#if you have any questions about preservation or pinning please send me an ask or a message! i love to talk about it
Text
Reminder for people keeping specimens of animals/bugs. Beware of dermestid beetles (dermestes maculatus). Dermestid beetles are an important part of the natural process, since they feed on the decomposing flesh of animals and other bugs. However, if you intend to preserve a specimen, you need to watch out for these little guys.
Here are a few ways that you can prevent dermestid beetles from feeding on your specimens:
1. If you are preserving a specimen yourself, make sure you are removing the majority of internal organs so your specimen does not rot. Dermestid beetles feed on rotting bodies, so as long as you take measures to keep the body from rotting, dermestid beetles will be less likely to feed. This is mainly aimed toward specimens like frogs, birds, bats, anything with large organs. You can usually skip this step if you are preserving small beetles or butterflies, but even some larger bugs like giant katydids need to be cut open and their insides need to be removed. If the removal of the internal organs drastically changes the shape of the specimen’s body, you can stuff the body with cotton and glue the seam shut to keep the shape.
2. If you have a specimen with a large body, but not large enough to cut into, you can inject the body with alcohol. Much like preserving a wet specimen, injecting alcohol into the body of a specimen will help prevent remaining tissue and organs from rotting, and will also help keep your specimen in its pose. However, depending on the size and softness of your specimen, alcohol may not be a long term solution to rotting. Alcohol may need to be re-administered later on to ensure dermestid beetles don’t try to eat the specimen.
3. Freeze your specimens. Dermestid beetles will die after being frozen, so if it so happens that a dermestid beetle or its eggs/larvae have unwarrantedly made a home among your specimen, freezing them for 3-4 days will kill the dermestid beetles. It is always a good idea to routinely freeze your specimens, even if they look clean and untouched. An ounce of prevention.
The photos at the beginning of this post are of one of my luna moths that unfortunately started being fed on by a dermestid beetle. This is the damage of only one beetle, so I’m sure you can imagine what a group of them could do. Please watch out for your specimens, and do what you can to ensure they are properly maintained! Not only for the specimen itself, but also for your own safety. Decomposing animals are a biohazard, and may be a threat to your health.
#if you have any questions about preservation or pinning please send me an ask or a message! i love to talk about it#entomology#dermestid beetle#dermestid beetles#wet specimens#pinned bugs#pinning bugs#bug pinning#taxidermy#collecting#oddities#curiosities#oddities and curiosities#bugs#animals#biology
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hey guys
Remember when marinette was almost akumatized cause everyone thought she actually cheated?
Well, what would happen if she did get akumatized but like in another scenario cause reasons
-------------------------------------------------------
They were in the classroom, and Lila was lying again
And this time she went too far
She went after Alya
It was already a terrible day for Marinette. A day filled with accidents and embarrassment and the only thing that brightened her day was Alya's attempts to cheer her up
But then Lila came with some stupid claim that Alya was cheating on Nino?!
And she dared to phrase it like she’s concerned about her dear friend Nino's sake?
Really, how can you blame Marinette for snapping
For letting go
For wanting to teach that liar that she’s not allowed to so much as look at her friends
And for a moment all she saw was white
A voice whispered in her ears
"Marinette Dupain-cheng, aren't you tired of these poisonous word that girl spouts wherever she goes? Don't you want to bring an end to her lies, if only to retrieve your friend's honour and preserve her reputation? I can give you the power to show the truth, and all I ask for in exchange are the ladybug and chat noire's miraculousses"
Marinette knew that she couldn't accept, but everyone was already asking questions and the look on Alya's face was all the motivation she needed
"I accept" Everyone looked shocked at Marinette, they've heard her voice so void as if she's lost the ability to feel, but soon the shock became fear as they saw familiar black mist engulf there dear friend
Before the mist could fully clear, Marinette jumped and pinned Lila to the door, keeping everyone from leaving or entering the room.
The first thing they saw were piercing red eyes that were staring into Lila's soul. Claws sharp as blades were clenched around her throat, keeping her from moving an inch.
She wore a suit and a mask that vaguely represented chat noire if not for thier snow white colour
"Li~la" she sing-song with a wicked smile sending shivers down her classmates' spines
"Dear, dear Lila, we can do this the easy way or the hard way," Marinette flicked her nose as her smile grew showing razor sharp teeth
"You can either tell us all the truth, or I can see what my new powers can do! You know, hawkmoth was very vague about what they could do, and, between you and me, I hope they're very painful"
Marinette's tail launched itself at adrien's wrist, making him get away from the window he was about to jump off
"Nuh-uh-uh, adrikens, cant let you summon chat noire or ladybug!"
"You’ve been awfully quiet, Lila. Does that mean you chose the hard way? Oh my, looks like we'll all see what my powers do!"
Marinette raised her hand and slowly put it on Lila's forehead, and to everyone’s horror, the finger sunk into her skull as if it was soft butter, and when it came out several white clouds followed.
"Now let's see all the memories that have anything to do with Alya" with a snap of her fingers, each cloud started showing all and any memories Lila had that contained Alya, and one by one the clouds disappeared as these memories came to an end, showing no signs of Alya cheating.
Only one cloud stayed, showing particular memory that seems to have happened in Lila's home
"Oooh, I don't see why you'd have any memories of Alya in your house, and this memory seems to have happened today! Shall we watch?" With a twirl of her hand, the cloud became big enough for everyone to see
"W-wait! I was just thinking th-that Alya's shirt would look nice on me!"
"Marinette, please let her go. I’m pretty sure everyone believes me by now"
"Marinette, this is not the right way to do it-"
"Silence!" Marinette turned for the first time towards her friends only to see them flinch, and oh did that hurt her, but she has a mission, and she'll be damned if she didn’t go through with it.
"C'mon Alya, you of all people know how important evidence is, and besides I've already set up the memory, so let's just hi~gher up the volume and watch this memory" with a snap of her fingers, the memory started playing
"-i feel like I’m becoming just a background character in the class. Time to trick these idiots with a lie, but I can't use Marinette this time, though it's so fun to mess with her. Hmm, maybe if I can't mess with her, I can mess with her best friend. Oooh that will rile her up, and maybe she'll give the class more reasons to dislike her without me needing to do anything! Oh my god today's gonna be fun!"
Marinette clenched her fist, and the cloud disappeared. She let go of Lila and fully faced her classmates
"And as you all saw, Lila was lying, and thus I've proven Alya innocent!" She smiled sweetly at her classmates, before a voice came that made her smile disappear
"Good job, such a wonderful act! It quite deeply moved me. Now dont forget my part of the deal, dear"
"Oh, yeah, did I forget to mention? The deal is off, Hawkmoth"
Everyone stayed quiet, unsure what they just heard.
"Wait, she can do that?-"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE DEAL IS OFF! I GAVE YOU YOUR POWE-"
"Geez, calm down, old man" Marinette moved to sit down at her desk as calmly as can be
"I don't really feel like getting my ass kicked, sooo the deal is off. Also like, come on, what can I do with these powers? Threaten to show there most embarrassing memories? Nah man, I'd rather not fight"
"If you want more powers to defeat them, then i shall-"
"No, no no no, you got it all wrong. I don't want to fight, like at all. So you either take back the akuma, or it stays right here wasted on the one person who refuses to fight the two superheroes who can kick ass"
Silence stretched for a moment, before hawkmoth started speaking again.
"Fine, as you wish, but remember that you brought this upon you"
"Yeah, yeah, just tak-" Marinette suddenly stiffened, as she felt something growing in her lungs.
She started coughing violently as deep, purple sludge fell out of her mouth, slowly engulfing her. Her coughs grew more violent making her fall off the desk.
"MARINETTE" several of her classmates ran to her, afraid that there friend got hurt.
As the last of whatever that sludge left her lungs, Marinette's coughs became weak, and soon it dissipated leaving Marinette on the floor looking pale, tired and in pain.
"Marinette! Are you okay??" Alya screamed as she pulled her best friend closer
"Fuuuuck never again"
"Hold on girl, I'm taking you to the nurse"
"B-but what about-" she reached towards the akuma that no one saw was flying away
"It's okay, Mari. I'll take care of it" tikki whispered before sneaking away after the akuma.
"What did you say?" Alya asked as she supported Marinette on her feet
Marinette looked at everyone in the room, and felt so guilty.
