Miller quit and Perkins retired,” Miranda reminded her, “Neither got anywhere near us. Let’s see how well Hunter will do.”
*********************************************
Caitlin smiled amused when Rip slid into the seat across from her after he gave her a quick kiss hello, “Only ten minutes late. That has to be a personal record.”
Rolling his eyes, Rip picked up his menu, “I did warn you when we started seeing each other that these things happen.”
“Should I ask what actually happened to make you late?” Caitlin said, “Or will I get the reply ‘police business’ as always?”
At her teasing he smiled, “Just had to finish some paperwork before Captain Singh decided to demote me to traffic duty.”
Caitlin shrugged slightly, “At least you’d have a proper workday.”
“Wasn’t I the one waiting for two hours last month when you had to finish an experiment?” Rip asked teasingly.
“Now that was an extremely important experiment,” Caitlin replied with the hint of a smile.
Their waiter arrived and they ordered their meals, Rip taking a drink of wine Caitlin had ordered for them. They’d been seeing each other for about six months now. Neither were looking for a relationship at the time, and both were initially reluctant to start anything considering how much time their jobs took up. But Cisco, who had introduced them, just rolled his eyes and told them to not be stupid.
Rip was glad they had started dating, Caitlin was sweet, smart, they had similar interests and he always had fun when he was with her.
“Do you think she’s right for him?” Gideon asked as she and Miranda sat in a nearby booth watching their Detective with the woman he was dating.
Miranda sipped her wine, “I think she seems intelligent and kind. I don’t think it will last but she’s fine for now.”
Gideon chuckled, “I like her. It’s a pity we’re going to ruin their date night. But I suppose we can make it up to him in some way.”
Miranda motioned the nearby waitress over and paid their cheque. As they were getting ready to leave, a smile touched Miranda’s face.
“What are you thinking?” Gideon asked at the mischievous look.
“I have an idea,” she said, “Wait for me in the car.”
Gideon nodded, brushing her lips against Miranda’s before she left the restaurant, taking a quick look back at their detective who was obliviously having dinner with his girlfriend. Sliding into the driver’s seat, she waited for Miranda to appear.
“Well?” she demanded the moment the other woman was in the car.
“I arranged for a bottle wine to be delivered to the table just before he gets the call about our latest escapade,” Miranda smirked.
Gideon laughed, “I love it. Let’s go and pick up my new necklace.”
Rip chuckled as Caitlin finished the story about one of her co-workers while they waited for their dessert.
“Sir,” a waiter arrived with a bottle of wine making Rip frown.
“We didn’t order another bottle,” Rip told him.
The man nodded, “A lady sent it earlier tonight with her compliments for your dessert. Said you would know who it came from.”
Before he could answer, Rip’s phone buzzed at his side. Automatically glancing down he saw the alert about the robbery and the wine suddenly made sense.
“We don’t want it,” Rip stated coldly before turning to Caitlin, “I have to go. There’s been a robbery.”
She nodded, “Do you want me to bring dessert to yours?”
Rip sighed, “As tempting as that sounds, this could take a long time. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He leaned over to kiss her goodbye stopping when she caught his hand.
“Rip, you can tell me what that was with the wine,” she reminded him.
Giving her a small smile and a quick kiss, he nodded, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Cisco?” Rip called as he walked into the jewellery store, “What do we have?”
“Lock was picked, CCTV was turned off,” Cisco Ramon, the CCPD’s tech and cyber genius listed appearing at Rip’s side, “Safe was hacked and they got away with a tidy sum in uncut diamonds, some earrings, a few watches and a sapphire necklace that was being cleaned for the exceedingly wealthy Mrs Worthington which I have been told, repeatedly by the manager, is worth a fortune.”
“It was Coburn and Ryder,” Rip told him.
Cisco frowned, “How do you know by simply walking in the door? Are you psychic now?”
At the amused question Rip rolled his eyes. “They let me know at dinner.”
Confusion filled the younger man’s eyes, “I thought you and Caitlin…”
“We were,” Rip grimaced, “We were waiting for dessert when a bottle of wine was brought over from a woman who said I’d know who sent it. Then I got your message about the robbery.”
Cisco let out a whistle, “They…”
“Okay, let’s get to work,” Rip said determinedly, “I’m going to catch those two and throw away the key.”
#fic#legends of tomorrow#the flash#rip hunter#gideon#miranda coburn#sara lance#cisco ramon#caitlin snow#timeship#hunterburn#burnship#hunterburnship#alternate universe#jewel thieves
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (💯/?)
BIG 💯th Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.
King-Sized 💯th Continuity Note: About 💯decades before the events of Dragon Ball Z.
All 💯 chapters conveniently available here.
[10 October, 234 Before Age. Planet Archeo.]
"The mighty Blintz! A warrior of immense power, he went into seclusion to train his body to even greater heights. The people of Minot VII were to be the first victims on the day he returned. For years they waited with dread, knowing that it was useless to flee and pointless to fight. It was said that Blintz gained power from Minotian blood, which was why he always began his campaigns there. Whether or not those stories are true, the massacres were always fact. Blintz would cut a swatch across the galaxy, and always start at Minot VII. Until now."
Ydnar Notro, Illustrious Phyper of Archeo stood up from the head of his conference table and approached a woman seated next to him. Her wrists and ankles were chained to the chair, and she stared mournfully at the tabletop, even as Notro placed his hand on the back of her head. To the amazement of the others seated at the table, an image suddenly appeared over the woman's head, large enough to be seen by everyone in the great hall.
At first, the image seemed to be only abstract swirls of colors, and then it coalesced into the shape of an alien being. He resembled a humanoid with four arms. The top of his head was bald, with long red hair hanging from the sides. His thick eybrows and beard, also red, concealed most of his face, save for the bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes, and the contemptuous sneer evidenced by his nose. His body was stout and covered with metallic armor. In one hand he held a cudgel, adorned with cruel spikes on one end, and a length of chain on the other. His large boots were covered with dried blood.
"An artist's representation of Blintz," Notro explained. "My artist. Uchida here comes from Planet Abaj, where the people possess thoughtforms that can manifest certain abilities. Her own thoughtform is capable of creating images directly from her own imagination, and translating them into digital format. Observe."
Suddenly, the image of Blintz seemed to be pulled into a small computer terminal on the table. A moment later, the same image appeared on a viewscreen mounted on the wall behind Phyper Notro’s chair.
"Uchida's never seen Blintz, of course. Fortunately, her ability also allows her to adapt the imaginings of others through telepathic contact. What you see before you is an image she created based on my own memories of reports and accounts of what Blintz used to look like. Let me show you what he looks like today..."
Uchida closed her eyes tightly as she worked, and when she was finished, the onlookers saw a very graphic representation of Blintz's corpse. His red mane had been burned away, leaving only a few singed hairs on his face and head. One of his right arms was bent and twisted at an awkward angle, indicating a broken bone. There were dents in his armor, many of which resembled impressions made by humanoid fists. In the center of his thick torso was a hole three inches in diameter. He was lying in a pool of his own blood, his fearsome cudgel broken into pieces and scattered beside him.
"Blintz emerged from his seclusion and met his match," Notro explained. "The Legendary Super Saiyan was waiting for him, and this was the result of that encounter."
He withdrew his hand from Uchida's head and turned to his viewscreen. With a swipe of his hand, the display changed to reveal charts and photographs from his files. "I despise legends," he went on. "They've a kernel of truth to them, hidden behind layers upon layers of rumor and hearsay. The facts are clear: no ordinary Saiyan could accomplish what Luffa has done. In less than five years, she... or he... has managed to alter the balance of power in this galaxy. The Federation was once an assortment of planets constantly warring amongst themselves. Now, they stand united as a major power to rival the Camelian Empire. Planet Saiya lies completely deserted. Luffa's own people had seemed on the verge of a diplomatic and cultural renaissance, and now their kingdom has vanished without a trace. Monsters and tyrants across the galaxy lie dead and defeated on a thousand worlds. An army of Saiyans couldn't have managed all of this. So I believe that the Super Saiyan truly is an invincible warrior. That seems to be the only detail that I can believe, but it isn't enough! I need more!"
"Is that why you brought us here, Mr. Phyper?" asked one of the men sitting at the table. "You've paid each of us a king's ransom to come here, but you've hardly explained what it is you expect us to do. Honestly, with the resources at your disposal, it's hard to imagine you needing help from anyone."
"Imagination is precisely what I need from all of you!" Notro replied. "Yes, I have wealth, and power, and agents who can enforce my will in almost every way imaginable. Uchida is a perfect example of the range of my influence. When I decided I wanted permanent access to her talents, I simply arranged to have her brought to me. Archeo doesn't command the vast territory of the Camelian Empire or the Federation, but our enemies know better than to underestimate my domain. And I have maintained this prestige by knowing my enemies. What they can and cannot do, and more importantly, when they will or will not strike. I knew the Abaji government would not dare to fight to retrieve Uchida, because her planet's leaders would never risk a war for a single citizen. What is an artist next to the survival of their entire world? I knew their answer before they did, and that was how I was able to act so boldly."
He snapped his fingers and a servant girl approached the table with a goblet, and stood patiently as she waited for him to drink it. She was dressed in a brown uniform, with a headscarf concealing her scalp, and a sheer veil obscuring her eyes. Other women in similar dress served refreshments to the rest of the group at the table.
The problem with Luffa is that I can't even be certain that the Super Saiyan is an enemy or not. I only know that she could destroy my domain easily, but I don't know what would drive her to do it. I need to understand her motives, so that I can avoid her wrath or direct it at a more satisfactory target."
"But we're only writers, Mr. Phyper," said another of the guests seated at the table. "Fiction writers, at that. What can we give you that your spies and informants can't?"
"Inspiration!" Notro answered. "My intelligence people are useless where Luffa is concerned. They can only give me bare facts, and only about where the Super Saiyan has been, and what bystanders see and think. I need someone who can connect all the rumors and speculation into a coherent narrative, one that will reveal the kernel of truth behind the legend. That is why I've brought you here to my stronghold. The fifteen of you are the most acclaimed science-fiction/fantasy authors in the galaxy. I have provided Uchida, to lend illustration for your imaginings. Before this night is over, I plan to understand Luffa completely. Now, begin!"
*
[Hal Ruthefordium, author: The Builder's Song Pentalogy]
"Everything I've heard about the Super Saiyan is contradictory. No one can even agree on her gender. She's a Saiyan, but not a Saiyan, and her tactics and missions seem completely at odds with everything we know about that warrior race. A lot of people insist that she's an alien posing as a Saiyan, but what would be the point of doing that? No one trusts the Saiyans as it is, and even if the deception were useful, half of the galaxy has decided that they've seen through it.
"I think the key here is to embrace all these contradictions. The universe isn't as black and white as we might like to think. Quantum mechanics teaches us that much, so why not a quantum Saiyan? Suppose we're talking about an alien and a Saiyan merged into one? Perhaps one is female and the other male, or their union allows some sort of genderfluidity. Well, let me show you."
