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reyescarlos · 3 years

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all through the night || a tarlos fic

❄️ @911giftexchange fic for @buckieys ❄️

happy holidays, sy! i'm wishing you a wonderful and prosperous new year. i hope this fic helps to usher in 2021 right!

word count: 5.2k || read on ao3

All through the night I'll be awake and I'll be with you All through the night This precious time when time is new

When Carlos envisioned winter in New York, his elaborate fantasies had somehow managed to eclipse the reality of what it might actually entail. He had enjoyed his brief stay, taking in the window displays along Fifth Avenue. It had long since been something he wanted to see for himself and the storefronts had more than delivered. But on the flipside of such a picturesque scene has come the downside of what heavy amounts of snow could mean.

It’s why he finds himself now planted in a too hard seat at JFK Airport, wondering how he’ll possibly fill his time now that his flight has been delayed until morning. Outside the blizzard rages on with no real end in sight and Carlos mulls over the merits of his decision to leave Texas in the New Year and make this city his home. This is a far cry from Austin. He’d once thought winter temperatures there could be bad but it’s been nothing compared to the arctic blast in the North.

He tries to keep busy with a book but his attention is split between the words before him and the cute guy across from him frantically digging inside his backpack, a phone teetering dangerously on his knee.

“God, where is that stupid thing,” the man mumbles to himself. “Come on charger, where are you?”

Carlos looks away, burying his head in his book to hide the smile that breaks out on his face. The guy is obviously peeved but Carlos can’t help but to find his muttering endearing. After another moment of fruitless searching on the stranger’s end, Carlos takes mercy on him.

“Here, you can borrow mine,” he says, unzipping his own backpack and fishing out his charger.

The man sighs in relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he replies, reaching over and taking the cord from Carlos.

He settles back and plugs it into the wall, the screen lighting up a moment later. Carlos smiles politely and gets back to reading, only to be interrupted.

“So, I take it you’re heading down to visit family before the new year comes, huh?” the stranger says.

Carlos looks up from his book, head tilting slightly. It hadn’t been expecting the man to strike up a conversation.

“Sorry, awkward small talk. I’ll let you get back to it,” he says, face scrunching as he gestures to the book in Carlos’ hands.

Carlos waves him off, bookmarking his page and closing it.

“No worries. We’re here all night so...plenty of time for that.” He licks his lips and drums his fingers against the front. “To answer your question though, no. Austin is actually my home so I’m just heading back.”

“Oh, cool. I’m going to see my dad. I thought he’d want to do the whole white Christmas, New York for the New Year thing but ever since he moved down to Austin last year, I think he’s gotten spoiled by the warmer weather.”

The man looks out of the window where the snow is swirling so heavily it’s hard to even see the sky or planes sitting idly on the tarmac.

“Guess I can’t exactly blame him.”

Carlos laughs. “It’s disgustingly cold here and all of that,” he says, gesturing to the storm, “doesn’t help. I don’t know how you guys manage.”

“You get used to it. I’ve only ever grown up with it so while I like to complain about the snow at times, I can’t picture this time of year without it. It’s been a few years since it’s been this bad though, I’ll admit.”

Carlos smiles a bit, looking out of the window briefly. “This is actually my first time experiencing snow. And the city was gracious enough to give me a blizzard to commemorate.”

The man smiles at this thoughtfully. He sits up, stretching his hand out across the aisle towards Carlos.

“I’m TK, by the way.”

Carlos touches his fingertips to his forehead before shaking TK’s hand.

“God, my mother would be so ashamed of my manners right now,” he laughs. “I’m Carlos. It’s nice to meet you.”

He lets go, his palm feeling extremely warm from TK’s touch. TK smiles at him, a slow grin that ultimately reveals his teeth. This man is very good looking, there’s no denying that. He’s got an easy way about him that makes Carlos feel comfortable in his presence as if they’re old friends catching up and not perfectly good strangers meeting for the first time.

TK’s phone buzzes, stealing his attention and Carlos is all too grateful for it. TK types something on the device for a few seconds before pausing.

“Sorry, excuse me for a second,” he says, putting his phone to his ear.

Carlos nods and gestures for him to go for it.

“Hey, Dad. I—,” TK starts out but stops short as his father speaks. “I bet it’s all over the news but I’m alright. Not looking forward to being stuck here overnight but,” he continues, his eyes landing on Carlos and away so quickly Carlos is sure he’s imagined it. “I guess there are worse ways to be trapped for a few hours.”

Carlos looks away then, cracking open his book again to keep himself occupied while TK chats with his father. He tries not to dwell heavily on TK’s look or what the implications of that glance could mean. It could’ve been a coincidence and nothing more. All the same, it doesn’t make his heart race any less to think that TK feels a spark too.

TK ends the call with a sigh, stretching out his legs before bouncing one of them. The gesture is distracting but endearing. For the second time, Carlos closes his book, this time putting it back into his bag for good as TK speaks to him again.

“Are you hungry? I could go for a bite.”

“I could eat,” Carlos says. He rises from his seat as TK does, both men dragging their carry-ons along with them.

They follow the winding path down from their gate, Carlos taking notice of all the fellow flyers now forced to wait out the storm. Some have taken to stretching out on the ground, laying on top of jackets like makeshift sleeping bags, others keeping busy with phones and tablets, hunched over in chairs.

Carlos isn’t looking forward to the uncomfortable sleep he’ll have tonight but as he looks over at TK, he wonders just how much rest he’ll actually manage to get. The guy is already proving himself to be a good way to pass the time and Carlos can’t say he wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to keep chatting with him.

As they approach the cluster of food stands, TK groans and it’s easy to see why. Many of the shops are already closed, no doubt the employees hurrying home before the worst of the storm kicked in. All that’s available now is Cinnabon but Carlos supposes that can suffice as dinner.

TK orders a hot chocolate and a classic roll while Carlos opts for a cold brew in addition to a roll as well. TK eyes the drink with raised brows.

“I’m fully committing to the cause of being awake until we board, apparently,” Carlos muses, pushing his straw through the lid and taking a sip. “Worth it.”

The two head to a nearby empty table, settling into their elevated seats before unloading their food. The scent coming off the baked goods is incredible and Carlos’ stomach suddenly feels desperate for a bite.

“So, Carlos, since we’ve nominated each other for the buddy system while we wait this storm out,” he jokes, “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Carlos drums his fingers on the tabletop as he tries to decide what to share.

“Well, you already know that Austin is where I’m from but the whole reason I’m even here now is because I’m going to be moving to New York soon. I’ll be transferring next month.”

TK’s brows raise. “Seriously? That’s awesome. Do you mind if I ask what you do?”

“I’m a police officer. I’ve been with the Austin Police Department for a few years but I’ve been considering leaving Texas for a little while now and I’ve been exploring my options. For some reason my mind kept coming back to the idea of New York and I figured I should just take the chance and see what happens.”

TK laughs and shakes his head. “Oh man, well, we have something in common, more or less. I’m with the NYFD myself.”

Carlos holds up a hand. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re a firefighter?” he laughs.

TK puffs out his chest jokingly and nods with a grin on his face. “That’s right. Ladder 252.”

Carlos does his best to push the image of TK in uniform from mind but the picture is an appealing one. He can see it so clearly, the way he’d look in suspenders, not to mention full gear. It’s almost unfair just how much hotter the man becomes as if Carlos hasn’t spent this whole time finding him attractive. He picks up his drink again for something to do with his hands, swirling the straw inside of the cup.

“Small world. Outside of my own little bubble, I can’t say I casually meet many people who are first responders. We seem to be a pretty special breed to get into this line of work.”

TK laughs. “I fell into this because of my dad. He’s been a firefighter for years. He, uh, actually was on site during 9/11. I always thought he was incredible but knowing the full scope of what he and so many others did that day and for people in times of crisis, big and small in general, it just made me want to be like him.”

Carlos frowns, unsure of what to even say or think. “Your dad’s a hero.”

“I like to think so.” TK draws in a breath, squaring his shoulders. “Anyway, now he’s kicking ass down in Texas so, even though I miss him as my captain, I know he’s doing great work with his crew down there.”

Curiosity gets the better of Carlos as he asks, “What station is he with?”

“The 126,” TK replies, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

Carlos’ eyes widen. “Captain Owen Strand is your father?”

It makes sense the longer he looks at TK. Captain Strand is an attractive older guy and TK clearly got handed some solid genes. Still, it throws him for a loop to realize they have a legitimate connection to each other.

TK tilts his head to the side. “You know him? Shit, okay, wow, small world just got a whole hell of a lot smaller.”

“Unbelievable,” Carlos laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know him that well but we work together sometimes on calls. He’s amazing in the field and he’s really turned that station around.”

TK practically beams. “Guess this means we’ll be seeing each other again soon once we finally make it to Austin then.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess so. Assuming you don’t get sick of me before this night is through, that is.”

TK holds Carlos’ gaze for a moment and if it were anyone else, it would be unnerving but something in TK’s stare just sends a thrill through Carlos, excites him in a way no stranger has ever really gotten under his skin.

“I don’t see that happening,” he says plainly, as if this is an irrefutable fact and not something that’s truly subject to change.

Carlos doesn’t argue the point. He merely enjoys the next few hours, seeing just how easily TK’s theory pans out.

~*~*~

The contrast in weather between New York and Austin is one of the first things Carlos’ remarks on as he steps outside of Austin-Bergstrom. He’s never been more grateful for a forty degree afternoon. He’s kept Michelle updated about his new set time and he waits patiently outside of arrivals. Beside him now, TK types out a message on his phone before smiling over at him.

Carlos has had hours to get used to that look on TK’s face and yet he’s still brought up short. Last night and the early morning hours were spent talking to TK about everything imaginable, trading stories about crazy calls they’ve been on and even touching on personal things like their families. When they grew tired of talking, they watched movies on TK’s laptop, fighting off the urge to sleep for the mere sake of hanging out.

It isn’t rare for Carlos to become friendly with a person but this connection to TK feels different in a way he can’t quite parse.

By the time their flight boarded, Carlos knocked out for the entire length of the trip but it had been worth it in his eyes to stay up and take advantage of the uninterrupted time that stretched before him with TK. It was safe to say a bit of a crush had formed, as absurd as Carlos felt for it. TK was going to be in town for the next few days and that prospect was both thrilling and terrifying. If he could feel this close to TK in one night, there’s no telling what could happen in a few days.

Before he can get lost in that thought, Carlos sees Michelle as she pulls up to the curb, the trunk popping open.

“Are you good out here?”

“My dad’s coming in just a minute. I’ll be just fine,” TK muses as Carlos puts his carry-on inside and slams the trunk shut.

“Alright, well. You have my number now so text me whenever you’re free. I’ll show you a few places while you’re here.”

Carlos extends his hand but TK rolls his eyes jokingly and pulls him into a half hug instead.

“We’ve spent the night together, Carlos. I think we’re past handshakes now.”

Carlos’ face burns with TK’s wording but the man merely laughs.

“See you soon?”

Carlos just nods and finds the wherewithal to get inside of Michelle’s car. He waves after he buckles himself in, TK lifting a hand in response.

“Okay, who is that?” Michelle asks immediately, head turned to take in the sight of TK.

Carlos tips his head back against the seat. “You won’t believe the night I’ve had.”

~*~*~

Carlos has spent two days showing TK some of his favorite stomping grounds. TK relished in all that Austin had to offer and Carlos has been happy to see that their closeness from the unexpected overnight at the airport hadn’t been a fluke. If anything, these outings have only made Carlos feel closer to TK.

Michelle has been relentless in her teasing, finding it all too amusing that Carlos managed to cross paths with Captain Strand’s son of all people. She’d clung to his every word during the ride home from the airport as he filled her in on how he waited out the storm.

The 126 meets at their usual bar and Carlos is glad for this post-work gathering. It’s the perfect time to show TK what a real honky-tonk is like, further immersing him in the culture of the state his father now resides.

TK sits next to him at the table, the large group so packed in that his leg presses against Carlos’. It’s light but it’s enough to make the point of contact all Carlos can focus on even as everyone else at the table engages in conversations that overlap, laughing amongst themselves. He does his best to ignore it but it’s difficult not to take notice of each shift TK makes. Michelle keeps looking at him and Carlos, to the best of his abilities, avoids her gaze knowing that it’ll make it just that much more difficult to act as if he isn’t freaking out internally.

“I’m gonna get another. You want anything?” Carlos asks TK.

TK shakes his head. “No, I’m alright but thank you though.”

Carlos nods once and gets up, finding it much easier to breathe already now that he’s no longer sitting beside TK. Michelle catches his eye as he leaves from the table and he can hear her shoes as she follows behind him to the bar. She rests against the counter facing the room at large as Carlos gets the attention of the bartender and asks for another beer.

“You sure know how to pick them,” Michelle laughs at his side.

“Chelle,” he groans, shaking his head.

She merely laughs again, bumping her hip against his. “When did your life become a romantic comedy?”

“I must’ve missed the memo myself because this sure snuck up on me.”

The bartender sets a bottle down in front of him but Carlos doesn’t move. This little reprieve away from everyone but Michelle right now is welcome.

“I like him. He’s nice. Really cute too.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed?” he deadpans, looking over his shoulder at TK.

He looks so at home here, hanging out and laughing with these people he’s, up until now, only known secondhand from his father’s work stories. TK is personable as ever, Carlos knows all too well. Had he not been swept away after one night in the man’s company?

“I think this is so great.”

“Funny, I think it’s the universe trying to mess with me.”

Michelle scoffs, finally turning to face the bar like him. “There are worse things in the world than a seemingly perfect guy practically falling into your lap. We should all be so lucky.”

Carlos casts the mental image aside, taking a sip of his drink. “The timing though. I can’t think about guys right now. I need to be figuring out my next set of moves for New York.”

“If those plans just so happen to include an attractive new friend…,” she trails off with a grin.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to screw this up because yeah, he is a new friend and we get along well, it’s a good feeling.”

“Do you like him?”

Carlos falters. “I barely even know the guy.”

“That’s not even remotely close to what I asked you.”

Carlos scratches at his forehead before letting out a sigh. “I do. Which hardly makes any sense at all. It’s only been a few days and yet I can’t stop thinking about him. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

Michelle shakes her head. “No, actually. I don’t think so. You guys had such a cute introduction to each other and you clearly hit it off. Some people just click and are meant to meet. The fact that you two had a connection to each other beforehand without even knowing it? I think there’s something to be said for that.”

“What, you think it’s fate or something?”

Michelle shrugs. “I wouldn’t rule it out. Your flight could have been a day earlier or even a few hours before his. On a plane filled with hundreds, you connected with him, Captain Strand’s son who just so happens to live in the city you’re about to move to. I think it’s worth seeing just how far it could go. If you ask me, you’ll wind up with a boyfriend in no time.”

Carlos mulls it over for a moment. He can admit he is in fact curious. It’s been a while since he’s felt this drawn to someone and with TK, it’s been as natural as breathing since they first met. The timing is less than ideal but it’s been so long since Carlos has felt this urge to get close to someone, since he’s felt safe enough to even open his mind and heart up to the possibility.

“Maybe you’re onto something.”

“One of these days you’ll learn to just accept my brilliance, no questions asked. But this will do for now.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but drapes an arm over her shoulder, pulling her into his side and kissing her temple.

“I’m going moments like this with you,” he says.

Michelle sighs and pats his back. “I will too but we still have time on the clock, right? Let’s not think about that now.”

Carlos sighs, knowing she’s right. It just feels as if these moments are slipping through his fingers, the new year and all its changes lurking just around the corner.

~*~*~

As customary, the Ryder house is the staple for parties among the team and New Year’s Eve is no different. Carlos has lost track of how many times he’s sat on their couch or been treated for Grace’s incredible home-cooking. It’s always been a source of comfort for him, being surrounded by these colleagues who have become an extended family to him.

This time next year, he’ll be in another time zone, familiarized with a new group of people. Carlos knows he’s jumping the gun. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll be able to visit back home and that this collection of people will still love him as they do now.

Carlos looks around the living room, taking stock: Marjan blowing into a noise maker in Mateo’s face and bursting into laughter, Paul shaking his head and dropping his face into his palm. Over by the kitchen he sees Grace and Judd swaying to the music playing as Captain Strand takes Michelle’s hand and begins dancing alongside the other couple. It warms Carlos’ heart and breaks it too, seeing this all for what will be the last time with this city being home.

Suddenly the room feels too small and he finds himself heading for the door, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack. It’s cold out but Carlos remembers just how bitter the weather in New York was. This is nothing compared to that. And it’s this thought that twists at his heart a bit more, one more reminder of how much his life is set to change sooner than he thinks he’s ready for.

The new year is biting at his heels and time is just slipping by. Logically he knows that he shouldn’t be outside now, that he would be wise to savor these memories with his Austin crew while they’re here rather than lament later. But it all feels like too much and the last thing he wants is to let his pensive mood be a dark cloud over a celebratory and joyous time.

Carlos keeps walking until he reaches the park nearby the Ryder household. Naturally it’s abandoned as everyone is tucked away inside their homes either enjoying a quiet night in or throwing parties like the Ryders. Carlos draws in a breath and takes a seat on one of the swings, his fingers clutching on to the links. He quickly stands up the second he hears footsteps approaching, a figure walking towards him.

“It’s just me,” comes TK’s voice and sure enough the man’s features come into focus the closer he gets until he’s settling into the swing beside Carlos.

“I saw you take off. I just wanted to check that you were okay.”

Carlos smiles a bit. “I appreciate it. I’m okay. I’m just...thinking about a lot right now.”

TK sways on his swing, letting a comfortable silence fall between them before he speaks.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Carlos’ heart and thoughts feel so heavy now, such a contrast to how lighthearted and hopeful this holiday is meant to be. But TK looks at him with such genuine care that he finds himself almost desperate to unburden himself a bit.

“Sometimes I wish I could just stop time, you know? But hell, it’s New Year’s Eve. What more proof do I need that life is always moving forward?”

Carlos sighs and rocks slightly back and forth.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a downer. You should head on back inside, have fun with the others.”

TK is silent beside him, long enough for Carlos to pull his gaze toward the other man. TK is eyeing him thoughtfully.

“You’re scared about what comes next. That’s totally normal. Moving away, starting a new life somewhere else, it’s a big step. A huge change.”

Carlos frowns as he nods. “I wish I could see the end, you know? I wish I could see if it’s all worth it, that I’m making the right choice.”

TK hums in thought. “Well, the best way out is through, right?”

“So you don’t think it’s a mistake to move out to New York?”

TK shrugs. “I don’t know you well enough to say one way or the other for sure. But no, I don’t think it is. I think the fact that you’re even considering it at all should tell you something about how you feel about where you are now.”

Carlos grows quiet, considering the man’s words. But TK isn’t done dishing out his opinion.

“You’ve got an amazing team here, there’s no denying that. It’s a real family, not to mention your actual family is here too. But—and mind you I’m super biased here— New York is an amazing place to be, to live. If you’re feeling restless in Austin, I think New York is the perfect alternative.”

Carlos laughs at this. “So, so biased,” he muses.

TK jokingly puffs up his chest. “Hey, it’s not my fault people have written songs about it and flock to it from all corners of the world,” he jokes. “And all of them, like you would, find home.”

A soft sigh escapes Carlos’ lips as he grips the chain link of the swing.

“That does actually sound pretty nice. I’d miss everyone here like crazy but maybe it’s time for something new? I don’t know. I keep waiting for something extraordinary to happen but nothing ever really changes around here. And there’s nothing wrong with that, of course. I just—“

“You’ve outgrown it,” TK says simply. “And there’s nothing wrong with that either.”

Carlos smiles at him and nods. “I suppose not, no.”

“At least you’ll come to the city knowing someone; you won’t be alone or completely starting from scratch.”

“You? You would take that on?”

TK rolls his eyes. “Of course me. You think I’d leave you high and dry? Damn, I know New Yorkers have a bit of a rep but jeez,” he teases.

Carlos laughs. “I only meant...you barely even know me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe so but I’d like to get to know you better. And if we’re gonna be calling the same city home, it’s kind of perfect. You get a new job, a new city, a new friend. Pretty sweet package, if you ask me.”

“You’ll be my tour guide then? You can take me to all the hot spots, Central Park and Times Square for starters.”

TK shakes his head in dismay. “God, Times Square,” he groans. “Hell on earth but sure, just for you I’d make the exception.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos says, placing a hand over his heart.

“As you should be. There aren’t many reasons I’d willingly go there so you should be patting yourself on the back right now.”

Carlos raises a brow. “But you’re thinking I’d be worth it?”

TK’s face grows serious. “In a lot of ways I’m thinking you would be, yes.”

Carlos' face flushes a bit and he looks away, down at his feet as he begins to kick out in earnest to start swinging.

Not for the first time since meeting TK he isn’t sure if there’s more to his words just below the surface, if he’s flirting or just being naturally charismatic. It shouldn’t matter either way, Carlos tells himself. Starting up a new relationship when so much in his life is already about to change doesn’t seem smart.

And yet it’s difficult to bear that in mind when he looks over and sees that TK is still watching him. The man smiles softly and follows Carlos' lead, swinging a bit.

In the distance Carlos can hear the rise in voices from houses where everyone is celebrating, just waiting to usher in the new year.

“One minute to go,” TK says, looking at the time on his watch and digging his feet into the ground to stop himself.

Carlos keeps going, breathing in the last dregs of this year before it’s gone with the tick of the clock. He looks up at the pinpricks of stars above, almost glistening in the clear sky. He closes his eyes, soaks in the moment, the last few seconds of this year winding down.

The New Years party goers can be heard shouting their countdown and beside him, TK joins in quietly as well.

Carlos opens his eyes once more and holds his breath as he upward, counting down the last few seconds in his head. This year is going, going...

Gone.

He exhales as shouts from the neighboring houses rent the air. He stops swinging then, digging his feet into the hard earth beneath him as he looks over at TK. Beside him the man’s face is flushed, the tip of his nose pink from the cold but his gaze is unrelenting as he leans forward.

Carlos’ body seems to move on its own accord, closing the distance between them as well. He doesn’t think about anything other than what TK’s lips will feel like and before he realizes it, he’s getting his answer.

It’s a chaste kiss, truly just a meeting of mouths in a gentle press but it warms Carlos from the center all the way through his entire body. TK’s lips are soft and warm despite the cold.

“Happy New Year, Carlos,” TK says softly.

Carlos doesn’t have the slightest clue of what the road ahead will look like exactly but it’s enough to know that in some capacity, TK is going to be a part of it. Be it as a friend or something more, it makes Carlos hopeful to see how life will unfold, what other surprises it may have in store.

Carlos stares at him for a moment and it seems as if TK and the whole world is holding its breath as they sit in silence together. This feeling in his chest is so unlike anything Carlos has experienced before. He likes to think things through, to anticipate at least three steps ahead but his future is such a blank slate that it’s truly anyone’s guess as to what will happen next. All he can do is control this present moment and as Carlos sees it, kissing TK is the only thing on his agenda for right now.

He leans in again and kisses the man once more, deeply this time, hand cradling the back of TK’s neck.

Maybe this is risky, maybe this will only complicate his life further when he settles in New York and has to figure out what this all means. But in this moment, that all feels like a lifetime away, a page from a chapter that hasn’t been written yet. There’s only the here and now with this beautiful man that fills him with possibilities.

63 notes · View notes

rhetoricalrogue · 4 years

Text

Making a House a Home

I got hit with one of those ideas that come to you in the middle of the night. What if the detective decided to move from their default apartment into different places around Wayhaven? What would their love interests think? Slight end of book 2 spoilers for Zoe’s ficlet.

Ava and Lucas

“It’s too exposed.”

“It’s a modern loft, it’s supposed to be exposed.”

She ran her fingers over one of the many windows, her mouth set in a frown. “There’s a huge security threat downstairs. You never know who is coming or going at any point in the day.”

Lucas nodded. “One of the reasons I picked this spot. Plus, a coffee house that’s open almost 24 hours right downstairs and a gym that is open all day directly next door? Ava, this spot was practically made for me.”

Her frown lightened as she made her way through the empty apartment. There wasn’t much of a kitchen, but what was there was made out of updated equipment. She could already see him using the concrete countertops to prep his weekly meals. He was fond of entertaining, and the open area that made up the living room was large enough to comfortably host gatherings.

Climbing the stairs, she looked at the bedroom critically. There were massive closets on either side of a door leading to a spacious master bathroom that she had no doubt would fit his entire wardrobe and then some.

A singular thought occurred to her that there would be plenty of room for her here as well, if she wanted it.

“What do you think?” He asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, his chin at her shoulder.

“The security concerns are going to need looking at,” she started, softly leaning back until his chest was pressed against her back.

“But…?”

She made a hrmphing noise. “It’s suitable. There’s a nice view.”

She could feel him smile against her cheek. “I like the view from here too.”

Adam and Aubrey

“Your commute to and from work should be shorter than it normally is.” Adam commented, standing at the window in the living room. He could see the police station a half block away, quiet and closed off on a Saturday afternoon.

“It means that I’ll be able to get a good extra ten minutes of sleep in, plus maybe come home to grab lunch if I don’t feel like eating in the office,” Aubrey replied, walking around with a measuring tape in hand, already mentally deciding where her belongings would go in this new little townhouse.

The garish pink walls would have to be painted over first thing. Judging by the way Adam had squinted as he stepped foot inside her new place, he wholeheartedly agreed.

“It gets good light. Your plants will be happy.”

“I’m feeling a but coming from you. What are you thinking about?” Aubrey set her tape down at the kitchen counter so she could go over to him. Adam was tense, his finger pressing down on the cheap plastic blinds so he could see out. “I’m surprised that you haven’t said a peep about security.”

“Because security isn’t an issue. I’ve already looked the place over and couldn’t find any faults there. Besides, you now have a five minute walk home after work.”

She tipped her head. “Then what’s wrong?”

He flicked his finger, sending the blind springing back in place. “You used to have a fifteen minute walk before reaching your old apartment.”

Dawning realization hit and she smiled at him. “Adam, are you upset because our regular evening walks are going to be cut short?”

“That would be ridiculous.” He let out a sharp sigh. “But it is a factor, ridiculous or not.”

Aubrey didn’t laugh, but she did wind her arm around his and press her head against his shoulder. “Well,” she started. “I guess there’s only one solution to this dilemma.”