"I'm so sorry for scaring you all, and for hurting you, Adrien"
"No!-"
"Don't worry about it-"
"It didn't really hurt-"
"Happens to the best of us-"
"It happened to most of us-"
Marinette smiled weakly, but she insisted
"Thank you all, but I really am sorry. And Lila," She then turned to Lila, opened her but she hesitated, took a deep breathe, then looked Lila in the eyes
"I'm not sorry"
"Hey Marinette, how, how did you resist Hawkmoth"
"I'm not sure, tikki. I was aware of what's happening around me. I knew that I was being akumatized, and I just- I let happen! What if I couldn't resist! What I-"
"Marinette! It's okay-"
"NO, it's not! I could have lost you!"
"But you didn't, and all you wanted was to help your friend! That doesn't seem as bad as you make it sound. Now, lay on your bed and have some rest, and maybe we can talk to master Fu tomorrow. Maybe he knows how you were in control the whole time"
"...alright. Thank you, tikki. Goodnight"
"You're welcome, Marinette. Have sweet dreams"
"Hey, tikki? "
"Yes?"
"How did you neutralise the akuma?"
"Oh, I just ate it!"
...
"What"
#I have this hc that because Marinette knows how the miraculous works she's kinda immune to Hawkmoth's bs#like she isnt completely akumatized she can still think logicallybut shes just a tad bit unhinged#like in the chat blanc episode it felt like that for chat#marinette dupain cheng#marinette dupen chang#miraculous marinette#mlb marinette#miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir#miraculous fanfic#miraculous ladybug#miraculous lb#ml tikki#mlb tikki#tikki#nino#alya cesaire#Hawkmoth
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
This poll got better response that I expected please keep voting, so for that 1 person so far who voted for more details.
The point is to get all the posts tagged with at least one of the tracked tags and reblog them to single blog.
Here's more or less how it will work (I'm open for suggestions)
Get all the posts from all tracked tags in given timeframe
Get unique posts - so posts with both tracked_tag_1 and tracked_tag_2 will be reblogged only once
Add archival date tags - right now the format would be [date], so for example for post made on 2023-02-31 > [2023], [2023-02], [2023-02-31]; that will allow to browse posts made on specific day, specific month, and specific year.
Copy the tags from original post - in effort to preserve extra content/warning tags, like mermaid!AU, or dragons, or flashing lights, etc. Those won't get the [].
Reblog
How often will it be run?
Everyday, but it will collect posts older than a week - or more, definitely not less. This is to encourage people to keep using the /tagged or /search options on Tumblr, because, as I've mentioned, Tumblr API DOES NOT return all the posts visible on web.
As in, when I've checked #trigunbookclub, API was missing like first 5 posts. And it's like that by design. The difference is due to Tumblr not actually using the API to display posts. I'm looking into alternatives, one looks good so far, hopefully it won't annoy Tumblr just as much as Tumblr annoys me, I don't want to get banned (again, suggestions are welcome).
It's also to give users time to modify/delete their post. And if you end up following the archival blog, you'll get to see the posts again.
Which tags will be tracked?
So far the list is: #trigun, #trigun maximum, #trigun stampede, #trimax, #tristamp, #trigunbookclub
I'll keep the list on pinned post on archival blog (together with most of what I've written here).
If you have any suggestions, go ahead and send me an ask/DM.
What if I don't want my posts reblogged?
Bot will ignore posts with tags: #delete later, #private, #do not reblog.
It can also be set up to ignore specific blogs.
If a post was already reblogged, let me know and I'll delete it.
Will you also filter out nasty tags like plantce-
No.
I want my posts reblogged, but they're often skipped
Let me know, we will see about getting them straight from your blog instead.
Will you start archiving from the newest posts or from the oldest?
Honestly I want to start from oldest, to try and keep the order of posting since you can't filter by multiple tags, so if someone wants to filter all #trimax posts, they will still get them in some chronological order, but I'm probably going to do a poll for that too. But-
For example, #trigun stampede has 4400 pages as of today, let's count 10 posts per page (there's less). I can reblog 250 posts per day (if I'm not mistaken), that's 25 pages. That's 176 days to get up to date just with #trigun stampede.
Yeah, poll it is.
When will it start?
I need to cleanup the code, and add some tests, but I should be able to start next week, IF I don't get any votes against.
What if I have more questions?
Hit me up, my askbox and DMs are open.
#hag talks#trigun#trigun maximum#trigun stampede#trimax#tristamp#trigunbookclub#so far looks like I'm doing it#oh man this is going to be fun#I'm currently running the alternate script for trigun#let's see if it will finish by morning without killing my computer#cause I think the earliest post on API was from 2013?
1 note
·
View note
Text
Love Thy Brother
Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader
Content: 18+ dubcon/noncon, dabi’s canononical dick piercings manhandling, rough sex, corruption, degradation, humiliation, manipulation, blackmail, spit, stepcest, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, mentioned breeding, blasphemy and sacrilege : 3
Word count: 4.1k
Notes: secured my spot in hell with this one for sure anyways touya-nii go brrrrr
part 2 here!
But he that hates his brother is in darkness, and walks in darkness, and knows not whither he goes, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes. – 1 John 2:11
Gaining 4 new siblings as a young adult is not something anyone expects, you think, but you’re grateful to have been accepted into Enji Todoroki’s family nonetheless.
Fuyumi was the big sister you always wanted, kind and nurturing, always happy to let you borrow her clothes and give you advice. You and Natsuo the closest in age. He was warm and friendly and while he teased you a lot it was never mean spirited, just the kind that was typical between siblings. Shoto was quiet in nature and though it took him more time than the rest to warm up to you, eventually you two became friends as well.
And there was Touya…..
Well, Dabi as he prefers to be called.
When you first met him, you were terrified, the shock of seeing him made you hide behind your mother instinctively. The Todoroki clan looked every bit the perfect suburban family except for Dabi. He had his hair dyed jet black, with seemingly more tattoos than clean skin. He had several cartilage piercings in his ears as well as three small studs in his nostril and a barbell through his eyebrow. He scoffed at your scared reaction, sticking out his tongue to show you the silver ball on its surface and sending a wink your way.
Admittedly, felt guilty for judging Dabi based on his appearance, but you would soon come to find that sometimes it’s better to trust your judgement.
At first, Dabi ignored you, acted as if you didn’t exist. And the times when he was forced to acknowledge your presence in his family he acted as though you were nothing more than a nuisance. You thought that you might have offended him somehow but Fuyumi assured you that Dabi was just like that and that you shouldn’t take it personally. “He just needs to get to know you.” She said.
She was wrong though. Dabi couldn’t stand you.
Everything about you infuriates him. Prancing around in those frumpy sweaters and modest skirts like anyone would bother to lewd you anyways. Lest they attempt, you wear that gold cross necklace everywhere you like a big old “PROPERTY OF JESUS” tag. Your insistence to say a prayer every time the family dog so much as farts. The way his entire family seems to be enamored by your church girl act. Perhaps what he hates most is the way you look at him, poor delinquent Dabi, like you’re so much better than him. Sanctimonious bitch.
Then he noticed how you were with Natsuo. How you would pout and whine when he teased you and sometimes, to everyone’s shock and amusement, banter back and forth with him. Let’s be clear here, he didn’t care about you. He cared about attention. You were giving too much of your attention to his younger brother and that just wouldn’t do.
Pretty soon, Touya was in on the teasing. He started out by making fun of you for being so conservative. Low-hanging fruit. You’ve heard it all before so it didn’t wrench much of a reaction for you but that just made him more determined. Sometimes it got downright mean, earning him a scolding from Fuyumi. Not that he would listen anyways
Then it got physical. It started innocently enough, Dabi would tug on your hair, snatch food out of your hands, kick you underneath the dinner table. Albeit childish, it was incredibly annoying. You would shriek and yell for him to cut it out and after finally getting the desired reaction from you, he became hungry for more.
So he started taking more risks. When you were in the kitchen alone Dabi would brush his hand under your skirt making you squeal. That progressed to him flicking up your skirt to catch a glimpse of your panties which progressed to him spanking you so hard, you’d think of him every time you sat down for the rest of the day.
On the days when he was in a good mood (read: stoned out of his mind), he would pull you into his lap and hold you there, blowing smoke in your face that made you cough so that he could laugh. Sometimes he would let his hands wander, over your chest and between your thighs while you squirm in his hold. He’d say “Anyone ever touch you like this? I hope not, I’m sure it would piss off Jesus”
As if the touching wasn’t invasive enough, Dabi felt he was entitled to your room and personal artifacts. Often you’d come back from campus or church to find the contents of your underwear drawer spilled on the floor. You would notice a pair or two missing when you packed them back.