He stood up and approached Uchida's seat, and tentatively placed his hand on the back of her head. "Am I doing this right? Yes? All right then. The Saiyans themselves are walking contradictions. They can transform from humanoids into giant apes, and a lot of the lore I've read comes from sources that couldn't seem to keep those forms straight. How do they transform? Moonlight, of course. But not sunlight, which doesn't make sense, seeing as moonlight is nothing but sunlight reflected off the surface of a moon. What's the difference?"
Unchida winced, and then an image appeared of a Saiyan woman being bathed in golden radiation. This changed into a new image, showing the woman struggling as she was engulfed in what looked like glowing yellow syrup. Finally, Uchida showed a third image, with the woman's form completely covered in a glowing golden skin, her face altered from what it had looked like before.
"See, I'm thinking there could be an alien presence in the Saiyan's body. Not a corporeal life form, but a creature of living energy, that encountered a Saiyan while she was looking at the full moon. They merged together-- maybe accidentally-- or perhaps the alien was curious about matter-based life forms. A Saiyan's body metabolizes moonlight to increase their mass, so maybe the alien's energy was metabolized into something else. The result is a creature of two minds, and conflicting agendas. Maybe people think she's a man because sometimes the masculine side is more dominant, or vice-versa. Well, it's a thought, anyway. They're stuck like this, or maybe they see it as a partnership. At any rate, their joint actions would be a mixture of their separate natures. One side being carnal and violent, the other noble and curious."
**
[Dubnium D. D. Durkshire, author: The War of Storms.]
"The pattern I see is one of righteousness," Durkshire said as he thoughtfully stroked his voluminous grey beard. "Every story I've come across tells of a warrior of immense power who helps those less fortunate, because let's face it, to someone that powerful, almost everyone is less fortunate. Forget the Saiyan part of the equation and think about what it means to be super. We're like sheep to such a being. He can either slaughter us all or he can become a shepherd, and use his gifts to make the world a better place."
He approached Uchida and placed his hand on the back of her head, muttering an apology for the inconvenience, and within seconds the image was there for all to see. A humanoid man with ape-like features, wearing in a yellow dogi, surfing through the skies on top of a cloud. In one hand, he held a staff, while his free hand pointed at the setting sun in the distance.
"Maybe that's a bit too fantastic," Durkshire said after looking at the image for a moment. "Maybe something more like this..."
Uchida worked again, and the image that appeared above her swirled and reshaped itself into a new figure. It was still a man, but this time he wore a black bodysuit covered with a gold toga and matching boots and gloves. A visored helmet covered his head and eyes. He was posing awkwardly in front of a pile of colorful villains which he had just defeated in battle.
"Hmm... Well, I'm not sure about the costume, but I think you see what I'm trying to say here." He stepped away from Uchida and shuffled back to his chair. "To be sure, the Saiyans have a certain reputation for wickedness, but I think we're dealing with a unique situation. Anyone can turn to righteousness if properly inspired, and I suspect that getting those kinds of enormous powers would inspire almost anyone. The trick is that he can't be everywhere at once. How do you use those immense powers for the best? He would have to pick his battles very carefully. I think you must have someone very cautious about where and how they spend their time, so as not to miss a greater opportunity when it comes around. This isn't someone who would fool around with bank robbers, not when there are terrible monsters and merciless warlords lurking in so many dark corners of the galaxy."
"Then you don't think the Super Saiyan would trouble Phyper Notro at all, then," Ruthefordium asked.
"No, I don't," Durkshire said. "He defeated Blintz because he represented a clear and present danger to billions of people. If you want to avoid the Super Saiyan's wrath, I'd say that's the key. Don't threaten large populations. But anything less than that? Well, he has bigger fish to fry."
***
[Ernst Seaborgium, author: Dethkyll vs. Eliminator Rex: Requiem -- The Falling Star Crisis: The Search for Lady Dethkyll]
"That's too simplistic. A hero doesn't have to be so pure. What if he was once a terrible villain, and the power changed him?"
Seaborgium stood up and nudged Durkshire aside so that he could take his turn with Uchida's power. Unlike the others who went before, he used both hands, using his second hand to somewhat inappropriately caress the back of her neck.
The resulting image showed another man in a bodysuit, though his expression was far more sinister. His golden hair floated from his scalp like a crown
"I'm thinking he might have started out as a great conqueror," he said, "but when he achieved this kind of power, he found that ordinary plundering couldn't hold his interest. So he started looking for other conquerors that could challenge him."
He glanced down at Uchida and said: "No, no, he needs to be more muscular. Do it again."
She complied, and the image floating over the table changed, making Ernst's vision of the Super Saiyan look bigger and stronger than before.
"He's seen how far raw power takes him, and now that he's fought other brutal conquerors, he's forced to look back on his own evil deeds. Over time, his quest for worthy sport will become a search for redemption. How many monsters must he slay to make up for the monster he once was?"
"It sounds to me," Durkshire said, "like you're just coming at the same idea as me, but from a different vector."
"Not at all," Seaborgium insisted. "Your 'hero of light' tries to use his power wisely, like a philanthropist trying to keep a charity from going over budget. My version is more selfish than that. He does the right things for the wrong reasons. He wants the best fights, first and foremost. If he could save a billion people from a ferocious monster, he'd do it, but he would fight that same monster even if no lives were on the line. If a billion people were dying of starvation, he might abandon them to fight a war to save a paltry million."
"I see," Durkshire said. "Well, that'd change things, wouldn't it?"
"That's just for openers," Seaborgium continued. "What's he do when he's hungry, or if he wants some company in the bedroom? He might save your planet, but he wouldn't think twice about helping himself to some spoils. Even if he did turn over a new leaf, old habits die hard, and even a good man can turn to iniquity with enough temptation."
He decided to try to use Uchida's powers once more, and generated an image of his Super Saiyan lying on an expensive looking bed, flanked by a pair of attractive alien women. He smiled and chuckled with approval.
"Hey, this lady's pretty handy," Seaborgium said as he patted the top of Uchida’s head.
****
[Bilbo Bohrium, author: Timmy Titmouse and the Funderful Fortress of Whimsy.]
As Seaborgium and Durkshire chattered about Uchida's powers, Bilbo Bohrium cleared his throat to speak. He was small by humanoid standards and his bare feet didn't quite touch the floor from his chair.
"I say, why should he be a hero of any sort?" he asked. "I reckon that sort of power would drive a person insane. We're going on about motives and patterns, but perhaps there isn't any to be found. The Super Saiyan just goes on these mad rampages, and woe be to anyone who gets in the way."
Bohrium shooed the others away from Uchida and they went back to their seats. With some effort he barely managed to reach Uchida, touching the tip of his index finger to the base of her skull, and a few seconds later she created a new image, one of a hulking brute, screaming as he charged an energy blast with his left hand. Behind him, a comet loomed over the horizon of the wasteland he stood upon, suggesting that he would soon meet his doom unless he noticed it in time.
"Hal had a whale of a point, though," Bohrium added. "I mean, when he said there are a lot of contradictions in the eyewitness accounts. I was thinking that maybe that's a feature, and not a bug. This person clearly has the means to travel through space. He isn't just traipsing about, slaughtering nonstop. There must be a cooldown period where he's lucid enough that he can charter a spaceship and move on to another place."
He used Uchida once again, and this time the image showed the same Saiyan brute, only much smaller in build. He was curled up in a fetal position on the floor of a passenger transport, staring into space. Clumps of his black hair lay around his head, suggesting that he had ripped them out in his distress.
"To answer Phyper Notro's question," Bohrium went on, "maybe Luffa's motive is a lack of motive. We can't predict what the Super Saiyan will do because even he has no idea until it happens."
"But if you're right," Ruthefordium said, "All you'd need to do is figure out his itinerary, and attack his ship while he's powerless to defend himself."
"Yeah, I suppose that'd be your only chance," Bohrium agreed. "Otherwise, there's no telling when or where he might snap, and once that happens, well it's just too bad, isn't it? Still, at least some of the time, he'd be docile, maybe even manageable. Gives you a bit of room for negotiation, at least."
*****
[Colby F. Hassium, author: Shadow's Edge]
"No, let's not forget the Saiyan part of the equation. Dismissing this as some alien or mythical creature misses the point. It's a Saiyan legend about a Saiyan warrior. Why call them 'Super Saiyans' if they aren't?"
Colby Hassium was a tall, thin woman from the Stikkles Cluster. When she rose from her chair, it was with an air of royalty, though she might have found such a comparison to be beneath her.
The others were flustered by her statement. "But the hair, and the powers--!" Rutherfordium protested.
"Yes, they may be beyond other Saiyans," she said, "but why assume that they no longer resemble their kin? What if they represent the quintessence of everything the Saiyans represent in the universe?"
"And what would that be?" Phyper Notro asked pointedly.
"A savage killer, more violent and terrible than anything we've ever known," she replied. "Instead of pillaging cities or nations, the Super Saiyan would ravage entire star systems, looting and conquering without end. Where his brothers merely lust for battle, he would be obsessed with it, almost to the point of addiction. He would demand tributes of food, treasure, and women."
"Women?" Bohrium asked. "According to the accounts I've read, the Saiyans rarely take prisoners."
"How naive," she said. "Naturally, the Super Saiyans would rape their female captives. All males are driven by the same basic urge to mate. It's simple evolutionary biology. Saiyan men being even more bestial and cruel, the Super Saiyan's urge to force himself on women would be insatiable. He would be unable to think of anything else. All that raw, elemental power, completely unchecked by the trappings of civilization... there would he no limit to the atrocities he would leave in his wake."
"You sound almost thrilled by the notion," Phyper Notro observed.
"And why shouldn't I be?" she replied. "My stories are popular because they confront the brutal truths of power without restraint. My readers enjoy the glimpse into the psyche of someone who would do horrible things. The Super Saiyan is the ultimate example of that principle. A man who can defeat any enemy, take anything he desires, anyone he desires, and answer to no one but his own depraved mind."
She put her hand on Uchida's head and created an illustration of her interpretation of the Super Saiyan. It was a horrific sight to behold, and most of those seated at the table chose to look away instead. The Saiyan in the image was covered in blood, and surrounded by mutilated corpses. Kneeling before him was a blue-haired woman presenting a crate of treasure before him. The way he touched her chin and the ravenous look in his eyes suggested that he had other ideas.
******
[Meitnerium Smith, author: The Unhumanoid Situation.]
"What a load of crap!"
Meitnerium Smith smelled of petroleum oil and an unmet need for a shower. As his seat was located next to Uchida's he didn't bother to get up. Instead, he simply reached out to the woman, uncurling the long, boneless forearms he normally kept concealed in his jacket.
Uchida's thoughtform went to work almost immediately after he made contact with her. A moment later, an image appeared of a Saiyan man clad only in linen breeches. He was perched in the branches of some enormous tree, his muscular limbs tensed and ready to strike at any moment. The eager grin on his lips was belied by a sober, almost thoughtful look in his dark eyes.
"A savage, yes," Smith said, "but not an amoral bully! Maybe being apart from civilization would make him less cruel, not more! A wild animal is only violent when threatened. Otherwise, they carry themselves with a special kind of dignity, untainted by so-called 'modern society'. The Super Saiyan might be the noblest being in the universe, precisely because he embraces the wildness that we all repress and deny. I envision him as in perfect harmony with nature. His power makes him immune to the fears and threats that define others. If he wears clothing at all, it must be simple raiment, made of vines and leaves, or animal skins colored with ochres and charcoal, like his ancient ancestors once wore."