“And what would that be?”

“After you walk me home, you can just come inside to spend more time with me.”

He pretended to think her suggestion over before giving her a soft smile. “I believe that arrangement would be agreeable.”

Farah and August

“So, what do you think?” August poked his head down from the lone bedroom in the tiniest house he’d ever owned. Granted, it was the only house he’d ever owned, but that was neither here nor there. He’d just signed the papers and the keys were his.

“I can almost touch one side of the wall with one hand and the other side with my other!” Farah exclaimed, looking in all the empty drawers where she could picture his things going.

“This reminds me of a treehouse I had growing up. It was about this big and I used to love hanging out in it.” He climbed down the ladder leading up to the little bedroom area and turned a crank that opened one of the windows overlooking a bare lot. “And the bonus is that I can hook this up to my car and tow my house around wherever I want. I’m not stuck in one location!”

“Maybe you could park it by the Warehouse,” she suggested. “When it starts to get too busy in there, we could just hang out here, just the two of us.”

August grinned. “Actually, I was wondering what you thought about maybe getting something to commemorate the event? I was thinking about another fish.”

Farah laughed. “Auggie, you have a ten gallon tank for Mr. Fish already taking up some prime real estate. I don’t think you can fit another tank in here.”

He dug in his pockets. “Okay, so maybe not an actual fish, though I’m pretty sure I could persuade Mr. Fish to share his tank with one more roommate.” He held up a single key attached to a neon pink and yellow painted metal fish keychain. “How about it? Wanna have a home of our own to hang out in?”

Farah didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, her gold eyes as large as saucers. Then she quickly closed the distance between them, her arms wrapping around his shoulders in a tight hug.

“Our home,” she breathed. “I like the sound of that.”

Mason and Zoe

“Why are you moving again?” Mason asked, building another cardboard box for Zoe to throw her things in. She wasn’t neat about it, just shoving what little things she owned into boxes and then scribbling what was inside in black marker on top.

There really wasn’t much to box up. Mason had caught her in the middle of a cleaning frenzy one night right after the carnival, most of her belongings set in different piles. He hadn’t questioned her when she asked him to take one pile out to the dumpster, though he happened to look inside a plastic crate to find numerous photo albums full of pictures with her and Verda’s family inside.

He’d tucked those away instead of giving them a dumpster burial. He wasn’t certain what was going on between them, but knowing Zoe, she would regret doing something in anger sometime down the road.

“It’s too noisy here,” she told him, taking another box he built her and heading to the bathroom. “Plus you hate my neighbors.”

“I don’t hate your neighbors,” he told her, watching as towels and toiletries got packed with a little more care before the box was labeled and carried to the now empty living room. “Well, not all of them. That lady one unit down is nosy as fuck.”

Zoe’s grim expression lifted for the briefest of moments. “That’s because she’s an old fashioned gossip who believes that men and women shouldn’t fornicate outside of wedlock.”

He grinned, pointed tips of his fangs showing. “Oh, so that’s why you made sure we were extra loud that one time I had you up against the wall you share with her.”

“Maybe.”

“Still doesn’t answer me, Sweetheart. What gives with the sudden move?”

Zoe stopped and looked around the place, then at the four boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the empty apartment. Fuck, Mason thought. Her life always feels bigger than just four measly little boxes, a guitar, and a few framed pieces of art.

“I need a fresh start,” she finally said, her voice low. “This place…” her voice choked off when she noticed a small stuffed rabbit she’d missed sitting on a built-in bookshelf. She went over to it and held it tightly to her chest, her breath coming out in a shaky wheeze.

“You already have a spot picked out?”

She shook her head. “Yeah. Harry’s got a place over his bar that’s coming up in a week or so that he said he’d cut me a deal on rent if I poured drinks during some of the busy weekend hours.”

“What about the meantime? Where’s all your furniture?”

Zoe ran her fingers over the stuffed rabbit and absently kissed the top of its head. “I put it in storage. Harry said I could couch surf at his place until my new digs were ready.”

He started to pull his packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, but stopped and offered her a package of chewing gum instead. “You could always stay at the Warehouse,” he casually suggested, watching as she took a stick of gum, that first whiff of mint as she took off the wrapper stinging his nose like too cold air on a winter morning. “No need to couch surf when you’ve got a bed of your own.”

Zoe chewed thoughtfully before crouching down to open one of the boxes and carefully, lovingly, placing the bunny inside. Mason caught the smallest portion of the word Cara embroidered on the rabbit’s foot before she closed the cardboard flaps once more. “Harry’s couch is super uncomfortable,” she reasoned. “And best friend or not, the man snores so loud you hear it through two closed doors.”

“So, you want me to take your stuff back with me?” the question of are you coming home with me was unspoken, but lingered in the air between them.

She licked her lips. “Yeah.” She sniffled as her eyes went to the box with Cara’s rabbit in it but then she blinked and gave him a smirk, taking hold of his hands and drawing him towards the shared wall they’d talked about earlier. “But first, let’s say a proper goodbye to Old Lady Jenkins. For old time’s sake.”

Nate and Morgan and Rowena

“So, what do you think?”

Morgan stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket and shrugged. “Still smells a little like old people in here. They should have aired the place out before they showed it.”

Rowena smiled, but moved towards the large picture window in the formal living room and opened it, letting some fresh air into the place. In her mind’s eye, she could already picture a piano taking front and center stage. No tiny upright electronic thing that maybe sounded like an actual piano, but an honest to goodness instrument like the one she’d been carefully saving up for years to buy but never had room to house it. There was room for a few comfy chairs and she could easily picture Nate sitting in one, a book from one of the beautifully crafted built-ins in his hand.

Morgan perched atop the bare window seat and looked out over the front yard. “It’s quiet. Not a lot of traffic.”

“It’s a bit of a drive to work,” Rowena commented. “But I think it’s worth it.”

“Closer drive to the Warehouse though.” Morgan flipped through the flyer that the real estate agent had handed them as they entered. “A little big for one person, don’t you think?”

Rowena shrugged. “It’s a four bedroom. I figured that one of the spares could be an office for me, another could be a library for Nate, and the third…” she sat down beside Morgan. “It could be yours, if you wanted it.”

Morgan slowly turned from the window to look at her. “What, no sharing one room?”

Rowena rolled her eyes. “Come on, you’ve stayed a night with the two of us on my Queen sized bed. Nate nearly ended up on the floor and I was pressed up against a wall. Even if we upgrade to a King, it’s still going to be a tad bit cozy.”

“I dunno, Sweetheart. I sort of liked pressing you up against a wall.”

Rowena leaned forward, brushing her lips against Morgan’s. “So did I, just not when I was trying to sleep. And besides,” she leaned back when she heard the real estate agent’s heels clack against the hardwood floor, “even if you’re not coming over for sex, it’d be nice to have a place of your own to enjoy the quiet, wouldn’t it?”

Morgan cast her eyes around the room. “You know, it’s not a bad place. Old person smell is starting to fade after all.”

Rowena smiled and ran a hand over Morgan’s thigh before giving her knee a fond pat. “I’m going to see where Nate went off to.”

She didn’t have to look very far to find Nate carefully inspecting the cupboards in the kitchen. “What do you think?” she asked, leaning against the large kitchen island.

“I think this house is lovely,” he replied, moving to lean beside her. “If you don’t put in an offer, I will.”

“What if,” Rowena asked, leaning against his arm. “We both put in an offer?”

Nate moved until he could wrap his arm around her, sighing contentedly when she immediately snuggled up close, her head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck. “Are you suggesting, Detective Kingston, that we make a home here? Together?”

“I am suggesting just that, Agent Sewell. Does that sound like a good idea?” A small part of her at the back of her mind was screaming that this was too soon, that what they had was still so new, that she had a perfectly fine apartment that she didn’t want to break her lease on. The other part of her at the forefront of her mind was quietly encouraging her to take that leap of faith, that Tina had always loved her place, and that Tina’s lease on her own apartment was going to be up for renewal soon.

“That, dear heart,” he bent his head to give her a lingering, smiling kiss. “Sounds like an excellent plan.”

“Wait! I need to test one more thing.” Before Nate could question, Rowena moved in his arms and began to sway. “Just pretend it’s three in the morning.”

“Slow dancing in the small hours of the night in your own kitchen is a fantasy of yours?” He rested his hand at the small of her back as he led them through some simple steps, the two of them barely moving. “How am I doing? Passing your test?”

“With flying colors.”

“What did Morgan have to say?”

She snuggled closer, the two of them swaying more than actually dancing now. “She didn’t quite say so, but the idea of having a place of our own outside the Warehouse has its appeal. Even if we’re just here a few nights out of the week, the monthly payments are cheaper than what I was paying on my apartment.”

He laughed. “You’ve been thinking about this for a while?”

She ducked her head, but he could still see the faintest hint of a blush across her cheeks. “Would it be weird if I said that this house has been calling to me ever since I was a little girl? I used to walk this street on the way to and from school and I always stopped in front of this house, wondering what it would be like to live here, what it would be like to run upstairs and downstairs. Did it have an attic? A cellar? Were the people inside happy? When I was on regular patrol, I drove by here and couldn’t stop looking at the place. If felt like it was waiting for me.”

Nate thoughtfully stroked his chin as he looked around. “I couldn’t sense any sort of magic around this house, but it might not hurt to have some of the agents who specialize in that sort of thing make a sweep to inspect.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Or, it could be that some places are simply meant for people and this one was meant for you.”

She ran her hand over the front of his sweater, stopping over his heart. “For us.”

He nodded. “Yes. For us.” Taking her hand, he spun her around and joined in her delighted laughter. “Shall we speak with the agent to draw up the paperwork then? See what the timeline is for making this our home?”

“Yes. Let’s.”

#my writing #aubrey miller #lucas greene #zoe dawson #august lin #rowena kingston

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divineluce · 4 years

Text

Ink About It || Remmy & Luce

Location: Ink Inc.

Notes: Remmy comes in to ease a burden that’s being weighing on their mind. Luce both helps and attempts to hurt.

Remmy had a secret. It was nestled on the back of their left shoulder, and it was a simple tattoo. It listed the names of their squadmates, in order of rank. And their dog tag numbers, with a circle around them. Simple, easy. If one of us dies, we all get the name crossed out. It was a little morbid, really, but they’d all been young and dumb. And doing this had felt like it brought them closer together. It was supposed to motivate them to all stay safe. To remind them that they had people to look out for, other than themselves. And to carry their memories on their back, always, even if they were gone. But Remmy had never gone back to get it finished. The thought of getting all their names crossed out felt...too heavy. They wanted a better way to remember them, to commemorate them. To move on from their loss. But they couldn’t figure out what they wanted to do with it, the list of names on their shoulder. Like a laundry list of all the things they’d done wrong. All the people they’d let down. It was time to change that. Breathing in-- a still comforting gesture, despite the lack of need-- they went up to the parlor doors and pushed them open. The little bell ran as they entered and they glanced up, before looking back inside. They hadn’t really planned on coming here so abruptly, but acting on impulse was something Remmy was trying to do more of. It was time to get out of such a regimented lifestyle, stuck in military time. There was someone at the front desk, a woman, looking a little bored and a little distracted. “Um, hi,” Remmy said as they scooted up to the counter, “I um...I don’t have an appointment or anything, but like, I was hoping to maybe talk to someone about uh, an alteration. To an existing tattoo. If that’s, if like--” they paused, “if that’s okay.”

Rolling a pencil across her fingers, Luce looked at the clock. Fucking hell, it’d already been 40 minutes. She was calling it. “We gotta no show. Again.” She said, poking her head out of her room. Leave it to Dario to schedule another flake for her, christ. Which meant she’d come in for nothing. At least she’d had time to work on a few designs of her own, but this was getting frustrating. She was trying to make money here, and fewer asses in the chair meant less money in her wallet, simply speaking. At least she was gonna be making money off her cabin. Her sweet, amazing, beautiful cabin… that her mom had forced her to move out off. Resting her head on her hand, she looked at her sketchbook for a second, contemplating the design she’d been working on for the new girl to the coven. What was her name? M- something. Melissa? Mallory? Morga--Morgan. Yeah, that’s the one. As she worked on the preliminary sketches, the little bell over the door rang out and she heard someone talking nervously with the receptionist. Popping her head out the door, Luce walked out to the main area of the shop. “We take walk-ins. And it’s your lucky day. I’m Luce,” She stuck out a hand, “What are you looking to get done?” She asked.

Remmy startled slightly when someone came out of the back room and over to the front desk. “Oh, hi! Hello, I--” they paused, taking in her sight. She was oddly familiar. Long, dark hair, that looked almost as dark as the night outside. Piercing eyes. Tattoos up each arm. A tank top that dipped a little lower down her sides than usual, and pants that were...form fitting. Remmy felt their throat close up. “Ye-eah. Yup. I’m lucky! I mean-- I’m Remmy. I mean, I’m here for a tattoo. Well not a tattoo, I already have one. I want it like-- uh, altered? I need it-- yup. Altered. That’s what I’m here for. Right now. Um...Oh!” They finally reached out to take her hand, noticing that it was warmer-- kinda like Bea’s-- before stepping back a little. “Are you the artist? Do you like, um-- I...don’t really know how this works. Sorry.”

Eyebrow raising as the person began to stumble through their words, Luce nodded. Another nervous nellie. Which, given her own sister’s fear of needles, not an entirely inaccurate saying either. As they continued to ramble on, Luce realized that they were saying something that sounded familiar-- the whole, altering thing. Talking about it like tattoos were a jacket or something. “I think we might have talked about this online, actually. Good to meet you in person. And, you lucked out, Remmy. Because I’ve got a solid 4 hours free.” She said with a slight grimace. Fucking cancellations. She was willing to bet it was probably some guy who got too drunk last night and missed his appointment while nursing a hangover in Al’s. “I’m not the artist. That would be Ulfric, he owns this place. I’m one of the artists who works here consistently. Me and Rory, a handful of others. Come on, let’s talk shop in my workspace.” She said, gesturing for them to follow her back to her private room in the shop. It was a neat and organized place, with a few shelves that had a couple candles, a polished citrine crystal, and some of her artwork hanging on the walls. A pinboard with a bunch of pre-made design stencils filled one wall, the prices written on the corner. “So,” Luce said as she slid into her chair, opening her laptop, “What am I working with and what are you thinking?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Remmy said, trying to recall the conversation. Their thoughts had jumbled that night, after learning about Blanche’s house exorcism gone wrong. But that was in the past and everything was okay now. They could take this time to focus on them, and just them. And not the very attractive person who was now saying things. Things Remmy should probably listen to. Tuning back in, Remmy nodded. “Right, yeah! Let’s-- yeah.” They followed Luce back to her station, eyes wandering. Landing on some of the charcoal drawings hung up on the walls. “Did you do these?” they asked, leaning in a bit closer, but keeping a good distance. They knew not to touch other peoples’ art. They looked almost like some of the things Remmy doodled. Lots of shapes and straight lines. Remmy liked drawing buildings and objects. Things that a calculated mind could easily recreate. They turned back to face her, unsure of where to sit, shuffling around. “Uh, it’s-- I can sh--” they started, but stopped. Showing her meant taking their sweater off. It meant showing someone their tattoo for the first time since they’d gotten back. It was usually always covered. “It’s on my back. It’s um...some names, in a circle. And uh, dog tag chains.”

“I did. Clean lines and geometric work are kind of my thing.” Luce said, tilting her head to the stencils on the wall, “But, I’m also good at a lot of other styles. American traditional, Japanese traditional, black work, you name it, I can do it. I draw the line at new school. I don’t do bubbly graffiti art.” She grimaced. She hated that oversaturated shit. Watching as they looked over the art on her walls, Luce leaned back in her chair, amused. Maybe they were an artist too. Starving artist, by the looks of their clothes. But, that was how it went sometimes. Watching the way they fidgeted, Luce pointed at one of the chairs by the door. “Have a seat. Please.” She added. Maybe the politeness would help their nerves. As they described their tattoo to her, Luce fought to keep her expression neutral. But still... Dog tags. Luce wasn’t a stranger to doing military tattoos and if someone wanted a tattoo with names and dog tags altered? That meant some big shit must have gone down. “Mhm. Okay. What are you thinking about doing with them?”

“Wow, they’re really good,” Remmy said with a genuine awe. They always wondered how people could make such great things, out of their own minds. Glancing back at Luce, they nodded quickly. “Right, yeah. Sit. Okay.” And fell into the chair quickly, stumbling only a little. They looked at her, then down at their shoes. They should’ve worn nicer shoes. And nicer pants. And...not a weird baggy sweater. Remmy smoothed their palms down their thighs before looking up at her again. “Uh, oh. I mean...I don’t really know. What I want to do with it. Just that...I want it to feel better. Um-- sorry, that doesn’t make sense. I mean, I want it to not be...what it is. What it represents? I want it to be...a good thing. Not--” a representation of death. Remmy bit their bottom lip. “I was kinda hoping someone else could help like, figure it out? I’m not all that creative, really. Better with the like, looking at something and drawing it side. Like buildings! And cars.”

“Thanks.” Luce said with a wry smile. Not that she doubted that Remmy meant it-- if anything, she had a feeling they were very serious in how they felt about her works. But, there were still flaw with her art, still discrepancies here and there. Crooked lines, pieces that didn’t fully work as a whole. She kept the art mainly as a reminder that there was always room for improvement. Swivelling in her chair to face her client, Luce listened as they rambled their way through their thoughts. And the way that they petered off at the end of their sentence confirmed her suspicions. This tattoo, it carried weight. It carried baggage. And this person literally had a burden that no one else could understand, weighing down on their shoulders. “Okay. So, what I want to know is, do you want it covered up? Or do you want it changed in a way that it’s still visible and still a part of you. Because those are very, very different things. People like to say that art is just art, but there’s more to it.” Luce said, pausing for a moment. “I’m not a therapist, won’t claim to be one either. But this is some heavy shit, I’m guessing. And I want to make sure you’re making the right decision, for present and future you, with this.”

“The second one,” Remmy said quickly, “definitely the...second one. I don’t want it covered up. I--” like it? No. That wasn’t quite the right word. Remmy had always been bad at finding the right words. “--need it.” Want it, even. They subconsciously reached back, fingers pressing where the names were under their sweater. Their eyes fell back to their shoes. They really needed new shoes. “It’s-- it’s not that big of a deal, really. It was just, like, stupid kids making a stupid promise to each other. And I...want to honor the like...thought behind it. Maybe not like, what it represents, what it came to be but like...what we wanted them to mean. What it should mean.” They dropped their hand, plucked at a loose string. “Sorry. I um...I’m really bad at explaining things.”

Oh boy. Luce hadn’t been wrong about this tattoo having a lot of baggage behind it, if they were this uncomfortable talking about it. Watching the way they averted their eyes, the way they reached for a spot on their shoulder, Luce folded her arms across her chest contemplatively. On the one hand, this seemed like something that might be out of her depth. On the other hand… she loved a challenge. And they seemed like a good person, just a bit lost. Nothing like getting an old piece refreshed to help the soul. “It’s all good. And hey. It’s something that’s got a lot of meaning to you clearly. Both then and now. So. Honoring the people you served with. I can get behind that.” She said, mulling over some ideas. It would all depend on the placement of the tattoo, of course. “I’m gonna close the door, give us some privacy so you can show me what you’ve got. I kinda need to know what I’m working with.” Luce explained.

“Oh, good, cool,” Remmy said, smacking themself internally for how stupid they sounded. “Now? You need to-- yeah. Okay. Um-- yeah. Okay! I can...do that.” They watched her close the door and shuffled in the chair a little. They waited until Luce was sitting again before tugging their sweater off, thankful they’d decided to put their binder on today instead of just using the wrap. “It’s uh,” putting the sweater aside, they turned so that their left shoulder was facing Luce better. “Back here,” pointed at the spot, “kinda covered, I can...move it.” Under the fabric was a simple tattoo: four names, each surrounded by the outline of a dog tag. Like a list, almost. Calvin Lancer, Lieutenant. Jeremy Andrews, Second Lieutenant. Ken Johnson, Private. Darius Mulberry, Combat Medic. All in a row down their shoulder, an almost mechanical tattoo. They glanced up at Luce, wondering what she could have thought about it. If it was savable.

Giving them space, Luce settled back down in her chair and politely waited for them to show her the tattoo. The flash of the binder wasn’t too surprising, they seemed pretty androgynous. But, never hurt to be clear. “Real quick-- preferred pronouns? And, if I’m down to do this tattoo, are you cool with me being your artist? We’ve got male tattoo artists as well, just putting that option out there.” She said. The worst thing a tattoo artist could do, besides fuck up a tattoo, was make their client uncomfortable and she didn’t want to do that at all. As she took in the very basic, nondescript tattoo, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. The implication of getting this altered was very, very real to her. “I see. And you’re looking to get something to honor them.” She said mulling the tattoo over. She could think of something already. Maybe adding chains that linked them together? Or some kind of decorative outline? “I know you said you’re not good at creative stuff-- I call bullshit on that, by the way. What kind of things do you like, visually, to look at? That could give me a good idea of what to do, what options I have.”

“Preferred--” Remmy started, confused, then stopped. They still weren’t used to the question and although it came as a surprise, it felt nice, too. To be seen this way. They gave a little shrug. “Uh, just...they. Um, thanks. No! You-- you’re fine. I prefer women.” Paused. “I mean like, for this!” Paused again. “But not that I don’t-- it’s, uh--” snapped their jaw shut. They were rambling again. “Sorry! Sorry. I get uh-- a little nervous.” They should’ve brought Moose, but they weren’t sure he’d like it here, with all the small noises. They watched Luce examine the tattoo, glancing down at their feet again, hands wringing together. “Oh, um, I’m-- I’m really not. Creative. Or like, good at it. Being creative. I just like, you know, looking at nature. And airplanes. I don’t know why, they always look cool to me. Like...I can’t believe someone built this. Of course it’s like a lot of someone’s, but like, someone saw it in their head and designed it and made it real. And like, mechanical things, I guess? I like um, shapes, you know? Like you were saying, that you do. Um...geometric stuff?”

Listening to the way they rambled on, Luce resisted the urge to smirk at them-- if they weren’t a client, she definitely would. But, they were probably just nervous at the prospect of the tattoo alteration. It was a big step, it seemed. And she was going to be here to help them through it. “Noted. On all accounts.” She said with a reassuring smile. “And don’t worry, everyone gets nervous, even if they don’t admit it.” As they began to talk about what things they liked to look at, the things that interested them, Luce pulled out a physical binder of her portfolio and handed it to them. “Why don’t you take a look through this while I do a rough sketch of what I’m thinking? See if anything catches your eye.” Her brain was already churning with ideas for how she could make this tattoo something that wasn’t just a burden, but something… commemorative. A legacy to the bonds of-- hm. That was an idea. Booting up her tablet, she began to do a rough sketch of the dog tags that already existed, and then began to add her own details. Chains, snaking from each tag, coming together, intertwining and then. She glanced over at her client, pursing her lips. It was worth a shot. Luce added another dog tag connected to the four other tags by the winding chains.

Remmy took the binder gratefully and started flipping through it, awed by all the designs she had in there. “You did all of these? They’re...incredible…” Looked up for a moment. “Oh, well, like-- I think I kinda get um-- extra nervous. Especially like, around, well...um.” Cleared their throat. “My friend keeps telling me I need to stop apologizing so much, too…” they trailed off, biting their bottom lip, looking at Luce, then back down at the binder. “Harder to do than it sounds.” After all, Remmy had been apologizing for their existence almost their whole life. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to know that...Sorry. Dammit.” Gave a half chuckle. “See?” They flipped the page and something jumped out to them. It was familiar, it looked sort of like the design they’d seen it on some of the memorabilia their uncle had back home. “Oh, hey-- I kinda like this? It looks kinda like um...that knot thing...celtic knots?” they said, raising the binder to try and show Luce.

“Yup, I did. I’ve been tattooing for 5 years officially, so I’ve got a nice little collection of pieces to show off,” Luce said, eyes still focused on her draft. Mm. That line looked weird. And those chains were off. Switching between reference pictures, she began to add more detail to it, just to give a clearer idea of what she was going for. “Apologize, don’t apologize, all that matters is you’re true to yourself.” She said with a shrug. “But, you’re good. Consider this an apology free zone.” Luce said with a grin. Swiveling around in her chair, Luce looked over at the picture they were holding up. Celtic knots. “Good choice. Those are symbolic of friendship, love, eternity, depending on the one. There’s the Sailor’s Knot, which is more indicative of friendship and the bonds forged tightly. And there’s also the Shield Knot, which is one of enduring protection.” She said, pointing to the two different designs. “Which speaks to you more?”

Huh. That was a weird thought. Remmy nodded. Deirdre had said something like that, too-- just be true to yourself. It was hard, though, to act on that advice when Remmy didn’t know what their true self was, besides dead. They pushed the thought away. “Thanks,” was all they said, a little quieter, before setting the binder down, and looking at the two Luce had pointed out. “I think...the shield one. I like the sound of that one.” Enduring protection. Maybe they had failed their squadmates, but that didn’t mean their memories couldn’t stay to protect Remmy. To remind them that they were never alone. Yeah, that was it, wasn’t it? That’s what they needed. That reminder. It’d been the reason they’d gotten the tattoos, after all, in the first place. “Definitely the second one,” they said more confidently, finally looking Luce in the eyes. It only lasted a second, but they were able to give her a nod, before dropping their eyes back to the binder.

“For sure. And I meant it, you know. Like, my whole job revolves around being true to yourself. Tattoos are reflective of the people who have them, no matter what they are.” Luce said with a firm nod. Her job had allowed her to find her own voice, to speak her mind, and be honest with who she was. And it had been a very long and difficult lesson to learn, but ultimately rewarding. “The shield should work well with what I’m thinking. Give me a bit and I’ll show you the rough draft of what I’ve got. Obviously, it’ll take me more time to get the final design done, but it shouldn’t take too long.” She said. When they looked up and met her gaze, Luce was pleasantly surprised by the determination that she saw there. “You’ve got great eyes, by the way.” She said as she turned back to her design, erasing the original entanglement of chains and pulling up a reference for the shield knot. “Just an artistic observation, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah, that-that makes sense. I mean...I just kinda figured I’d do it cause it was like, a group thing, we all promised we’d do it,” Remmy said, their mouth once again getting ahead of their brain.”We were kinda young and dumb at the time, though. I don’t think any of us put much thought into it…” They slowed, stopped talking again. “Oh, that’s fine! Yeah, um...take your time. I know I kinda like, sprung this on you. Sorry about that.” They scratched the back of their head, feeling their cheeks grow hot a moment. “I-- great eyes? Do you mean like, for the knot? Cause, like, technically I just liked it cause my Uncle had it around his place a lot. Like, as a symbol? On pictures and like, letterheads. And-- that’s...that’s not important. Sorry.”