One time he vandalised your bible with drawings of penises on every single page.
“D’ya like my artwork princess?” he said when you confronted him. In a fit of rage, threw the book at his head. You missed (unfortunately) making him like laugh. “Surely there’s something condemning violence in that book of yours.”
You tried locking him out of your room but all that did was make him angrier. He threated to break your door clean off its hinges if you did it again.
Which brings you to your current predicament.
It had been a long day. You woke up late landing you in trouble with your manager. Your coworker fell ill and you had to cover a double shift, with no shortage of asshole customers on this particular day it seems. On top of all that, you just got stood up for date. You come home to a quiet house and you’re so grateful for this small blessing on a day like this. After a long, scalding hot shower, you lie on your bed wrapped in a fluffy, white towel, contemplating your next move.
You were home alone and with a family this big that hardly ever happens. You do what any person would do after having the day you had.
You smile to yourself, undoing the knot on your towel and falling back onto your pillows, hands already caressing your breasts.
You’re a Christian not a robot. Of course you masturbate. Sure you feel ashamed. You can hear your mother’s voice chide about how sinful it is but that all melts away when your little fingers slide between your wet folds. Shame can wait.
Being the menace in your life that he is, the eldest Todoroki chose that exact moment to barge into your room unannounced.
You scramble for your covers trying your best to preserve some modesty but it’s too late, you’ve been caught. You shriek in terror.
“Oh my god!” Dabi practically cackles.
“Dabi! It’s not what it looks like I swear.”
“Oh really?” He stalks over to your bed with the predatory grin on his face. “Because to me it looks like my innocent, holier than though baby sister is a nasty, little, closet pervert.” He’s now straddling you over your covers, you want to fight him off but that would mean letting go over your duvet and you know once you do that, it’s over. Dabi has the upper hand though. Soon he’s got both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinned above your head. His other hand, almost immediately, is pulling the down the covers, revealing your naked torso to him. “Huh.’ He muses as he palms one of your breasts. “Seems like it’s exactly what it looks like.”
“Dabi! Get off me!” You squirm under him but he’s too heavy so it’s no use.
“Nice tits Sis.” Dabi ignores your protests. “I don’t get why you keep them hidden.”
“I’m not your sister you creep!” you say with as much venom as you can muster.
“Aw princess,” he pouts and moves his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing your cheeks harshly “it hurts your Nii-san’s feelings when you talk to him like that. I wonder what our parents would think. Should I tell them how filthy their sweet, little daughter really is?”
He revels in the fear in your eyes. You shake your head frantically. “No Dabi please! Please don’t tell them.” You whimper, words garbled.
“Don’t tell them what little sister? What were you doing?” He smirks. His hand goes back to your breast, this time to tweak your nipple.
The sadistic freak. Was he really going to make you say it? He answers your silent question with a sharp smack to your breast.
“I-I was masturbating.” You mumble, squeezing your eyes shut, cheeks burning from embarrassment.
“No, you weren’t” he says as a matter of fact before pinching your already stiff nipple making your eyes shoot open and you yelp in pain. “You were playing with your little virgin cunt. Now say it.”
There is no way you could say those words. Has he not humiliated you enough? You try once again to break free but he’s got an iron grip on your wrists and he’s sitting on top of your thighs. There’s no way you’re getting out of this.
He pinches you again but harder this time, twisting your nipple and keeping it there.
“I was ah I was playing with my v-v-irgin c- Dabi! Cunt! There I said it! Let go!”
He snickers at your pain but let’s go of you entirely, shifting his weight off of you. You’re grateful for the reprieve, immediately pulling up the covers to cover up your body again. You will yourself not to cry until Dabi has left the room or else you’ll never hear the end of it. But he’s not finished with you yet.
“Show me.” He sits down on your desk chair facing you, his legs spread wide.
“What?” Surely you misheard him.
“Show your Nii-san how you play with that ‘little virgin cunt’” He smiles using air quotations.
“Dabi, this is wrong-“ you whimper
“Touya-nii.” You furrow your brows in confusion and he says again. “Call me Touya-nii. I’m not leaving this room until I see what I want.”
Say what you want about Dabi but he’s a man of his word. You know he means what he says. The last thing you want is for anyone in your family to come home and find you naked in your room with your step-brother. It’s just better to do what he asks demands.
You slowly peel the covers off you, exposing your naked body to your step brother. He’s eyeing you intently, palming the growing bulge under his jeans. His sister was hiding such a hot little body, right under his roof and he had no idea. You can’t bear to look at him. You clamp your thighs shut to hide your pussy from him, a weak attempt to save what’s left of your dignity. You wriggle your hand in between your legs and you try to move it as best you can without showing him more of you.
Wait.
You’re wet?
You’re wet.
Well screw dignity I guess.
“Oh none of that.” Touya scoffs. “Spread your legs.”
You obey him and he rewards you with a low whistle. “What a cute little pussy.” He murmurs so low you’re not even sure he’s talking to you. You flinch, wanting to close your legs on instinct but a firm “Don’t” from Dabi stops you in your tracks. “Show me how my little sister likes to play.”
His words make your pussy throb but you’re still reeling, both physically and mentally at, the shock from your current position so when your fingers try to rub circles on your clit, they’re shaky and sloppy.
“That’s pathetic. Is this how you do it? No wonder you’re so uptight, you probably never cum huh? Put your fingers inside, I wanna see you stretch your little hole.”
“Dabi I-“
“I won’t ask you to address me properly again. Next time, you’re getting your ass beat.”
“T-Touya-nii. I’ve never… put them inside.” You mumble.
“Never?” He can’t hide the amusement in his voice.
You simply shake your head, unable to meet his gaze.
Fucking jackpot. He thinks. This is why he loves virgins.
“Oh no. Does the poor baby want her Nii-san to show her how it’s done?” voice dripping with condescension.
You’re horribly ashamed. Disgusted by the whole situation. And yet you find yourself nodding.
Dabi crawls on to your bed, discarding his shirt in the process. Next thing he has you flipped over, ass in the air, lying across his lap.
He spanks you, hard. Like he always does, loud smack echoing through the room. You cry out like you always do but it’s different this time. It’s different because this time you’re naked, on top of him. It’s different because you can feel his hard-on poking into your stomach. It’s different because everything about the situation is making you clench.
He grips the sore, reddened flesh and pulls apart your cheeks to look right at your fluttering hole. His thumb finds your clit and he starts to rub slow circles into it. “I meant what said you know. This is the prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen.” You let out a whine as you feel his warm, wet spit land right on your opening, before Touya slides a long, slender middle finger into your tight pussy. He uses his other hand to hit you again. “You’re a good girl right? What do good girl’s say when they get compliments?”
Your head is spinning from his ministrations, so much so that a verbal response escapes you. You’re too busy bucking your hips against his hand. Dabi snaps you out of your trance with another spank, even harder, so your feel the sting spread across your glute. “Hnnghh… thank you Touya-nii.” He rewards you with his ring finger finding its way inside you as well. “Shit.” You say through gritted teeth. You clench around him trying to adjust to the foreign sensation.
Whack. This time on the other cheek, both burning red by now, you’re sure. “Where’d you learn to talk like that, naughty girl?” The way he’s moving his fingers inside you feels like he’s looking for something, you have no idea what. It’s not unpleasant but uncomfortable. You turn your head back to look at his face. It’s the same face he makes when he’s rolling a joint or playing video games with his friends. He’s concentrating. “Fuck, relax for me princess.” You’re trying. You’re really trying. You take a deep breath, trying to think about anything other than the way you’re being stretched.
Then it hits you. An overwhelming ecstasy, spreading from your groin, all the way down to your toes. You figure out that’s what he’s been looking for.
You find yourself grinding down onto his bulge in an attempt to escape the onslaught of his fingers, but it’s no use, not with the way his thumb is circling your throbbing clit.
“Can’t even take two fingers in this tiny pussy huh? How are you gonna take my cock?” Dabi gives you a third finger and the stretch is officially unbearable.
You can’t do anything but pant in his lap while he holds you down, making sure that you keep still. Suddenly, you realise the gravity of the circumstances you find yourself in. Your step brother is going to fuck you and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“God, please slow down!” You cry out. He keeps hitting that spot over and over. It’s too much. You look back at him with tears in your eyes, pleading for reprieve. The satisfied smile on his face lets you know that he couldn’t care less. You feel an orgasm building, stronger than any that you’ve given yourself.
“No God here, doll. Just the Almighty Dabi. And guess what? He wants you to come for him.”