"You make him sound like a throwback," Phyper Notro said.
"He's come full circle," Smith corrected. "We all carry genetic memories passed down from our ancestors. Luffa simply tapped into those memories somehow, unlocking the knowledge of some distant ancestor, a warrior of greater purity than any living in this benighted era. By attaining this invincible power within himself, he's learned the Great Secret that we 'civilized folk' forgot when we began to huddle around fires. But instead of driving him mad, the revelation makes him gentle and nurturing. His only enemies are those foolish enough to resist his primordial wisdom."
"If he's so primitive," Durkshire asked, "then how does he manage to travel from planet to planet?"
"Time and space are but illusions," Smith replied. "Given the proper frame of mind, a being could be anywhere at any time with less than a footstep. Perhaps the Super Saiyan learned this frame of mind from his ancient forebears, or he just used a spaceship like everyone else. I never said he couldn't use technology, Mr. Durkshire. I'm saying that he isn't corrupted by the society that created it."
"But if you're right, and there is some ancient wisdom that was long since forgotten," Bohrium pointed out, "then that would mean everyone must have possessed Super Saiyan powers at some point in the distant past."
"Maybe so," Smith said with a shrug. "In that case, I'd say that enlightened folk had the collective decency not to abuse that kind of might. Or perhaps the powers you're speaking of have been exaggerated by the stories."
*******
[W. Cole Darmstadtium, author: Spake the Flames of Infinity.]
"Why stop there? If we're questioning her power, perhaps her entire reputation is a fabrication as well!"
Darmstadtium held out his hands in a gesture that seemed to suggest he had figured out the whole thing. He scooted out his chair and walked over to Uchida's seat.
"I see an opportunist," he said, his antennae twitching excitedly. "Saiyan or not, whoever is behind the Luffa phenomenon is exploiting the public fascination with mighty warriors and epic heroes. They believe what they want to believe, and she feeds into their cravings.
He approached Uchida and when he touched the back of her head, she produced an image of a young woman who looked more like a pop star than a Saiyan warrior. She flashed a smile at a crowd of adoring fans, while in the background an army of faceless soldiers marched into battle to fight in her name.
"It's a perfect public relations stunt. Whoever's behind it all sits behind a desk somewhere, pulling all the strings. When Luffa wages war, they call in an army to fight in her name. When she dabbles in politics, they call in diplomats and statesmen. When she appears in public, they hire some felinoid actress with a charming smile to wear a glowing wig and an anti-gravity belt. All the while, the real Luffa is sitting in a boardroom, chuckling quietly as her machinations translate into profits somehow."
"Public relations for what?" Smith asked. "Who would bother with such an elaborate deception? If ‘they’ have this kind of power, why not just use it openly?"
"Oh, you're a passable writer, Meitnerium-- Can I call you Meitnerium?-- but you don't know the first thing about marketing," Darmstadtium replied. "Corporations don't always benefit by putting everything under one brand. Sunny Skies Eggs and Earwig Meats are owned by the same company, but they don't necessarily want you to think about that. That way, if Sunny Skies gets bad publicity, the meat business is relatively insulated. You said it yourself: You consider the Super Saiyan to be pure and noble. An enlightened savage possessed of ancient wisdom. If she's just a mascot for a trade consortium, that glowing fantasy falls apart. Her wars aren't heroic crusades, but proxy wars financed by ruthless profiteers."
He pointed at the girl in the image. "This is a face people will look up to. These," he moved his finger to the soldiers in the background, "are the side of war that the public doesn't like to think about when they're deciding what brand of eggs to buy. So you hide the army behind the girl, and you name her anything besides 'Sunny Skies', and you mitigate your risks. The rest, as they say, is legend."
********
[Arthur X. Roentgenium, author: Dauphin's Precipice, a Slab Bulkhead Adventure]
"That's much too cynical. There has to be some truth to the legends, or why else would they be told at all?"
Arthur Roentgenium was an old man by the standards of his species, and he had the wrinkles and white hair to prove it. Even so, his face and his body language still clung to the idea of a young man's enthusiasm and vigor.
"Now suppose it was all real. What if they only call her a Saiyan because that's the closest thing to a description they can manage? There are thousands of religious texts that refer to supernatural beings, and the descriptions almost always resemble a patchwork of different animals. The head of a lion, the tail of a scorpion, eyes like hot coals, and so on. Why not the form of a man and the tail of an ape?"
He went around the table until he arrived at Uchida's seat, then placed his hand on her head, and the image that formed was one of a vaguely humanoid figure, with multiple faces that seemed to overlap one another. The figure was circumscribed by a number of glowing golden rings, and plumes of fire shaped like wings floated behind their back. A disembodied eye was positioned just behind the figure's head, shining like a radiant halo. A fiery tail hung near the being's left hip.
"You can't be serious," Phyper Notro said.
"And why not?" Roentgenium replied. "There's plenty of stories of angels descending from the heavens to mete out divine justice, or to usher in the end of creation. Who's to say we're not witnessing the same thing? It's all mythology until you're the one living it. Why don't we try for a more conventional look..."
He put his hand on Uchida's head again, and the image changed, this time showing a figure that was more clearly humanoid. It was a woman with flaming hair and a monkey's tail to match. A pair of "wings" were on her back, though these were nearly transparent wisps of golden color in the shape of wings. The woman was dressed in a long white dress of what appeared to be the finest silk. And she carried a weighing balance in her right hand. In her left, she held a sword that appeared to be red hot.
"This is how they imagine angels on a lot of planets," Roentgenium explained. "The iconography varies, but the concept is the same. They are charged with a divine mission, and they do not stop until that mission is complete."
*********
[Copernicium Jones, author: The Vertebrate Conundrum]
"Angels? Pfah! Why stop there?" said Copernicus Jones. He had already stood up before Roentgenium had a chance to return to his seat. "Maybe the gods themselves have decided to take matters into their own hands."
He shooed Roentgenium away, and put his own hand on Uchida's head, mussing her hair in the process. "The angels have already come and gone, and so have the prophets. In our arrogance, we mortals failed to heed their warnings, and now they've come to execute their final judgement."
Uchida complied with the whims of his imaginations, and the image that appeared was of an alleyway in a great city. A single traveler was surrounded by heavily armed soldiers. It changed, this time showing the soldiers fleeing in terror as the traveler was transfigured into a being of brilliant white light. Overhead, the night sky was a grim shade of maroon, illuminated by meteors of brimstone raining down over the land.
"We've all heard the myths of gods posing as mortals, then punishing cities for treating them poorly," Jones explained. "The Super Saiyan might be that very story playing out for us, only we have no idea what the gods want from us. Some clergymen might say 'love' or 'piety', but how would they know? I don't know about the rest of you, but I seriously doubt Planet Wist was decimated because they didn't put enough money in the collection plate!"
"Then what was it?" Phyper Notro asked. "Why were they made to suffer, and why at that moment?"
"You might was well ask an amoeba to explain why I stepped on an ant," Jones replied. "Perhaps the reasons are so far removed from our comprehension that we can't begin to guess! Even if we could understand, what good would it do? If the Super Saiyan really is the wrath of the Almighty, then we're well past the point of repentance. You're either with her or against her, and it's entirely up to her which side you're on."
He crossed his arms over his smoking jacket, and laughed. "Maybe it's not the end of the world, though. I just remembered an old poem, something about justice striking like lightning. Some of the wicked are destroyed, but only enough to put the fear of god into the rest of us. Maybe it's just a warning shot from the heavens. In that case, maybe the only thing you can do is fear.
**********
[Zeppen S! Nihonium, author: Finality Friday.]
"What you're describing sounds more like a devil than any god I've ever heard of," Nihonium said. "Maybe it's not about repentance at all, but deliverance!"
"Meaning what?" Notro asked.
"If we're taking this legend in a religious context, then we should consider the possibility that the Super Saiyan isn't the hero. A lot of religious mythologies depict a final battle between good and evil, and the villain isn't always obvious to the people. Think about it. You have a charismatic, invincible warrior, hailed as a messiah, or a great leader, but what do they really offer society? It's all temporal power. Military triumphs, political upheavals, but nothing to enrich the soul."
He went to Uchida's chair and placed three fingers on the back of her head. The image that resulted showed a woman with gold hair sitting in a chair, looking almost bored, as men in fine clothes waited in line to kneel down and kiss her right hand. Her bangs were curled in such a way to resemble an arcane symbol of demonic evil.
"At the time, it seems like the right play," Nihonium explained. "She's winning, she seems to have all the right answers, and everyone who stands against her is mercilessly cut down. Joining her only makes sense. But what's the price? She can protect you and give you peace and prosperity, but in the end, she owns you, body and soul."
He threw out his arms, gesticulating wildly with his hands. "But then! What happens? Then the Almighty shows up, and shows the devil what real power is. She can marshal her forces against the faithful, and it looks like a mismatch, but in the end she’s the one who's doomed. All her strength and money and weapons are useless. She's doomed and so is everyone who threw in with her."
He leaned forward and tapped his index finger on the table, with enough force that even those seated on the far end could feel the vibrations. "That's the key," he said. "That's what makes it such a compelling story. The winners are the ones who resist the easy path. They have to see the strongest cat in the jungle, and decide not to serve her. They have to fend for themselves and live with the consequences, and in the end, they're finally rewarded for making the right choice."
"So what, then?" Jones asked. "You're saying all of Luffa's enemies should just... wait for someone even stronger to come along and finish her off?"
"It sounds pretty crazy, but that's what makes it so engaging," Nihonium said. "It's a reassurance for the weak and the downtrodden, the ones who can't fight for themselves. All they can do is wait for someone to save them, so the story tells them that it's the smartest possible move."
"That's compelling," Jones said, "Unless Luffa isn't the devil in your analogy. What if the devil was someone else, and she's already shown up to beat them? How do you know whose side to be on?"
Nihonium shrugged and smiled. "Well, that's what different religions have been trying to figure out since the beginning of time, isn't it?"
***********
[Sargon Flerovium, author: Red Arcosia, Blue Arcosia.]
"And that's exactly why I'm an agnostic," Flerovium said.
"All right, Sargon," Nihonium replied with a laugh. "What's your version?"
"Not so different from yours, honestly," Flerovium said. "Manipulative, charismatic, powerful, inspiring, but does she really have to be a supernatural being to fulfill all of those qualities? There's plenty of charismatic strongmen in the galaxy, and all of them got there without being the literal embodiment of evil."
He stood up and slowly made his way to Uchida's seat, occasionally stopping to savor another puff on his electronic pipe. "Let's say she is a woman, not that it really matters. But not a god or an angel, or even a corporate facade like our friend Cole is proposing. There are powerful creatures in the universe. The Saiyans themselves are proof of that. Whether the Super Saiyan is one of their race or not, it's hardly unnatural for such a creature to exist. On my own home planet, they thought the South Pole didn't exist until someone went there and found it."
He arrived at Uchida's chair and planted his hands on her shoulders. "Plausibility. That's the loamy soil in which legends take root," he continued. "A Super Saiyan could exist, and could do the things she's said to have done, and so forth. It isn't about being true; it's about being just possible enough that it can't be immediately dismissed as untrue."