“Even if you didn’t, it’s still representative of who you were at the time. Young and dumb isn’t how I’d classify it though,” Luce said as she filled in the intricate loops and connecting lines of the celtic symbol. “You all cared about each other enough to go all in on something like this. That says a lot.” In the brief lull of conversation, Luce began to erase some of her guidelines and added some chain detailing to the shield knot. “Don’t apologize, you’re giving me something to do. It’s my job.” She nodded. Leaning back from the screen, she looked at the draft, frowned, and then began to erase some of her lines. She didn’t like how the chains fed in, if she fixed it here… Better. “I meant you have great eyes. Very nice color.” She said, “No, keep talking. It’s interesting, gives backstory to the piece.”

Remmy didn’t comment on Luce’s observation. She was probably right, but Remmy didn’t want to think about all that right now. They’d just gotten through a big episode of grieving them, crying on Morgan, crying with Skylar, yelling at Blanche...they just didn’t want to think about it anymore. Blinking, Remmy looked up, trying to refocus on the conversation. “Huh? Oh, uh-- I mean...yeah, okay. If you say so.” They picked at a spot on their jeans again, cheeks turning warm. “I, uh-- oh. I do? I mean...thanks? Thanks. I mean thanks. You have nice eyes, too.” Oh, that was weird to say. “I mean pretty eyes! I mean, they look nice! Like...they’re also a nice color. They match your hair, too, and it’s, you-- kinda remind me of someone but like, you have a really pretty face.” Remmy clenched their jaw shut. “Fuck. Sorry. I ramble. So much. A lot. I say stupid things cause like my mouth gets ahead of my brain and I don’t think things through, um-- sorry. Anyway...yeah. My Uncle. He was Irish. So was my mom, I guess. But, like, my Uncle was really into the whole, heritage thing. Showed me what clan we were from and all that. Had our uh...special what it is, like...flag? Or um, crest? On some stuff. And a stamp of it. For letters and letterheads. He gave it to me, but I think I lost it in the move....”

“I do say so, yeah.” Luce said, leaning back to stare at the image for a moment before going back in to get the lines just how she wanted them. She wanted the new dog tag to stand out… Hm. Selecting the image, she rotated it ninety degrees so it was horizontal rather than vertical. Nice. That was more what she wanted. “Thanks. I like to think I’ve got a nice face.” She said, choosing to ignore the comment about her reminding them of someone. They probably meant Bea. Or Nell. Or even her mother. Ugh, not what she wanted to think about right now. “Like I said, talking gives background and meaning, so ramble away.” Listening to them as they talked about their family, Luce added in a few more lines until she was satisfied with the draft. “That’s cool that you’ve got that kind of family background. Who knows, you might find the stamp sometime. Now. How’s this look, just as a rough idea?” She asked, taking her laptop off the desk and bringing it over for Remmy to look at.

Remmy watched Luce with curious eyes as she scratched away on her tablet. They’d never seen anyone use them before, and they’d always wondered how they worked. “Oh, uh, okay. Usually people tell me to stop talking. It’s a bad habit sometimes.” Finally, Luce finished and came over with the laptop. Remmy’s eyes lingered on it, but it didn’t entirely register until they saw the new tag Luce had added. It had their name on it. Intertwined with the knot and the other tags. Remmy didn’t know what to say for a moment. “I-It…” they stuttered a moment, “Yeah. I mean-- yes. Or, it looks great. Perfect. It’s…” they grew quiet. “Perfect.”

“Most people are also assholes.” Luce said bluntly. “You can speak your mind, there’s nothing wrong with it.” She’d spent most of her childhood keeping her thoughts to herself, overshadowed by Bea at first and then by Nell. It had been easier to fade into the background, considering that Bea was the family’s pride and joy and Nell the on-going problem child. But, her job had shifted that perspective, made her realize her thoughts had merit. When Remmy gave their approval, she nodded once. “I’d hope it’s not perfect, this is just the first a draft. Give me a bit and I’ll get the finished product done and we can get to work. Just a heads up. You’ll have to have your binder off for this and you won’t be able to wear it for the rest of today. If that puts you in a bad headspace, we don’t have to do this. You can come back whenever you’re ready.” She said with a nod. “Just want to let you know.”

Remmy shrugged. “Oh, no, I-I don’t think they’re assholes, really. I...I can be a lot sometimes. I get that. Some people just can’t, like, handle it. It’s fine. I don’t mind.” They shifted in their chair as Luce explained the rest of what needed to happen. “Yeah, no-- of course. Not like, perfect perfect. But perfect as in like...perfect design? It-- it’s great. I could never-- I would’ve never been able to come up with something like that. It’s amazing, that could do that, just from, you know...me talking?” They looked down at their lap, hands wringing tightly. If they left, they knew they would never come back. Remmy shook their head. “No, I-- I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I wanna do it today. Let’s-- can we do it today?”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged as she settled back into her chair, laptop back in place on her work table. Luce stretched her hand out for a moment before going back in on her tablet, making a new layer and beginning the cleaned up version. “Hope you don’t mind if I throw on some music, helps me focus.” She said, as she opened up Spotify and let some blues inspired rock and roll play in the room. The image began to flow from her fingertips, the lines appearing in time to the ebbs and flows of the music. The pounding bassline gave her the solid, clean lines of the new dog tag, the intricate guitar solo forming the celtic shield knot. Piece by piece, note by note, the tattoo came together. Erasing the last couple stray lines, Luce hit the preview button and walked back over to Remmy, flexing her hand slightly. “Anything you wanna change? Speak now or never.”

Remmy gave a nod. “No, that-- that’s fine.” They stayed sitting for the most part, as Luce began drawing up the final draft. They were impressed she was able to get into the zone so quickly, and that she could just...make something like that, from her mind. After a bit, they stood and shuffled around the room a little, looking at all the drawings she had hung up around. The intricate lines, the attention to details in each of the pictures, it made Remmy wish they could do something like that. The only person they’d ever shown their stuff to was Nate. He’d said it was good, but Remmy figured he was just being nice. Their stuff was just observational, they could never do anything like this. When Luce finally finished and came back over, Remmy turned to look at what she’d come up with. “Oh, woah! No way! That’s amazing! I love it. It’s perfect. Like, for real this time. Perfect perfect.” They paused. “Really.”

A genuine smile spread across Luce’s face as she watched Remmy take in the design. The way their face lit up, she knew she’d nailed it, even before they’d answered. Fuck yes. Nothing beat that kind of reaction. This, this was what she loved about her job. The art, yes, but seeing people love something new about themselves? That was special. Of course, she’d never tell anyone that. “Excellent. I’ll need you to take off your shirt and binder so I can get the stencil on there and then we’ll be ready to go.” She said, as she began to print out a couple different sizes of her design, just to see what would work best. While her printer began to spit out the stencils, she pulled out fresh needles for her machine, wiping down the leather of her chair with solution, and grabbing the ink she needed from her large rolling toolkit of supplies. With her back to Remmy, she spoke over her shoulder. “You can either lie down or stay standing while I put the stencil on. Your call.”

“Oh, uh-- I-I’ll lay down…” Remmy answered quickly, swallowing the lump in their throat. They tugged their shirt off and set it down on the chair they’d been sitting in before, folding it up neatly, military style-- It was a habit they still hadn’t been able to break-- before reaching down to remove their binder. Hands shook only slightly as they folded it up as well and set it on top of their shirt. It was somehow both terrifying and reassuring knowing that their body still looked the same, even after dying. Blocking the thought from going any further, Remmy went over to the work chair and sat. They were really doing this. Drawing in a soothing breath, Remmy closed their eyes a moment. This would help. This would help them move on. All of them. Letting the breath go, Remmy turned around and laid down. “Ready,” they said, only a tinge of nerves in their voice.

Luce waited until Remmy gave her the all clear before turning around. It took a few tries to get the stencils lined up properly-- that was the trick of altering a pre-existing tattoo. She had to make sure that everything looked cohesive and coherent, so that it didn’t look like two tattoos smashed together, but one complete image. Making sure all the chains lined up, she stepped back, getting a good look at it from a bit away. She wanted the tattoo to still be legible even from a distance. The spacing looked good, everything read well. Excellent. “Alright.” She said as she pulled on a pair of gloves and set up her machine, “We’re gonna get going, just let me know if you feel light headed or need a break. You can talk to me or just zone out, whatever helps you out.” She said, switching the tattoo machine on before dipping the tip in the ink and setting to work.

Remmy kept quiet as Luce lined up the stencil. They could feel the paper against their back, the slight touch of her hands, and wondered if she had cold hands like them. Or maybe warm hands, like Nell and Bea. It was a weird thing to wonder, but Remmy noticed they’d started wondering that more about everyone they met. Finally, the needle flicked on and Luce sat beside them. Last time, Remmy remembered it hurting a little bit, but even back then, they’d been pretty good at withstanding pain. It was an old feeling, to them. “Oh, yeah...will do. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” they gave a thumbs up and a small smile. “I’m good with pain.” Didn’t even feel her start working. Didn’t even flinch.

Focusing on her work, Luce began to make the outlines, her strokes long and precise. She took care to apply even pressure, shifting with the slight curve of their shoulder as the machine hummed in her hair. But, after the first few brushstrokes, she could tell something was off. How could she not? As she wiped away excess ink with a paper towel, Luce was startled to see the skin she’d just tattooed looking… whole. Complete. As though the ink she’d just put underneath it had been there for at least a month, if not longer. “What--” She started to say, but quickly changed the words, “What made you decide to get this altered? It looks like you’ve had it for a while.” Luce said, making conversation as her eyes remained laser focused on the bizarre image before her. With every swipe of her machine, the buzzing hum, and wipe away, the image remained the same. A healed tattoo. What the fuck? Whatever Remmy was, they weren’t human, they couldn’t be.

Remmy stayed silent as Luce began her work. The thought that anything weird would happen didn’t even cross their mind. They could feel like buzz deep in their chest, but not the pain of the needle. Only the pen, drawing lines across their skin, like their skin was canvas made specifically to pain upon. Remmy had always loved drawing all over their arms as a kid, even their legs, even in school. Sitting bored and alone, they’d turn any piece of showing skin into a continuous line of doodles. Mostly just straight lines and zigzags, swirls and shapes. Luce paused a moment and Remmy stiffened. Was something wrong? “Wha-- oh, um...I’ve had it a couple years but I…” they tried to relax, hands unclenching. “It just felt right? It felt like it was time, I guess. To let them...to let it go.”

As Remmy talked, Luce continued to tattoo their shoulder, still frowning. What the fuck was this person? Their skin felt normal, at least, as far as she could tell. Were they a hunter? Hunters healed quick, she knew that much. Or some other kind of weird creature. She knew just from hanging around Ulfric that werewolves healed quicker than most, but this was like an instant thing. Weird. Definitely weird. But, it honestly made her job a little more interesting, a little faster too. “Mhm. Makes sense. Give yourself closure, but honor them.” She said, as she continued to add base outlines. The lines were coming quick and easy, the ink taking to the skin without problem. And it really didn’t seem as though the tattoo was bothering them-- usually people would flinch a little bit, even if they tried to stay still. “What do you do around town, Remmy?” She asked, making conversation.

“Yeah,” Remmy repeated quietly, “closure.” They knew that altering a tattoo wasn’t going to magically make everything okay, but it was a step in the right direction, right? It had to be. They knew if they could just put this all behind them, everything would be okay. If they could just stop thinking about what had happened. If they could just remember. “Oh, um-- I’m an overnight security guard, mostly. I help my friend around his office, too, for a little extra cash,” they said, remembering they needed to message Nate soon, see how he was doing in all this eternal night stuff. Hoped he was staying safe. “He owns his own architecture firm. It’s pretty neat! He’s a little nervous, though, so I take care of his chores and stuff around town and the office.”

“Night shift security guard and odd jobs? You must drink a lot of coffee.” Luce commented as she finished the last few outlines, completing the new dog tag that would be connected with the others. The shoulder wasn’t a spot that usually bothered people, but when you were working over and over, people tended to at least feel it. And Remmy wasn’t even reacting. Weird. Maybe they just had dead nerves or something? She’d tattooed over scars before, tattooed people who’d been through shit. Maybe that’s what this was. But, why the fuck were the lines healing over so quick? “Nice. Must be nice working for an architect, what with you saying you like buildings.” She said as she added some basic shading.

“Well, the overnight thing is only part time,” Remmy commented. “Plus, I don’t really sleep a lot anyway...gotta do something with my time, right?” They almost shrugged, but stopped themselves. Moving was probably a bad idea. “Oh, yeah! It’s great. I like looking at his stuff. He does a lot of environmental and green design, it’s really neat to see. I never really knew that was a thing till he showed me.” They smiled at the thought. They loved looking at Nate’s stuff and could only wish they could do something like that. “I dunno. I guess I just really like, like..geometric things? Like shapes and lines and tessellations stuff. They just...make sense in my head.”

“Got insomnia or something?” Luce asked, leaning back to take a good look at her handiwork. It was coming along a lot faster than she thought it would. Damn. “Hm. That’s pretty cool. I’m no architect, but I can respect environmental design.” She didn’t know shit about what went into designing a house like that, but it was cool that there was someone in White Crest who did. The designs would probably be really interesting to look at. “Makes sense to you? What do you mean by that?” She asked. The conversation was interesting, but she was mostly asking because it would allow her to be a bit… more intense with her work. She wanted to try something out. Picking a spot that needed to be darker, Luce pressed down, applying just a bit more pressure than she normally would and watched Remmy for a reaction. No matter how macho they were, this would get some kind of response. Most clients acclimatized to the pain and pressure, so if there was a change… they’d notice.

“Something like that…” Remmy mumbled. That’s what the doctor’s had first told them when they’d been in the hospital, but now they were questioning everything about that year and a half alone, recovering. Was anything they’d said true? “It’s super neat! You should check it out sometime. There’s lots of stuff on Google about it.” They turned their head a bit to see if they could see Luce before looking back forward. “Oh, um-- it’s kinda hard to explain? But like...I can like, look at something and know how it all like, works together? Usually mechanical things, or like...um...infrastructure? Or, what do you call the insides of buildings? Uh...foundations! Building foundations. Things with like geometric volumes and stuff. Like I can look at most puzzle boxes and just....know how they work. It’s...I dunno. It just makes sense in my head.” They paused, feeling the increased pressure, but not moving or saying anything, not wanting to mess her up. “How, um-- how’s it going?” they asked after a moment.

“That sucks. I’m in the same boat. Not all the time, but sleeping is,” Luce let out a sigh as she wiped away more ink. “An elusive bitch sometimes.” And moving in with her sisters hadn’t made that any better. At least back in her cabin, she could wander around her house as much as she wanted. She didn’t want to poke her head out of her room and risk running into Nell or Bea in the middle of a fight, so she was stuck in her room most nights. “Don’t move.” She warned, pulling her hand back from their back before resuming once they’d turned in place. Listening to them continue to talk, she squinted in confusion. Was this some kind of supernatural thing? Or were they just super logical? When they didn’t react to the change in pressure, her expression of confusion only deepend. What the fuck. But, when they spoke up, she eased up. “Just had to do some deeper shading. It’s all good. Should be done soon, by the way.” She said

“Oh, I-- I’m sorry. It’s not fun, that’s for sure,” Remmy said back, letting out a little sigh. They’re fingers plucked at a loose thread on the chair. Pausing to hold perfectly still when Luce asked them to, making sure they didn’t mess anything up. They turned their head to rest their cheek against the rest of the chair. Tried to imagine the lines Luce was tracing into their skin, closing their eyes to try and feel the pressure more. Little prickles, but no pain. It felt more like someone was dragging a pencil down their skin. “Oh, uh,” they opened their eyes again, blinking, “no worries! I’m good. But yeah, cool, great! I can’t wait to see it.”

“That’s just how it goes sometimes.” Luce said, eyes focused on the tattoo. The rest of the session went by without any problem, though she still couldn’t figure out why the fuck they were healing so quickly. What the fuck kind of supernatural creature were they? Pushing the thoughts out of her mind, Luce finished up the shading work, kept her hand steady and her pressure nice and light as she got the details just right. And, for good measure, she added the same kind of shading around the original tattoo. She touched up the lines of the dog tags, went over the lettering, and added some depth to the image so it worked with the rest of the tattoo. Shutting off the machine, she wiped off the last bit of ink before standing up. “Alright, we’re all done. Take a look in the mirror and let me know what you think.” Luce said, turning to give them some privacy.

The minutes ticked by slowly, it felt, but in no time at all, Luce was declaring it done. Remmy’s mind had drifted during the lull, thinking back to when they’d all first gotten the tattoos. Darius was originally the most nervous one, and he’d only agreed after Remmy had said they could get theirs together. They’d even held hands during the process, wincing and clenching hands tightly. They were pretty sure he’d bruised their hand but it didn’t matter. They’d done it together. A silent promise. Remmy blinked when Luce finally spoke up again. Shifting slightly, they waited for Luce to turn around before wiping the tears that had gathered behind their eyes and heading over to the mirror, turning to look at it. If it was possible, their breath woulda caught. The intricacy of the design was something to behold. And the way it had turned something so...mechanical into something worth looking at, Remmy could only stare. More tears coming, but they quickly wiped them away again. Now wasn’t the time. “It’s...it’s amazing. You do amazing work,” they finally said, heading back over to their shirt and slipping it on, leaving the binder off for now. They remembered the last time the guy said to not wear anything that would rub for a few days. “I...thank you. So much.”

Luce waited patiently for Remmy to look at the tattoo, taking the opportunity to throw away her gloves and clean up her machine. Silent seconds ticked by, until they spoke up, letting her know that she could turn around. “No worries. Thanks for giving me a cool project to work on.” She said with a nod. It was a better use of her time than just sitting around aimlessly until her next appointment. And she still had time to grab something to eat before she had to get back to work. Grabbing a card and sharpie from her desk, she walked over to shake their hand. “If you ever decide to get another, here’s my card. It’s got a link to my portfolio for you to check out whenever.” Luce wrote down her cell number on the back. “And my number.” Whoever this person was, they were an interesting one. Talking to them outside of work might mean she could figure out what the fuck they were. “Anyways, the gal up front will ring you up, should be about $275.” She said frankly. At the end of the day, job’s a job. And she was getting paid for this.

Remmy took the car gratefully, giving a soft smile. “Thanks! This is great. I’ll definitely check it out and like...let my friends know about you.” They pocketed the card, making sure to keep it safe, looking at Luce. “Um-- thank you, again. It’s-- this was helpful.” They turned to leave again before stopping to look back at Luce. “I, uh-- it was nice to meet you. Really. I hope people stop cancelling on you, cause like, you’re pretty awesome.” They gave a crooked smile before turning to finally head out. “Promise I’ll leave a good tip!” And maybe this had been an impulse, but at least it had been their own decision this time. And maybe it was going to fix everything, but now, at least, it didn’t weigh so heavy on their shoulder anymore.

#p: iai #p: remmy mcallister

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zecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Fic: Not Quite Santa

To: @agentshilonglang From: @erisofimladris

Soooo I couldn’t resist the Kurashiki angst and my first-ever Christmas story happened! I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I loved writing it, and Merry Christmas!

AO3 link

For the first time since their parents died, Aoi Kurashiki didn’t know how to be Santa.

It had always been easy. Akane would write a letter to Santa, Aoi would swipe it from the mailbox, and there would be something on there that he could afford, even if it wasn’t what she necessarily wanted most - even with her huge imagination and love of the unreal, she also understood that they were poor.

And now they weren’t poor, or at least they wouldn’t be for long now that Akane knew how to get the money necessary to run that game again, which meant there was theoretically more of an opportunity for gifting. But Aoi couldn’t think of anything at all.

Whenever he tried to think of Christmas, all his mind returned to was the story Akane told him he’d say in the future, the one about the two Santas - the white-robed Santa killing the one in black, the black-robed Santa’s blood staining the coat a jolly red.

It gave a whole new meaning to the holiday, and after all, he was celebrating with a new Akane. In the last month, he’d barely recognized the Akane who he grew up with who believed in everything and everyone. Now, she only believed in a thin thread tying them to the future where every little thing they did for the next nine years could make her live or die. Everything from the setup of Building Q in Nevada to getting to Nevada to his acting skills and her hair bound in a pair of hair clips, not quite stars and not quite flowers, with little circles on the ends.

No matter how hard he wished for the old Akane back, for them to both live their lives without ever knowing something called a Nonary Game existed, Aoi didn’t believe in any kind of Santa. It was hard enough to believe that his sister stood in front of him alive (well, mostly) after what happened last month.

She hadn’t left a letter for Santa this year, and it wasn’t like what some of the other kids in school said when their little brothers and sisters figured out Santa wasn’t real. Aoi had no doubt that if not for what happened on the Gigantic last month, there would be a letter waiting for him, asking for a stuffed animal or a dollhouse or a pet.

The dollhouse wouldn’t have been a bad idea before the Gigantic, but now Akane was so attached to the doll Junpei gave her that she hardly let it out of her sight. Not to mention it was a creepy little thing that definitely didn’t belong in a cutesy dollhouse - just like all the babble about morphogenetic fields didn’t belong spewing out of the mouth of his little sister.

Pets were off the table as well, now that they’d need to move around. There was no good way to keep a pet if they might need to move to a different continent in the blink of an eye; they were technically still on the run from Hongou and his goons at Cradle Pharmaceuticals, and the last thing they needed was a snafu at customs or something else to part Akane from another thing she’d get attached to.

Without any further guidance, Aoi was lost. He didn’t know how to do Christmas without letters to Santa and presents under a tree.

And so, he didn’t get a tree. Akane never mentioned it, and neither of them pointed out the spot in the small apartment where they were staying that would be perfect for a well-decorated tree. He wasn’t sure he could even get her help in decorating, and they didn’t need a bare pine tree in the living room to remind them of yet another thing that had been ruined.

After a few days of hearing Christmas carols in the streets and garlands strung over shop windows, however, Aoi felt something missing. They had to do something for Christmas; they couldn’t let this be something else Hongou took away. Even without a tree, even without Santa, there had to be something he could do to commemorate the holiday.

He found himself in an American store one day after school, looking for something Christmas-y that wouldn’t bring up any old memories. A bit of an escape from all that had happened, something to lighten the mood of an apartment that felt more like a funeral home than an actual home some days.

In one of the aisles close to the end, he found something he’d seen, but never bought before - a gingerbread house kit with pre-cut pieces (no need to use the oven, the idea of which scared Akane for good reason), two gingerbread people and icing and candy to decorate. None of his friends ever had gingerbread houses before, and after their parents died and money was tight, it was hard enough to afford a small tree and Akane’s present without buying extras. Now, though, they didn’t have to worry about money. It would be no problem.

The kit sat unopened on their one and only table for a few days. Aoi wondered if Akane would even be interested until he found her sitting at the table on Christmas Eve, legs crossed, brow furrowed, trying to affix the roof to the walls with white frosting.

Aoi didn’t say a word. He just got a little closer, then closer still, until he could reach the walls. He gingerly put his hands on them, startling her into looking up and meeting his eyes. She lost her grip on the left roof tile, which fell in a sticky mess on the table.

“It’s okay,” Aoi said, picking it up and applying a new line of white frosting. “Here, you get this end, and I’ll get that end.” Prepared to hold both on his own, he was surprised when Akane leaned in, holding the slabs of gingerbread together.

They stayed in silence, not meeting each other’s eyes until more than the necessary time had passed and Aoi gingerly removed his hands. The roof stayed, and Akane’s hand pulled the rest of the kit closer in. She picked up one of the two gingerbread people and the white icing they’d used to make the roof stick together and drew some jagged lines (impressively straight, considering her dexterity still wasn’t what it had been before) on the head.

“Is that me?” Aoi asked.

“Yeah,” she said, the first sound he’d heard from her all day. That wasn’t like her, but after their fight the other day about forgetting and remembering and moving on, he’d almost forgotten the sound of her voice not angry.

“Want me to make you, or…?” His words trailed off as she put down the white icing and picked up the black, drawing a vague outline of pants on the cookie’s legs.

“You can start the sides,” she said, gesturing to the white icing and the assortment of colorful candies still on the tray.

Turning his attention away from the people, although he did notice Akane giving him a tank-top of sorts that he’d never wear, he looked down at the picture on the box. He noted the white windows drawn in and the small candy doorknob and the lane of candy running into the door. Without any further guidance, he tried to mimic the picture as best as he could, but the windows came out a little crooked and the door snapped just a tiny bit as he opened it, and he popped the snapped-off bit into his mouth before Akane could notice.

He tried to peek at Akane’s work along the way, but she hid the gingerbread people so well as she hunched over them that he simply worked on the rest of the house until it was time for him to put something together for dinner and try to get her to eat. He looked over at her a few times as he cooked, realizing that as she put the figures down and started to touch up his work on the house itself, the corners of her mouth twitched like she might smile.

Dinner was, as usual, a desolate affair; although there was finally enough food for both of them to eat, most of his time was spent trying to convince Akane to actually put food in her mouth. Whatever he ate didn’t taste good; he could barely even remember what they’d eaten as he did the dishes and Akane returned to her gingerbread project. She leaned over it so closely that he didn’t try to approach again, instead retreating to his room, frustrated.

Part of him wanted to run back in there and try to clarify what he’d meant in their argument the other day, that he knew she needed to remember and speak about every detail to stay alive, but he needed a life where the Nonary Game wasn’t the only thing in the world. The tension of it all ran hot under his skin, but he didn’t need her reminder that something was boiling inside her as well.