Even before he finishes his sentence, you’re already convulsing on top of him. For a moment you forget how debauched the situation is. Being debased by a man who you not only despise but are related to. All feelings of shame are replaced by pure, hot bliss that sets your nerves on fire. Dabi does not relent. Not until the please you feel is eclipsed by the pain of oversensitivity and you’re writhing in futile attempt to escape.
Dabi pulls his fingers out of you and wraps his other hand around your neck, dragging you up to face him. He holds his fingers, covered in your cream, right in front of your face. “Messy slut. Clean them.”
Before you can respond the fingers press against your lips. You have no choice but to take them inside your mouth. He grips the back of your head while you lave your tongue over his fingers, sucking off your release. He’s keeps a tension on your strands that makes your scalp sting. It’s a silent warning to keep your eyes on him. You’ve caught on by now that he wants this to be as humiliating as possible for you. As if coming on your step-brother’s fingers weren’t humiliating enough. He shoves his fingers deeper, making you gag around them drool seeping from the corner of your mouth.
“Good girl.” He growls as he wipes his saliva covered fingers dry on your face. Again, you fight back the tears of embarrassment. You won’t give him the satisfaction.
Dabi prompts you with cruel tug on your hair. “Gah! Th-thank you Touya-nii.” You whimper.
“Hmm.” His hands move to your hips and he rolls his hips to grind his hard cock into your core. “You want Nii-san to fuck you now?”
Your bottom lip quivers. Is he giving you an out? You pray to God that Dabi is giving you a way out of this. You doubt God cares about what you want right now but still, you hope he can grant you this one mercy, you’ll make it up to him somehow. You shake your head no. You probably look so pitiful right now, naked on top of Touya while he bucks up against you, your own spit streaked across your face, barely stopping the tears in your eyes from spilling.
“Liar.” He sneers. “You want your big brother to split that virgin hole right open.”
You’re stupid for thinking he would give you a way out. You realise that now. No point in trying not to cry. Nothing is gonna stop him from getting what he wants anyway. You can’t hold back the choked sobs anymore
“Such pretty tears, baby.” Dabi coos at you. “Don’t worry. Nii-san is gonna give you exactly what you want.”
He picks you up off of him and positions you exactly how he wants, on all fours, swollen cunt exposed for him. He kneels behind you and you hear the sounds of him undoing his jeans. You turn your head back, curiosity getting the better of you. Your eyes find Dabi just in time to see him free himself from his boxers, which join his jeans bunched at is knees. The sight makes your eyes go wide. It’s your first time seeing one in real life. Were they supposed to be that big? And… pierced?
He quirks a brow at you, smug look plastered on his face. He strokes himself in front of you, spreading his pre-cum along his shaft. He’s tilts it upwards to make sure you get a good look at the vertical barbell that goes through his tip and three horizontal, parallel bars along the underside. “You look scared. Don’t worry princess, Big brother Dabi’s gonna make it fit.” You feel his tip press against your opening and brace yourself.
You’ve heard stories from your friends. You know the first time hurts but God nothing could have prepared you for this .Touya makes good on his word, sliding his entirely until your pressed right against his pelvis. The scream you let out is ear shattering but you can’t help it, the stretch is excruciating. The way his piercings catch on your walls only, intensifies the burn. You crawl toward your headboard instinctively, it’s too much. Way too much.
He’s not having any of it. Dabi pulls you up to him with a hand wrapped around your throat until your back meets his front. “Shh shh shh. Don’t run baby. You’re gonna take all of it.” He groans right against your ear. Without giving you time to adjust, he begins to thrust into you at a relentless pace. You have no choice but to let him use you.
“Who’s fucking you huh? Who’s making you feel good?”
“My nii-san. Touya-nii is fucking me so good.”
“Yeah fuck. Love this holy pussy” He delivers a harsh smack directly on to your clit, making you quiver in his hold. He laughs at your reaction. “Gonna say a prayer for me babe? I wanna hear it.”
“Huh?” You’re barely lucid, there’s no way you heard him correctly.
“Well you’re a little sinner slut now. You should probably ask for forgiveness. Pray.”
You’re sure you’re beyond salvation now but you submit nonetheless. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love; according to Your great compassion.” You gasp as he tightens his hand around your throat. “Against You, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight. Oh fuck Touya-nii!”
“Bad girl.” Dabi gives you another strike right on your aching clit. “Don’t think God is gonna be very happy with you.” Dabi is though. Dabi’s very happy with you. Your tight, gummy pussy sucks him back in every time he pulls back. It just makes him fuck you harder, he wants to make you scream louder for him.
“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Ngggghh Shit. Do not cast me from Your presence or take Your Holy Spirit from me.” You’re sobbing outright, gasping to get air into your constricted throat.
“You gonna cum? My bad girl gonna come for her big brother?” Dabi grunts into your ear.
“Yeah close Touya-nii.”
“Hmm me too.”
“NOT INSIDE TOUYA-NII” You begin to thrash in his arms.
“S’matter princess? Don’t wanna have your big brother’s babies? That’s hurtful.” He snickers. He releases your throat in favour of pressing you into the mattress, large hand resting between your shoulder blades. “Better cum before I do then.”
The ridges of his piercings rub up against that same sweet spot, over and over again. You’re dizzy from the lack of air and absolutely drunk with pleasure on his cock. Pretty much the only thing tethering you to this existence is the unforgiving grip he has on your ass, digging his nails into your flesh. He reaches his hand around to rub your sore, puffy clit. It pushes you over the edge a second time. You feel every muscle contract and relax as the waves of your orgasm wash over you, making you cry out in bliss.
As soon as you come down from your high, Dabi has you flipped on to your back and is straddling your torso. “Keep praying.” He mutters. He furrows his brows, huffing as he jerks off on top of you, eyes focused intently on your gold necklace.
“Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me. Then will I teach transgressors Your ways, and sinners will turn back to You. Amen”
“Yeah, fuck that’s it take it baby.” Dabi sprays his come over your chest, aiming his load right on your cross, a symbol of your devotion to Christ, defiled. He looks absolutely euphoric watching the ropes of his hot cum slowly run down onto your nipples and down the valley of your breasts
“Don’t you fucking move.” He pants, catching his breath. He picks up his phone and you hear his camera click. He looks at the picture and smiles. You look absolutely fucked out. Hair disheveled, face red and bloated from crying and completely covered in his load. Yeah a real good, Christian girl. He thinks.
“Dabi! No!” You lunge forward, trying to grab his phone from his hand. Almost effortlessly, Touya shoves you back onto the bed.
“Relax. No one’s gonna see it. Not unless you snitch to mommy and daddy.”
“You promise?” You grab the tissues from your nightstand and wipe yourself clean. The smell lingers though, along with the grimy feeling, seemingly embedded in your skin. You look up at him, sniffling, tears still rolling down your cheeks. If he were better person, he’d take pity on you for being so fucking stupid.
“Promise, little sis.” He shoots you a wink as he tucks himself back into his jeans.
Before he’s left your room he’s already sent the picture to his friend, Shigaraki.
#tw manipulation#tw manhandling#tw dubcon#tw noncon#tw blackmail#tw blasphemy#tw sacrilegious#tw stepcest#dark fic#dabi x reader#dabi smut#dabi imagine#dabi is a todoroki#touya smut#touya x reader#touya todoroki#mha imagines#mha smut#bnha smut#bnha imagines
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
1 + 10 = Dark and Primal (Predator/Prey) Kink
Summary: Exactly what the title says!
Warnings: Reader is gender-neutral but does own a vagina, primal kink roleplay, semi-public sex, dom/sub, squirting, multiple orgasms, and dirty talk. Ye have been warned!
A/N: This is the first fic drabble to come from the number prompt game!
Tag List:
@when-the-sun-goes-dark
@underthedark13
@fruitypieq
As always, if you would like to support me, I have a Ko-Fi (here) for donations/tips and I usually have a few slots open for commissions (unless life gets in the way)!
“Tell me something,” A deep, rich voice spoke suddenly, “What’s a darling thing like you doing out here, all alone, so late at night?”
Instantly your head whipped to the side, eyes narrowing to scrutinize the tree line for any sign of the stranger, but found nothing other than darkness in return. You were about ready to continue on your trek and blame it on the sleepless night when the intruder let out a rumbling chuckle, the noise echoing around you in every direction.
Hairs now standing on end, you clutched your bag tighter to your body and asked nervously, “Who-Who’s there?”
“Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”
Your lips suddenly felt too dry, the night too cold, the lamp posts too dim, as you belatedly realized that you’d not seen another person on this sidewalk for way too long. It was just you and this stranger.
“I-I’m just walk-walking,” you stammered pitifully.
Dread pooled in your gut and the sense of being utterly alone and helpless intensified egregiously as one by one all the lamp posts in your line of sight flickered out.
“Ooh fuck,” you whispered.
Finally, your self-preservation instinct kicked in and you took off running. It was a dark night, the moon a sliver in waning crescent and providing almost no light. Every slap of your shoes on the ground felt like a league farther from the man. Even as your heart pounded in your ears and your lungs burned with the taste of blood, you didn’t dare slow down. How far would you have to run? Did you dare take your chances hiding out in the woods?
As soon as hope started to rise, it was quickly dashed back down.
“You humans, so fragile.”
The whispered voice in your ear tore a frantic scream from your throat, fear locking up your legs, sending you tumbling forward. Of course you would fall! It wasn’t until he laughed, a smooth luscious sound, that you realized you were braced tight for an impact that hadn’t come.
“What the…”
When your eyes finally opened, you saw the concrete of the sidewalk uncomfortably close to your face but not touching. And then you were lifted. Darkness shrouded your view as arms tightened around your torso and brought you back to your own two feet. A cool gentle breath caressed the shell of your ear seconds before you felt the familiar shape of a nose against your neck.
“I’m giving you one last chance,” he huffed bemusedly, “Think fast but run faster, little fawn, for it will take all of your abilities to escape me.”
“W-Who are you?!” you gasped out.
As the darkness left your vision and the hands retracted from your sides, he purred almost imperceptibly, “I go by Dark, but you may call me sir.”
Then all at once, you were alone. You hesitantly looked around, eyes wide with fear.
“RUN!”
A fearsome screech of terror scratched your throat raw as you stumbled and took off as quickly as possible. You knew if you stayed on the paved path he’d only catch you just as easily as before. You had to chance the forest.
No matter how quiet you tried to be, it felt like every noise you made called out to him thricefold. Your breaths sounded like alarms in your ears and the forest floor cried out like little spies with every timid step you made.
“Oh little fawn, where might you be?”
“Shit,” you whispered in shock.
How were you ever to evade him? It was obvious he wasn’t human. There was no possible way a human could catch up to you without making noise, could track you so perfectly in a nearly pitch black forest. Of course there were also the insane reflexes, catching you so close to the ground, and his ability to speak clearly to you while being nowhere in sight.
Oh so slowly, you let your guard down as you shuffled carefully through the heavily wooded area and got lost in your thoughts; finding out what he was, felt as important as hiding from him. A soft noise of triumph escaped your lips as you spotted a rather large hollow in the base of a giant tree. Your eyes darted around one last time to make sure you didn’t see anyone before you ducked into the wood shelter.
Just as your back pressed up against the trunk, you heard a twig snap outside. The forest was uncannily quiet, no sound of animals nor wind to impede noises made by either you or him.
“A smart little thing you are, aren’t you?”
Your breath caught as fear slammed your heart into your ribcage like a drum. His voice was close, too close. Another crunch of branches and leaves drew your eyes to the right of your hollow. Even in the darkness of the woods, his black pants stood out against the greens and browns. Your assailant was wearing… suit pants? Despite the silliness of the situation, your nerves only increased as he crept closer and closer to you.
“Where are you?” he sang out lowly.
Hushed humming graced your ears delightfully as he passed you, hands clasped behind his back as if simply taking a nice stroll. You couldn’t control the way your stomach fluttered as the beautiful cadence of his voice filled the hollow. Someone so dangerous shouldn’t sound so inviting.
A quick rush of air released from your lungs as he continued on without incident and relief filled your veins. Head falling back, you let your eyes close and took deep slow breaths.
“It’s adorable that you think you’ve won, my little fawn.”
There wasn’t a word deep enough to describe the bone-chilling terror that flooded your body at the sound of his voice so close. Slowly your eyes fluttered open, only to discover a pair of legs standing in front of your only exit.
“Come out now, admit defeat, and I might even be gentle with you, darling,” he offered slyly.
“Fuck you,” you grit out.
Before you could second guess your actions, you bolted forward, right into his legs. While you were sure you didn't harm him, your actions surprised him enough to allow you the room to shove by. You had made it only a couple feet when hands were on you, one gripping your shoulder while the other pinched around the nape of your neck. A cry of shock and pain fled your lips as he shoved you face-first up against the nearest tree and pinned you with his body. Escape was looking more and more like a fool’s dream and yet you didn’t stop wiggling, trying your hardest to break free to no avail.
“Mmm, I do love it when my dinner puts up a fight, makes you smell all that more delectable,” he purred as his thigh slipped between yours, “And don’t fool yourself into believing I can’t smell just how aroused you are.”
Mortification burned up your face and you bit your lower lip hard to contain the distraught noise that threatened to break forth as he leaned into you. The pressure of his thigh served to further argue his point, your panties soaking up the slick between your thighs.
“P-Please,” you whispered shakily.
“Please what?” he mocked, “Please let you go? Now, you know I can’t do that, darling. I’m absolutely ravenous and you’re ripe for the taking.”
Teeth gently grazed the tender flesh of your throat and sent goosebumps across your flesh.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had such a sweet little human to play with,” he groaned quietly.
Fingers teased the sliver of skin poking from beneath your top, tracing the waistband of your shorts with languid little strokes; teeth mimicking the action against your neck.
“Don’t pretend you don’t want this, darling. I’ve smelled your interest since the instant you started to run,” he whispered, giving another gentle roll of his hips.
Before you could contain it, an excited little squeak escaped as you felt the hardening bulge grind against your ass.
“There it is. Give in to me,” Dark murmured, “I promise this will be an experience unlike any other.”
You didn’t dare give an answer. The words felt too wrong on your tongue despite the sudden urge in your body demanding an agreement. As terrifying as he was, there was something about his presence that intrigued you. It felt like there was a war going on in your head as you gingerly wiggled your hips back against him and tilted your head to the side, allowing him full access to your neck.
The moan he gave in return made your knees weak.
In one rough movement, you heard the tell-tale rip of your shorts being ruined and then your hips were lifted in the next.
“Ooh, look at the mess you’ve made of yourself, little fawn,” he cooed mockingly as a finger danced across your lips, “It will be all the easier to make you mine.”
That was your only warning before his cock was lined up against your cunt, thick head breeching every so slightly before he slammed in. Tears sprung up into your eyes and you buried your face harder against the bark as a pathetic cry warbled out. It was devastating and heavenly all at once. When he didn’t follow up immediately, you couldn't help but arch back into him.
“What a needy little thing you are,” he chuckled, “I’m going to have so much fun with you before I destroy you.”
Never in a thousand years did you think you’d find yourself in this position, being hunted down and fucked in the middle of the forest, and yet there wasn’t a place you’d rather be in that moment.
Dark’s pace was brutal, the position even more so. Every thrust of his cock rocked you up against the tree, bark scraping and digging at your skin. Every attempt to move back sunk him deeper inside you. It felt like a never ending sea of desire. It wasn’t long until you were begging for more, until the sting of the micro cuts on your skin was just another layer to the destructive pleasure coiling in your core.
“You want more? You want to come? Then touch yourself,” he ordered huskily, “Rub your clit and make yourself come on my cock while I claim you as mine.”
His meaning came through loud and clear. He intended to mark you in the most primitive of ways, in ways no one had before. You’d never let any other come inside you, too afraid of the risks.
“N-No, don’t-”
Fingers dug into your wrist and jerked your hand down between your cunt and the tree, forcing you where you wanted it most.
“It’s no use, darling, it’s too late,” he snickered, “You’re already in the lion’s den and there’s no escape. Not anymore. You belong to me now.”
You could feel his teeth bared a wicked smile against your skin before they clamped down around your throat. Pain exploded and pulsed through your veins with every beat of your racing heart, and yet it pervertedly only urged you faster. Your fingers shook under the duress of all the sensations assaulting your nerves but you worked them nonetheless, too lost to the desire.
His moan rumbled through your very being as you tightened uncontrollably around him, teetering just on the edge of bliss.
“Mine.”
That one word was spoken with such conviction and punctuated with absolute abandon, all sanity lost as you seemingly became a means to an end; a prey to claim and fill.
“Mine! All mine,” he snarled against your shoulder, “Give yourself to me, now!”
His hand came to cover yours and joined in the efforts, frantically abusing your sensitive nub until finally it all snapped.