"Then you think Luffa is an elaborate hoax?" Notro surmised.
"Not quite," Flerovium replied. He took the e-pipe out of his mouth and began pointing with it, though at nothing in particular. "I think she's someone powerful enough to seem to be able to do the things she's said, but not powerful enough to have actually done them. The founder of Ancient Camelia was said to have been nursed by a wild animal. Now feral children are known to exist, and Camelia certainly was founded, but one doesn't prove the other. I think this Luffa has taken credit for things that have happened around her. Perhaps she contributed more than we know, perhaps less, but I believe she was given more credit than she was due, and used it to make herself seem greater than she truly is. It certainly fits the pattern of the Saiyan ego. Can they all turn into giant apes, or is it just some of them, while the rest are bluffing?"
"Then you're saying that she has no agenda, beyond her own aggrandizement?" Notro asked wearily.
"Oh, she may have an end goal in mind," Flerovium said. "Lining her own pockets, for one. A mercenary with a reputation can charge more than one without. But you won't be able to predict her next move based on her last. She mostly just waits for things to happen, and then inserts herself into the narrative after the fact."
He turned to go back to his seat, then stopped. "Oh, right, I almost forgot." With that, he place his hand on Uchida's head and closed his eyes, apparently thinking that would help. The image that appeared was of a woman raising her hands in triumph, celebrated by her admirers. This didn't really convey Flerovium's premise very well, nor did he seem to care.
************
[Moscovium Tubal-cain, author: Tanks for the Mammaries! (And Other “””Hilarious””” Stories Based On Cheap Wordplays.)]
"I don't know, I kind of fancy the supernatural angle myself. The way I've heard it, there's a new Super Saiyan every thousand years. It reminds me of an old ghost story I heard as a child."
Tubal-Cain carried a copy of his most recent book on his person at all times, just so he would have it ready to promote in case someone happened to take a video recording of him. In spite of the remote odds of this, he still made sure to hold it as conspicuously as possible while he rounded the table to get to Uchida's seat.
"I'll try to keep this brief," he said. "I don't have my watch on me. You know, I once saw a Saiyan eat a watch. It was time consuming."
He was the only one who laughed. If this discouraged him at all, he didn't show it.
"I've been thinking, what if the lack of apparent motive is actually a pattern that the rest of us can't understand? It doesn't have to be part of some religious cosmology. Maybe it's more like a poltergeist banging on a tin can in the middle of the night. If the young lady will cooperate...?"
He put his hand on Uchida's head, and an image appeared of a Super Saiyan--such as Tubal-cain imagined one-- fighting a war on an alien planet. A caption at the bottom announced that this scene took place "thousands of years ago".
"Once upon a time, maybe there was something important on this planet, something a Saiyan might have thought worth fighting for. Only he lost, somehow."
He put his hand on Uchida's head again, and the scene changed. It was the same warrior, and the flora on the planet was familiar, but the scene had changed.
"But his spirit wouldn't admit defeat, and so he haunts this battlefield, trying to win a campaign that was already decided long ago," Tubal-cain explained.
He used Uchida's power once more, and the image transformed, with the Saiyan still fighting on the same world, only now there was no flora, or any of other sign of life.
"Civilizations rise and fall, populations move from one planet to another, but the Super Saiyan keeps fighting the same wars, again and again, unaware that anything has changed. Maybe he possesses a new Saiyan each time he emerges, and assimilates new wars with each iteration, but he still can't let go of the past. Like a spectre, he haunts the galaxy, a prisoner of time itself."
*************
[Anne Livermorium, author: The Crimson Ratio]
"What about a prisoner of technology? Not a ghost, but a ghost in the machine."
Anne Livermorium's exoskeletal joints creaked with each step she took around the table. One hundred fifty-one years old, she lacked the flexibility of younger members of her species, but none of their strength. And so, when she arrived at Uchida's seat, she simply lifted the Abajian by grabbing one of her shoulders, rather than bending down slightly to reachback of her head. There was just enough slack on her chains to accommodate this, while Uchida herself made no effort to resist.
"The Super Saiyan doesn't have to be a vengeful spirit or a demon to be powerful," Livermorium explained. "She doesn't have to be a ghost to re-emerge every thousand years. There are androids out there designed to last decades on a single power supply. Who's to say the Super Saiyan isn't just an android based on Saiyan physiology?"
The image finally coalesced over the table. At first glance, the figure in the scene looked like a Saiyan woman, but a closer inspection revealed seams running along her bare arms and legs. Some of these seams were opened in places, with dark grey cables inserted into the opening. These led to a variety of grim devices in the Saiyan's surroundings. One of her eyebrows was adorned with a silver object that followed the curvature of her orbital bone, and the eye it surrounded glowed a cold, clinical blue.
"Or better yet, a cyborg," Livermorium said. "Maybe there really is a Saiyan in there, or the remnants of one. I can't imagine why a Saiyan would willingly subject themselves to such a procedure, but maybe she had no choice. Maybe someone did this to her, and she's been lingering on ever since."
Still holding Uchida, she used her power once more, this time creating an image of the same Saiyan character wreaking havoc in an amusement park. She was dressed in civilian clothing: a jacket, skirt, and dark leggings. Aside from the destructive power she was unleashing in this scene, there was no obvious indication that she was anything but an ordinary tourist.
"It's a cycle. Every thousand years, she awakens and goes on a rampage. or what we would call a rampage. To her, it might make perfect sense, or perhaps her programming is corrupted. Or maybe she's just bored. Everything that appealed to a flesh-and-blood Saiyan would have become pointless to her after the first few centuries. She doesn't know what to do with herself, and she's running out of answers. Toppling nations and routing armies is the closest thing to amusement she can find. Then it all... stops.
"I think this is the part that interests me the most, actually. Not the Super Saiyan part of the legend, but the thousand-year gap in between. What's going on during those intervals? It can't be a new Saiyan every time. What are the odds of only one Super Saiyan birth every thousand years on the dot? No more, no less? And while I like the rest of your ideas, I don't see how an alien or supernatural explanation fits either. A demon decides to menace the mortal world, or a vengeful god passes judgment on us, but only on a strict timetable? Once a milennia, like clockwork? I don't claim to understand how God thinks, but I doubt She uses our calendars, or anyone else's, for that matter.
"But maybe the reason it's like clockwork is because it really is a clock. The Super Saiyan runs loose for a while, then she starts to burn out. Maybe the power supply needs recharging, or her mechanical parts can only handle so much strain. Let's suppose some ancient, advanced civilization created the technology that makes her run, and it has self-repair systems, and a self-renewing energy source. She can rejuvenate herself, but it takes a long time."
Livermorium used Uchida again, and this time the scene depicted the Cyber-Saiyan lying dormant in a darkened room. Her eyes were wide open, one of them still glowing red. Parts of her skin had been ripped away, presumably in some great battle. This revealed mechanical components underneath. There were skeletal remains beside her, and the amount of dust in the scene indicated that it had been a very long time since she had been disturbed.
"On second thought, maybe the dark centuries are her way of coping with immortality. Yes, she can't die. Nothing in the universe is strong enough to destroy her, so she intentionally strains her design to the point where she needs a thousand year nap to recover. It's not true death, but the closest respite she can find. Each time, she awakens, desperate to resume her slumber. The rest of us, in our ignorance, we marvel at her power and wonder about her true nature, but if we knew the truth, we might pity her instead."
**************
[Tennessine Ernie Ford, author: The Sixteenth Ton]
"A machine? I could see that, but not the kind with circuits and motors."
Ford left a trail of viscous liquid behind his long dark robe as he moved. Even by the dim firelight of the candles and hearth, one could track his path from the entrance of the hall to his chair. Now, as he stood and moved around the table, he left a new trail, accompanied by the clack of his shoes on the stone floor, and the squish off his feet inside of his shoes.
"I consider myself to be more spiritual than religious," he said, oblivious to the cliche of that sentiment. "I study comparative religion as a hobby, and more often than not, I find certain cycles, themes that show up in multiple mythologies from an assortment of planets. Floods are a well-known example. Just about every mythology has a flood story. Even some of the desert planets have them. Many creation myths also share--"
"Get to the point, Ernie," Flerovium called out.
"All right, all right. Patience, children," he said. "The point, aside from the one on Sargon's head-- little joke there-- is that so many of these myths and legends attempt to explain grand phenomena in nature, but the storytellers only think that these are grand wondrous things. Floods, sunrises, the changing of the seasons, they happen everywhere, routinely. From a galactic standpoint, they're mundane. He finally reached Uchida and placed one of his three hands on the back of her head. "Lucky thing I don't have to use my feet for this," he chuckled. "Otherwise, it might make a mess."
The image that sprang from Uchida's thoughtform was of a starfield, with a lone figure streaking through the void like a speed skater sliding across an invisible plane of ice. In her wake was a gleaming yellow trail, like a comet's tail, only crackling with energy. She held her arms out in front of her, fingers outstretched, as though she were desperate to reach out and touch her unknowable destination.
"Yes, yes, we all know about your speed skater fetish, Ernie," Flerovium heckled again. "I don't think Phyper Notro is lending us his private artist to add to your personal collection."
"Well, I suppose no illustration would really do the idea justice," Ford said. "Or rather, no imagination could do it justice. What I'm talking about is a cosmic phenomenon, as inevitable as a flood or hurricane, but on a universal scale. Just as our ancestors personified concepts they couldn't comprehend--a man in the sky who makes it rain, a woman in the ground who makes plants grow--so we too are unable to perceive these cosmic manifestations as anything more than avatars. That's why the accounts are so varied. No one can agree on the Super Saiyans species or sex, but the Saiyan part of the description always remained. It's not a Saiyan at all, of course, but that's what everyone sees when they look at it in action. It's no different from how we think of gravity as a tug from an imaginary rope, or a depression in the fabric of space. We look at this force and our minds, unable to process it, interpret it as a Saiyan."
"You call it a force, Ernie," Meitnerium Smith said. "A force for what?"
Ford shrugged. "Destruction, maybe. Perhaps she's the universe's expression of violence. Not a 'god' of violence, or anything like that. I mean violence personified, or destruction personified, or whatever. That's why it's impossible to defeat her. She can't lose. She doesn't know how. One might as well ask a tornado to kindly come again another day. No, you're better off seeking shelter and riding out the storm."
***************
[Roy Oganesson, author: Mondo Cool, A Novel.]
"No, it's too abstract," Oganesson said. "A force of nature I can see, but you're taking the soul out of the legend. If it's not a person at all, then what's the point?"
As he rose from his seat, his prosthetic leg whirred and clicked quietly beneath his pant leg. He was seated very close to Uchida, but he insisted on taking the long way around. He limped for most of the way, and those close to him knew that it was due to injuries in his real leg, rather than any malfunction in the mechanical one.
"It's a lovely castle, Mr. Phyper," he said as he took in the scenery. "A bit gloomy for my tastes, and a little too drafty for my joints, but just the setting for a true crime yarn. Now then, where was I?"