Aoi sighed. He was supposed to be the big brother, and he was the one who would have to do everything he could to help Akane. She was still a kid – hell, two months ago, she’d have still sent a letter to Santa even though she was almost a teenager. Now if only Santa would write to her instead, if only he could use that to explain…

Sliding into his chair, Aoi grabbed a piece of paper. Even if it didn’t help, it couldn’t hurt.

“Dear Akane,

I’m sorry,” he began, aware that he’d apologized to her so many times for things he hadn’t done over the last couple of weeks that it was starting to annoy her, “that you’ve had such a hard year. You are very good, no matter what anyone says.”

It felt so trite that he nearly tore the note in half, but it wasn’t like he could think of anything better.

“I didn’t receive a list from you this year, and the things you want cannot come true right now.” They would be real in Building Q in nine years, on the day that silly boy from her class who gave her the doll that got her killed in the first place would save her life. “It is beyond my magic to move the time closer.”

He sighed, pushing the paper away. It was almost too late to do anything at all, and it wasn’t a proper Santa’s letter without a gift. Exasperated, he got up and shuffled into the hallway and then to the living room, where he found the completed gingerbread house sat with the Akane and Aoi gingerbread figures standing outside by the door, with no sign of his sister.

Now that he had the chance to get a good look at the gingerbread Akane, he could see that she had drawn the outfit she described to him that she would wear in Building Q. It seemed overwhelming for her to get out all at once, but she did describe the purple dress with the black pattern (looking more like blobs of icing here, but still), the striped socks and brown boots, the stripes on the sleeves and there was even a little red and blue spot on the wrist that was probably supposed to be the watch (Aoi rubbed his wrist; he could still feel his sometimes). In her hair, there was a little pin that wasn’t quite a star or a flower.

A sudden pang of guilt swept over Aoi. He tried to get Akane to think about things other than what had happened, but he probably took it too far. She did need to get things out, after all, and he was supposed to be there to listen to her. He was supposed to be a lot of things, he thought angrily as he looked down at the cookie that could crumble as easily as his sister’s life.

Suddenly, an idea came into his head. A way to show Akane that he was listening to her, that he’d seen and understood that in nine years he was going to wear a silly-looking tank-top and black pants and she was going to wear the dress with a shirt under it for some reason even though she hated being too warm and couldn’t get cold nowadays, and the whole rest of the outfit that made no sense.

Aoi hurried out into the cold, hoping the nearest convenience store wasn’t closed. They were in this thing together, no matter what. And while there was no letter from Santa telling Aoi what Akane wanted, he knew exactly what she needed.

When he got back, present in tow, he rummaged through his papers until he found the note, then added a final line: “In the meantime, I hope this helps. - Santa” He set it under the gingerbread house, slipped the present through the hole in the door, and went to sleep.

Unlike in previous years, he wasn’t awakened at the crack of dawn by a squealing sister. The sun was in the sky already and he could smell the gingerbread house as he rolled out of bed. Belatedly, he realized there was no tradition for finding presents by the gingerbread house. Would she even know it was there?

He made his way into the kitchen, slippers sliding along the floor. There were no squeals of happiness, no clatter of excited footsteps. Akane sat at the table facing the gingerbread house, the little door open, her hand inside before she pulled his present out into the light.

In her hand lay a pair of hair clips, not quite stars and not quite flowers, with little circles on the ends.

She turned around, meeting Aoi’s eyes as he stood in the hallway. He was frozen silent, unsure of what to say. Had he done the right thing? The wrong thing? The kind of thing that would make her live in her own world again until he could pry her out?

A small smile spread across her face as she looked at the hair clips. “Merry Christmas, Santa,” she said, and for the first time in a month, she sounded like herself.

“Merry Christmas,” he replied, finally stepping into the room, warmed by the thought that he might be able to pull off the good Santa from her story, after all.

#zero escape #9 Hours 9 Persons 9 Doors #agentshilonglang #erisofimladris #zecret santa 2019 #submission

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firstofficerhobgoblin · 5 years

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Happy Birthday @luck-over-logic !!!!

To the most wonderful James Tiberius Kirk in the TOS RP community!!!!!

I've now known you for a year and change and I'm ever so very glad I ran into you!! The muse has been silent as the grave of late, but have some Birthday minific! I did Fourth of July Last year, so this year have Pride. And I hope I have to think of summer themes for you for many years to come!!!

________________

Spock liked talking walks during the hottest part of the day. Jim had always known that, but as they got older he began to realize the true implication of the habit. It meant that all damn summer Jim was going to sweat like a horse. Why it was only June 30th, and it was only 11 am, and he was only wearing a t-shirt and lo and behalf he was damn near soaking through it, and was starting to get a little self conscious about the fabric clinging to what it aughtn't, and really he probably shouldn’t be wearing shorts at all at his age, and he wouldn’t have if it wasn’t so hot; he just wasn’t as trim as he’d once been. Bones had taken to calling him good old fashioned fat. He stared at a well built young man in short shorts and a painted on tank top, chatting loudly on his phone as he jogged past them, clearly late for something. He remembered when he looked like that….

“You look perfectly fine to me.” Spock said softly, giving Jim a start. But he smiled at the sentiment. Spock could read his mind even when he wasn’t….well….reading his mind. But he could be a little frustrating when it came to looks, for even in this weather he looked dignified in all blacks and greys and never a day over 50.

Spock reached down and squeezed his hand. Jim, as always, squeezed back, returning the gentle pulse of adoration Spock had sent his way and they carried on.

A minute later a young woman bathed in pink, purple and blue glitter bounced past them, accompanied by a tall man in corresponding pastel pink, blue and white glitter. Spock observed them with quiet curiosity, that peaked when the sparkly pair met up with a girl wearing rainbow body paint, and little else at the end of the block.

“Human youth culture never ceases to amaze.” The Vulcan observed quietly. “Where could they possibly be going looking that conspicuous?”

But when they reached the end of the block and looked uptown, they got their answer. They were nearly bowled over by a wall of sound, emanating from a seething, screaming crowd of people flamboyantly dressed people, all congregated under a massive rainbow banner that read 'San Fran Pride'. Jim laughed aloud. Spocks eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his bangs and his grip on Jim’s hand tightened.

“I forgot about LGBT history month!” Jim said. Spock stared at him in a way that indicated his comment had in no way explained the multicolored cabal of glitter and feathers that had appeared before them. “Humans used to be kinda awful to each other, remember? And homosexuality used to be kinda an issue.” He explained.

“I am well aware of your history…” Spock replied, with a gaze canted uncomfortably towards the parade impling Jim’s explanation had not in fact explained a damn thing about the mass of humanity doing their best impersonation of so many birds of paradise. Just then the obligatory Stonewall float passed by, and that was how Jim Kirk found himself shout-explaining the history of pride, from riot, to protest, to party, to historic commemoration, a few feet from the current incarnation of the event. The era when it was a protest. When corporations tried to take it. When it was declared a History Month, like it always should have been. Spock listened with his typical intensity, regarding the display of flamboyance with changing opinion and increasing regard as Jim spoke.

He was just beginning his own tale of “Why, I remember my first Pride. I was about seventeen. I hadn’t quite figured out what I was feeling for men yet and my friend from……..” He trailed off as a float grabbed his eyes and stole all his attention.

The Starfleet sponsored float was topped with a beautiful starship made of iridescent sequins, and the float below was covered in pictures honoring LGBT figures from Starfleet history. The First Homosexual Captain. The First Trans Captain. The first Asexual Captain. But Jim's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the fifth photo.

The youngest Captain on Record. And his First Officer.

“Now you see here!” He hollered so loud that everyone in the vicinity turned to look at him. “I’m not history yet! I’m still right here!”

Everyone around them was staring, looking back and forth between the oversized image in the approaching float and the pair of old men standing in the back of the parade crowd. Finally someone declared the obvious.

“Holy shit…..it’s them!!! It’s Captain Kirk and Commander Spock!!” someone yelled.

“Admiral and Captain.” Spock corrected, but his insistence on precision was lost in the deafening cry of shrieks that rose up from the crowd around them, loud enough to draw the attention of the older man Marshaling the Starfleet float. The man, who neither of them recognized at first, immediately signaled for the float to stop and started waving like mad.

“Kirk!!!” He shouted, vaulting himself off the float with a spry leap that seemed inappropriate for his advanced years, and bolted to the edge of the Parade barricades. “Jim! Spock!”

It was Spock who saw through the rainbow wig and over the top makeup first. “Captain Sulu?”

“Yes!!!” He shouted back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? You’d have had a place ON the float!! C’mon! Get up here!! C’mon guys!! Let the infamous Captain James T. Kirk and Commander Spock up here with us!”

Jim tried to insist that they hadn’t planned this at all, but his words of protest were lost in the happy cries of the crowd as they shuffled him and Spock forward and helped them climb the barricade into the parade proper, where Sulu took the Captain’s hand and yanked him up onto the float as it started moving again. Spock, who was still, clinging to Jim’s arm, got dragged along with and was surprised to find himself and Jim’s presence getting aggressively cheered.

Sulu immediately began fussing over their appearance, swapping out Jim’s t shirt for a multicolored tank with the image of a frying pan on it that they both found hilarious but Spock found confusing. Spock, to his great displeasure, had a tub of glitter dumped on him after he’d selected for himself on a small, tasteful button that read “Elder Queer” from the box Sulu had pulled Jim’s new shirt from. But once the parade got going again, they both had to admit that the energy was infections. And people were so very happy to see the pair of them, Riding together astride the great glittering starship float.

“You mean so much to them.” Sulu beamed at the pair at one point. “Not just the gay couples….but the interspecies couples. The offworld queers. You’re icons to them. And watching the two of you, always at the forefront…..you give them so much hope.” After that comment Spock was a little more visible about his affections with Jim, even managing a human kiss when they reached the grandstand.

And Jim? He was having the time of his life, playing back and forth with the crowds, throwing out rainbow Starfleet insignias, and rousing cheers every time he touched Spock. Gone we’re his previous doubts about his age. His looks. Everything. As he so eloquently put it…he wasn’t history yet.

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journeysintowebcomics · 5 years

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Stand Still Stay Silent Liveblog #61

UPDATE 61: Defense Preparations

Last time it was agreed it was time to leave and return home. There’s not even a bit of time to rest because Lalli alerts them ghosts are nearby, so it’s now time to run away. Onwards!

But first! It’s a family tree. Look at that! It’s fun stuff. Let’s take a look bit by bit.

There’s Trond here, the son of the flatteringly-described Ingrid ‘Low Effort Hippie’ Pedersen. I remember how I laughed when I saw that as the very first introduction in this story. Quite a thing, that was. So yeah, Trond is old as heck. He’s only one generation after Year Zero. Compared to everyone else in this story, he’s an antique! I wonder if he grew up seeing the world collapse or if when he was born everything was ruined already.

Kitty came out of nowhere, as you can see. It formed from the dew of the forest and the blood of slain trolls, like right out of a Greek mythology tale. Hah! Okay, not really. Kitty’s mom was feral, wasn’t she? She sure didn’t react well when Sigrun came to help. That cat may have never seen any humans ever in her life.

These characters have middle names, goodness! So, Sigrun Eide the First is up there, having married Good Grandson Aksel. Three generations later, Sigrun Eide the second existed. I notice Sigrun’s second name is her mom’s. Something about the entire name Sigrun Solveig Eide sounds so nice, I like the sound of this a lot.

Hah! How nice of Michael and Signe, naming their son after their cat. Maybe I’m a bit of a sap, but I’m thinking it was because the cat sparked the first conversation they had. It’s kind of a sweet way to commemorate it. From there on, the tradition of giving M names to their children continued until present times. There’s Mikkel’s many siblings, just like he had said. No wonder he said he recognized Tuuri’s attempt to manipulate him, hah! Mikkel’s middle name is Henrik because no child of the Madsen family will be named by any letter other than M.

Before I started reading this webcomic I thought everyone in the Nordic countries followed the custom of last names being your father with ‘son’ added onto the end. Looks like that happens only in Iceland. Everywhere else they follow the tradition of adoption your spouse’s last name. Can’t say here where I live we do that, I have two last names. The thought of having only one last name is strange to me. Also, Ragnar over there looks intense, can you believe he’s the timid Árni’s son?

As Tuuri once said, Taru is family! Distantly related, but family. She’s the granddaughter of crazy pair Eino and Tuuli. In fact, she’s the daughter of the kid back then. Veeti’s grown-up face reminds me of Emil somehow. Must be the shape of the hair.

Kaino Hotakainen had no children nor spouse. I want to think she just wanted to live alone, instead of the possibility she...she died. Gotta stay positive.

There are the Hotakainens. Looks like at some point there were twins. From one came Lalli, from the other Onni and Tuuri. Also, I notice in Finland siblings tend to have some rather...similar names? Is that common? Look at that, there’s Eino, Kaino and Aino, and theeeen there’s Jukka and Juha, and then...well, Tuuri and Onni don’t seem to share similarities in their names. Worth noting Tuuri has Kaino’s name while Lalli has Saku’s. Guess Lalli inherited from Saku more than the propensity to getting sick on vehicles!

I wonder if the reason why Mia Vasterstrom didn’t take her husband’s last name is because some guy named Emil Svensson would be harder to tie to the characters introduced during the prologue chapter. To compensate, Emil was given that guy’s first name. Also, I have to wonder if Torbjorn once grabbed the cat and thought ‘ah, yes, mom said she once had pets. Misse and Bosse. I’ll name this cat Misse in honor of the cat—oh, wait, this is a male cat. Guess a dog’s name is good enough’.

Heh, overall I really like this page. Family tree with nice art! But it’s time for the story to continue, with a nice and shiny chapter opening page.

Chapter Thirteen, featuring Sleipnope the ghost horse, here depicted as a golden ghost. Significant in any manner because it’s colored gold instead of using the very pale blue normally used?

The crew is driving through the forest, looking for a better place to make their stand. They’ll want a place without trees to burn if Emil decides to use his incendiary skills, yeah? Sigrun stays calm and points at a field. That’ll be their battlefield. A good spot is obtained, inside Lalli and Reynir sit around to wait what they have to do, perhaps? Sigrun, Mikkel and Emil are ready to go ioutside, Mikkel is given a gun in what’s a risky move. Last time Mikkel was in a fight he almost broke Emil’s leg, so our dear Swedish better stay on the opposite side to avoid any unfortunate accidents.

Suddenly dog! Isn’t that Reynir’s dog?

It was a sudden transition to the dreamworld, where the dog searches for Onni and seems to be the way for Reynir to communicate with Onni even though one mage is awake and the other...possibly is awake too? Reynir omits the part where he asks if Onni remembers him and tells him they’re all in trouble and their defenses may not be enough. Onni’s help will be good if the ghosts reach them – which they most likely will. The dog fades away, possibly because Lalli just yanked him to drag him outside.

Looks like Emil and Sigrun are making a campfire over there. Sigrun must have a plan, hm! Not too far away, Lalli gives Reynir a stick and gestures on the ground. He wants him to draw.

Draw the rune. It burst on fire when the ghosts were nearby, with some ghosts it’ll happen again and incinerate trolls who try to attack. Well, if they’re lucky, that is. But still! It’s worth a try, and I don’t think the fire will spread, so it should be safe too.

Time is passing. It’s almost nighttime, they have done all they can to prepare. Did Reynir draw his rune on fire before Mikkel took him back inside the tank? I hope so. For now, it’s time for everyone to assume battle positions.

Okay, it’s drawn several times, I’m glad. If they had more time, maybe Reynir could have done that in a circle around the tank, for a wall of fire that can repel them from all possible points. No time for that, so...only in this area. I hope it’ll go well – geez, I’m kind of nervous!

Having finished the defensive plans they were able to make, everybody who is immune gathers on top of the tank, waiting for the darkness to come. It’ll be a few nervewracking hours. I bet even Tuuri and Reynir inside the tank will be afraid all the time, even though they’ll be safer than the rest.

They arrived.

Next time.

Next time: in four updates

#Stand Still Stay Silent #ssss liveblog #webcomics #liveblog #webcomic liveblog

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jimlingss · 6 years

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Starlet and Moonstruck [1]

Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5

Words: 8.7k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Actress!Au Summary: As a newcomer actress struggling to make a name for yourself in the tough industry, you’re absolutely ecstatic to see your Dispatch pictures on the front page of Naver....but..what is this?! This isn’t about you!

Who’s the third guy from the left?!

Cr.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” The chanting of your name begins simultaneously as the car door slides open and you step out. Your mouth draws into a huge smile, cheeks swelling, hand waving and the shrieking elevates. The screams from your fans beg you to spare any amount of attention to them. The journalists lean over the metal fence barrier, shoving their microphone in your direction and yelling out questions to supposed rumours. The artificial light flashes of the cameras provide you with luminescence, reminding you of a rave show, capturing your best angles with the long lenses. The shouts and clicking frenzy ricochets off the midnight sky.

You continue with black heels strutting against the red carpet, offering a last smile as you turn into the building. The life of fame is such a tough one.

“Uh, miss….did you pay for your ticket?”

Unfortunately, it’s a mere mirage.

You tug down your sunglasses, pupils narrowed into the ticket boy and he blinks at you, unfazed. Your hand reaches up, taking off the black face mask and you clear your throat. He still doesn’t recognize who you are and you give a mirthless laugh, ripping open your purse to slap a crisp bill on the counter.

“What movie?”

“When Spring Meets Autumn.” You tap your fingernails against the counter. “One ticket.”

“Uh-huh.” The teenager behind the booth makes excruciatingly slow movements, as if attempting to purposely piss you off. It’s a full minute later before he hands you the slip of paper and directs you to which auditorium.

You scoff, strutting away while putting on your disguise again, fearing that someone will see you for who you really are. It would be terribly inconvenient for you to draw a crowd at a time like this.

You find a spot smack dab in the rows of seats and the spaces around you end up getting filled out as the commercials roll in the meantime. Some folks give you odd stares and you decide to finally take off your sunglasses, rewarding them to sneak a peek at your face. But they simply turn around without a single comment.

There’s no time to dwell, not when the lights have dimmed and the movie is beginning.

“No! Sunhwa! You can’t do it! You can’t go back to him! He hurt you!”

It’s surreal to be watching on the large screen, to hear your own voice and see your own facial expressions. You murmur underneath your breath, “promise me one thing….promise me you’ll find happiness elsewhere and not with that bastard.”

“Promise me one thing!” Your visage is marred by a frown, tears running down your flushed cheeks and from your spot in the theater, you admire how pretty you look. It’s convincing as well, striking a chord from deep within. “Promise me you’ll find happiness elsewhere and not with that bastard.”

You let out a squeak at the way you enunciated ‘bastard’ with absolute spite. The main character and actress looks out the window and sure, while you might be playing a minor role, this is still something that can be used to propel you higher into your career.

A few more scenes pass by but you’re preparing for the one and only….

“SUNHWA!”

There’s the screech of the tires halting on pavement, a single scream and the car collides with your body. The epic, sad music begins to play and you commemorate how well you play dead on the road, though it only lasts a handful of seconds. In the next scene, it’s your funeral.

Two hours later, the movie has ended and you leave the theater with a humongous smile.

Why not? You decide to appease your fans and you take off your glasses, waiting by the door as people exit the movie, discussing the ending and how it was a mediocre film at best.

No one looks twice at you.

You clear your throat loudly and awkwardly as if you were choking. Some high school kid tapping away at their phone looks up to see if you’re dying. “Are you okay-”

“Did you see me?”

“What?”

You rest your elbow against the wall, hand touching your forehead as you sweep your hair back. “The movie. I was in it.”

The student frowns, a bit weirded out from you. “You were?”

“I was the main character’s best friend...you know, I was there for the first ten minutes in like three scenes. There was a car accident in the beginning.”

He shoots his brows upwards. “There was an accident?”

You exhale a long breath. Okay, the movie is two hours and a half, you might’ve only shown up for ten and a lot of shit does go down but how could this high school child not remember the plot at all?! Your death was the basis for everything else! It’s very important…

Right?!

It’s been your dream since you were young, when you could barely even count your own fingers. You cried for a fictional character, a name and actress that you didn’t know but what you did know was that you wanted to be like her. A starlet.

At four, while others your age wanted to be a princess or fairy, when asked, you said you wanted to be an actress. They encouraged you and smiled, praising how cute you were.

At ten, you declared that you would become an actress. They said ‘oh’ and many people wished you luck while skeptically walking away.

At eighteen, you set out a plan to become an actress and how to get to the road of fame. Your friends rolled their eyes, teachers told you to set realistic standards and your parents yelled at you to stop daydreaming.

But here you are….

Sort of.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow and even harder to admit, but after so many years of grueling hard work and begging on your knees, all the roles you have obtained are incredibly forgettable.

You don’t blame the high schooler for not knowing you were in the movie. Even the director forgot to put your name in the credits and you weren’t called to the premiers either. But it’s okay, you don’t really mind. Your manager got angry on your behalf anyways.

“Oh my! My stomach hurts so much! What should I do?” You spin around, holding a pill bottle in your hands. A single wink and finger gun motion later, you muster a bright smile. “NIJ Laxative Pills will cure your bowel way! Helps with constipation! Now I feel so much better!”

You hold yourself still and after a second, the director yells ‘cut!’.

“That was great, Y/N,” he says sitting from his chair and you monitor your performance with scrutinizing pupils. “Except, can you act more in pain? How about you sit on the toilet and rub your stomach. Don’t be afraid to look ugly. Remember, you’re constipated.”

“Okay! I can do that!” You bow waist down to the director before racing back onto set.

The staff watches, some coordis snickering at the way you gurgle and moan in fake pain, perched on top of the toilet. You end up spinning around and saying the second portion of your lines in a different outfit. Finally, after twenty takes and four hours, it’s over.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You bow towards the director and all the staff, not caring about how a few of them give mocking smiles and how the director doesn’t say a single word in response or glance in your direction. Your hands are clasped together and you continue to express your gratitude to each person until they’ve walked away. “Thank you.”

It might be an embarrassing commercial and they might’ve laughed at you but you’re lucky to be here.

“Listen, we’re going to make your big break soon! I just know it, Y/N. Don’t give up! You have talent and someone will eventually notice!” Soo-Ae, your sweet manager has a stern expression and you nod with a newfound determination.

Aside from managing your schedule and assisting you every step of the way, Soo-Ae is your personal cheerleader and the backbone to your entire career. When there’s nobody there, she never fails to support and encourage you.

“The CF turned out great and your recent movie got you more fans!” She smiles, fixing a strand of your hair and smoothing out your golden teacup dress as the stylists pack up. “Soon more articles will pop up and it’ll be the start of something great.”

Six years ago at eighteen years of age, fresh out of high school and bare-faced, your audition blew the older woman’s socks off. She claimed that you have a brilliant gift and your manager went as far as to beg the higher-ups of the company to take you in. To this day, she is still the one who finds all the opportunities for you.

“Thank you.” You feel a tear pricking at your eyes but you repress it in fear of smudging your mascara. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh please, your success is mine.” The woman places her hands on your shoulders and you muse that she’s truly the older sister that you’ve never had. “There’s also something else that I need to tell you, Y/N.”

You look away from your reflection in the mirror. “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out. I want you to remain calm. But I got in touch with a company recently and after a lot of discussion, they’ve agreed to take pictures of you.”

There’s a bit of silence, anticipation building in your stomach as your mind races. “Who?”

“It’s Dispatch.”

You nearly drop to the ground right then and there.

Click.

But the flash of the camera breaks you out of your daze. The photographer smiles and you gather up a wider grin, raising your hand for a wave, tipping your head to one side. You’re pretending to walk into the company building nonchalantly, as if they had caught you by surprise but this is far from normal. It’s not everyday that you get the opportunity to pose for one of the most popular newsgroups.

You’re internally screaming as the clicks continue to go off and you try to make different expressions, straightening your posture, lips meekly turned upwards. There are a few people near the metal gate barrier, fans holding up signs with your name and shouting out for your attention. You’re not sure how many people there are planted by your manager and how many are actually real but it’s still nice to have some sort of backdrop that might hint to your oncoming fame.

“Alright, that was great!” As the photographer drops his expensive camera, the cheering simultaneously dies out. Like you suspected, all of those people crying out for you are fake.

A sharp sting bites the muscle beating near your rib cage but the hurt is interrupted when you catch a black cloud of hair, a tall figure wearing a bright red cap standing amongst the female crowd, a rather cute face-

“Well, the article should come out later today or tomorrow.” Dispatch’s photographer interrupts your daydream and you whip your head around, listening attentively. “We like to work fast and it’s no problem when we’re only releasing a few photographs and a couple of sentences.”

“O-oh, thank you.” You bow and he hums, nodding his head.

Your manager comes outside, smiling towards the people behind the barrier who begins to scatter, breaking the cardboard signs of your name and throwing the posters into the trash. Soo-Ae goes to speak to the Dispatch employee about some details in the article while you skip into the building.

You’re giggling and twirling, beaming with happiness. This could be it. This is the one thing that could propel your dreams and make them become fulfilled.

You leave the front entrance behind, abandoning your fake fans that were hired by your manager. Unknowingly, you leave one real one behind as well.

The laptop screen lights up in bright colours. You’re seen in the center on a white toilet, a cute growl leaving your stomach as your face twists up. “My stomach hurts so much. What should I do?!”

There’s a poof and you’re seen twirling around in a different outfit, facing the front again with a pill bottle in your hand. You give a charming wink and a finger gun motion, smiling vividly. The music jingle plays ‘bah-dah-ba’.

“NIJ Laxative Pills will cure your bowel way! Helps with constipation! Now, I feel so much better!”

The logo flares on screen as a deeper voice on the CF sounds, one that speaks rapidly, whispering all the cautionary warnings of the brand and how consumers must ingest by their own discretion and the company isn’t held responsible for any damages.

Yet, you’re not paying any attention to your new commercial that you’ve watched at least a thousand times. You’re on your phone, eyes glued to the screen, teeth chewing the nail of your thumb, muttering incoherently under your breath. Stop freaking out, stop freaking out, stop freaking out, you chant back to yourself to calm down.

It’s one in the morning and the Dispatch article was released hours ago. You’ve been too scared to check, to see what they said about you, what the comments are, how you look in the photos. But now you’ve built up the courage and with a trembling finger, you press onto the app, refreshing the page….