“Ah f-fuck, D-Dark, oh my god!”
Your ruse slipped as his name spilled from your lips, but you couldn’t care less as everything coalesced with a vengeance. The pain, the pleasure, the emotions. It was all worth it as your pleasure drenched your thighs, a sob falling from your lips in debauched relief. Pulse after pulse of ecstasy rocked through your core as he fucked you through your first climax into another, and then another.
Stifled grunt and moans shifted gradually into full blown snarls of bliss as he threw your hands up against the tree, pinning both with one while his other arm wrapped around your waist and held you in place.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Shot after shot of hot cum filled your core, palpable with every throb of his cock, and you couldn’t resist melting back into him. With a final few thrusts, he released your hands only to pull you in close and hold you upright as he turned, putting himself between you and the tree as you both came down from the high.
“Holy hell,” you giggled, head tilting back to look up at him.
Dark gave a little chuckle and cupped your jaw, fingers digging into your cheeks and directing you up into a gentle kiss.
“I promised the full experience. Was anything too much?” he asked.
“Mm-mm. It was perfect,” you whispered.
As best as you could in the awkward position, you snuggled back into him and pulled his arms around you.
“You can hunt me any time you want,” you admitted cheekily.
318 notes
·
View notes
Text
⭑ promised eternity | hades!sukuna x persephone!reader au headcanons (PT 1).
A/N: ... yo... i would like to say whoever threatened to send me toe pics, a-plus, bc you made me release this into the wild. * insert megumi meme face here * but this is just HEADCANONS for a hades!sukuna and persephone!reader-esque universe, and because y’all are as thirsty as I am, it includes some SFW and NSFW headcanons. grab your water bottles, and I apologize for my subconscious now. (cause it’s always on auto-pilot and giving me wild af ideas.) We shall all thirst... over OG form sukuna as well, because ,, well, big daddy, do i need to say more??? also this is some seriously fantasy like au , sort of, it takes place during sukuna’s original time as a curse, when gojo’s ancestor was after him, and hints wildly on that, and also will hit moments where the sorcerers are of course, hunting him. feel free to give me your thoughts and ask questions, because i love you all. onward to the THIRST! ( also side note, promised eternity is the name of the potential series that may come from this. )
this is part one of the headcanons, and they’re all SFW.
being married to the king of curses is not easy. it’s awkward at first, and then later on, comforting at best. to have someone who believes in you, roots you on (even if he’s kind of mean about it at first), is better than having nothing. you’ve been looked at for so long as a “curse” for your untrained cursed energy, that to have someone who sees potential in your “god” given gifts instead of spite (or only useful in preventing a raid) is refreshing. and unsettling at first.
speaking of that, sukuna basically rescued you from your village. for the entirety of your life before him, your cursed energy has gone unchecked, untrained. so it fluctuates with your emotions. it’s useful when you summon your wrath to defend your village or when your untrained reverse cursed techniques help the crops grow— but any other time, you are known as a curse. your emotions grow sad or you grow angry, and people die accidentally. ( hence your harbinger of death nickname. ) sukuna, during his many trips to your village for taxes and the occasional “recruitment” of healthy women and me, he has noticed you. and he has noticed your vast amount of cursed energy. it’s all but too easy for him to command the head of your village to hand you over — your parent(s) have no say.
sukuna is generous enough to compensate them, and the head of village. it’s one of few kindnesses he’ll show, besides eventually to you. sukuna will never tell, not till much later on, that he noticed you in every visit he’s ever made. that you deserved better than the mockery and scorn of your people. he offers to burn them all for you, but your mercy says otherwise.
speaking of when he came to get you, he was 10 feet tall, dressed in a black montsuki kimono and hakama. all four of his arms are on display, and all four of his eyes are on you.
you, are in a shiromuku, complete with a wataboshi — you and your mother (or a village woman) made it, but it will not be the last of your “bridal” gowns as you travel through at least five villages before arriving at sukuna’s fortress-like palace. sukuna has prepared you both a uchikake style kimono (adorned with pinks and reds), a hikifurisode style kimono (black, but also adorned with whites and golds and reds)— lastly is the Tomesode, which you arrive to your new home in, adorned in pins and signs of your new status. it’s here you discover you are not meant to be a mistress, you are meant to be a wife. his wife. his first, and his only (or at least he’ll try to keep it that way).
sukuna does not make time for much. rumors of him are notorious of his over-indulgence, guided by only his pleasure and displeasure, which is slightly true. but he makes time for you. you aren’t like the others he’s taken in his time, whether for his entertainment or to be in his service (you are not his toy as he has a habit of disposing of his playthings once they bore him); you’re his wife, but you are also this powerful being, who if trained, will become even more powerful. if you were a sorcerer, you’d rival him — but you are his equal.
he tries to make you feel that way by shrinking down to your size. he drops his 10 ft height (even through he can grow larger), to 6′8 or 7ft (pick your preference). it helps him watch the way you fight him, and he’ll change his height to help you train to fight enemies of different sizes.
sukuna’s loyalty to you forms in the midst of gifts. he’s lavish and again, over-indulgent. before your lips ask for it, somehow you already have whatever you desire. however, he also realizes, the more that he’s around you that gifts don’t make you happy (as pleasing as they are). being in his company is what makes you happy. oh, and sukuna’s very careful to touch you. his strength knows no bounds, until you touch him. you have to be the one that touches him first. it’s a brush over the knuckles, your tiny hand wrapping around his big one.
the way you manipulate plants to your advantage as a defense will never not amaze him. the way you use vines to wrap around him to capture him is genius, and the sneak attack you give has gotten better. he’ll still tease you ask “is that the best you can do” with your hits to provoke more of your strength, and he’ll give praise at the end, in his own way. (more touches.)
sukuna’s untouched garden becomes yours as one of your wedding gifts. it’s yours, and all the servants know it. everyone on his grounds knows it is yours.
you haven’t realized it since your arrival, but there are female servants that are your handmaidens, but for the harem that sukuna supposedly keeps — you have no idea where they are. it isn’t till one of your handmaidens inform you that he freed them with compensation. it’s not an uncommon practice for him, you’re told. he does not keep anyone against their will, and he never forced the girls he kept to do anything. for him, war and fighting made his blood rush just as much as sex could.
you and sukuna’s cursed energy manages to mingle to create a rare flower, one that turns from a gold color to red at the tips of the petals. he later tells you that beautiful things can come from destruction, and it makes you think of yourself, and who you’ve become with his guidance as you look into his eyes.
the first time you sleep in his bed with him, he lays still on one side of the bed (which is unusual for him) until you beckon him closer. he meets you halfway in the middle, where you lay your head on his chest and listen to the sound of him breathing. he’ll never admit it at first, but the comfort you give to him is startling, but welcomed. he wraps two arms around you, but it isn’t until you’re sleep that all four hold you gently against him, as if those four arms are shields to keep you safe.
He admires your strength and the various ways it shows itself. He has since your “wedding day”, when you shed no tears at being taken from your family. When you told him “do what you will”, but also in your rage he tapped into when you wrapped thorny vines around him when he provoked you by calling you “a murderous curse of a girl”. He apologizes for this comment at some point, while you two lay together in the garden.
he presents to you a crown, shaped after the marks on his forehead (preserved through a picture painted on a fan). it is two horns towards the ceiling, made of black metal the color of obsidian.
sukuna enjoys towering over you. and more importantly, once it no longer startles you, you enjoy the safety that his height reminds you of.
the form of trust sukuna has with you is seen by the servants when assigns advisors to you, as well as teaches you how to deal with trials when they come forth. you are his rose with thorns now, and you know how to use them.
someone speaks ill of sukuna? you are reminding them of their place: “speak ill of your king again with that tongue of yours and i’ll take it”
OKAY BADASS, and sukuna is all for it, just “that’s my s/o”
and lord, the pet names this man has for you: “my dove” “my love” “my moon” and you with: “my sun and stars” (thank u got)... he’s got a lot of pet names.
he likes to hold you on his side for some reason, whenever he can. honestly, he just likes you close.
basically, you’re tough as hell and powerful as hell and you grow into your added strength and he loves it.
can you say POWER COUPLE OF THE AGES
#persephone & hades au ft. sukuna.#persephone and hades au ft. sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna.#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jujutsu kaisen imagines#jjk hcs#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#jjk.#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna#ryomen sukuna
984 notes
·
View notes
Text
🌹✨Hello my lovelies!🌹✨
I’ve decided to open up art commissions for the very first time! This time, it’s going to include both traditional and digital art. The reason why is because I need more cash to save up for at least a years worth of lease money. Unfortunately, the job I have doesn’t provide me with enough money at the moment to save up. If any of you want to help out and pay me enough I can probably have a decent amount to get out of my parents house. This is due to very personal reasons, but I need to move out to preserve my mental health.