He touched Uchida's head, and the image that resulted from their contact showed a Saiyan male, leading a crowd of other Saiyans onward. He pointed triumphantly into the foreground, leaving the destination of their journey for the viewer to speculate.
"I'm just thinking that the reason the Super Saiyan doesn't quite line up with the reputation of other Saiyans is because he's not meant to be like his brothers. Maybe the Saiyans themselves don't realize who he is. It's the same with many visionaries and revolutionaries. The truly special ones often go underappreciated."
He looked to the others. "Now, when I say 'special', I don't mean supernatural, or paranormal, or metaphysical. Maybe that does play into it, but I think there's plenty of room for wonder in mortal beings. Whoever founded the Camelian Empire was special, even if they didn't get raised by wild animals. The woman who invented the superluminous drive was special, even if she didn't predict the Third Hyperspace War like the stories say. The fellow who realized that benzene molecules have a ring structure, he was a genius regardless of whether he actually dreamed of a snake eating its tail. I think the Super Saiyan is cut from the same cloth.
"As far as what he's meant to do, I couldn't say. I don't understand the Saiyan people well enough to even guess at what they need, and they probably don't even know themselves. But I think Luffa's destiny is to meet that need, to give them whatever they've been lacking until now. It might not be a pleasant transaction. They say a starving man has difficulty eating because his stomach isn't used to dealing with food. Babies cry when they're born, and I don't think it's because they're grateful to be free of a womb that met their every need. The Saiyans may not know it's for their own good at first, but one day they'll look back on Luffa and thank him for whatever he's done."
****************
"Enough!" Phyper Notro suddenly shouted. "None of this is telling me anything! I expected some common truth to emerge, but your stories are all completely contradictory! How many different interpretations of one Saiyan can there be?!"
"As many as there are storytellers," Durkshire replied. "You asked us to speculate, and there's plenty of room for that. As a matter of fact, listening to some of the others gave me some new ideas of my own that--"
"Get out!" Notro screamed. "All of you! This was a fool's errand from the start, and I won't indulge it any longer!"
"That's your choice, Mr. Phyper, but my agent was very clear about the terms of our contract, and I'm thinking that goes for the others you invited--"
"Yes, yes," Notro growled. "You'll be paid. I hardly need anyone to explain your motivations to me." He turned to his servant and barked: "Make the arrangements, and see to it they get off this planet as quickly as possible."
The hooded woman suddenly crossed her arms over her chest. "Do it yourself," she said.
Most of Notro's guests paid little attention to her defiance, though a few of the more curious writers slowed down or stopped to watch the drama unfold.
"What did you say to me?!" Notro roared.
"Maybe you have a contract with them," she said, pointing her thumb at the crowd of writers, "but not me."
"You forget your place, lackey!" Notro snarled. He rose from his chair and grabbed her by the face, squeezing the arrogant smirk out of her lips. "The terms of your indenture were very clear, including the penalties for insubordination! But if you need a reminder, I'm more than willing to demonstrate personally.
He raised his other hand to strike her, but before he could bring it down again, he was knocked backward by a force powerful enough to send him tumbling over the table and onto the other side.
By now, the scene had captured the everyone's attention. The writers who hadn't already left now stood transfixed, or circled around for a better vantage.
The servant hadn't moved her arms, but her robes had come apart, and a furry tail now emerged from her cloak. Once Phyper Notro rose to his feet, he spotted it too, and then he saw the woman remove her hood, revealing a head of short, unkempt hair.
"I was waiting for you to give me a turn, Mr. Phyper," she said with a cruel smile. "I didn't need a picture, though. I've already got one."
She ripped the robes off of her body, revealing a black, sleeveless shirt and loose yellow pants. She reached into one of her pants pockets and unrolled a piece of paper, which bore a sketch of a woman with glowing yellow hair.
"Not a bad likeness, huh?" she asked as she showed him the drawing and then pointed to her own face.
"You...!" Notro said as the color drained from his face.
"I get a lot of fan mail," Luffa said. "Sometimes, they draw pictures of me, which was kind of weird to me at first. Some of it doesn't always look much like me, but it's not like I stand around in one place for very long. This one kid sent me a thing where I was dressed in red, and I couldn't figure it out. Then I read the letter attached, and he said my clothes were soaked in 'monster guts', and that was awesome. Kid's probably got a Saiyan or two in his family tree."
"Don't... don't just stand there!" Notro shouted to his guards. "Kill her!"
The guards managed to draw their firearms and advance three steps before Luffa raised her clenched fist, and they were all knocked down by an unseen force.
She approached Notro slowly, as if the altercation with the guards had never even happened. She gestured to the picture in her hand. "Now this one, it didn't stand out much at first, but my friends thought it looked a lot like me. One friend in particular... well, she used to handle all my fan mail before she... before she died. I finally went through some of her things, and I found this. She must have printed out a copy to hang on to."
Notro backed away from the table, but the hall was only so big, and there was only so far he could go.
"I don't normally write back to anybody, but I thought I should say something. Only when I finally sent my reply, I found out Uchida was missing. I made a few calls, and it didn't take me long to figure out that you were behind it. Maybe that's why you were so nervous about me coming after you someday. You probably heard I was asking about you, but you didn't know why."
She circled around the table, kicking over Notro's chair as she passed by, and made her way to Uchida's seat. There, Luffa snapped the chains like they were made of paper.
"Sorry for dragging this out for so long," Luffa said to her. "I had to play it carefully in case he tried to use you as a hostage. Are you okay?"
"Yes," Uchida said. "It's just... you're much shorter than I expected."
"I get that a lot," Luffa said with a laugh. "Listen, are you hungry? I've got some Abajian shark eggs on my ship. Thought I'd make omelets for dinner."
"You cook?" Uchida asked.
Luffa shrugged. "Never tried Abajian ingredients before, so we'll see how it goes. First thing's first, though."
She looked back at Notro, who had picked up a candelabra in a desperate attempt to arm himself.
"I'm shutting you down, Mr. Phyper," Luffa said. "I've seen how you treat your prisoners and your subordinates, and it kind of pisses me off."
"Wait!" Notro said. "You have the girl! Just take her! We don't have to fight--!"
"Now see, that's exactly what Blintz said when he realized he couldn't beat me," Luffa said. She began cracking her knuckles. "But he still gave me a decent workout. I'm thinking your military could amuse me for an hour or so. Either way, by the time I'm finished with your planet, the next Phyper will know better than to go around kidnapping people to get free art."
"That... that's insane!" Notro said. "You came all this way over an old scrap of paper, and now you want to fight a war when you've already won?"
"What's wrong, Mr. Phyper?" Luffa asked. "You said you wanted to know the truth behind the legend."
She tensed up and her entire body glowed with an ethereal yellow flame. Her black hair turned bright gold, and her eyes burned green. Notro felt his knees going weak, and as he dropped to the floor he found that he couldn't look away from Luffa as she glared down at him.
"Well," she said gravely, "now you know."
NEXT: The Jindan Way
#💯#keepin it eight more than 92#dragon ball#fanfiction#lssjluffafic#archeo#phyper notro#fifteen characters i don't feel like tagging#uchida#and of course#super saiyan#luffa
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
disconnected [2]
pairing: sebastian stan x reader [?]
wordcount: 3.2k
warning: language?
a/n: hey guys. i deleted the old fic because i fucked up. so i decided to write a different one. anyways, my tag list is open :>
perm. taglist: @berruneko09 @haha-barnes
disconnected taglist: @vechkinfan @ria132love
[chapter one]
“So, what’s your story?” You asked him when you guys were sitting on the couch, the television providing you both with the background noise
“Oh, business, which is why sometimes I go away for a long period of time.”
“You mean like an executive secretary or something?” He smiled and muttered ‘Something like that.’ Then he turned the question around and asked about you. Not wanting to reveal what you really do in life to a stranger, but you didn’t want to lie either so you said you were a writer. “I write.”
“Like books?” You smiled at him and said yes, you weren’t lying. The lyrics that you write were on those little booklets that’s usually included in a CD. “Was that why you travel around? For inspiration?”
“Not really. The last time I traveled was just to visit my family.” He looked at you with his eyebrows raised, “I was raised here by my grandparents. They took me because my parents wanted them to. We didn’t have much growing up.”
You noticed his sad eyes, as if he knew how that felt. Maybe he did. That’s when it really dawned on you that you don’t know anything about this man in front of you. But even then, you trusted him. It was stupid. “Oh, same for me. I was from Romania, then we moved to Austria then here in New York.“
You were about to ask him about his family but your phone rang. Ryan. “Sorry. My boss. I’m gonna have to take this call.” You excused yourself and went straight to your room. You didn’t want him to hear about the call, it was personal. And regarding your work.
“Hey, so are you back in New York? Because I have some demo I would want you to hear.”
“Hey, yeah. Ryan. Of course. I’m gonna swing by the studio at around 11 am. Just gonna take a shower and head over there alright?”
“Alright, that’s good because we really need to work on this right now.”
“I know, I know. I have some stuff here too. I’ve been writing back home and I want you to look over them see if its any good to be included in the album.”
“Alright. See you.”
You peeked out of your door to see if Sebastian was still sitting on the couch but he wasn’t. He probably left to go to his room. Gathering your clothes and a towel your went to the bathroom. Over the years of rush hours, you managed to figure out the fastest way to take a shower. Wet your whole body. Shampoo, let it sit. Soap (really quickly), brush your teeth and rinse. Your 10 minute shower routine has helped you get the most of your daylight hours.
“You leaving?” Sebastian asked when you stepped out of the bathroom. You nodded at him as you comb your hair, and made sure that a hair tie was on your wrist so that you can tie it up later when it dries.
“Yeah, need to leave for work. I’ll be getting groceries afterwards. I’ll see you later.” He nodded and wished you a safe trip.
The last thing you see before you went out the door was him looking at you, and you can’t help but think that if that’s the face that’ll be waiting for you every single day you’d be singing praises the rest of your damn life.
You thanked the taxi driver but he just glared at you in return. You shook your head, you really haven’t grasped the way people do things here. The bright neon lights welcomed you as soon as you entered the building. “Morning Todd!” You greeted at the security guard. He smiled back and reminded you to check in later since the IDs are gonna be delivered today. They decided to amp up the security around the building because of the incident involving a fan, a fake moustache and a trolley. Just thinking about that day makes you laugh. It was really one of the best things that ever happened here in this building.
The whole day was spent with the four of you just bouncing ideas back and forth. You’ve always liked writing, ever since you were a little kid you’ve always written things your mother would always read it and tell you good job. From then on you’ve always thought you’d be a writer. But you were introduced to music in your high school years and that’s when your goals in life changed.
“So, we’ll start the recordings probably next week we’re gonna work on these songs, you should too. I’ll send you the recordings and you can send me yours.”
You nodded, “Sure. Well, I’ll see you guys tomorrow then?” They waved good bye you were on the way to the elevator when you decided to go back to ask them where the nearest supermarket was. You remembered saying that you’ll do groceries since there’s really nothing that you can cook in the apartment.
Turns out there was a supermarket near the apartment, so you told the taxi driver to take you there. Some people actually recognized you which made your heart flutter. Being recognized means people are hearing about your music and that in itself is a wonderful thing.