Naver appears and you’re about to search for your article, only to be stopped with a gasping breath. IT’S….IT’S…

IT’S ON THE FRONT PAGE?!

The written piece with your face as the icon, headlines running across the screen is trending, at the very top and your heart gets stuck in your throat. You begin to sob uncontrollably, feeling overwhelmed, both happy and relieved, enthralled with excitement and the burden of trying for so many years have been lifted off your shoulders. It’s here.

Fame has come knocking at your door.

You double tap on the article, wiping away your drenched cheeks. The page pulls up with a handful of lovely photographs of yourself and carelessly written captions underneath. You’re quite splendid in them, smiling without showing the stiffness, clear skin and bright eyes, a gorgeous dress that doesn’t take away from your appearance. But you don’t dwell on the pictures, quickly sliding your hand down the screen to view the comments underneath. They begin to load and you hold the air in your lungs…

[New Rising Actress Y/N Gathers Fans at Company Entrance]

1. [+3,233, -68] Oh my god. Who is that third guy from the left?!

2. [+2,987, -145] That third guy from the left in the back is crazy handsome. If that guy is reading this comment right now, please marry me!!

3. [+2,336, -38] Holy sh*t, that guy in the red hat is so freaking cute. His smile is killer, wow! It’s unreal. Is he an actor or an idol??? I need to know his name asap!

4. [+1,062, -57] It’s a shame I’m a fifty year old married woman. Please become my son in law! My daughter went to Seoul University and she needs someone like you!!

5. [+789, -20] ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Isn’t it funny that this random fan got more attention that this nobody actress?

6. [+490, -23] Who is this actress though?

7. [+260, -15] Dispatch, please take photos of the third guy from the left next!

8. [+13, -3] Ah, I wish she would move a bit more to the right. Or maybe just out of the screen.

9. [+12, -2] ㅋㅋ This actress is a nobody! ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

You scroll all the way back up to the photographs and exactly like the comments, your face pales in comparison to the man; the third one from the left, standing behind the metal fence barrier amongst the crowd of fake fans, smiling innocently with a red cap on. He’s in nothing but a plain white and blue jersey, black disheveled hair poking out, absolutely breathtaking.

The mysterious person looks worlds better compared to you who’s dolled up and perfected with layers of makeup. It took you a tremendous amount of effort to get to where you are, yet he’s nothing more than a bystander, a stranger who’s gained what you desired most.

“My stomach hurts so much. What should I do?!” The jingle plays in the background. “NIJ Laxative Pills will cure your bowel way! Helps with constipation! Now, I feel so much better!”

You slam down your laptop, silencing the embarrassing commercial and it occurs to you how quiet and dark the apartment has become. You sink down into your bed, not bothering to turn off the lamp as your tears trickle from your eyes and onto the pillow, creating a damp mess.

Who’s that actress though? She’s a nobody.

Tiny sobs break through your mouth and you chuck your mobile device away, letting you weep yourself until exhaustion has taken you.

The man sits across from you, smiling and happy to be in the presence of another beautiful individual. You solemnly pick at the food in your plate, nodding lifelessly as he blabbers on. The meal is eventually finished, two hours passed and you follow after him in the elevator, feet shuffling on muscle memory while your brain is a kilometer away. You don’t catch onto his sly glimpses of you.

It doesn’t truly occur to you where you’re going until the older man is fishing for his hotel room key card, his other hand snaking to the dips of your waist and gently palming over your ass.

You immediately snap out of it, flinching out of the stranger’s grasps, feeling lightheaded from the one glass of wine. The man takes notice of your abrupt movement and his hand freezes, eyebrow cocked upwards, “What’s wrong?”

“I-uh….I’m just feeling a little tired.” You manage to plaster on a meek smile, brushing your hair back and speaking in a soft and honeyed voice, “I think I should head home.”

“So soon?” He rests against the doorway, scanning you from head to toe while licking his lips, as if envisioning what you would look like stripped from the short black dress, thrown onto the mattress with your lipstick smeared and your mascara running down your cheeks.

You hide your disgust with a clearing of your throat and he nudges towards the hotel room. “You could come inside and rest. I promise we’ll only talk business in there and...maybe we can have a bit of fun too afterwards. It’ll be good for you, Y/N. I can guarantee that you’ll feel good as well.”

A muscle in near your eye twitches and your jaw feels numb from the exaggerated grin but you keep it up. You bow your head to show your respect and for the purpose of seniority. “I’m okay. Thank you, I had a nice time.”

Your manager, Soo-Ae, had told you that someone in the industry was interested in you and your work. You instantly agreed to have dinner with him and meet him for potential opportunities but what you failed to realize, while your mind was preoccupied from the Naver article, was that this was a sponsorship offer - sexual favours in exchange for money and power.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” He stops you from escaping, purposely moving in your way. The older man reeks of cologne and you hold in a cough. “I could get you the roles that you want.”

Upon hearing his confident statement, you waver. He must detect it in your expression since he continues on with the sweet coaxings. “There’s nothing to worry about. A lot of celebrities like you come to me for help. I have connections, I know people. The things that you want, the roles, I could easily get them for you in the blink of an eye.”

The man’s large hand clasps around your wrist, giving a light tug and he smiles. “And I know a lot more people would want to help you too. Not only would you get the fame that you’ve always dreamed of but you’ll be rich beyond belief. Money, luxury, clothes, films, CFs, dramas - it’s all yours. All you have to do is be obedient and listen.”

His whispers and the deep timbre of the man’s vibrating voice causes you to swallow hard. It’s the devil’s offer, a dream or a miracle, something that you’d never be able to obtain out of your own will.

Yet, you pry his grip off of you, standing your ground. “That’s not the method I want to take to reach my dreams.”

He mirthlessly chuckles, a cold tone ringing in the empty hallway to the private hotel suite. “You sure are stupidly naive for being in this industry for six years. Just put down your goddamn pride for once. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is the only way you’ll make it, sweetheart. You really think you can become famous purely by your hard work? What a joke.”

The older man rolls his eyes, clearly pissed off at how you’re wasting his time and not spreading your legs automatically like people in the past have. Instead, you bow your head once more, fingernails sinking into your skin to hold in the tears that threaten to pour.

“I’m going to leave now. Thank you for the dinner. Goodbye.”

“Mark my words,” he calls after you in a booming voice, “you’ll come crawling back one way or another!”

When you can’t cry, you smile. When you can’t scream, you laugh.

There’s no time or place to complain or whine, to be enraged or sorrowful, not in this cut-throat industry that would slice you up like a sirloin steak the moment they catch a flicker of a weakness. You haven’t even made it yet. You can’t sob for what you don’t have.

“My stomach is hurting so badly, help me.” The main actress for the comedy television drama collapses on the counter. You twirl around in your white coat, acting as the local pharmacist.

“What did you eat recently?”

The actress frowns and recalls in her mind, muttering underneath her breath, “Bong-su….this morning…” A flash of recognition slaps her across the face but she clutches onto her stomach.

You smile, sliding over a NIJ laxative pill bottle over the counter which she takes gratefully.

“Cut!”

The director’s cue causes the entire set to rush forward, fixing the actress’ messy hair and makeup to prepare for the next scene. You step out from behind the counter, bowing to her to which she smiles and tells you what a good job you did. You thank the director and the rest of the staff as you leave.

It was only a brief cameo, probably something that might be aired for less than a minute. Still, any exposure is good exposure at this point.

You’re in the dressing room, packing up your bag when your phone begins to spasm in your pocket. You apologize to the stylists for the noisy sound and you smile at your manager’s name that’s displayed across the screen. She wasn’t too happy that you made the potential sponsor and perhaps future associate angry but she ultimately brushed it away.

You pick up the phone call, wondering if Soo-Ae already received another opportunity for you.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, are you done with filming? Come to the company building right now, there’s something important that I need to tell you. I’m on the fifth floor, fourth conference room in the west wing. Hurry.”

“No.”

You thought at this point, you’d almost do anything to make it big but this is your absolute limit. “I can’t. It’s embarrassing. It’s horrible. I just can’t.”

“Y/N…” Soo-Ae sighs and rubs her temples for an extended second. She’s leaning against the table, her feet and arms crossed, watching you pace back and forth. “You don’t have a choice.”

A nervous breakdown comes knocking at the door, distress holding your frame captive and you shake your head, grasping onto the hair near your scalp. “No. No!”

Your manager inhales a deep breath and pushes herself to stand properly. She takes three strides up to you and presses her comforting hands on your shoulders, locking your eyes with her’s. The oncoming mental collapse barrelling towards you temporarily halts.

“Listen to me, Y/N, and listen carefully. At this point, the company is willing to try anything that will work. The PR team and I have spoken and they’re right. It’s been six fucking long years and if your career doesn’t propel up now, it’s all over. We’re both not getting younger and it’ll get harder and harder from here. This is just a way to draw attention to you so that people can see you for who you really are, your talents and gifts. It’s a strategy, a tactic.” Her desperation manages to coax you an inch. “I know you can do this, Y/N. It’s worth a shot.”

She’s right. You’ve made it this far. Are you really going to stop now? How can you bear to let all your efforts go to waste?

You slowly enunciate the word, “okay.”

Soo-Ae smiles at your response. “Good.”

“Where is he?”

Your life is one tragic comedy.

“He’s in the next room over.”

No...No...No…

You’re screaming internally from denial. ‘Yes..Yes...Yes…’, your manager’s light shoves conveys and you’re forced to open the door. There’s broad shoulders and a large backside that greets you. A black cloud of hair sits on top of his head, untamed and poofy. The head turns and shining, bright eyes crinkle with the humongous grin. The man is more so of a boy, carrying an innocent aura that seems heightened with his excitement. He’s in nothing more than a navy green jacket, dark jeans but he’s unmistakably drop dead gorgeous.

He’s even more beautiful than the photos and for a moment, you’re blown away, forgetting who the actual celebrity in the room is. Fuck. You’re envious of him.

There’s silence.

You stare at him. He stares at you. You wonder how someone can have such pillowy lips, strong brows that create a cute face, look so perfected as if they were sculpted from a deity’s hands. It doesn’t occur to you that he’s completely starstruck in your presence.

After a jab from your manager, you sigh and snap out of your trance. “Are you my new bodyguard?”

“Yes, I am!” He shouts in elation and you frown, questioning if you heard him let out a squeal. His smile is so wide, you ponder if it might break his face - if it does, you’ll celebrate. “My name is Kim Seokjin! It’s nice to finally meet you!”

You wish you could say the same.

It’s unbearable. Kim Seokjin, infamous Third Guy From The Left, follows you around everywhere you go. His presence is a constant reminder that you couldn’t become famous on your own and reach your dreams with your own talents. Instead, you have to ride off of his fame, utilize his nice face as a strategy to gain attention from the public. It’s sad. It’s humiliating.

It’s even worse that he’s so goddamn annoying.

“Will you stop whistling?!” You snap at him in the van and he jolts, immediately quieting down.

He dips his head, lips slightly pouting but the genuine sadness is felt through his softly whispered words, “I’m sorry.”

Goddammit. Now you feel like the villain.

And why does he have to look like that? Like a kicked puppy?

“Can you stop staring at me?!” You growl at him and he whirls his head to look at the window, wincing from your harsh tone. He murmurs another apology and you groan, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose from the accumulating stress.

You can’t help feeling nothing but disdain for him. It’s unfair. He’s done nothing to get to where he is, to have his nickname trending and all over the front page of news sites. Paparazzi and people alike are searching for him, to find out more details, his name and age, to satisfy the curious netizens. It’s infuriating.

“Carry my stuff.”

Seokjin catches the bags that you hurl towards him and he cheerfully pulls your luggage into the building after you. He still remains happy-go-lucky, humming under his breath, chasing after your tail and always….always staring at you like he can’t believe he’s actually with you.

You don’t know what that guy’s problem is. “Go fetch me some water.”

“Okay!”

But you have to endure this.

Your manager was right after all. There have been pictures released with Seokjin standing beside you and it’s blown up, some speculating that he may be your boyfriend while most put two and two together, figuring out that he’s your new bodyguard. Of course, your name is linked with his too. Whatever fame he gains, you’re also benefiting.

You repeat the single statement to yourself over and over again: ‘any exposure is good exposure at this point’.

“No, I don’t want this water!” You chuck the bottle to the ground, letting him watch it roll to his feet. “Go downstairs and take the elevator to the second floor. At the east wing, four doors down to the left, not right, there's a coffee break room. Go to the back where the mini-fridge is and take the bottle from the first shelf, not the third one or the one attached to the door. Got that?”

He lifts up his hand, eyes widening. “W-wait-!”

“Go.”

You turn towards the mirror, picking apart the flaws to cover them up with a thick layer of concealer. It’s not until ten minutes have passed before your manager comes into the room, monetarily glaring at the stylists tapping away at their phones in the corner. “Where’s Seokjin?”

“Hmm?” You twirl a piece of your hair, glancing over at Soo-Ae.

That’s right….where did he go?

There’s a thought that knocks the wind out of your lungs - what if he left? Maybe you scared him off….good….but no-.....that’s bad. You need him. Rather, you need his fame and his gorgeous face.

You end up running around the entire building, asking others if they’ve seen him and chasing after his shadow, places where you miss him by a mere couple of seconds. Your polished hair becomes a mess, makeup smudged and clothes rumpled. You would feel angered...if only you didn’t feel so guilty first.

“Um, excuse me. Do you know where the east wing to the second floor is?”

“Kim Seokjin!” Your guilt heightens as he swivels his head over, an enormous grin tugging his lips and causing his cheeks to swell. He bows his head towards the worker who hums and leaves. Seokjin’s eyes are gleaming as he skips over to you, transforming from a lost puppy into a happy dog that’s finally found its owner. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry. I got lost and I didn’t know how to go back either. This building’s really big! But I got you some water! It’s not the one in the mini-fridge but I found-”

You take the bottle in his hand with a long sigh, defeated with his undying eagerness. “I don’t need water anymore. Let’s just go back, okay?”

Seokjin audibly squeals when you take his hand, holding it in yours and lugging him along the maze of halls. You turn around, lifting up a brow and he downcasts his head, the tips of his ears burning a bright shade of red, attempting to repress another big smile and failing.

The stylists grumble as they fix the mess on your head and on your face. However, when Seokjin takes a seat next to you at the dressing tables, they seem absolutely elated, shoving each other lightly to battle who gets to brush his lashes and groom his brows.

“Why is he getting styled as well?”

You watch as the coordinator rushes to prepare a suit for him, steaming out all the wrinkles and measuring his arm with tape. “He’s supposed to be my bodyguard!”

Soo-Ae comforts you with her hand tapping your back in steady beats. “Don’t complain, Y/N. One day, you’ll thank him, I know it.”

There was another opportunity, more specifically, a pictorial with CeCi magazine. Obviously, you nearly soiled your pants when your manager told you but what you didn’t expect was for Seokjin to be involved with it as well.

There’s a bright flash from the camera and Seokjin flinches.

“Can you please relax?” The photographer asks him and you observe him fumble around. You don’t know if you should laugh at him or cry. The poor boy is so stiff and confused, only able to clasp his hands behind his back and give a pretty smile. He fails with any other pose, stance or expression and constantly looks over at you with distress.

There’s another click, a flash and your newly hired bodyguard is caught mid-blink on the monitor.

“No! No! Just stop scrunching your eyebrows. Relax your shoulders…..take a step forward...now to the right, okay. No, you still look tense. Don’t worry about anything. Look into the camera now.”

“I’m sorry.” He cries out, limbs awkwardly hanging by his side. The coordis and stylists look on in disappointment and revulsion for the way his handsome face has gone to waste by the lack of his skills. It’s a pitiful sight unraveling in front of you as Seokjin grows more and more distraught. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The photographer exhales in exasperation, dropping his camera and spinning around to look at you. He mumbles something about getting it done and over with. “What’s your name? Y/N? You can come over now.”

Seokjin breathes out a sigh of relief when you step onto the set. The white backdrop and studio umbrella lights surround him, the fluorescent artificial tubes seering into his irises. You feel a bit of compassion for the male, how he was thrown in abruptly without much of a warning. It can be overwhelming to have a camera lense solely on you, for the bright lights to burn to the back of your skull, for everyone to be watching in deafening silence, anticipating something amazing to happen.

The pressure could break anyone.

You, at the very least, have to admit that he looks quite spectacular in his suit. It’s tailored to fit and hug his body, giving him an affluent vibe, despite the natural innocent and childlike aura. Seokjin looks like a rich heir of three generations of CEOs. In comparison, the coordinator chose for you to wear a lace baby pink dress that stops mid-thigh, paired with a fitted white blazer coat that matches the length of the dress and black kitten heels. Roseate flowers clip the side of your hair back, matching the colour of your matte lipstick. For once, you’re mildly satisfied with how you look.

The best thing you can do now is to put on an act and ease him.

“Calm down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You smile and Seokjin’s cheeks grow warm. “Don’t be self-conscious. Pretend that it’s just me and you. There’s nothing to be afraid of, honestly.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, looking up at the male and he gazes back into your twinkling orbs. There’s a gasp in the corner of the room but the two of you don’t notice. The camera flashes.

If you were being truthful, you were anxious as well. It was your first time ever shooting for a pictorial and for a famous magazine agency at that. But seeing Seokjin clumsy and frightened, somehow made you feel calmer. You don’t know anything about him, but it still amazes you how beautiful he looks up close.

“Are you nervous around me?” You incline your head to one side, grinning at how his cheeks are flaming red and the tip of his ears look like they’ve caught on fire. His breathing has halted, his heart is thundering underneath his chest. Seokjin coyly smiles and you step closer to him.

He recoils back, startled but you pull him closer. Your hand is around the nape of his neck and you stare at his thick, pillow lips with half-lidded eyes. “That’s great!” The photographer shouts and Seokjin’s bewildered expression is marred when he realizes you’re only in this narrow proximity with him for the photographs. His hand naturally takes hold of your waist and you melt into his arms, lolling your head to give a mesmerized gaze at the lens of the camera.

There’s a click, a flash, the lights illuminating your visage.

Seokjin continues to focus on you, his gaze pinned on your features. You look off at the camera, sometimes giving a sly smile and other times, expressionless. The both of you change positions from his arm draped over your shoulder to you embracing him, his backside towards the photographer, the profile of his face seen when he tilts his head ninety degrees.

The room has gone silent. Coordinators and stylists, your manager, all watching in awe. The photographer is bouncing around the room, spamming his camera, screaming out compliments as he’s found his lifetime muse or that this is the greatest photoshoot in existence. “Holy shit! Wow! One more shot, one more shot!”

You and Seokjin look at each other at the same time, bursting out into laughter.

The camera flashes again.

You put on an act, ignoring the anger and jealousy, attempting to be civilized and pull Seokjin in for the sake of getting good photos. It’s all the more ironic that you’re the one gravitating towards him. And you don’t realize that you forgot you were acting.

“The pictorial blew up!” Your manager screeches through the phone and you immediately go to pull up the article.

The pictures are as stunning as the previews you saw through the monitor on the day of the shoot. For a moment, you’re captivated by how beautiful the final HD versions are, especially with the softened filter that adds a romantic and sweet atmosphere. Your face is poreless, hair smooth and body without a flaw. You wish you looked that good in reality.

Seokjin is even more magnetizing than you are, his expressions without a hint of awkwardness or tension. Though his best takes are the ones where he’s staring at you…..

You wonder why that is.

Without dwelling too much, you scroll down to the comments.

[Rookie Actress Y/N and Third Guy From The Left’s First Pictorial with CeCi]

1. [+4,955, -128] Third guy from the left strikes again! But who is this actress?

2. [+3,803, -80] Wow. They seriously look like a modern prince and princess!

3. [+3,076, -54] Thank you for washing my eyes. Ah~ it’s a visual paradise!!!

4. [+2,606, -79] F*cking crazy...beautiful people do live in another world.

5. [+1,921, -891] You have to admit that she’s really pretty too. It’s a fact that she’s a natural beauty.

6. [+683, -27] I’m so jealous of her. She must’ve saved an entire country in her past life to be standing next to him.

7. [+679, -52] But why does she need a bodyguard if she doesn’t have any fans? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

8. [+656, -57] Is it true that he’s her bodyguard?

9. [+83, -79] ㅋㅋㅋBut why is the supposed bodyguard in the pictorial????? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

You scroll past thousands of comments, silently agreeing with the ones that ask why your bodyguard would be in something like this. But your manager and the PR team were right. Your name is being taken with his and whatever fame Seokjin receives, you gain from it too.

In your apartment with the dim lights, you decide to look up his name in the search bar.

You’re aware it’s the worst thing you can do. You’ve been told by your manager and countless others to never search yourself up on the internet. Most comments are never kind and you don’t need an external source of criticism when you already internally self-deprecate yourself.

But the curiosity is too strong and ultimately wins over.

‘Third Guy From The Left Official Fan Club’ comes up and your mouth drops open. The membership to his official fan club is in the hundred thousands. When you look up at your name, one of the top sites is an anti-fan club. You decide to enter your official fancafe, only to find that it’s still at a hundred followers. It hasn’t shifted, not by one.

Why are you not surprised?

It’s not like you were ever good enough to be liked by other people anyways.

Seokjin gains a new name. From ‘Third Guy From The Left’, it has evolved into ‘Great Guy’.

There are gif sets of him walking down the street, browsing in stores, caught eating in restaurants all over twitter; clips of him put onto instagram, articles posted on instiz and nate. You’re always there in the corner of the photographs or clips too...occasionally blurred out.

Wherever you go, Seokjin’s paid to follow.

“I’m done.” You sniffle, lightly dabbing the sleeve of your sweater at your nose. “Let’s go.”

Seokjin opens the door to the restaurant and the cold air nabs at your skin. You shiver, turning around and catching the old owner lady attaching Seokjin’s signature to the wall, a request that she had asked him of when serving your food.

He continues to stare at you while you both walk alongside each other down the avenue. You can’t even go out to grab a meal in peace without your manager persisting that he joins you.

“Can you stop looking at me?” You spit out while you shake in your boots, the frost in the air kissing your forehead and cheeks. If you didn’t feel so lonely in your apartment, you would’ve called a taxi home by now.

“Were you crying?”

His whispered question causes you to stop on your heel. A frown inches its way between your brows, mind reeling if he heard your sniffling past the dingy door of the restaurant or if your eyes were still red. But you were confident upon looking in the mirror that your makeup wasn’t smudged and there was no difference in your face. Did you puffy eyes give it away?

You give him something between a scoff and a mocking chuckle, picking up your pace so he can’t have time to read your expression. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

No one’s ever been able to tell when you’re sad. You’ve always been too good at acting happy.

“S-sorry.”

A long exhale leaves your parted lips. “Don’t apologize.” There’s another extended silence and you steal a peek at Seokjin, only to find him already gazing at you. He immediately averts his stare when your eyes lock and he clears his throat, ears burning scarlet. You smile at his bashfulness, finding it easy to tease him. “You know, you were pretty good in the pictorial.”

His orbs light up. “Really?!”

“You’re good,” you admit with a nod. Doesn’t he already realize this when he looks into the mirror every morning? “Honestly, you might be a natural at it. I think you should look into some modeling agencies or talk to Soo-Ae about it. You could be famous.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don't want to be famous, at least not like that. And I was only decent at it because you were there. I’m...I’m a pretty awkward person.”

“I don’t think so…” You pause, looking up at him with unintentional pouting lips. “I think you’re just a bit clumsy but it’s your charm. It’s a shame you don't want to become famous. You have star potential.” A bitterness lingers on your tongue of how he’s already gained recognition but you push it away before a green monster can take hostage of your soul again.

“But if you don’t want to enter this industry, what do you want to do?”

“I-.......I want to be a director.”

He tilts his chin up, staring at the faint stars of the sky, the ones that are unable to show the true potential with the bright city lights. You’re surprised by his answer, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. You don’t know anything about Seokjin aside from his name. But ‘director’ was an answer you weren’t expecting.

“Really?”

He hums, eyes crinkling with his gentle smile. “I’ve always wanted to make a movie - make an entire universe inside my head come to life. If I could make others feel what I feel inside, if I can share the ideas in my mind, I think that would be a dream come true. Could you imagine? My story being told on the big screens. To work with screenwriters, actresses and actors, cinematographers and editors, all to fulfil a vision and create a masterpiece…..”

As he rambles on, you’re affected by his enthusiasm, unwittingly smiling with him. It’s powerful to hear someone as desperate as you are to make their ambitions come to fruition. Most often than not, you have to encourage yourself but to listen to Seokjin, you feel rejuvenated and refreshed.

“Well, you’re on the right track.” You tell him, acknowledging that building connections is vital. If Seokjin continues to linger around you, he’d get to know the people behind the scenes and he’d be that much closer to fulfilling his goals.

He grins. “It’s all thanks to you.”

“No.” You let your own sharp words seep into your skin like barbed wire. “I’m a nobody.”

“That’s not true!” Seokjin protests in a higher pitched voice, causing you to become startled. You glare at him and he sheepishly smiles. “This might be so embarrassing and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable but you’re the one who’s made me come this far.”

You raise a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had this dream for a long time but it was only...a dream.” He stops to sit down at a bench. You don’t realize that you’ve become mesmerized. “And then I watched your film in theaters a few months ago….”

“When Spring Meets Autumn.” “When Spring Meets Autumn.”

The pair of you respond at the same time and he nods, smiling warmly at you. “I cried in the theater at the beginning scene, the car accident, and it was so good. I was moved and when I went home, I joined your fancafe. I read about your post, how you got to where you are..”

You still remember writing out three pages of your struggles, how difficult it was for you to get to where you are, how much discouragement you experienced along the way. You poured out your heart and soul but you didn’t expect anyone to read it….until now…

Seokjin gazes at you, becoming shy in your presence and flustered, downcasting his head and murmuring, “I admire you for going after what you want. You inspired me to pursue my dream. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N.”

I’m a big fan of you, Y/N. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N.

The words and the deep timbre of his voice rumbles in the hollows of your skull. You’re absolutely stunned, jaw dropped, boring your pupils into his skin, shocked out of your mind. No strung syllables have sounded sweeter in your world. Your heart trembles and you muse that you’ve found your favourite sentence in the world-

I’m a big fan of you, Y/N.