So without further ado, I’m going to describe the prices and the rules for commissions! 🌹🍷✨
🌸 Traditional Art Prices 🌸
Head shot: $11
Bust shot: $15
Torso shot: $19
Full body: $25
Chibi Art: $15
Icon Art: $11
+$9 Shading
+$9 coloring
+$9 per additional character
🌹Digital Art Prices🌹
Head shot: $21
Bust shot: $25
Torso shot: $29
Full body: $35
Chibi Art: $25
Icon Art: $15
+$15 shading
+$15 coloring
+$15 unlined
+$15 per additional character
🍓 My Commission Rules 🍓
-All sales are final.
-I can accept payment through a paying service account which you will have to DM me for. Once you do so, I’ll get started on your commission ASAP!
-I’ll be sending you pictures of the progress throughout and you can DM me about whether you like it or not. 👍
-Please DM me through my blog @rose-wine-selfships if you have any questions about the pricing or any other general questions.
-Please give me time and patience. Depending on my schedule (I’m a college student and part time worker) and what kind of art medium you want it will take a bit for your art commission to be finished. It will take somewhere in between 2-3 days for traditional art. Digital art will take me about 2-5 days, or even a week depending on how busy I am.
💖 What I will Draw 💖
-Anime
-OCs
-Cartoons
-Furry
-Mecha (it will take a while though)
-Nature
-Animals (in real life)
-Realistic art style
-Self Shipping Art
-Canon ships (As long as they’re not problematic: Please DM me if you have any questions related to it!)
-Simple backgrounds
🛑✋What I will NOT draw 🛑✋
-Hate Speech
-Political stuff
-Heavy gore
-Complex backgrounds
-Pedophilia (especially Pro-shipping material! That’s a HUGE no-no in my book!)
-Incest
-Abuse and trauma
-Real life ships or shipping yourself with a real person (it’s just creepy IMO)
-Adults shipping themselves with a fictional minor under 18, or aging them up to their range.
-Body fluids for NSFW stuff (just…eww 🤮)
-Body inflation
-Vore (Do I need to explain? 🤢)
I will keep reblogging this post and pin it soon just in case if anybody wants to see my art and maybe ask for commissions. If you can’t commission me then you can signal boost this post to spread the word, thank you. It would be very much appreciated! Have a wonderful day my darlings! 🌹🍷✨
#pinkprophetposts#rose posts#art commissions#art commission prices#self shipping art#digital art#traditional art#my commissions#please signal boost#ok to reblog#reblogs are appreciated ^^#please raise awareness if you can!#latinx#latinx selfship
98 notes
·
View notes
Text
Wrapped Together (M)
Pairing: Namjoon x Reader
Word Count: 18K
Rating: M
Genre: Christmas AU, Romance, Drama
Warnings: Protected sex, oral (m. rec.), referenced illness/death of parent, swearing, classism.
Summary: Despite your best efforts to keep your head down, to self-preserve and endure what will no doubt be the worst Christmas of your life, you are still roped into volunteering for the hospital's annual gift wrap fundraiser. The enticing factor that lured you out? The promise of a new shift partner, Kim Namjoon. Though your first day together starts off with a slight miscalculation of his skills for wrapping, he soon becomes your essential ally in the fight to get through this lonely holiday season.
| Secret Santa Collab | My Masterlist |
A/N: A big thank you to @kimtaehyunq for asking me to join her Secret Santa Christmas Collab, this was my first collab ever and I absolutely loved it. And of course to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi and @ladyartemesia thank you for helping me gain the courage to post this. I hope that this fic is able to bring a bit of comfort to those celebrating the holidays a little differently this year, so please enjoy!
...
-5 Weeks Until Christmas-
Amidst the chatter of the office, a dull rumble reaches your ears and vibrates the desk beneath your fingers, waking you from the repetitive haze of your hundredth call report. The moment of confusion switches to frantic action when your brain finally catches on and recognizes it as your own personal phone. Scurrying through your purse, you nab it just in time, but after checking the caller ID you desperately wish you hadn’t.
You knew this call was coming, you’ve dreaded it since you felt the first freezing snowflake on the tip of your nose, when you heard the first carol blaring over the radio, and saw the first tacky inflatable gracing a lawn on your street. It happens every year, like clockwork, though this will be the first time she’ll be enlisting one and not two. Unable to put off the dreaded moment any longer, you answer, accepting that if you rip the band-aid off now and decline her invitation to join the wrapping fundraiser, it’ll be one less uncomfortable moment later.
“Aunt Emma, hey it’s been awhile.” She’s not exactly your aunt, but you’ve known her ever since you and your mother settled down here ten years ago. With little other family nearby she was one of the few you and your mom could always count on. Making your task to turn her down all the more difficult now.
“My dear, how are you holding up? I’m so sorry to do this but I'm calling with some rather unfortunate news.”
“Oh?” You exclaim, careful not to sound too hopeful that you might be free of your heavy burden.
“Yes, well it’s regarding the wrapping fundraiser. I wanted to put you on the same shifts as myself or Maria. I didn’t want to have you alone, since, well, you know... but there are so many rookie volunteers this year. And with you being part of the organization for so long, I was hoping you work with one of them instead for the evening shifts? It’ll just be you and him, do you think you could manage it?”
“I-I uh...” Now this is something you had not expected. You spent the past few weeks worrying about how you might have to work side by side with pitying glances, condolences, and referenced scripture from the usual staff. Any thoughts and prayers for your loss would likely turn you into a pool of tears. Not something you want to happen in public, or private for that matter, but if you are partnered with a newcomer, one who knows nothing of your past, maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I can do that.”
“I knew you could! I’ll put you down for the weekday evenings from the seventh up to Christmas. You’re off work at four, right? I’ll send you more details later, but do you want me to be there to introduce you to the other volunteer?”
“No!” You blurt out, insisting in a volume far louder than necessary, but you can’t risk her acting on the offer. Introductions when done by Emma are dicey at best, with one solid breath she has the capacity to share every bit of your sad history, leaving you exactly where you’d rather not be. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. No need to put yourself out like that, you can just tell me their name now and save yourself the trip.”
“Thank you dear, always so considerate. One second let me just grab that for you...” She pauses on the phone line, as you look around your office in worry, not wanting to get in trouble for taking a personal call on the clock. “Ah here it is. You’ll be working with Kim Namjoon...”
...
-Less than 3 Weeks Until Christmas-
After finishing work you head off to the mall for your first day on wrapping duty. It should be a relatively quiet night, since the majority of the crowd typically disperses at this time, heading home to be with families for dinner. Your own sits in a paper bag on the passenger seat of your car. A solitary meal as you battle the rush hour traffic. Finishing off the last of the salted fries with a lick of your fingers while you secure a parking spot.
Flipping down your visor you scoff when confronted with your appearance, your makeup melted off thanks to the struggles of your earlier shift. You dab and blend a fresh blot of concealer on the dark bags beneath your eyes, determined to erase any evidence of your doleful days and sleepless nights.
The rented store space is already set up, with a long table propped up right at the entrance. Dressed with a variety of paper and ribbon and looking particularly festive. The other volunteers give you a brief greeting and run down before they leave and pass the duties off to you. With them gone you take a seat, looking down at the selection you have to offer this year, trying with all your might not to focus on the empty chair beside you, one that is usually fill by your-
“Hi, sorry I’m late...” Your gaze flicks up from the table, startled to find a giant of a man. Greeting you with a smile warm enough to melt your frozen expression.
“H-hi,” You stutter out, staring at his handsome face framed with light brown locks, feeling as though you’ve seen it before, but can’t quite place where. “You must be Namjoon?” You ask, running through the list of actors and singers in your mind but coming up empty on who he reminds you of.
He nods, before confirming your name too, and launching into the reason behind his tardiness. “The traffic was not in my favour today.” He gestures to the table and the vacant seat behind it. “May I?”
“Of course.” You quickly scoot the folding table over so he can slip by the barrier that separates you from the mall. He takes off his coat to reveal a whole suit beneath, though he soon disposes of the jacket and tie too. You try not to gulp as he rolls up his sleeves in front of you, his arms flexing as they reveal themselves.
“Pretty quiet?” He asks looking around the mall.