But a voice inside your head was warning you that these people might follow you back home because you had that happen to you in your hometown. Your mother had asked you for a grocery store run since you are still her kid and she is still your mother and you had to do everything she asks you to. You thought you were in the clear until someone screamed when they saw you leaving the mall. They demanded to take a picture with you, which of course you were more than happy to do. But they decided to follow you, which really sucked because then you had to go to a hotel and pretend that you were staying there just so you can keep your family’s address a secret.
Not wanting to burden your new “roommate/landlord” you decided to take the taxi and you specifically asked him to circle around the city to make sure no one was following you. Only when you were on the third step on the stairs of the fourth floor did you remember that Sebastian never gave you a key, or his number for you to contact. “Jesus Christ, I fucking hope he’s here.” You muttered under your breath. But luck just wasn’t at your side this week, because after knocking 5 times and you made sure that it was loud enough to be heard by someone inside. No one opened the door. So there you were, stuck outside with the grocery bags. You decided to place it all on the floor and sat down on the same spot where Sebastian slammed a door on you. There was nothing else you could do so you decided to pull out your notebook and write some lyrics, it really didn’t matter if you’re going to sing it or some other artist. All you wanted was to create music, and hearing it come to life? It was the best feeling ever.
You were in the middle of recording a melody when you hear Sebastian go “Oh fuck. I’m so sorry, shit-- Look…” He was going to apologize but you cut him off. “Sebastian, it’s okay. I’m good. It’s my fault, I didn’t tell you what time I was going to come back. And I’m a freeloader here, I really don’t expect you to wait up for me everytime.” He sighed and apologized as he helped you stand up. “How long have you been waiting?” You decided to lie and say you waited for a few minutes when in truth you’ve been there for almost two hours now. “I bought groceries after work. I hope that’s okay.”
Sebastian smiled and handed you the key to the door. You fumbled to get it into the keyhole because you were holding your bag and your notebook so Sebastian took it from you and decided to put it inside your bag. You were about to pick up the grocery bags when you saw that Sebastian was already carrying them with your bagpack on his back. You can’t help but laugh at the sight of him. You’ve only known this man for a day and he makes you laugh like no one ever did. It’s kinda weird how life does that.
“I could’ve helped you. You know.” You told him as he set the bags on the counter in the kitchen. You closed the door and placed his keys on the key bowl near the door. “I can’t let you do that. Go rest up or change clothes. I’ll fix these stuff in the kitchen.” You nodded and took your bag that he placed on the stool. “I’ll be right back.”
While he was busy with fixing the pantry, you decided to change clothes. Then you took your face towel and some facial wash to get the make up off of your face. You never did like the idea of walking around the house with make up on. And even though technically this wasn’t your house, your opinion didn’t change. Sebastian laughed when he saw you running to the bathroom. Even though he has absolutely no idea why you were running.
“What do you want for dinner Seb?” You asked when you got out of the bathroom. Seb was putting the trash bags into one plastic bag. “I’ll leave that to your very capable hands, Y/N.” You stood infront of the fridge for a minute trying to decide whether to cook chicken parmesan or sa tortellini skillet. But since you were getting kinda hungry, you decided to go for the former.
“Damn this is amazing.” Sebastian complimented as soon as he took a bite of the food. You laughed because he was a sloppy eater. Sauce was all over his mouth, the man in front of you was so different from the man you saw earlier. This one wasn’t wearing any mask, this was Sebastian.
“Did you go to work earlier?” you asked, deciding to make a small talk as you handed him some tissue. “Here, you made a mess. Easy there with your food.” He took the tissue and muttered an apology “It’s so good! I can’t help it. But no, I just went out to meet with, uh, my boss and to get a key duplicate.” He then proceeded to fish the key out of his pocket and carefully handed it to you.
“Thank you Seb. It really means alot to me that you haven’t killed me yet.” he laughed and continued to eat. After the both of you finished eating he helped in washing the dishes, he continued to compliment your cooking which gave you an idea. “Hey, if you want I can cook you lunch. Oh, but then it’ll get cold by the time you eat it at work.” But he quickly dismissed that idea and said that there was a microwave at work. “Please, I am so tired of the foot on set. I would want some of your homemade meals.”
“Really?” He either really liked your cooking or it was the only time in a long year that someone had cooked a meal for him. “What time do you leave for work tomorrow?”
“I leave at 11. Need to be there early.”
“By the way, if you have a diet or something just tell me so I can cook accordingly. And I should probably save your number, you know. Just in case.”
“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
The both of you exchanged numbers that night and talked while you sat on the couch watching a t.v series, well more on using the t.v as a background noise while the both of you talked. All the stress from earlier suddenly went away, talking with Sebastian felt like that. You both talked about how shitty work was, his favorite things, and the memories from your childhood. He asked about you country and how it felt like growing up there.
That night the both of you felt free in that apartment. That night you talked about topics you wouldn’t dare talk about with someone else. There was something so beautiful about talking to a stranger without any facade. Without pretense. Without the lies. Except for one.
Four days have passed and you’re still staying at Sebastian’s. It’s 7 in the morning so you decided to cook breakfast, as well as lunch for him. That had been your routine for the past few days. You had to leave early today so you left Sebastian’s food on the table and left a note that his lunch in in the fridge. Today is the release day of your album and everyone is so hyped about this. You have been trending in Twitter for the last 24 hours. You’ve never been happier. This is your 2nd album and you know that you’ve put your heart and soul into this. You just hope that your fans will not be disappointed with the album that you’re gonna be putting out.
The moment you arrived at the studio, everyone that helped make the album possible was there. Waiting for you to click the release button that will make you album instantly available to the world. “You ready kid?” Ryan asked. You smiled and nodded at him, “Let’s do this.” In one click you were live on Spotify and Apple music and the digital album is being downloaded over a thousand times.
In the midst of celebrating, Ryan gave you an envelope. It was an official invitation for a music award show and they wanted you to present an award. “When is this? I’ve been so out of the loop in social media right now you don’t even know--”
“It’s tonight! Surprise! The team is on the way here and you’re gonna get ready and you’ll do great.”
And there goes your evening plans.
The dress you wore was a black long sleeved dress from Dior, that had a slit which showed your legs. After the photo for the press it was the interview next. “Hey, Y/N how does it feel to be back in the spotlight after taking a break?”
You smiled and said hi, “It was great. It feels so surreal, and to be able to present an award is jsut so exciting. I’m actually quite nervous thinking about it.”
“So how was the break? Where did you go? DId you meet any you know, anyone?”
“It was really great. I went home to my parents. You know, and went some time off on social media, but no I did not meet anyone.” You laughed but then your mind suddenly went to the apartment you share with a particular blue eyed man who has a goofy smile.
“Maybe because they’re scared that you might not like them.” You shook your head to get rid of that thought and focused on the interview. ‘I’m sorry what was that?”
“I said, maybe guys are scared because they don’t know your type. What do you look for in a guy?”
You shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess I like someone with pretty eyes? And someone tall because I’m a sucker for forehead kisses. But you know, major thing is I really like someone who likes me.”
The reporter laughed and said “But your fans loves you. Do they have a chance?”
You looked at the camera with a smile, “Yes, every single one of you’s got a chance.”
You thanked the interviewer and then the staff showed you to your table. As soon as you sat down, you felt your phone buzz. It was a text from Sebastian, and you couldn’t help but smile.
>> “It’s kinda sad getting a take out. U got me hooked on your cooking. I hate you.”
<< “I’m sorry. Twas a sudden thing. :((
>> “Its okay. Where are you?
<< Some party we had to attend. What did you order for dinner? Also, I’ll be home late.
>> I got some pizza. Do you have your keys? Or you want me to wait for you?
<< Pizza is not good enough. And yes, I have my keys. You don’t have to stay up late at night. Just gonna go for the after party drink and go home.
>>How will you get home? I don’t remember seeing you with a car.
<< I can take an Uber. Or a cab. Or I can get one of my friends to bring me home.
>> Do you want me to fetch you or something?
<< No Sebby, you don’t have to. Thank you for the offer tho. But really, I’ll be fine.
>>alright, just message me if you change your mind.
The night passed by and you weren’t going to lie. It was really fun. It was so nice to be in a room full of talented people and of them to acknowledge that you are one of them. It was also great to hear about their opinions on your music since they played it during the break. You learned alot of things, and you’re sure to apply those to your life and the way you write your music.
Of course you had to attend the after party, but you didn’t stay long. After a few drinks that made your cheeks flush, you decided it was time for you to go home. Back home, you were greeted by a Sebastian who was sitting on the couch watching TV.
“Hey. You okay? You said you’d be home late?” He asked as he made his way to you.
You looked at him confused, “It’s 11PM.Its late.”
He laughed and you just stared at him, “It not late. Late is 3 AM.” You were about to say something but he cut you off. “You look amazing by the way.”
Despite hearing it the whole night, it felt different when Sebastian said it. It felt real and genuine. Or maybe its because his opinion was the only one that mattered for you. “Thank you.”
He smiled and offered you some pizza, it was the same routine, the both of you on that couch. Talking about nothing and everything. He asked about the party, you tried to give away as little as possible. He also told you stories about his day and his life.
“Have you found an apartment?” he asked out of nowhere. You looked down and scratched you head. “I haven’t yet. It’s kinda hard. But if you want me to move out I will. I can stay wit--”
“I want you to stay.” You stopped your ramblings and looked at him. “I mean, you can stay. You can pay me the rent or something or we can just continue our arrangement of you cooking food.”
“But why?”
“I mean, you’re a nice person. And you’re already here, why don’t you just stay?”
“Are you sure?” you asked him, he smiled and said “Of course. It’ll be fun”
But it wasn’t fun. It was full of heartbreaks. False promises. And pining for someone you can’t have.
#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan imagine#sebastian stan fanfic#disconnected#fanfic#marvel fanfic#bucky barnes#bucky#bucky imagine#bucky barnes x reader#winter:disconnected
55 notes
·
View notes
Text
There’s No Way I’m Falling (Dejan fic) Chapter 2
A/N: in this chapter you get to see more of Dejan’s thoughts! I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 2: Her Favorite Flowers
The next morning Mimi was woken up suddenly by her alarm clock. God how she hated the sound of that thing. While she was tempted to press snooze, she knew she had to get up and shower right now if she was gonna be able to get to work in time. When the warm water of the shower hit her body, she felt as if she washed away all the sins that she committed in her dreams. As she got out, she dried herself and felt fresh as she no longer thought about the endeavors of her dream.
An hour later she got to the office and was confused as she saw a huge flower bouquet on her desk. Stepping closer she saw that there was a card attached to one of the roses.
I just read your article online and I must say you did an amazing job!
I am happy that we got to meet, and hopefully it will happen again soon.
-Dejan
Mimi kept wondering if it was normal for this to happen, nobody else had flowers on their desk. Granted, she was the only woman so maybe that had something to do with it? She shook off the thought and checked her mail to see if her boss had sent her a new assignment.
“I think we are going to let you write more about the Liverpool players” her boss’ voice rang behind her and she looked up from the computer. “You seem to impress” he added with a grin.
“It was just luck… he was very easy to talk to” she stammered.