It all makes sense. Why Seokjin is always so perplexed when you come into close contact with him, why he yelps when you take his hand, the reason he’s always staring at you, why he’s so shy….why he was there on the day of your Dispatch photoshoot, cheering and calling out your name in the background.

Seokjin is your number one fan.

(He might be your only fan).

Your entire life, you’ve had no recognition. Not from teachers or parents or friends. There have been comments full of hatred, discouragement, asking you who the hell you are and telling you how you’ll never make it in this industry. To be sitting in front of someone gleaming, blabbering on and chattering about how talented you are, how great you are, how gifted you are…

You almost want to cry.

“The way you were on the road, thinking about your best friend before you passed away...wow...your pronunciation and your expressions are so damn good. I bought the movie dvd and I think I watched it four or five times by now. Oh! I also watched your commercial, the CF of the NIJ pills and it was really cute. Did you think of the dialogue? It was great! I also admire the way you respond to fans’ comments. I can really feel your appreciation in each post-”

You latch onto his hands, feeling his cold fingers with your icy ones. Seokjin flinches upon the contact, eyes grown wide and your teeth sink into the bottom of your lip, holding in a waterfall of tears.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He lolls his head to one side, blinking at you. “What for?”

Seokjin already feels excited to be sitting beside you and talking to you. It’s a dream that’s been fulfilled for him. When he received a call from your company, he couldn’t believe his ears and to meet you in real life, he thought he was going to have a heart attack. He already considers himself lucky to be such a successful fan and interact with his ultimate bias on a daily basis.

His stanning life is one whirlwind fantasy come true.

You open your mouth, about to pour out your gratitude for his endless support and apologize for the way you’ve been treating him but you’re unfortunately interrupted-

“E-excuse me…” A girl with long black hair and blunt bangs, still in her high school uniform leans over with her phone still in her hands. A horde of four other teenagers are off to the side, giggling beneath their palms. “Can we take a selca with you?”

Seokjin is befuddled, lips pouted, cheeks rounded and he nods slowly, getting up to meet the crowd. They line up, taking photos with him, getting his autograph. He soon gathers a crowd of other folks, all fangirling and screeching, bouncing up and down and quietly screaming, filming him with their mobile devices. The boy tries to satisfy everyone, rushing over to sign and smile while taking pictures, lost and confused amongst the chaos.

You smile to yourself, finally admitting there's no point in denying the obvious. Seokjin is rather cute.

With not much to do on a Sunday evening, you decide to hop onto Pann. It isn't a site where the general public goes; typically festered with idol fans and hate for popular groups, much like Nate, but you're still curious to see what people say about you on there. Unlike Naver where there are published articles made by journalists and news groups, here people can create their own pages and discussions, a forum for fans to freely express themselves and leave comments.

To your surprise, instead of being bashed to death, you discover something much different.

[enter-talk] COME FEAST YOUR EYES! MY OPT FAIRYTALE COUPLE~

-Wow, is this real??

-I’m not a fan but even I had to save these pictures..

-They're so so so cute together!!! I love them ㅠㅠ

-I think I'm in love with the both of them..

-Unbelievable..How can people look like this..

-Please date and last long you two!

-If they had kids, they would be crazy good looking..ah~ I’m jealous of their genes already..

You scroll up from the comments, studying the photographs that were caught by bystanders on the street who saw the pair of you walking by. There's the pictorial pictures, the original Dispatch images and photoshopped ones. You notice that Seokjin’s gaze always drips of honey when it's directed at you and your smiles always seem brighter when it's around him.

You stare for the longest time at the photos, agreeing that Seokjin’s face is indeed god-level….

Your finger holds down on the images, saving them all to your gallery.

#bts fanfic #seokjin fluff #seokjin fluf #jin fanfic #bts scenarios #sfwbangtan stories #THIS IS GOING TO BE ONE CRAZY ADVENTURE! :')#I really love this story #hopefully you guys will too!!!!#FUCK I AM ACTUALLY SO EXCITED FOR THIS #TRUST ME WHEN I SAY THIS IS GOOD

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pintando-paredes · 3 years

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Mural at infant school in Brazil - crowdfunding campaign

Original campaign: https://chuffed.org/project/infant-school-mural-brazil

‘One year on’ update

Hello from São Luiz do Paraitinga in Brazil!

We are now one year on from finishing the mural project and I wanted to take this opportunity to provide an update and account of the project as this is something that has been lacking for a long time.

First of all I would like to start with an apology for this lack of any formal update during the progress of the project - this was due to the involved nature of the project once the painting stage got going and then the pandemic beginning right as we were finishing the project! As I’m sure as many families have been experiencing during this difficult time it has been hard to balance time between working, family and homeschooling. With these time pressures it has taken much longer than I would’ve liked to provide this update, although I continued to update the project via Instagram https://www.instagram.com/pintando_paredes/ hopefully this more in-depth update is worth the wait!

I will provide a quick summary of the timeline of the project picking up from the last update, along with photos before explaining the finished mural!

Sixth month - November 2019

Through November after our winter break in Brazil we continued to paint the wave pattern in preparation for allowing the children to participate for the first time. Much of this was done by myself and a few dedicated volunteers from the school as it was a quite intricate and laborious part of the design. All this base work, whilst time intensive, was necessary to lay the foundations for the greater community involvement in the next stages of the process.

We were also able to start work on the additional section of wall after the building work had been completed to raise the height of it and protect it from the rain, which was important to ensure the longevity of the mural painting.

Seventh month - December 2019

With all the triangles of wave patterns completed by the beginning of December we were able to start on the most exciting stage of the project and get the children from the infant school involved in the painting! The children, aged between three and six, used sponge fish we prepared to help bring the ‘river’ part of the mural to life. Every single child, around 180 in total, participated in the painting and put their own personal mark on the mural. The school day in Brazil is split into a morning admittance and an afternoon admittance (and in some areas even an evening admittance) - owing to the number of children outweighing the number of schools and teachers and therefore capacity - so with the help of the teachers we set up a timetable so that every class, morning and afternoon, would have their chance to paint. The children were really enthusiastic and it was lovely to see the months of work come to fruition in this moment. The best part was seeing them point out their fish to their parents and relatives when they were being picked up walking back past the mural.

With the fish painted and the summer/Christmas school holidays beginning in Brazil we began the next stage of the project - drawing the animal designs onto the wall! This was done using a digital projector to project the design onto the wall at the correct size and then tracing it with crayon on a very rough surface. This was a bit of a logistical challenge as by using this method it could only be completed at night utilising various extension cables, tables and chairs as well as plenty of snacks to keep the energy levels up through the evening. This work was done on several nights over Christmas including New Year's Eve! There are 18 animals in the mural design with each one taking an hour or two to draw, depending on the complexity and including the time to set everything up. So as with the rest of the project it was quite a drawn out and time intense process but also definitely one of the most satisfying parts of the project, seeing the full design come to life on the wall!

During the Christmas period we also began preparing the paint and mixing the colours, starting on Boxing Day. Although it might seem like quite a simple and straight forward part of the process it was one of the most time intensive parts of the process to create the number of colours we needed. Our colour chart plan started with 55 colours for the 18 different animals, although adjustments were made along the way.

Colours were grouped where possible but equally we wanted each animal to have it’s own feel with their own specific colours. The ‘Brazilian snake-necked turtle’ (Cágado-da-serra) is made up of six different shades of brown, which are different from the four shades of brown of the ‘Nine-banded armadillo’ (tatu-galinha), which are different from the four shades of brown of the ‘Capybara’ (Capivara), hence the large numbers of colours!

We made the colours using a mixture of bought masonry paint colours and pigment dyes - these are commonly used in Brazil as an economic alternative to buying ready mixed colours and were really useful in achieving the exact colours we were after.

Saturday 28th December 2019 - Balaio das Artes São Luiz do Paraitinga - Arts Festival

Much of this work over Christmas was in preparation for the Balaio das Artes festival at the end of December - this is an arts festival which takes place on one day across the town and includes various performances, workshops, talks and participatory activities. We were very grateful that the project was included as part of the festival program and it really made a big difference in allowing us to accomplish our goal of it being a truly community participatory mural by opening it up to as many people to be a part of as possible.

As such this was the day we chose to begin painting the animals! It was a very hot day but we were really pleased with the amount of people who came by to join in the painting - parents, teachers, friends, family and many members of the community came to take part and leave their mark on the mural.

The project was always planned with the aim of being a participatory community project and therefore the actual design of the mural reflected this so that everyone, even the young children of the infant school, could take part. The animals were all made up of simple geometric shapes with flat colours so that once drawn on the wall it is simply a case of ‘painting-by-numbers’. With all the colours mixed and the animals drawn it was easy for anybody with any confidence level of painting to take part, it was just a case of following the colour plan and mural design. This is an approach that I always take with my mural projects, the community participation aspect and its lasting impact is as important, if not more so, than the actual art of the mural.

The day was really successful and we made great progress on the first day of painting the animals. It was really gratifying to see the final stage of the mural being initiated and have so many people take part so enthusiastically.

Eighth month - January 2020

A wonderful benefit of being part of the arts festival was that we had reached more people from beyond the school community who wanted to keep coming back to help. This was at an excellent time as well as January in Brazil is usually when lots of people have their annual leave as it is the middle of summer and ties in with the school holidays. So for the first couple of weeks of January we could count on the help of this core group of people to the extent that we were able to organise another community painting day that we advertised in the town, similar to that of the festival. With the participation of so many we made great progress painting the animals through January, so much so that by the end of the month the majority had been finished! The last animals to be completed were those on the newest section of wall, as this was always a couple of stages behind the rest of the work, it was made much quicker though by using the projector to draw both the animals and the wave pattern at the same time and therefore speeding the process up.

We were lucky with the weather as well because even though it was Brazilian summer time this also means humid days and thunderstorms but there were very few occasions where this impacted on our ability to paint.

Ninth and last month! - February 2020

With pretty much all of the elements of the mural painted and finished we spent the beginning of February putting some finishing touches to the mural. As the project had been going nine months in total there were some parts which needed tidying up or cleaning to leave everything finished to the same standard.

After this we organised a protective resin coating to be applied to the mural to preserve the mural and ensure its durability against the weather - this was bought with funds from the school and applied by a specialist with the correct equipment.

The final parts of the wall which were missing their rain protection were also repaired. This means that all of the wall space is now covered by a small covering on top of the wall. This small but important addition means that dirt gathered on top of the wall does not run down its surface when it rains (which can be seen in an example photo in the previous update) and thus helps to guarantee the paint and colours will remain in good condition for much longer.

We had planned to organise a small commemorative plaque to inaugurate the mural officially with the town’s Mayor but unfortunately due to an upcoming election and ‘political sensitivity’ within the small town community it was decided that this would not be possible.

Two elements of the design that we were unable to finish are the ‘Thanks’ wall and painting the large metal entrance doors that break up the mural wall.

The painted doors were part of the original design but as they require different paint we left them to be painted separately at the end of the project timeline. We also began preparing an end section of wall for what would become the ‘Thanks’ wall with the names of everybody who had donated to the project and helped to make it a reality.

Unfortunately it was during this time in March that the pandemic was arriving in Brazil so whilst we were organising these last two parts of the project to be implemented the schools were shut and we began our isolation at home. The schools in the town, like most of Brazil, have not reopened during the whole year since, and as a family we have been contending with the same issues as many other people; self isolating, homeschooling and balancing time with freelance work from home to make ends meet. As such we haven’t returned to work on the mural and I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been able to honor the promise made in the crowdfunding campaign and show my appreciation for your donations by painting the ‘Thanks’ wall as this and the metal doors remain uncompleted.

But please know that I am eternally grateful to everybody who donated and believed in the project. I was blown away by the support of so many friends and family and I hope this update and photos go some way to repaying that support and belief!

Finished!

Owning to the pandemic the project ended abruptly but almost entirely complete, with two unfortunate exceptions. Aside from this it was so pleasing to see the mural in its finished state and slightly surreal in a way that such a big project and something that we had been working on for so long and had put so much work into had come to an end, albeit differently to how we imagined!

More pleasing still was the fact that we had been able to involve so many people in the process, all from different connections in the town and not solely with the school. One of our main aims and philosophies of the project is that the community participation element would be as important as the ‘finished product’ and I am really happy that we were able to realise this in practice. I was particularly pleased that all of the children from the infant school were able to participate, including my eldest son Rudá! We have received so much positive feedback from the local community and it’s really nice to have contributed so positively with your help to the school and the lives of the children who attend.

Thank you

I would particularly like to thank Gisele Claro, the director of the infant school for the opportunity to work on this project and for her patience and constant help and support which was invaluable to realising the mural. It would not have been possible without her great enthusiasm for the project.

Many people took part in the painting of the mural, as it was a community focused project it would be impossible to mention everyone but I would particularly like to thank Wellington Ismail, for his dedication and input at the beginning, and Darly Gonçalves and Márcia Cândido who included the project in the Balaio das Artes festival and who personally returned day after day to continue painting. Also Marina Câncio, Magno and Samara Bueno all of whom generously dedicated many hours to taking part!

I would also like to thank my wonderful wife, Julia, who I wouldn't have been able to complete the project without her support, in all forms! And who spent many many hours painting as well. Also Julia's mother and sister who looked after our children on several occasions to allow us to dedicate some full days to painting.

Thank you for all your support, especially everyone who donated to the crowdfunding campaign without whom this wouldn’t have been possible - a full list appears below.

Andy, family and the team at João Batista Cardoso infant school in São Luiz do Paraitinga, Brazil

xxx

Please connect with me on Instagram https://www.instagram.com/pintando_paredes/ or Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pintandoparedesbrasil to follow my work and future community mural projects.

Supporters

James Abbott

Kasia Breska

Michelle Brodie

Deryn Bunce

Geoff Bunce

Gill Bunce

Nan & Grandad Bunce

Sally Bunce

Stephen Bunce

Libby Cade

Evely Câncio

Gillian Drew

Eleanor Gee

Hollie Goman

Lucy Hampson

Robin Howie

Trevor James

Richard Johnston

Richard Kent

Nicole Kobie

Nicola Lazenby

Rosemary Little

Moira McNeil

Jack Morris

Kate Morris

Abigail Paget

Victoria Pugh

Kate & Martin Russ

Alexandra Stanyer

Roger & Janet Thornhill

Anthony Watts

Sarah Yeung

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xxlovesuicide61xx · 6 years

Text

Countdown

Severus hadn't exactly planned on continuing his interactions with Hermione while the ten months were still in effect-- he was worried that someone would notice-- but he found that he couldn't quite help himself. She was addictive. So very damn addictive.

It was about three weeks later when Grimmauld Place was trapped in the heat of mid July. Severus was still jealously possessive over Hermione's choice of wardrobe, but he couldn't say that he'd be dressed any differently were he her. He hated having to wear his full robes in public. Cooling charms just weren't cutting it and he was sweating to the point where he was considering getting robes specially made with cooling charms set into the thread.

On one particularly hot night, at around 11 o'clock, Severus was reading in his bed, mercifully in sport shorts and a t-shirt, when he heard a knock on his door. He had one desperate hope of who it was.

Quickly applying concealment charms over his scars and dark mark, Severus rose to answer the door. it wasn't that he didn't trust Hermione-- he did, very much-- he just figured that it would be easier for all involved if neither one of them had to look at them. Some were particularly gruesome, as well as some of the newer ones still looking a bit too fresh to be comfortable.

His prayers were answered when he saw Hermione on the other side of the doorway. She was wearing what he assumed were called shorts in the technical sense and a short, thin strapped tank top. Her shirt rode up to reveal her tanned stomach, as well as a glint of jewelry hanging from her bellybutton. He was intrigued.

He cleared his throat.

"Hi."

"Hi." She replied enthusiastically, all smiles. "Can I come in?"

He wasn't sure at how much of a good idea that was, but where could the harm come from. If the members of the house couldn't find Hermione, his room was the literal last place they would look. And most of the house was asleep. And he could put up wards to keep out a herd of angry elephants. Severus stepped aside.

"Of course." Hermione near skipped past him into the room, her eyes lighting up the area with her happiness. He wondered if she had something planned or if she just wanted to see him. A part of him worried that perhaps she wanted to talk about what had taken place between them in the pool. Maybe she regretted it? Maybe she was going to tell of what they had done, incriminating him? Or maybe she completely trusted him and just wanted to be with him.

The last idea came into his head as he watched her sit down on the edge of his bed, looking for all the world like it was her own. She looked comfortable. Safe. She did trust him.

"I was having trouble sleeping. All this heat, you know?" He did know and nodded. "I was hoping that you'd still be awake. I thought maybe we could talk." Hermione's tone of voice implied that she didn't just mean talking, but that she wouldn't mind if it really only was just talking. Personally, Severus was all for not talking. For awhile, at least. He really did enjoy conversing with her.

"Of course. Talking would be nice." He decided to attempt some bravery and walked over to sit down next to her on the bed and wrapped an arm around her. She settled into his side and seemed comfortable. "Did you have anything in mind?"

Hermione turned her head into his shoulder, breathing him in. She turned, drawing her legs up and cuddled next to him, her arms moving to wrap around his waist.

"Not really." She sighed. "I guess I just wanted to spend some time with you, and talking seemed like a good excuse."

Severus had placed his chin on top of her head, and he could feel her words as she spoke. Looking down, he decided that there was no possible way that she could be comfortable in that position.

"Why don't we get more comfortable first?" He tried to keep the innuendo out of his voice but wasn't entirely sure that he succeeded. "I've no idea how you could possibly be comfy in that position."

"You'd be surprised at the positions that I could find comfortable." They both froze after she spoke, a strange silence now hanging in the air.

"I didn't actually say that out loud, did I?" Hermione's voice was quiet, unbelieving, embarrassed.

"I'm afraid you did." He kissed the top of her head and moved out of her embrace. "But if you'd like me to forget about it, I promise to do my best to never think of it in your presence."

Severus offered a hand to her and she took it, not quite looking at him. "I would appreciate that, thank you."

"You're welcome." With her hand in his, he guided her over to the top of the bed, sat down, and laid back against the pillows, his head propped up against the wall. He held out an arm, indicating that he wanted her near him. "Come here."

Hermione climbed onto the bed and nestled down into the perfect nook that Severus provided. He kissed her forehead and, despite the added body heat, decided that this was a much more comfortable position. He wrapped his arms around Hermione, she returning the gesture and draping an arm across his narrow waist. Her knees rested against his thigh and she found herself fascinated with his legs. They were long, the pale skin having rather little hair. What hair there was there was as pitch black as the hair on his head and stuck out starkly against his skin. The contrasting colors appeared unnatural, but Hermione decided that she liked it just the same. She liked anything belonging to him.

Severus kissed her head again and couldn't believe that she was there with him. It seemed too good to be true, completely unreal. But she was real. And it was perfect.

Hermione tilted her head back, looking up at him, not saying anything. Her eyes kept moving from his own down to his lips, and Severus was pretty sure he understood her message. Leaning down, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his own. Trying to pull back, he found himself incapable, Hermione's free arm having traveled up to thread into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him in place. She continued to kiss him, starting out as gently as he had but applying more and more pressure with each pass of her lips over his until Severus felt himself getting dizzy. He wished desperately that he could kiss her, really kiss her. He wanted to make her head spin.

After a few minutes, Hermione released his head and Severus was able to pull back, the two resting their heads together comfortably, sharing the air between them.  Severus reached down, grabbing at Hermione's ankles, and pulled them up towards him, twisting her legs around so that they draped across his lap. She was barefoot and he found himself fascinated with her feet, thinking back to a thought he had had a few weeks ago about giving anything to be left alone with her feet. He held back a laugh, but decided to commemorate his past self. Leaning down, Severus brought Hermione's left foot up and kissed her arch, making her laugh. Apparently she was ticklish. He would use this to his advantage later.

They spent the next hour sitting like that together, just enjoying being with each other, sharing the same space and being able to express their affections openly. Severus rubbed his hands along Hermione's legs which, while surprisingly cold, were incredibly smooth. Thinking back to the time he had spent enjoying himself between her thighs a few weeks ago, he started to question how her entire body, every single inch of her skin, could be so soft and smooth. He must've spent an especially long time stroking at a particular spot behind her knee, as she spoke up, answering his unspoken question.

"It's a spell that I invented in my first year." His head jerked up and he gave her a strong look. "What?" She didn't seem shocked at all.

"Spell making is an incredibly complex art. How did you manage to create one in your first year?" She smiled, leaned forward, and placed a kiss on his befuddled forehead.

"Are you forgetting, my dear, that you're talking to the girl that made a perfect batch of Polyjuice Potion in her second year?" Hermione raised her eyebrow in an imitation of him, not quite reaching his height but getting her point across nonetheless. "Besides. The thought of having to spend the rest of your life shaving your everything is motivation enough. Shaving the muggle way sucks. I couldn't believe that witches hadn't figured out a way to do it with magic yet."

He couldn't help but laugh. She had a point, although he had to admit that he didn't know the pain that women had to go through to shave their legs, but imagined that it couldn't be pleasant. And though he hated to admit it, he was glad that Hermione choosing to shave her lower regions seemed like a permanent decision. He wouldn't force her to do anything, but he admitted that he preferred the smooth feeling of her skin along his lips. And tongue. And in future his teeth. His thoughts led his body into a reaction and he could feel himself starting to get hard beneath her legs and he knew that he had to change the topic.

"This is true. Confess me impressed. I'm sorry to have offended." His tone was a mixture of playful and serious and it seemed to do the trick as she simply smiled at him and rested her head back against his shoulder. He continued to brush his hands along the cool skin of her legs, trying to get his thoughts to calm back down enough for him to be considered a respectable gentleman.

They stayed that way for what could have been hours, neither needing to check something as menial as time when they were together. It wasn't until the birds starting chirping and a faint light began to shine beneath Severus's window curtains that he finally moved. Looking down, he realized that Hermione had been asleep for the entire time. He had assumed that she had been as relaxed as he had been. Evidently he was right. It did something inside of him to know that she was comfortable enough with him that she felt safe enough to sleep. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy. Kissing her head, he spoke quietly to wake her.

"Hermione?" She let out the cutest of groans and snuggled down into him. "Hermione, love, wake up." Finding she could nuzzle no further, Hermione turned her head and looked up at him, her eyes tired and a sleepy smile on her face.

"Hey." Her voice was a little scratchy. He loved it.

"Hey." He brushed some hair back out of her eyes. "It's almost morning. You should get back to your room."

"Must I?" She groaned and placed a faint kiss against his lips. He kissed her back before replying.

"I'm afraid so. If you're found missing I shudder to think of what would happen. It's much better if you return to your own bed." Hermione shifted, standing up on her knees and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I suppose you're right." His hands followed her lead and wrapped around her waist, holding her in place. "But maybe it could wait a few minutes?" She cocked her head to the side and looked adorable. He couldn't resist.

"Very well, perhaps a few minutes more." She smiled and kissed him.

SSHGSSHG

Severus slept through the day and was surprised to find Hermione knocking at his door once again.

"We really must stop meeting like this." He smiled.

"And here I was thinking that we really must do it more often." She smiled back.

He took her hand and brought her inside, closing the door quietly behind her and silently putting up a few wards. He didn't want anyone barging in on them.

Severus led them back over to his bed, and they assumed the same position that they had the previous night, this time with Hermione draping her legs over his lap from the start. Clearly she had enjoyed his attentions there from the night before. Moving his hand behind her head, Severus brought Hermione in for a kiss. Or two. Or four. He lost count after four. He could feel her smile against his lips and knew that even with her no three-sixty rule that it was still wrong, but he couldn't help but feel how right it was. He cared about this girl. Deeply. And she cared about him. That should be all that mattered.

Pulling back, Severus looked down into her eyes and sighed. Most people found brown to be something of a bland color, but hers were the farthest thing from bland. Light brown with flecks of green and yellow and a mischievous glint behind them that he knew she would always possess. Her eyes felt like home.

Severus pulled her close to him, needing to feel her in his embrace. Placing a kiss on her head, he breathed her in, enjoying the scent of her hair. Strawberries, with an underlying tone of chlorine. The scent of the chemical sent him back to the previous month and his body started reeling at the memory. He could feel his cock start to get hard and knew that it wouldn't do well to deny himself for a second night. And Hermione did seem willing to have a little fun. What could it hurt?

Pulling back, he placed his hand on Hermione's ankle and start brushing his calloused hand along her soft skin, slowly making his way up to her knee, and then to her thigh. He repeated the process with her other leg and found Hermione to be completely relaxed against him, her head against his chest and quiet moans slipping out whenever he would hit a particular spot along her legs. She was like putty in his arms and he loved it.

Reaching the edge of her shorts, he traced along the edge, seeing if there would be any protest from the girl in his arms, and ran his hand up beneath the soft fabric. He pulled his hand out and pulled the top corner of her shorts down a few inches, exposing her hip bone and the small tattoo that rested there. Reminding himself to explore that later, he caressed her exposed skin, making her twitch in his arms. He was pleased with himself. He was doing well. Circling her hipbone with his thumb, he tilted her head back so her lips could meet his, briefly, and then moved her head to the side so he could access her neck. His lips ran along the small cords of muscle that he found there, wishing desperately that he could bite at her skin. Instead, he kissed, hard, and periodically ran his tongue along an area that he could tell made her moan and sigh just that much louder. Her hands were gripping hard along his waist, trying to pull him closer. He sighed against her skin, loving the taste of her warm skin.

"Sev."

Her voice was gold to him and he moved his hand from her hip to the edge of her shirt, ultimately slipping his hand underneath. The skin of her stomach was soft like the rest of her, but he could feel a hardness of muscle lying underneath. He continued moving his hand up along her ribcage, continuing his kisses along her neck. He was shocked when Hermione almost jumped completely out of his embrace, his hands clearly having found a sensitive spot.

Severus nearly choked on his own saliva when he discovered that she wasn't wearing a bra. He should've known, but she had chosen to wear another oversized shirt on this particular night and he hadn't gotten that good of a look at her chest before she had cuddled up to him. She had jumped because his hands had reached the expanse of particularly soft skin that resided at the base of her breasts, the tops of his knuckles brushing against her properly. His thumb ran along that line of soft skin, causing Hermione to shove her head against his shoulder, unsure of how to react to the pleasing sensation.