“well there’s a first time for everything” he said with a chuckle. Upon seeing her confused look, he added “I have never heard anyone classify Dejan Lovren as “easy to talk to””.
She honestly had no idea why that made her feel so warm inside. Her boss must have seen this as he quickly snapped her out of her trance “You’re covering their afternoon training session... make sure to take some good photos, if you can get some interviews that is amazing”. After that, he left and she took the hint and left the office.
She had never been more bored than when watching the team workout, snapping pictures now and then. One thing she had discovered was that the guys weren’t at all as ugly as she had pictured and that male journalists had no respect for a 21 year old woman.
“have you lost your mommy or daddy?” one particularly annoying man in his late 40s asked her as she was trying to get a picture of Mo Salah being his usual, adorable, self.
As she turned around to put the man in place she noticed that the players stopped dead in their tracks. “Leave her alone you freak!” a voice, she recognized all too well from her many dreams that night, shouted out from the field. “She writes better than you!” he added before sending the man a death glare.
She looked over at Dejan and mouthed “thank you” before taking a picture of him. He just flashed that smile that made her weaker in the knees than she would like to admit before going back to training. Mimi couldn’t believe the feelings she had in her stomach right then, she couldn’t actually be falling for a man she barely even knew. No, it was just because he had protected her, there wasn’t anything more to it than that.
Afterwards she steered clear of the Croat and instead interviewed Jordan Henderson instead before leaving for the office to tell her boss about her day. She needed him to know how uncomfortable it was working among men who looked at her as a child and how sweet the players were about everything.
*Dejan’s POV*
He had barely entered the training field on his third training after the world cup and vacation, when he was dragged aside by one of the people who handled their press stuff like interviews and such. “Today you will be interviewed by a young, newly graduated, journalist… do not scare her away!”
He didn’t care much for the warning, but had to admit that it was probably his own fault that they felt like doing it. His mind wandered off about how badass it was that a newly graduated “her” was going to interview him, he already had so much respect for whoever this woman was for stepping into a community filled with conservative males.
Suddenly he had arms wrapped around him from a tight hug from behind. “Hey Mo… You missed me?” he chuckled and grabbed the other man’s arms.
“Yeah the 30 minutes since I last received one of your snaps were killing me!” Mo answered before kissing Dejan’s shaved head. “Nope. Still don’t fancy the hair” he said with a pout and ran away as he knew very well he would be chased.
Dejan tackled the other man and they rolled on the ground for a while, pretending to be wrestling. They quit, however, when some of the other guys started humming to “here comes the bride”. “You’re just jealous that you have no one to love like we love each other!” Dejan ‘defended’ while laughing hysterically. “By the way, do not tell Sime Vrsaljko… He would be way too jealous for me to fix”. That addition made the entire team roar with laughter.
---
After the training he checked his phone to see how much time he had before his interview and noticed a message from Ivan Rakitic. It was a picture of a very beautiful girl, probably one of the most beautiful human beings he had ever seen. After almost drooling over the picture for a while he noticed a message underneath. “My buddy knows this girl and said she asked who you were because she is going to interview you”. His heart literally skipped a beat, that muse of a human being was gonna interview him?! How could he even get a word out to her? It might have been a bad decision, but he decided the best way was to play cocky.
He walked over to where he had been told she would be and in last minute he grabbed Mo to be his sorta wingman. Upon reaching the young journalist he noticed that she was looking at pictures of him… and smiling!? “ooh, that man is very handsome” He couldn’t help himself, he just had to say it.
The woman looked up at them and flashed them, an obviously fake, smile. That was the moment where Dejan realized cocky wasn’t the way to go with this girl.
“Hey, I am Noémie, you must be Dejan” she then said, and oh did that voice and her Spanish accent make him feel things. He couldn’t help but smile a huge smile when she acknowledged him.
“Hey Naomi, yeah that’s me. We should get this over with before my wife comes to pick me up”. Oh fuck, he realized just too late that he had said her name wrong from her trying to hide her frown. AND he had managed to mention his wife..
“Of course, do you want to do it right here or do you prefer somewhere else?” she politely said, but Dejan could tell that she was very offended by the name thing.
He guided her to a more private part of the room and sat down and gestured for her to sit opposite of him. “I prefer to sit here when talking to journalists” he said, once again absolutely beaming. He couldn’t help but smile at the absolute beauty in front of him.
After the interview was over he went to where his wife had said that she’d pick him up and saw her waiting in her car. He dropped his bag in the backseat and got in and looked at her “Sorry I am late, it’s just I had an interview”.
She glared at him back “Do you KNOW what we pay for that therapist!? It’s like you don’t even try”. Now he had wished the interview had lasted longer, because that shit was tense and he was nervous of her beauty but ANYTHING beat a fight about marriage counseling.
He just rolled his eyes and looked at the message from Rakitic while his wife drove the car to the therapist. He even decided to send Ivan a message “Dude, she was so cool.. but I fucked up big time. Can you find out what kind of flowers she likes?”. At least he could send her flowers and pretend it was because he liked the article, well he probably would but anyway.
---
The next morning he woke up all alone in his bed, he was used to that by now since he and Anita had more or less broken up. They really only lived together because of the kids and the fact that both had a wish for this to work out even though they both knew they wouldn’t. She had cheated on him and as much as he pretended everything was okay, that made him terrified of ever loving someone again.
Eventually he checked his phone and noticed that the interview was online. “Dejan is back in town” by Noémie López. Hell, even her name was beautiful. Wait what? No Dejan don’t fall for her! You don’t know her!
He read the article and was amazed by how much research she must have done to even make the thing readable, he sure as hell didn’t help her a lot. Remembering what he had asked Rakitic of the day before he called a florist and got her a bouquet of roses and tulips to send to her office. Why did he want to impress her so badly?
---
When he arrived at the afternoon training he looked up at the press stands. He knew it was stupid to believe she would be there, but a man could dream. Just then he saw her, her hair blowing in the slight wind. He noticed the entire team looking at her and he felt some sort of jealousy when she smiled towards some of the other guys. It was like she didn’t even notice him.
It all changed drastically when one of the asshole journalists decided to talk to her “have you lost your mommy or daddy?”. Dejan felt like he was burning on the inside and he didn’t even notice that everyone stopped around him.
“Leave her alone you freak!” He yelled at the man, making a fist with his hand ready to fight for her. “She writes better than you!” he then stated. At this point Jordan Henderson had to hold him back so he wouldn’t kill the man.
When he calmed down a little he looked up at her again and she mouthed a silent thank you to him, which he responded to with a huge smile that only grew bigger when she took a picture of him.
Later that night he fell asleep, trying to prove to himself that she couldn’t be as great as he pictured her to be.
#dejan lovren#football fanfiction#football fanfic#soccer fanfiction#soccer fanfic#Mo Salah#sime vrsaljko#šime vrsaljko#ivan rakitic
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Out of Necessity
Chapter 1: Do You Have Time For a Riddle?
Summary: Edward is a homeless con man, conning people out of their money using riddles. Jonathan is a student at Gotham City University, where he's studying to be a psychiatrist that specializes in fear. Jon takes in Edward, and together they become two of the most well-known villains throughout Gotham. However, the Batman, who claims to want to help the rogues, starts terrorizing them.
Tags: r*pe/n*n-c*n, Graphic depictions of violence, needles, internalized transphobia, internalized homophobia, (Jon doesn’t r*pe Edward, dw)
Notes: Jon and Edward do not rape or abuse each other. This is the first fic I will have written in over 5 years, and I’m really excited! I hope you guys enjoy!
Read on Ao3
Edward sat up on the mattress in the dingy motel room he’d bought for the night. ‘Disgusting,’ he thought as he climbed off the stained bed. He took a quick shower and got dressed. He made a face at the state of his suit, and wondered if he might make enough money to get some simple repairs. He fussed with his hair and his general appearance for about an hour before deciding he looked good enough and walked out the door into the Gotham streets.
Edward walked through the streets, avoiding the police sirens and alleys as he made his way to his usual spot. He plastered a smile onto his face as he began his usual routine. Edward walked up to someone he’d never seen before. “Well hello there! Got a minute to solve a riddle?”
“A riddle?” The guy questioned with a thick raised eyebrow. “What are we, children?”
Edward suppressed an eye roll at the comment and kept his immaculate smile. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal! You get the riddle wrong, you give me $50. If you get it right, I’ll give you $100!” He offered, studying the guy’s expression.
He smirked. “Alright, kid, sure. I know a good amount of riddles, I doubt you can stump me!”
Bingo. Edward, with a wry grin, said, “riddle me this: What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?”
The guy scoffed smugly. “A towel! Everyone knows that riddle, kid. Now hand over the money!”
Edward gave a bored expression. “Yes, I suppose that is a pretty easy one. How about this. I’ll do a slightly harder one, and up the ante! If you get it right, I’ll give you $200 instead of $100. But if you get it wrong, you have to give me $100 instead of $50!”
Edward had always appreciated cockiness. It was one of the common person’s greatest weaknesses. People were so easy to egg into overestimating themselves. How dull. “Alright,” the guy said with a sneer, “I bet I can solve it.”
“Okay,” Edward spoke, “riddle me this: I can be long, or I can be short. I can be grown, I can be bought. I can be painted, or left bare. I can be round, or I can be square. What am I?” Edward asked the riddle, the words falling out of his mouth with ease. He hated this riddle; it was nonsensical. But he loved seeing others struggle with the nonsensical riddles.
“The fuck kinda bullshit riddle is that?!” The guy sputtered. “I take it back! Gimme my money for the first one!”
Edward wagged his finger. “Ah, ah, ahh, you agreed to the deal! Answer the riddle, or pay up, my friend.”
The man scowled at Edward, his face turning red. “You little weasel!”
“Insulting me won’t get you anywhere, friend! It’s a simple riddle, really. At least simple for me! Just answer!” Edward knew the dangers of egging someone on that was twice his size, especially here in Gotham city, but he knew how to handle himself if the guy happened to try anything. “Do you want me to repeat the riddle?”
The guy frowned, his already ugly mug turning uglier with the action. “Fine, weasel. Repeat it. I bet I can answer!”
Edward repeated the riddle and waited as the guy thought. He counted the minutes. Five minutes and 39 seconds went by before the guy finally sighed. He took $100 out of his wallet and handed it to Edward. “Here. What’s the answer, anyway?”
Edward raised his hand backwards so the guy could see the back of it, and waggled his fingers. “Fingernails!” Edward replied gleefully.
The man rolled his beady eyes and grumbled as he walked away. Edward sighed in relief, knowing he’d be safe for now.
Edward’s day went on much like that. He could almost always pull people into giving him $100. Sometimes, if he was feeling greedy, he’d pull people into giving him $300 or $400. It was easy, especially with people who got cocky. He could tell intelligence pretty quickly, and asked seemingly hard riddles to them. “Alright, this one’s pretty hard, but remember, if you win, I give you $400 and if you lose, you give me $300!”
The teenager, almost Edward’s age, scoffed. “I bet I can get it!”
“I bet you can! Now. A man is sentenced to death. He’s allowed to choose between three rooms. Room number one is filled with fire. Room number two, trained assassins with loaded guns. And room number three, lions who haven’t eaten in years! Which room is the safest?” Edward loved this riddle. It forced the person to think, to take it literally, but it was easy enough to answer. 2 minutes, 41 seconds.
“Oh! If the lions haven’t eaten in years, they’re all dead! The third room is the safest!” The teen proclaimed proudly.
“Very good!” Edward said with a smile. “Do you have the money to risk another $100? I have one more for you!”
“Alright! $400 is my limit though, and I’ll be happy to win $500 off you!”
Edward smirked. “Oh I bet you would.” He thought for a bit, coming up with a new one. “Alright, riddle me this: before mount Everest was discovered, what was the tallest mountain?”
The guy got a confused look on his face. “Uh… Oh man, I swear I learned this in history….” Everyone said that. They had to have learned it at some point, right? Wrong. 7 minutes, 58 seconds. “That’s a dumb riddle anyway! I’m not giving you shit!” The guy said, and started to walk off.
“Oh, that my friend, is a bad idea.” Edward said darkly. His demeanor changed as he followed the guy, and before the guy could process, there was a pressure on his head, and a small click. “I would hand over that money now, unless you want to give me all your money, and no longer be alive to protest.”
The kid was shaking suddenly. “Okay! Okay okay god please don’t hurt me!” The guy took the $400 from his wallet. “Please, man, this is all I have.”
“Oh, I don’t think it is. I think you have more than that.” Edward felt almost bad for cheating the man out of his money, but he had to eat somehow. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal: you give me $500 right now, and walk away scot-free. Or, I could ask another riddle. If you get it right, you only have to pay $200. If you get it wrong, you pay with your life. What’ll it be?”
“I’ll take the riddle!”
“Feeling brave, are we?” Edward patronized. He could see the guy’s eyes looking around, looking for help. He must be fairly new to Gotham. No one ever batted an eye at a gun pointed at someone’s head. You live here long enough, you learn to look the other way so you don’t get yourself killed. “Riddle me this: I am always around, but never seen. I am often avoided, but you can't outrun me. for I will come when you’re old and grey, or maybe even the very next day. I will come with cold embrace, and give you rest with a chilled kiss on your face. I come in many forms of emotional state, weather it's irony, love, laughter, or hate. I am everyone's final fate.”
The guy had tears rolling down his face. He was too panicked to think. “I-I dunno man, I dunno please please!”
Edward sighed. “Fine, here. Follow me.” It was never respectful to murder someone in plain sight. One of the many unspoken rules of Gotham. If you wanted to get away with it, then you always dumped the body in an alley. The guy seemed to relax somewhat despite the fact there was still a gun pointed at his head.
“Wh-what are you gonna do with me?” He asked.
“Don’t ask questions. That’s just something you don’t do here in Gotham.” Edward said, and lead the guy straight into the nearest alley. “Now. You wanna take another crack at it?” He asked. He was being merciful, for him.
“What was the riddle again?”
Edward repeated the riddle with immaculate grace, as he always did.
“Uhh… Uh… s-sleep?” The guy guessed pathetically.
Edward laughed darkly, and simply said, “wrong answer.”
Edward walked out of the alley with a bright smile, and $860 in his hands. “The little liar. Saying $400 was all he had.” He mumbled to himself as he put the money in his pocket and inspected himself for blood. He tried to keep clean as well as he could while living on the streets, and today was no different. As he walked down the street looking for a new victim, his eyes settled on a person no older than 5 years above him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive by any means, but the way he held himself fascinated Edward. He held himself with a quiet confidence that wouldn’t draw the eye, but gave off a certain air to those who cared to look.
Edward walked up to the man with a bright smile. “Want to try to solve a riddle?” He asked. The man looked up at Edward through grey-blue eyes. They held no light, no emotion, but they held intelligence like no other. His tall, thin frame caused him to tower over Edward, almost in an intimidating fashion. Edward could tell he was no one to be crossed, and only hoped this went well.
“Me?” The guy asked, looking around.
“Yes, you! Here’s the game: answer my riddle correctly, and I give you $100! Answer it wrong, and you give me $50!”
The guy considered Edward under his unique gaze. Edward would have to be careful with the riddles he chose. “Fine.” He said simply.
“Alright, let’s start easy! Two ladies sit down for lunch, and order iced teas. One lady drinks 5 while waiting for their food, while the other drinks one. The girl who drank one dies, while the girl who drank 5 doesn’t. Both drinks were poisoned.”
“The poison was in the ice.” The man answered. His voice held only the slightest hints of a southern accent. Georgia maybe?
Either way, he was every as bit as intelligent as Edward thought. “Very good!” He said. “Usually people get that one wrong, though most people are dull, and judging by the sheer amount of text books in your arms, you seem to be much less so.” He babbled. The guy raised his eyebrow at Edward, but before he could respond, Edward continued to speak. “So let’s up the ante, shall we? Answer my next riddle right, I’ll give you $200! Answer it wrong, you give me $100.”
“You’d better not be playin’ games with me.” He warned.
“No games. I give my lost money, fair and square.” Edward promised. The guy regarded him warily, but nodded. “Alright, riddle me this: I can be long, or I can be short. I can be grown, I can be bought. I can be painted, or left bare. I can be round, or I can be square. What am I?” Edward counted the seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4-
“Fingernails.” The man answered correctly. Edward was miffed.
“Not even five seconds? Really?” He spat.
“Were you really counting?” The man drawled.
Edward scoffed. “Fine! Try this one on for size! What do these words have in common: madam, civic, eye, level?” 1 second.
“They all begin and end with the same letter.” Edward could see the inquisitive look in the man’s eye. It’s the same look Edward gave others when they actually managed to interest him. He gave the same look to this very man just moments ago, but now his look was nothing but a glare.
“Forward I am heavy, backward I am not.” Edward shot.
“Ton. Forward it’s a ton, backwards it’s not.” The man shot back.
“What type of dress can never be worn?”
“Address.”
“In a green house there’s a white house, in the white house there’s a red house filled with little babies.”
“Watermelon.”
Edward let out a frustrated snarl. “Fine! I give in!” He snapped, and started to dig the $200.
As he pulled it out, a long, spindly hand came to push his hand back towards his chest. “Just your luck, I don’t take money from the homeless. Even if they can afford it.” The man said calmly, and started to walk off.
“How the hell would you know if I had a home?!” Edward called after him.
The man didn’t even turn around as he replied, “now riddle me that,” and kept walking.
The encounter left Edward dazed for the rest of the day. He was distracted, and his riddles were subpar, causing him to lose about $300 of what he’d made throughout the day. He couldn’t stop thinking about that man. His eyes that held no emotion, no regard for any human being around him, but intelligence that could match up to Edward’s well. Not that Edward would ever see him again. He never conned the same man twice.
The rest of the week, however, went without a hitch, and Edward was able to keep himself in hotel rooms and even pay for good repairs on his suit. But one thing dangled at the back of his mind. That student, who probably went to Gotham University. With his thick books, his subtle accent, and his intelligence. He had to admit he found the stranger attractive.
As Edward prepared himself for the day, he considered something. He considered going back to the spot where he’d first met the man, and seeing if he might run into him again. He considered how stalkerish he might seem to the stranger. He also considered what might happen. This man could get annoyed with him, or worse. Gotham wasn’t home to the friendliest of folks, and people with such little regard for others tended to be more dangerous. Trying to interact with this man more than once might be a mistake. But Edward was oh, so curious; and as always, Edward’s curiosity had to be satisfied.
So, he went about his day, conning people out of money, was unlucky enough to actually get jumped, but he got away with his life and a need to buy more bullets for his gun. Luckily, he’d come into a lot more money than he expected from the altercation.
Edward went to a nearby restaurant to clean up his face and suit. He always carried a bloodstain kit on him at all times. Peroxide, and a rag or two to get it all out. They were only small drops of blood, nothing too big. He looked at himself in the mirror as he finished, just to reassess the damage. His right eye, the green one, was swollen and black, but not swollen shut. His blue eye was fine, however. His lip was split, and upon looking down further, he could see a few bruises on his torso peeking out from under his binder, thanks to being kicked.
Edward sighed as he finished his process and put his outfit back on. He would definitely be feeling his ribs for the next couple weeks, and hoped he wouldn’t have to break out the sports bra. He had just turned to leave as the door swung open, and his mismatched eyes met steely blue ones. He noticed there were brown flecks throughout the irises, and he found himself mesmerized. Suddenly, Edward became fully aware that he was staring, and offered a smile. “Well if it isn’t the intelligent student. Riddle me this: what is yours, but others use it more than you do?” He asked. He didn’t even have to count before the man answered.
“Your name. You didn’t actually think that one a challenge after yesterday, did you?” The man asked, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
“Of course not! I figured a simple one to break the ice, and you got it correct! The answer is your name, which I seem to have failed to get last time we met.”
The man hummed, and walked past him to the urinal, causing Edward to turn away in embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to using the men’s restroom and seeing those urinals. “I have no interest in giving it.” The man answered finally as he stepped back and came to the sinks to wash his hands.
“None at all? Mine is Edward, Edward Nygma.” Edward introduced.
“I never asked,” the man said, “and me having yours does not incline me to give away mine. Now excuse me, I’m late for a class,” and with that, he walked out the door.
Edward was happy to sit and sulk, until he spotted a textbook on the counter. Advanced Social Psychology. That was all Edward needed to know to go bolting out of the restaurant. He took a minute to look around, and was grateful for how tall the man was above the crowd. No less that 6’3”. Edward took off and soon fell in stride with the man. “I have lots to say, but never speak. I open, but you can’t walk through me. I have a spine, but no bones. What am I?”
Edward could feel the irritation radiating off the man. “Do you intend to stalk me until you run out of riddles? The answer is a book- wait.” Edward smiled smugly and offered the book in the man’s direction. The man tried to take it, but Edward swiped it back at the last second with a smirk.
“Tell me your name.” He said simply.
“I am late for class. Give me the book and leave me alone.” The man demanded.
“Just tell me your name, and you can be on your merry way!” Edward retorted brightly. He soon regretted it as the man turned and deliberately towered over him. He was grabbed by his tie and yanked forward as the man leaned down towards him.
“You will regret it if you do not hand over my damn book. My name is none of your concern.” The man demanded. Edward couldn’t answer. He was frozen in fear. It’s what always happened before he got jumped. It was why they were always able to land hits. All Edward could think about was how dreadful it would be to have it happen twice in a day. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for a blow, but all he got was a tug at the book in his hands, and then the man was walking the other way.
Edward felt breathless as the man walked away with his book. The man had sounded exactly like his father. His tone, his threats, the way he intentionally made Edward feel very, very small… But he didn’t hit him. No one had ever passed up a chance to hit him like that. Edward was intrigued. This man was a riddle, and like all other riddles, he wanted to solve it.
#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#writing#chatper 1#dc#dc fanfic#dc fanfiction#dceu#dceu fanfiction#edward nygma#jonthan crane#the riddler#the scarecrow#riddler#scarecrow#scriddler#my writing
38 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
crypticstimz
sensory pocket dimension
artisticspacebuns
oh Yea Baby Its Happening
catscardigan
Sooz. Melbourne. Fangirl
camoooh
utter chaos
mysterious-pink-lion
You Are Made of Love