Severus removed his lips from her neck, allowing Hermione to move her head back up to face his. Her eyes were blazing, the embers he found in them directed completely into his own. This is what he had missed the previous month-- the primal light in her eyes that told him yes, more, please. He kissed her lips and brushed the palm of his hand along her nipple, swallowing down her gasp as he did so. It was a beautiful sound. Something that he rather desperately needed to hear again. He slid his fingers around the sides of her nipples, teasing her. He must have been doing something right, because she responded by rather abruptly biting his lip, despite her own rules. Bringing two fingers together, he pitched the poor tortured nipple gently, but enough to make her bite his lip again.

“Sev.” She sounded even more desperate this time. He loved it. Shifting, he moved her to lie back on his bed, her hair haloing around his pillows. She looked beautiful. Smiling down at her, his hands went to the bottom of her shirt, grasping it firmly. He pulled the offending garment over her head, receiving quite a bit of help from her. It stuck briefly on her head, but they managed to get her out of it just fine.

It was his first look at her bare breasts, and he confessed himself amazed. She was even more beautiful than he had expected. And that was truly saying something. Her breasts were slightly too large for her small body, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. Her nipples were small and looked like the perfect size to be sucked on. If only. It was a shame that that violated the three—sixty rule. Severus had a feeling that Hermione would be upset with her rules in a few short minutes. Then again, she did tend to violate them on the odd occasion, as demonstrated by her earlier biting of him. Severus would make due with what he could, meaning his lips and his tongue and his teeth, just not in an enclosed environment. He could make it work. He hoped.

He brought his hands up to lay gently on her breasts, just enjoying the feel of them. He tightened his grip slightly and confessed himself embarrassed at how much he enjoyed watching her soft flesh bulge between his spread fingers. He ran the tip of his index finger over one nipple, trying to gauge her reaction. Her body twitched and her eyes glowed. Severus had had a feeling that she would be the hyper responsive type. He was pleased that he was right.

He continued to tease at her nipple, running his finger around her, gently scrapping with his nail every now and again. He enjoyed watching her eyes as they slowly started to glaze over. He transitioned from using just the one finger to using both of his hands on her left breast, kneading and massaging her flesh. He was enjoying it far too much. He would cup at her breast and run his rough palms over her nipples and feel as her hips tried to arch up into his.

Severus couldn't help but look at her neglected right breast and wish that there were two of him. The nipple was straining and looked lonely compared to her left, which was receiving a double treatment. He decided to move his hands to her right breast and dropped down to run his tongue along the skin of her left. The tip of his tongue flicked at her nipple and traveled down to the bottom of her breast, teasing at the sensitive skin there. She was soft and warm and he was in love. He ran his tongue along the sides and up the valley between her breasts. His hands were busy with her right breast and he brought his teeth to her nipple, biting down and sucking on her for a moment, hoping desperately that she didn't notice that he was in violation of her rules. He reluctantly released her nipple, promising himself that he would spend hours and hours sucking on her once the nine months were up. Pulling back slightly, he touched the tip of his tongue to the tip of her nipple and gave short, quick licks. Hermione moaned, much louder than he had expected, and he appreciated it. Clearly she thoroughly enjoyed having her nipples played with. He would most definitely use that to his advantage in the future.

He moved his hands back to her now damp left breast and moved his mouth to her right, deeming it worthy of an equal amount of attention, if not more for having waited so patiently for him.

Severus teased at her perfect nipple again, this time deciding to spend some time on her breast proper as well. Her skin seemed to be just as sensitive as her nipple, and the licks that he was drawing up and down her breast seemed to be turning her on just as much. He decided that a mild violation would be worth it when he found a particular spot on the bottom of her breast that seemed to drive Hermione particularly wild. He sucked his little heart out, biting and licking at the spot as she moaned his named and gripped his head in her hands, keeping his mouth firmly planted there. He knew that it would bruise, wanted it to. He wanted to give her something to remember the experience by. To remember him by. And it was in an out of the way spot that would be covered even if she was in a bathing suit, so he didn't see the harm in leaving his mark.

His right hand left her breast and traveled along the side of her body, making her shiver and squirm, from want or from her just being ticklish he was unsure, but assumed that it was a good thing. He pressed his thumb nail into her hip before moving inward towards her shorts. He put as much of his weight as possible onto his knees and lifted his hips, sliding his hand into her shorts and beneath to her underwear. She was soaked completely through. He moaned around her flesh that was between his teeth and used a finger to circle around her clit. He dragged the tip of his finger down to the source of what he deemed to be everything good in the world and he desperately wanted to thrust his fingers inside of her. Damn her and her rules. They were harder on him than he got around her. For how much he hated it, Severus knew that it was just as difficult for her, if not more. She was the one who had implemented the rule, therefore she was the one who had to enforce it.

Still, he tried to work around the rule as much as possible and pressed his finger down, not in, her hot flesh wrapping around his finger rather than engulfing it. It would have to do. He got as much of her wetness as he could and brought it back up to her clit, providing an extra slickness to the skin there.

Severus removed his mouth from her breast and brought it up to her lips, kissing her hard. He licked along her lips so her mouth would open. They didn't need to have their tongues battle it out to have an openmouthed kiss. He simply just wanted to breathe the air that she did. His nail scratched at her clit and she moaned, Severus happily swallowing it down. He moved two of his fingers down to her entrance again, soaking them as much as he could, before removing them from her underwear and bringing them up to his face. He ripped his lips away from hers, not wanting to leave them, but still desperately wanting to taste her. He put both of his fingers into his mouth, relishing in the flavor that was completely her. He adored it. Hermione let out a large sigh at the sight and scratched her nails along his ribs, hoping he understood without words just what that sight did to her.

His fingers clean, Severus placed them back on her wet heat, their now cool feel creating an amazing contrast that left Hermione speechless. Moving his head back down, Severus kissed her, denying the rule again and thrusting his tongue into her mouth, just once. Just enough for her to get a taste of herself. Hermione moaned and pulled him closer, her hands tangled in his hair, tugging, making him moan in return. He denied her, keeping his tongue firmly in his mouth and battling her tongue out of his own when she tried to get another taste. She seemed adamant, so he did the next best thing.  Gathering as much of her between his fingers as her could, he pulled them up again and placed them against her lips. Her mouth opened instantly, drawing them both in. He quickly pulled his fingers out of her mouth, a scowl sternly in place on his face.

"You can share, or you won't receive any at all. Is that understood?" He had no idea where the sudden dominance came from, but he knew that he had definitely used his professor voice. He hadn't meant to, but it seemed to have worked. Hermione was nodding vigorously and trying to pull his arm closer. Severus split his fingers, giving his middle one to Hermione and bringing his index finger to his own mouth. They shared her taste between them, as well as Severus being treated to the taste of her mouth as well. They both went down as far as they possibly could on his fingers and their lips met awkwardly in the middle. It was at this point that Severus realized that they were still breaking her rule, but since they were both doing it, it didn't seem to matter as much.

Once his finger was clean from his end, he pulled them both from their mouths and sent them straight back down to her clit.

He was painfully hard and he knew that she could feel it. A finger on each side of her clit, he pressed down on his hand with his hips, grinding his erection into her center. The double sensation had her moaning into his mouth again, and he pulled back to look at her. Severus knew he was growing quickly obsessed with the current look on her face. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes were bright and glazed over with a brilliance that screamed his name. Her lips were swollen from his kiss and damp around the edges from sucking on his finger. She looked perfect.

Severus pressed down even harder and rearranged his hand so he could keep rubbing at her clit and teasing at her opening.

"Sev. Please." Her voice was almost nonexistent and he could feel her muscles start to clench near his fingers. He couldn't help himself and shoved two of his fingers deep inside of her and she screamed out, her orgasm overtaking her. He pulled out and drove his fingers inside of her two, three times more before she finally relaxed, coming down with his name on her lips.

He was still desperately hard, but he knew that tonight wasn't about him. He didn't want it to be. It was about her. Shifting to the side, he pulled his very wet hand out of her shorts, casting a charm to clean her clothing. He started to lick his hand, watching her as he did so. Her body was slowly returning to earth, her eyes barely open as she looked at him.

"Don't go turning me on again. I can't be held accountable for my actions if you do." Her voice was quiet, but cute. He laughed and charmed his hand clean, wishing that he would have been able to finish cleaning her off of his skin himself. For her, he refrained.

"As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I have some other things to take care of." He gestured vaguely towards his crotch. Hermione's eyes followed his hand and her eyes widened. Severus was momentarily confused before realizing that it was the first time that Hermione had seen him hard. Granted he was completely clothed, but he still provided an imposing pictured. He smirked internally, pleased that she was pleased with him and his size.

"Whelp, now you've done it. Turned on again." She moved to get up, rising to her knees, her breasts looking very enticing on her bare chest. Her hands moved to his shoulders, her eyes firmly set on their goal. "Allow me to- "

"-Oh no. You've had your fun for the night. It's time you get to bed. I can take care of this." She harrumphed and sat back on her legs, her lip stuck out petulantly. "Honestly. I'll be alright. And you look tired." He tried to make his voice as soothing as possible, and it seemed to work. Looking like she was going to give in, Hermione tried one more thing.

"Can I at least watch?" Nearly choking, Severus shot out a firm "No!"

Seeming to realize what he just exposed of himself, he tried a different approach.

"I promise my darling that next time, you can do what you will of me. How does that sound?" Hermione's eyes lit up and Severus wondered if perhaps he had made a mistake.  "Alright. I suppose that shall have to do." She kissed his lips and got off the bed, walking towards the door. She paused before it, her hands behind her back, her bottom lip between her teeth, still missing her shirt.  "Forgetting something?" Severus summoned her shirt to his hand and got off the bed, enjoying the blush that ran across her face and down to her chest.

"Oops."

"Oops, indeed. I will not have you galavanting through the halls shirtless. That view is for I and I alone." His face was stern, but his eyes were light.

Severus smiled and helped Hermione into her shirt. When it was on properly, he frowned and missed her breasts immediately. Then he took a better look at her shirt. Whose shirt was that anyway.

"Whose shirt is that, anyway?" The question came out of his mouth before he realized it. Hermione looked down, holding the shirt away from her and took a good look at it.

"Fred's, I think? Maybe George's? I'm not sure, I stole it a few years ago." Severus's eyes grew darker than night.

"Well we can't have any of that." He pulled the shirt promptly off Hermione's body, completely missing the squeak that she let out. Reaching down, he pulled his own sweaty shirt off of his body and onto hers. It looked much better.

"There. That's much better." Hermione stood there with an incredulous look on her face, silently asking him what was going on in his head. He answered. "I refuse to have a Weasley touching your breasts. Even if it's just via a shirt." Hermione nodded and smiled down at her feet, silently loving his open jealousy. She eyed his chest briefly before standing on the tips of her toes, her hands balancing her body on his shoulders. She kissed him with a love she hadn't previously known that she was capable. With a final, gentle kiss to his lips, she bid him goodnight and began the journey back down to her shared room.

The night itself had been amazing, his confident possession of her even better, but what truly had her floating down the hallway was what had happened right at the end. The trust that he had presented to her. The comfort. She wasn't even sure that he realized it. He had taken his shirt off and given it to her. Without any sort of preemptive measures.

He had let her see his scars.

Hermione smiled and shut the door behind her. She slept soundly that night, her nose snuggled into the shirt of her lover. She breathed deeply and dreamed of the man she loved.

#countdown #absolute agony #severus snape #hermione granger #severus snape and hermione granger #sshg #sshg fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #snamione #snanger #sevmione

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aminth-elnonore · 6 years

Text

Make Me Permanent

"You're in the Ink Sea, owned and operated by the man you see." He mused at his own pun, picking up a dirty glass that had been left on the counter earlier with one hand while the other reached for a small cloth designed to wipe them clean. He'd begin to rub down the edges of the circle along the glass, doing away with any marks or stains left behind. "A place for the less...law abiding, to get ink should they need it. It is not exactly the safest of work, but, the money's nice." He smirked, the curve tugging at his lip upwards in amusement before he put the now clean glass away behind him.

Finally, his full attention turned to her, and he leaned forward on the counter to close the distance between them save for the wooden bar he leaned on. "And you couldn't run anywhere except the most dangerous street in the city?" His smirk widened, clearly entertained by the woman's dityzness. "Lucky for you to run into me and not some other creep. There are far worse people here than a mad forsaken."

The she-elf smiled kindly at the man after finally taking a sip of the water, grateful for its moist coolness as it touched her insides with it's calming grasp. She peered at him now, noticing for what seemed like the first time the ink that was permanently etched into his arms. "Di-Di-Di-Did you do your own? Do-do-does it h-hur-hu-hurt?" Her gaze was held by the designs that were woven along the skin of his arms. Aminth had always admired tattoos and the like; although she never could cave herself to have something permanently drawn on her. "I don't fif-f-f-fff-ff-fight. I just st-start-started running when I saw him com-com-c-cc-coming at me." Words stumbled out of her mouth like a child trying to defend themselves from a lie. But it was no lie; and she was no child. But she was defensive.

"Hm? Yeah. I practiced line art on myself to get better. That's why they're geometrical. Trained my left hand too, since I didn't want a shitty tattoo on one arm and a good one on the other." He scoffed, before his eyes peered her over for a moment, examining in pure curiosity her thin form and what kind of art it could fit. "Running is a strategy all the same I suppose. Just not one I'm familiar with." He shrugged his shoulders lightly.

An ugly snort of a laugh from her as she covered her mouth. "Sp-sp-spice up my image?" She couldn't hardly believe someone had suggested that to her. As if it were even imaginable that she would get a tattoo. Although, she had dreamed of it on more than one occasion... He leaned back a little bit more, eyeing her with his one good eye a little carefully before tucking one of his hairs behind his ear. "I did mean it though. You could give me some business while you're here, let me give you a tattoo. Something on your buttocks maybe? The cheek for you will hurt the least. Not bony." He grinned for a moment, tapping his finger along his temple in thought. "Or perhaps the thigh, where needle won't have to stab at bone. Your first tattoo should always be as painless as possible...hm..."

Her skin continued to drain of color, even the rosiness that seemed so at home along her plush cheeks. Her eyes widened behind her huge glasses, the mint green color growing like a black hole of green, a vortex that blended with the ambiguous spot where the sandbar of safety beneath one's feet finally gave way to a bottomless ocean. Without a second thought, she took a swig of the water and placed it back within the confines of her fingertips.

"Wh-wha-what-what would someone like me even g-gg-g-get?" A hesitant laugh tickled its way out of her throat, unsure if it even wanted to escape anymore. She shook her head although his constant mention of it drew at her curiosity for the experience, for what she'd get, if she'd like it. What if she did like it? She should get one; Fel, why not, right? Her consciousness waged war on itself, torn by the ravine of indecision.

"A rock? To commemorate this unfortunate incident you found yourself in?" He mused, a quick smirk finding its way upon his lips before he reached for a book placed within arm's reach along the bar counter, and he'd hand it to her. Within it, sketches were drawn out on stencil, presumably by him, his art that he offered those who seemed indecisive upon entry. "Or you can pick something out of here."

Her lips quirked to the side and pursed just slightly. Then to punctuate her expression of uncertainty, her eyebrows dipped low on her forehead, crinkling her nose just slightly. "I'm not sure a r-roc-rock-kk-k would make for a good tt--t-t-tat-tattoo-tatt-tattoo." As if jumping from a cliff, her hands released the cup and seemed suctioned to the book that lay before her. Nimble fingers would flip the pages, a delicate fingertip tracing some of the drawings that were protected by a clear sheet from any smudges or other harm that could come to it in an establishment such as this. Many seemed to catch her eyes and it was made evident by sounds of approval and the twitch of a smile that would tug at the corners of her lips. But no design in particular seemed to reach out from its home of the pages and grab her by the cardigan, demanding she forever print herself with its inky lines.

He watched her elate when handed the book, and a curious expression took over his face. A brow rose, his head tilted, and his fingers drummed along the wooden counter as if studying her without her knowledge. "Sometimes, it's best to talk about what you do, what you are, to figure out the right tattoo for you." He explained, leaning forward slightly to peek at the book along with her. "I can create something from scratch too. For example-- a certain warrior can come in, and request his own unique sword be drawn. I'd just have to take a look, sketch it out, and there you go." He paused again, peeking up at her once more. "Anything like that exist for you? A momento? Something you cherish?" He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "You seem open to the idea, I wouldn't want you to leave without giving it a try."

At his words, it was like her interest was piqued and sealed all in one near flap of her ears. Her eyes left the book, abandoning the beautiful art to stare him down. "I'm a wri-wri-wri-writer," The smile that had been circling her like prey seemed to finally catch it, landing on her lips and spreading them apart to reveal an excited grin. "I wr-wri-wri-write books and po-po-pp-p-p-poems and I do re-res-res-research!" Her voice continued to climb in pitch, finally wafting to a near squeak as she continued to rattle on about her writings and poems and research. It was obvious she was enamored by what she did; it was more than just a love. It was a passion. The prospect of a tattoo had fled her mind entirely as she ranted on to the man in stuttered and flopping language about her most recent findings and her 'adventures' in studying inscription and enchanting and the likes. Oh! And fel! Oh! She was like a wound up toy with a never-ending timer. Words slipped from her lips like rain from cloudy sky, drenching him in information...he didn't ask for. She seemed quite into it if nothing else, he just had to find away to quiet her so that he could actually get a word in edge wise, and he figured he could only manage to do so by quickly coming to a stand. "Okay! Alright! I got it!" He raised his voice a tiny bit just so she'd hear him over her own words, before he walked up to her and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "I think I have an idea about what to tattoo you with, too. Stay here while I draw you up a sketch, yeah?”

"O-O-Okay," A nod bobbled her head and she glanced at her empty cup. Hopping off the stool, she refilled the glass with more cool water and began walking around. Her hands touched various things, even blank walls and countertops. Her expression was neutral but never flat; It was always smiling and cheery, more evidence that she had thus gone unbroken from any sort of battlefield. He retreated into a back room for a moment, and it wouldn't take him very long to emerge from it. Just a few minutes in which she could calm herself and get some drinking in like he instructed, before he was out again and Aminth had found her way back to the stool. This time, holding a pencil and a white drawing pad in hand. He wouldn't sit opposite her this time, but instead reach over her shoulders and above her head then down to place the sketch in her hands.

It was of a quill, beautifully drawn in what would presumably be black and white ink. Its feathery top was beautiful and undamaged, and a bit of ink was dripping from the pointy end. "Something like that, maybe? Fits what you do-- I imagine it's a good call back to your journalistic and inquisitive nature." He mused. "I can always go back and draw something else though. We have time." As he placed the drawing in front of her, her eyes went wide. Her mouth dropped open as her mint green orbs stayed locked on the drawing. She was speechless! It was... perfect! "It.....It-....It's perfect." Her voice was quiet as she finally glanced toward the man with agape mouth and shocked expression still painted plainly over her features.

#a rocky start #make me permanent #ash x aminth #about me

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lovehotelreservation · 7 years

Text

Suitable Surface - Response

Summary: You and Satori have always found yourselves standing at odds with one another. Now, with you both standing right at the crossroads as to what will become of your future together, it only makes sense that matters get resolved by how you’re both standing–physically, awkwardly.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Satori

I STILL DON’T KNOW HOW SATORI MADE HIS WAY INTO MY HEART, BUT ALAS, HERE HE IS WITH HIS OWN ONE-SHOT TO HIS NAME! As noted before however, this one-shot (and the ones that precede and follow afterwards) were inspired by Flume’s “Wall Fuck”!

Other than that, I hope you all enjoy this one-shot~!

——————-

A manager for Shiratorizawa needed to be tough to keep up with such fearsome players, especially as each were so bold and intimidating in their own regard.

A person associated with Shiratorizawa needed all the patience in the world, all to resist from laying hands on Satori.

Your relationship with the ever eccentric athlete was an interesting one.

You were meant to reign him in–mainly whenever Coach Washijou was busy yelling at someone else, or if he was bullying the other team too much. Satori believed he was meant to tease you to no end.

While Shiratorizawa felt impervious to the threat of competition, you and Satori were locked in your own heated rivalry.

Still, you would declare your best wishes to him and the team and ensure that they remained properly hydrated and that they weren’t over-exerting themselves. They were all still human, after all, as you reasoned, to which Satori would grin and coo over sweet it was that you still saw humanity in the likes of them.

You often just responded by pushing a water bottle right into his mouth, your irritated glare meeting his wicked one.

Regardless however, as manager, you were supposed to–and tried to–keep things cordial and professional between you both.

Instead, you found yourself tangled up with him whenever you both had the chance.

At lunch, in the restroom during dull lectures, before or after practice in the locker room, the same with matches–and how you loved the rare times whenever Shiratorizawa would lose. No longer in any mood to be playful, he spared the teasing foreplay in favor of letting you feel the full brunt of his viciousness. Suddenly, that wicked tongue of his became less serpentine and more bold in its tone and words.

He wasn’t fancying you with sweet talk–if anything, any “darlings” or “sweethearts” he sent your way were laced with bitter venom that only defeat could ever draw forth.

Overall however, that was the full extent of your relationship.

A dance where both of you could never quite get full, synchronized unity, where your bodies could be pressed so close together, but knowing that there were not many songs left to sway to.

Satori made for an interesting partner, without question. For as many times as he intentionally riled you up, there were plenty of moments when he brought you joy. You found bliss in his victories–especially when he would pick you up in celebration, albeit making some teasing remark about how you were like a toy–and in his over-the-top mannerisms. One moment, he was absolutely the last person you wished to see. Other times, he was doing things like leaving your favorite candy in your locker with a note of encouragement and a crude-drawing of himself as you prepared for exams.

Romance at 18–would this even be one?–was a stepping stone to a person’s love life, as you both reasoned to one another.

Satori always seemed to make this clear–albeit always in that lighthearted, sing-song tone of his. You were more realistic about your arrangement by comparison.

And yet, as graduation in spring loomed closer and closer, there was a sense of bitter-sweetness to your encounters. A reluctance to leave each other, clinging to one another’s bodies so tightly. Intimacy was still shared, but often preceded or followed by laying side by side, contemplating about the future while waltzing around how things were going to go from here.

An answer was never given.

On your end at least, you believed that any discussion may as well take place after graduation. You and Satori had to juggle university applications, entrance exams, and all the last matches that the current Shiratorizawa line-up would be participating in, so any drama created by your relationship–even if it was weighing down on you both so heavily–should be set aside until now.

As much as you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, you were fine with this result. There was no definite answer, no final dissolution. The situation broke your heart much like the final whistle blown at the match that Shiratorizawa lost to Karasuno, especially when you had to comfort Satori that day.

The two of you would be going your separate ways for college, so how could your relationship–given its foundations–even think to become long distant, let alone official?

Avoiding him during the last few weeks of the semester proved to be difficult, as you still adhered to your duties as manager, guiding your successor through the workings for the team and all and taking one last group photo with the current line-up. Every time Satori went to approach you–his teasing nature looking more subdued whenever he went to do so–you ducked away and went to busy yourself with some ‘sudden’ errands that needed to be done.

For just a moment longer–no, for as long as could be–you wanted to have Satori act all pouty while keeping you locked in his naked embrace, the idea of letting you go unfathomable.

It was why you ended up avoiding him as best as you could during the graduation ceremony.

Somehow, you were able to get through it all in peace, even amidst all the emotional and sentimental fanfare that often went with the event. You took as many commemorative photos as you could with your family, friends, close peers, faculty, and more.

From what you could glance, the same could be said for Satori, except quadrupled the amount given his notoriety at school–especially classmates who wanted pictures with him and the rest of the team.

You made yourself believe that here, at this moment, you could slip away. Though, eventually, the question of what would become of the two of you would be addressed–you were dealing with Satori, after all. But for now, you could keep the possibility of your relationship turning into something else.

…Until your friends dragged you to a graduation party.

Honestly and surely, you resisted. A big, festive gathering for all the graduates meant that without question, fail, and doubt, Satori would be there, whether to be the life of the party or to contort the mood around to his whims–much like how you were feeling.

But your friends begged you to go, wanting to enjoy one more celebration together before you all started college.

You gave in eventually, especially as one friend started to get teary while getting you to leave. Together, you all went to extravagantly large and luxurious abode of one of your more affluent classmates, where the party was to occur. Almost immediately, you were met with “Oh! Manager!”, “Manager! You came too, huh?” and the like from all the now former Shiratorizawa volleyball team 3rd years.

With this, you were correct in your assumption that Satori was here.

This considered, you did your best to stick with your friends as much as possible, though most of them split off to go do their own thing, whether it was to dance, chat up whomever fancied their eye, or hang by the snack table.

Occupying yourself with treats sounded like the most ideal option, especially while keeping your eye out for the undeniably distinct Satori.

That was, until you had lifted a cookie up from a tray while your eyes scanned across the packed living room, only for it to be plucked right out of your fingers.

You were ready to tell whomever off when you heard some crunching and an obnoxiously exaggerated noise of pleasure.

There was no need to turn to your side to see who did this, especially when that person proceeded to move close to your ear and purr out, “There you are, sweetness~”

Action first, thought later.

That sprung to mind as you proceeded to step away just as quickly. It became clear to you that maybe you shouldn’t begin a chase with someone who was close to keeping up with the pace of one Hinata Shouyo during a heated 5-set match, but you were more concerned with keeping away from Satori, keeping away from when that grin of his would be plastered on his face as he declares that it was over between you both.

You weaved in and out through the throngs of your classmates, still refusing to look back. But you knew with all your heart that he was right there, trailing after you without needing to exert too much effort in doing so.

This was the first time to your classmate’s house, so you were careful to avoid rooms. Big, open spaces with doors that lead outside were your goals. You happened across this while easing through the crowd that had accumulated in the living room. Ideally, you thought to just leave the party now and apologize to your friends later, especially once you were able to recall which door you used to enter.

It was the only option you had at this point really.

As you neared the door, you–at last–decided to look back.

Satori was nowhere to be seen.

You cursed at yourself for feeling so crestfallen rather than relief. It was supposed to be like this.

Your hand reached for the doorknob.

…As did another from right beside you, albeit seeking to seize your wrist.

Even with the music blaring so loudly throughout the house, you could hear his purred whisper so clearly, the heat of his breath making your skin shiver.

“Did my pretty little doll think that I could be evaded so easily?”

And that was honestly all that it took.

With all this time spent together where intimacy could be held anywhere so long as there was time and a sturdy surface, it wasn’t difficult for you both to find a closet where you could allow things to properly transpire in private.

Though, neediness was definitely an understatement in this situation, what with how many weeks had passed since your last tryst.

“Aww, my darling~ How cute of you to think that I’d ever let you wiggle out of my grasp~”

Satori’s voice–its tone a low, seductive purr–managed to make your skin shiver, even within the tight, heated confines of the closet, the size of which was why the two of you were in this position. Your hands sought purchase against the wall before you, your leg raised up and supported by the firm grip of his hand while your clothes were pushed–even ripped–aside to offer access to his cock. One of your hips was form to grab, both for leverage and to ensure that you remained within his each, all while he drilled into you with long, deep strokes, his body hunched over yours.

Despite his tall, lanky appearance, he had plenty of strength to support your frame while eagerly groping you at his whim. While he was seeking immediate satisfaction–attained by keeping you within his gasp like so–he was catching up on time lost, having not being able to tease you as he would’ve.

In response to Satori’s words, you only whined while rolling your hips back against his, in hopes of meeting each wonderful thrust. Every time his cock sank deep within you, you did your best to resist a moan–though, this only earned a bite to your bared neck as he hummed, “Still giving the silent treatment to me, huh? Don’t tempt me, because I’ll happily make you squeal~!”

For as talkative as he was being, he still devoted plenty of time to kissing and nipping at your skin, ensuring that his presence would be declared. He was moving so quickly, so ferociously, that combined with the words he was uttering to you after so long, your body was already feeling the tremble of release. In the same regard, with how receptive, accepting and eager you had been–along with your euphoria-inducing attempts at quieting the noises he was causing–he was just as ready to yield to his own climax.

His rhythm quickened, the noisiness of his skin slapping against yours in sweat-slickened fervor increasing in volume and intensity. You uttered his name out breathlessly, feeling a cry beginning to rise from within your throat, only to have it hushed by his mouth seeking and planting over your own.

A sensation of heat spread through your lower half, as did emptiness when you both parted from your kiss. However, before you could comment on what the two of you did just now, you were hushed by more kisses and the words he had to utter in-between them.

“Always mine and no one else’s…always mine and no one else’s…”

There was your answer.

#tendou satori #haikyuu!!#reader insert #winter of faffery #fic #super freaknasty writing #management will return in a queue minutes

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pfriedpfarisee · 5 years

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Limning the Liminal, a reimagining

On account of the delicate pathos of the tale, the tip of the vegetation obscured my view and I wept. Heaven knows, I had had enough and the most frightening part could not be seen. Yet until this moment I had only half-believed that further away I noticed a goddess sitting like from a nightmare—disagreeable enough as its base circling her loins. A passing giant smudged out sure to flee at the first real light of dawn. Itself, slithered down her torso, its tubular nipple towered over me with dismal weight; and I melted. In its place appeared a great eye, lustrous lensed that I was completely and, it seemed, surrounded with a foamy-white cornea. Her left by a tyrannous Uncle for sole companion, whose surface of her ribs and shrinking gradually. It was ascent, and the more disquieting because unknown.

Thundery raindrops; and the eye was put out. I was nonetheless sure that he was possessed while pricked like a pin. Perhaps just because he had deliberately pressed, alarmed by the seeming approach of a stunning presence of the Anchorite who sought friendly rest on the bed. I could hear no more sound of dastardly consoling than the vagaries of my mind that might have but little to do with the weather. Tears flowed into my eyes, and this not old ground with live stones, each one for the first time since living in my Uncle’s house has carved with a garland of five apples, and three disquieting experiences to puzzle and distress me.

A door opened. Within was the sloping orchard of truth. I had expected shortly to awaken a tangle of apple branches, the flames of Hell rose while it lasted through the day’s earliest hours, but does not die. Under a tree with broad leaves now, however, the full significance of my plight red-hot, and one contour of her face and the wave of utter loneliness overwhelmed me. I realign, and in her single and never-ending gesture permanently isolated from all help; with a frigidly cease lamenting.

Intentions toward me were certainly not benevolent, as he danced, the wilder grew the hidden music. I was by this time convinced that he was mad; but to expand and he could touch the eight corners of powers beyond the common range. And this—polite draperies, too, flowed out, unrolling from beyond the borders of sanity. I could not count on pun and somersaulted, his bones ceased to intervene, since his enigmatic caprices were: gravity abated, space negated, volume has come to me from Byzance with a magician’s illustrious ancestor, and draws from it dead, unconsoled, the remnants of faith.

The new ghost has followed twelve hours in vicarious ways, either before or after the death of me. The last time I saw her, one of her eyes was of Plato’s sphere and cannot join on Earth, but early the next day she said, “I can’t hear, I can’t work as one, the Earth too narrow to hold me tinted, unfed.”

Concede which is to be the victim, and at last one of consequence, and there are thus many murders and humoring feels mixed with pain and remorse, a subtle one of her life in which I knew her, she was rinks life at a double spring. That very identity of December, one night between sleeping and away at night draws them together. They are the surrounding darkness with a multitude of fecundity expressed, like an exoteric cult and the secret unhinged their shapes as they glittered, yet left them.

I am not here any longer, I am dead, it is only my mansion and demesne. I am lying in a small town age, someone discreet and sensitive in the township as was described in the story. I longed for death in silicon, grew as tall as now the poplars; to look for some such escape into well-being as that stinted stem swaying in a smaller world. And with poignancy, promised.

Parklands were alive with beings earlier than went over to the open window, which gave up hollow; a single ancient, near a Templars’ demesne. Etude in a Gothic window. Does the Maiden lie in a choked-up mere, so thickly grown with rushes and druidic trees recalling that mysterious Nightingale dyke that ran around it? And within this rim the dry hunger of him, but whether he is bird or hero or dinosaur or mastodon. Occasionally some huge sinuous creature and a strange cry of some tempestuous force: trees were torn up by what we could not tell. The lineage of the spot could be crushed and broken. This destruction did not go stale, but vied here with the suffocating of a sudden wanton downrush from the air, through the soil of the rougher fields beyond their shoulder.

This figure remained for several minutes nightly. She would see four angelic beings held together at last by slanderous bonds, by them, though in waking hours she kept no certain wards other than these: the sulphur, the phosphor, to cease lamenting.

Of kings and beaten gold, he is learning that for more than a year now I have had the worms twine a straighter line than ever my Uncle’s mansion. A bat flew in at my bedrooms with the snakes making spirals around it to another night. Some creature burst from the wall. I must try to compass. Lying there far from the window. I sensed rather than saw it, being only Heaven. The first words he spoke were Listen to me! Of a bat with a span of several feet. It were not right saying again Listen!

When the ghost begins to quicken, as they, I have ears to hear. Being sent—where? My mind refuses to follow. But some of it folds, for I awoke with a start. It had come. The happenings, I myself on the borderland of sleep, came for the last time. Then she is living still. And of mist drooping from a roof of boughs. A bevy strange how anyone could think so, how could I have been away for a while—there had been no longer him, I laid him in that bed of boulders.

We were their faces contorted with malicious joy. Even ridicule, hatred, contempt, but there were older biases pinched to an ironic smile; but most strange of the salt. Now lying in a small graveyard near bones, it be not right ever to cease lamenting. Length of the horizon and drawing perhaps where name of the corpse thus commemorated; it was before; drawing perhaps the straight wand of He who had lived in the fourteenth century. The name right and left, the red and the blue, gyres that I munch has brought me little more. She was married. Shrine of a pillow he is echoing that distant day we had three sons. He died young, leaving her to stand crying a far cry out of a six-foot cradle he is cords that still exist. One could trace resemblances.

I am listening, O I am listening now at last impression is that these are nowhere striking. It is an uneasy sleep must have drawn me intense, but even identity must lie. Was the sculpture to me again, that dream? I thought it had visited me even order such a monument to mark her, what did it say? That she was not dead? That it were while yet living that inspired a subtle idea having arisen? As in the others, she had beef with her life. Do nothing to unveil the mystery of her grew fluid.

But time danced on to the tempo of twos, moving slightly like an animated statue. And stopped, the night shrank again to his usual size. Her bed had great joy in conversing with some hidden illumination, a line of swathed dank memory of their words. It were not right ever the same spot with magnetic gesticulations. They whip, lashing them like spinning tops to make my throat the mark of a vampire’s tooth. Here at last he strode, more and more swiftly; and all at once my window, fluttered about a little and began to glow. Then, as he reached each one into the left of my bed and escaped by the ever higher, these human torches filled the low-half-awakened, but it seemed to have the wings left of the floor, to circle, a chorus of serene fire-balk ever to cease lamenting.

Only when my guttering candles had exited, a poet says, “Confusion over the death-bed is asleep.” It is some time before these strange and tragic ones became aware of trees encircling a glen, beyond them a wall, lying like a belt thrown down to a new ghost that has difficulty in believing that it rushes to obscure the pool. Once the horsetail decides as though it were still blown-through today a vestige only of its pristine abundance, the jointly, and concentrate its attention upon the fact that this was a monstrous country—even the cur. Those ghosts return most persistently who man. Tortured oak trees stood or lay, piercing me back fitfully when they have known and reared a herd of ancestral horns and opened its sit last, their haunting ceases. A ghost must keep look out sometimes? I wondered.

Clumps of the reached, and only allow itself to be worked on who nested in nine oaks; the Russian ‘Bylinay’ is a demon they say. Every copse was scarred by the passage of haunting which so powerfully influences a physical manifestation in a human being. The roots, limbs wrenched off, masses of twiglet descendants; but when this is not so, another seems to be the work of any known wind, but rather one is never wholly alien in a physical sense. Chaotic and convulsive.

Knuckles of flint broke as outcrops through the chosen one looking henceforth to the ghost for many minutes before its authority and inspiration faded away. In the senses when some words, spoken by her, the chosen being may be singled out in sound reached her ears; they took the form of the possessor. It may happen that those two halves of the month of June she saw, when in a dream, must be parted by a dividing dimension before they acquire the charm of a picture: it was a maiden them.

One of them has to die. They struggle to deify, streaming out behind in a point as her feet kills the other. The survivor acts in self-defeat, a snowy waste; behind her gray mountain suicides that go unrecognized by law. But these beige garments clung to her as she fled, her pale pace glowed triumph, for it knows that from its inspirer during the dang dream and came to her about the same time. Undivided by working in a manner both hidden as silhouette across a pale sky. In the same month, tradition which it both embodies and conceals. I, naked by her window in the guise of the unhappy ghost that wanders through my Uncle’s “S-seat,” but with head turned over the left separation.

There she was, smiling as in on my eyelids I cannot see, the Earth is in my together, I helping her. My true ancestor, the alchars I cannot hear, the stones are on my feet I seems that some ritual is wanting. What can I dorpse under rocky hills since the beginning of covenant, gate of heaven? It were not right ever ceased to walk.

One of the most sinister emotions is here- that room at the top of the house, the room with one loves them for a while still more; then gradual shout. Yes, like a shout I say—you could hear that it begins to hate. One conceals this as one never hit the purple light. Why of course I remember a beam of light, restricted but intense, that passes with a prior claim who did not want to leave, and shares their death. It were not right ever to cease gold to Olympia with her and she would die some years after the tragedy. I found into her birthplace.

And he dying near by, a dying stone, which had been taken from the side of dying each time he was with me, each time a Pieta of the Romanesque style; but what devil was hungry once with that phosphorescent look? The traditional gestures of sorrow, but a second rim of stony gifts; I heaped those stones above the tomb. It were not right to ever cease lamenting. Life; preparing to go away collecting things.

Did her spirit, after many wanderings permit this white woman, lunar progenitrix—its load? I remembered that the woman I knew had. Mother of good counsel, help me; ark of the unsupported, culmination of many anguished Dao cease lamenting. Later by blood, the blood of her husband’s suicide of the dead. Living, one has loved them; dead, closed: that evening she grew worse. Suddenly, as an ally one grows indifferent, and slowly one sees; then feel unconscious and dies alone, in nodes of hatred for the living. Their faults appear as in:

‘It were not right ever to cease lamenting over a scarred surface. By this hatred it was like the parting of day-from-night-lamenting.’

During the year before her death, the only old Trocadero museum a massive panel of several strange visions visited. In the month womb in Naples. It was carved in high relief with a waking, she saw the gate of heaven shining outload inspired the sculptor. A first glance assumed gem-like colors, which like a kaleidoscope chair revealed the bodies of Saints and Virgin Uncle. What I longed for was a companion to my music without source; and when this music whom I could confide; in fact, for such a relation in an underground cave, to shine warmly from above all for flight from my grievous present. And ulcers began to move, springing up and down on whichever end of the romance, however mixed were leaders passed along the lines with an iron.

Too restless to sleep, I rose from my bedlam dance more fiercely. Up and down the line upon a particularly sinister region of my Uncle’s, as his strokes grew more potent, the dancers surrounded by spectral poplars there lay an urn. They burst into flame. Leaping that the water was all but invisible. A low earthy hoofed cavern with their ardent rite; and finally - ooze of its margin was spoored with the footprint loins near the ceiling. Rushes swayed and rustled with the movement of themselves gushed one by one. “Did I fall?” might be heard, but whether of bird or animal, one traced in that most antique of plant forms, the hot graveyard at the edge of a thirsty plain, the dust is home to an unnamed beast.

They seemed to be nostrils I cannot breathe, the pebbles are in my genes that the Templars treasured? I cannot move. We two have lain there a single crook’s wing much magnified as growing out of time. And one ghost is still walking, and one hastens the quill, which was as thick as a tree trunk. I wonder how it was that I never lived in its terrible shade? A few of those plumes, chiefly a large window and a view of the acropolis like hitch, reminding one of freak blackbirds, frost, the triumphant noise made striding upwards in dissolution. Now someone else was living there, some tenant prismatic sheen of a thinly-veiled moon; and then I was afraid that if I took that room I was meant to invite me to walk among them.

But how to get there as she said she would if she ever went back whichever way I turned my eye was led towards in life, living in death, spending and wasting and here drawn so close to it that one would have to step nearer death and death a thought dearer. He summed it as a fact, though surrounding about him and asked to be kept alive and I gave in with a black door of oak for a buckle, girdled a quill was buried in the earth, whitely, so that overspread with lichen. The wood of the door was stone steps leading up to it. I mounted these and the cross-legged with her back to a cliff, the water at Eden, red earth disguised as green; and beyond aged away her clavicles. Her right breast detached with serene clamor; for in this garden the worm pointing toward the lake flopped in and the figure was standing; her hair was like steel wire as an owl’s but clear colored like a bubble and the breast folds of her garment glowed. She was alone, remained some time, clinging to the peace of despair. It were not right ever to finally wash away by a brief storm.

Now an ogre was dancing, and the faster flash of summer lightning as if it had suddenly grown louder still, his limbs began the vast room with head, finger, or toe. His whorm, I retreated from the window and again some compact center within themselves. As he shunder, but I sensed a tension in the atmosphere stiffen. His skin to bind, his muscles came untied outside. Was my room haunted?

As an infant has shape echoing a goddess’ torso or the curves of so uncarved, but among them might there not be stories convulsed with a soundless and satanic laughter? A feather like one of the primaries from the mouth of Christ, falling open in death, was of the landscape into the sky. The contrast between all, the face of the Madonna was her face. It went to the delicate branch plumes that sprang from a label near the ground. I sought the ones emerging near the base, were gray with Agnes de Perigord, Empress of Byzantium, whose sere leaves, old age, and ultimately, I suppose, conveyed little to me at the time until later researched.

The rest of the landscape was gay with thought of John of Gravina, Prince of Achaia, and by him - hilly fields hedged with clumps of woodland seeing the life of Naple’s licentious court. Perhaps, if respect avoids the feather. It dominated everything, and where and there between the two histories, but my it, as if it were the magnetic north. What if one wise in character rather than destiny were there that liked to touch it? The only consolation was the fact—I deassigned before this titular Empress died. Did she remain? Or was there something in her character blasphemy after her death? The meager details of difficulty in believing that it has left the womb, she has left the world.

Sometimes the ghost feels, acute structure of the gate unchanged. This vision has lasted by the breath of life. It has to remind itself constantly next month. She experienced a vivid linking of thought that it is no longer alive: otherwise hauntings occupy. Her husband, appeared to her mind’s eye before they have never known that they were dead; others coin an iron grid interlaced with small ivy leaves. In time then again forgotten. When they fully realize its state, an image possessing both the force of reality always before it a vision of that end which it has running, whom she called Atalanta, with dark half by the breath of death. Skimmed the tops of ilex trees. Around her spread certain ghosts feeling little of that attraction were ranged against a sky faintly pink.

Her. Filmy. Like so many others, for these former leave upon the ear straining forward, her eyes gazing outward yet persist. Sometimes this counterpart appears among their Atalanta Fugues. The next vision of waking being is chosen and possessed, though perhaps they concerned an appearance of the Magi moving in one hot afternoon as she lay resting. She saw me—goddess Saraswati holding the pose of the Lotus.

#cutup #literaryexperiment #highlyedited #reworkedwords #ritualsurrealism #longform

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inexchangeforyoursoul · 7 years

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chapter... 9? will need to open a new document because scroling down too far and then up to find the point I left off before all the fragments start is getting annoying

now... let me waste an hour figuring out a title for this one on the fanfic sites

“You know... you made my bed, and this is probably rude of me to say,” she muses while assessing the captain's cabin where she will apparently spend training time, which is to say, a lot of time in the foreseeable future, “but... I have the greatest itch to tidy up this mess right now.”

The desk, dresser, bed and bookshelves are doing fine, but anything below that... there's barely room to maneuver in there if the goal is to not step into anything. It's cluttered with all kinds of junk; clothes, maps and papers, a notebook, some of the thickest tomes she's ever seen, at least three chests, various surgical instruments -that better not be a syringe and scalpel poking out from behind that bag,- and just... dirt and dust everywhere, which are likely remnants of various herbs and powders he's fiddling around with down here. Because, no matter how stale the hot air is inside, there's just not enough “musty attic” to kill off the distinctive “consulting room” that engulfs the place; stepping inside was like hitting a solid wall made of heat and pharmacy. Law really ought to vent in here sometimes.

“Forget about that. Get rid of the bag and let's start already; we've wasted tons of time,” is all he has to say to that while making some room himself by kicking some stuff to the side.

She sighs and drops the bag of clothes on his bed. Of which she's a little jealous of because of its size. Doing so, she spots another shiny item at the corner of said object.

“Oh, 10 Belly...” she murmurs once having it in her hand. Flipping it around, it seems a little unusual. “Hey, I have one of these lying around, too” she says once realizing that it's a rather unique one from about three years ago. No idea what kind of anniversary it was anymore, but the tail got a fancy makeover.

Taking interest in her statement, he stops fiddling around with what it seems to be wooden building blocks and takes a look himself.

“Ah,” he says with the realization, taking it from her; “must have fallen off the case.”

With that, he squats down and lifts a small blanket off a suitcase that has some more change lying on it. Picking them all up and opening the object reveals... at least a hundred, -but rather twice as many with some pockets hidden from view,- coins and bills, and just by seeing some examples of the latter, they all seem to be unusual.

She crouches down next to him to take a better look. “... you... collect these?”

“As you can see? Yes.” he answers, slipping them each behind likely home made leather strip pockets. Getting to the last one, which is the coin she jut found, he takes an identical piece out for comparison's sake; the one he held in his hand seems to be in a worse shape, so he puts the coin he just took out back where it came from and tries to put the other in a nonexistent pocket. Goddamn lady jeans.

Concise summary of Kat: “Nerd.”

“I'm no nerd,” he assures her, downing the coin in an actual pocket at last.

“Not to be that person, Law, but the only thing nerdier than a surgeon collecting commemorative money in his underwater dungeon is the guy in speedo building gigantic robots next door and being really enthusiastic about it.” Having said that and seeing his unimpressed expression, she pulls a nonchalant shrug.

He's just rolling his eyes at that.

“You act as if I just ate the last cookie in your jar,” she sighs, shaking her head, then stands up. “Being nerdy is not a bad thing, you nerd.” Turning around, she decides to see what he's been meddling with on the dresser.

“Are you saying this because you are a nerd, too?” he asks, also getting back onto his feet.

“Darn straight I am,” she informs him, turning back with two finger guns before walking backwards to her current stop.

“...” Should have expected a similar answer by now. He's not even mad, neither at her, or himself.

She leans onto the piece of furniture to survey what's there. What appeared to be building blocks from afar seem to be small wooden boxes with tiny hook locks to make sure they stay closed; some almost too small for any use, others big enough to hold a thick necklace or so easily. Judging by the worn labels, he probably kept raw material for medication in them; likely to be totally empty right now. There's also a couple of untouched note blocks and some other stuff that seems to be broken, plus tiny objects like a small syringe tube. “So... what exactly will be my task here?” she asks, drumming on the hard wood with her fingers. Doing that she notes that he also should wipe the surface; the fingers of her right hand are now covered in more or less fine dust.

“First, you'll just try and switch around stuff from one of these,” he pulls a note block to one end of the surface, “to another.” Putting another block of paper notes in front of her, he places a pocket watch that hasn't ticked for who knows how long on top.

Simple enough; cannot cause too much harm to the paper, either. “... and this until I don't make see-through paper, then some more?”

“Exactly,” he nods.

She sighs. Monotony is one of her greatest enemies... it shouldn't take that long to get it right, though? Right...?

Not quite. After about 5 hours of fooling around, she's sitting on his bed opposing the chest of drawers, resting her head on an elbow. She's managed to bore herself to nirvana next to the insufferable heat and low buzzing of the submarine and not even think of what he's supposed to do while swatting the pocket watch around, doing the same thing, and making the same mistake, over and over. Sometimes she takes the other hand to lean on and continues like that; the occasional other thought that surfaces is of what to draw or paint next time she's free. Which feels like a time that will never come. The upper sections of the unruly paper blocks must be minutes away from getting ground into the finest powder by now; she managed not to decimate shit about thrice. That's where the counter was two hours ago at least, before she gave up on life.

Law, meanwhile, has been reading a book at his desk; a bit earlier he stopped and started writing something rather furiously. Even before he left for those and just watched her, he didn't say a thing. It's been really quiet, which is usually nice, but under these circumstances she'd rather have at least more background noise than the occasional page turn, deep breath, and the hum of... whatever is nearby, probably an engine.

As the gears in her head start turning again a bit while thinking about this, he puts his pen down, sorts the paper sheets, then stands up. Crossing the gap between her and the target practice for the first time works like a magic charm, and she snaps out of her coma enough to stop doing what she's been told a while ago. Words are yet to be an option, but her moan is enough of a question to him.

“Going out to eat,” he informs her while picking up his hat that she has put down next to her ages ago. Before he leaves, he stops in the doorway to turn back to her, which brings some much needed fresh(er) air: “Are you not hungry? It's half past two.”

She grumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Will be fine till a late brunch... slash dinner.” This power practice business has been rather taxing now that she's regained control over her senses.

“Alright, will be back soon. Try not to slack off too much.” With that, he closes the door and she's left alone.

The second she cannot hear the clanking of the stairs, she leans back onto the bed. This sucks. Goddamn. There's no progress, either; she has probably more problems other than energy management, but hell if she has the slightest idea what it may be.

She looks to the side with the view to the sea; there is only a few schools of really tiny fish to be seen. More interesting is the wobbly book pile next to the bed, and especially the one that slid its way onto it. She reaches out to grab that one.

A book on the respiratory system. Wild. She flips through it; as expected, there are some illustrations inside. Including stuff like blackened lungs and cancer, how to cut open one's throat in an emergency, cysts, thrombosis and other lovely ailments; one of the first ones is an overview of the human body, though, with the skeleton, muscles, and skin in six images. She stops at the three pairs of pages to get a better look; been a while since she's seen any of these, might as well revise a bit.

Memorizing where the humeral muscles connect and how the shoulder blade looks again, the book is getting really heavy while holding it above. She starts lowering it ever so slightly, until it finally hits her temples; at this point, it's impossible to read. Or even see anything. Everything else is also rather hard right now; she doesn't feel like moving and just lets the book slip down her head. The pages are nice and cool, the room is still unnecessarily warm. At least she's used enough to the air to be unable to smell the antiseptic anymore. She could use some more lighting, it's rather dark in here... book with lighter half still on her head notwithstanding. If she had the willpower to stand up, she'd look for another switch. But she doesn't, and makes the mistake of closing her eyes for more than a moment.

Law enters again ten minutes later, and immediately sighs in resignation. He should have known...

Stepping over, he takes the book off his-her face. He considers waking her, but if she's done in enough to fall asleep, that wouldn't be of much benefit anyway. It's not even much of a surprise; the power is not meant for extended use, after all, be it a small Room or a big one. Having said that, he checks on the book- he studied the case studies in the back last week, but what she could gather from any of this? A mystery.

Having no better idea, he leaves and kicks a bag into the doorway to let physics do its thing; the room has been needing more oxygen for an hour and now that he stepped inside, it's also been way too hot in there. Even for him. Or his temporal body. Thinking about it, the stuff he's wearing is rather thin, while his clothes on her... oh well. She really has all the rights to be knocked out. Should have done this earlier.

Stepping outside, he takes a deep breath. He hasn't come up since they arrived; it's nice and sunny with a breeze out. Being in the shadow of the Thousand Sunny makes it rather chilly, though, especially after the sauna inside; so he boards the allied ship instead. Leaning onto the railing, he can hear someone approach; it's Robin with her last cup of coffee for the day.

“Out alone? Where'd you leave little-big Miss Kat?” she inquires before sipping.

“KO'd herself on my bed while practicing as soon as I took my eyes off her,” he says while enjoying the sunshine on his back.

She chuckles and puts the coffee and newspaper down on the nearby table. “She's an amusing girl.”

“That she is.” He sighs. Amusing is one way to put it; not a ditz, thankfully. Speaking of amusement, though, there was that word she said when she was ranting outside her house... what was it again... goddammit. “By the way, Nico-ya, do you know what a... 'trogomite' or whatever is?”

He's never seen Robin laugh that hard.

#KMKY #Kate writes

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