“It usually is around now, give it an hour or two.”
“Have you been doing this long?”
“A few years...” You mumble, not wanting to dive too deep in that well, you quickly turn to pin the question on him instead. “What prompted you to volunteer? Did Emma enlist you during her recruiting effort?”
“She did, I found her posting the flyer at my workplace.” Namjoon chuckles. “But I’ve seen you all set up here before, and since my usual Christmas plans with my family have changed, I thought I’d join you all instead.”
“Oh, so you’re not spending Christmas with them?”
“No, they’ve gone to visit my sister and her family in her city this year. I unfortunately have a few work commitments I can’t get out of to make the trip in time, but rather than just mope about at home I thought I might be of some use.” Namjoon smiles again, his fingers folding the corner of the wrapping paper in front of him. “What about you, any plans?”
“No, I usually spend it with my mom, but she won’t be with me this year...” Or any year going forward, you consider while you give him a weak smile. She was the very reason you joined this organization all those years ago, when Aunt Emma was making her rounds and signing up everyone she could at the hospital, you and your mother were there for an appointment, your mom offered up both of your services lending you to a tradition that would extend for years through her treatment, remission, and the final return.
“So we're in the same boat?”
“I guess so.” His grin is so contagious, despite the differences in your situation you can’t help but agree.
Your first client of the evening comes forward and drops a small pile of kids toys in front of you both . “Thank god you're here. If I bring these home unwrapped my kids won’t hesitate to spoil the surprise.” You divide the presents between you and Namjoon while the mother keeps talking and flicking through the different styles of paper offered. “At least if they’re wrapped I can say I saw Santa at the mall and he gave me these early. They are so hard to fool these days.”
“I take it you’ll want the Santa stickers?” You ask pointing to a closed box behind you, hidden away from the wide and prying eyes of young children passing by.
“Yes, thank you so much!”
“No problem.” You assure her while putting the last piece of tape on the stack of video games. Though when you look over to check on Namjoon you find that he has barely even started. He cut off a sheet entirely too big and is attempting to fold it around the boxed animatronic pet. Your eyes stare at the state of the poor paper unable to look away from the crumpled carnage. But the shock soon turns to amusement over his determination to salvage the mangled sheet, and you find yourself biting your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Luckily the woman in front of you hasn’t noticed but once you're finished with yours, you reach over for the assist.
“Here, I can take over that one. Could you do the ribbon for me?”
Namjoon nods opening his mouth in an embarrassed grin. He does manage to secure the strand around the package but loses the spool before he can cut it. The red ribbon rolls all the way to your foot, before you stop it with a tap on the sole of your boot. Namjoon winces, while you let out a chuckle before bending over to hand it back to him, and finish wrapping the other present.
The attempt at a ribbon curl unfortunately goes the same as the package before it, with him completely at a loss and using the wrong edge of the scissor blade. Trying to save him you make another suggestion. “If you want you can always use the premade sticker curls.”
Namjoon nods and places them on the two packages along with the vibrant sticker of a cartoon Claus winking as he delivers the warning, ‘Do not open ‘till Christmas, Santa’s watching.’
As you load up the presents into a bag, Namjoon takes to the cashbox, looking expectantly from the client with his dashingly dimpled grin.
“Oh right.” She comments with an awkward smile. Opening her Gucci bag and matching wallet, the corners of her lips turning down when she rifles through several triple digit bills unable to find any smaller denomination.
The stand is by donation only, but the implication has always been that one should compensate the fundraiser for the service provided. You can usually tell when someone intends to leave no payment at all, and unfortunately you know this act all too well. She’ll apologize and say that she has to run to the bank and get some cash, but you’ll never see her again. Namjoon, unfamiliar with this ploy, continues to give his eager smile, and to your utter shock she submits, handing him a hundred dollar bill.
Namjoon thanks her profusely as she melts too under his gaze muttering, “Not a problem.” Before walking off clutching her now wrapped gifts.
You look to Namjoon in disbelief while he locks the money away in the cash box. Only breaking the silence when the client is fully out of earshot. “How the hell did you do that?!”
“Do what?” He raises an eyebrow completely oblivious to what he just achieved.
“She... she... you got her to donate, and such a large amount. How?”
“What do you mean how? People give that much all the time don’t they?”
“No, they don’t!”
“Oh...” He gives you another of his knee weakening smiles. “Sorry I assumed, I guess I’m just used to it.” He scratches at the back of his neck looking down at the table.
“Used to it? Where on earth do you see, do you get used to, that kind of generosity?”
“Through my job I suppose?” His grin turns to a look of embarrassment. “I work in art procurement, currently under contract with the museum. I seek out collectors and convince them to donate or loan out their assets.”
It would seem that getting people to open up their wallets is practically his profession. “Well... looks like manning the cash will be the perfect job for you.” That smile of his is a dangerous weapon, and one you would be remiss not to use in the fundraiser’s efforts. Though it still leaves one question unanswered. “But I have to ask...” Your previously concealed giggling comes to the surface. “Why on earth would you volunteer for a holiday wrapping station if you don’t know how to wrap?”
A blush reaches his cheeks. “Last year when I was here... I left with far more than I was expecting, and feeling as though I should have given more. So I figured if I couldn’t be with my own family, I wanted to do this instead.” He starts habitually folding a paper scrap. “And maybe I’d learn a useful skill-”
When a streak of red is left on the paper trailing behind his finger you jump to interrupt. “Is that...”
“Fuck.” He mutters pulling his index close to examine it. “Yeah, those scissors are sharp, didn’t realize I drew blood though.”
You immediately start rummaging around in your bag. “I know I have a couple in here, one second.” You pull out a small box of bandages and peel apart the papers to reveal the adhesive.
“You carry band-aids in your purse?” Namjoon asks, with a raised brow.
“You're the one who cut their finger trying to make a ribbon curl.”
“It wasn’t a criticism, sorry I just thought it was... nice.” He holds up the injury and you're careful to wrap the strip around it.
“Yes well,” Your face heats up as you catch yourself lingering. “Try to stay away from the scissors unless absolutely necessary. I’d rather not have to make a trip to the hospital.”
“That would be counter productive wouldn’t it?” Namjoon laughs outright.
...
Despite you being the only one to wrap you both manage the evening surprisingly well, pulling in a record donation amount.
“You must be good at your job,” you mutter with a smirk, as you finish counting the lockbox. “I’ve never seen people so happy to part with their money.”
“I only showed them how good of a job you did,” Namjoon explains. “I’ve never seen someone put so much care into wrapping.”
“First impressions for a gift can be important too.” You justify as you secure the cash in a deposit bag. “They put a lot of care into selecting the gift, why shouldn’t I exemplify that?”
“Even the gift cards?”
“Especially the gift cards. I have to make them memorable somehow don’t I?”
“True.” Namjoon concedes, with a small frown. “Listen I’m sorry if I didn’t make a good first impression on you myself. If you want I can call Emma and we will find someone else to help you.”
“No, I enjoyed working with you. It just caught me off guard that you didn’t actually know how to wrap. If you get bored of handling the cash I could try and teach you if you’d like... you said you wanted to learn right?”
“You’d be willing to show me?”
“Definitely, though let's stick to the premade ribbon curls. I’d rather not have to use anymore band-aids if I can avoid it.”
After pulling down the gate and locking up the station up behind. Namjoon accompanies you to the bank to drop off the deposit before you part ways for the evening, with you going out one exit and him another.
The sudden blast of cold air forces you to huddle in your coat, and crank the heat the very second you step into your car. As the windows to thaw and frost retreats, you spot your tall wrapping partner waiting at the bus stop.
“Now why would he...” You’re left perplexed judging from the description of his job and quality of his attire you assumed him to drive some sort of flashy car, never would you think he would take public transportation.
You drive over and stop right in front of Namjoon, rolling down the window. “Where do you live?”
“The Swan Estates, but if you don’t leave near there that’s fine I don’t mind bussing home.” Namjoon looks down the road. “It should be here soon.”
“It’s no problem, I pass by that area on my way home.” You reach across the car for the handle opening the door. “Come on get in. It’s too cold to wait for a bus.”
Namjoon nods, and eagerly hops into the car holding his hands close to his vents with a sigh. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. I didn’t think to ask, I just assumed-”
“That I could drive?”
You nod giving him a sheepish grin this time.
“As you saw earlier I’m rather accident prone. I think it’s safer for everyone if I leave the driving to others.” He chuckles looking out the window. “What about you? When not rescuing people from cold transit stops or wrapping disasters, what do you daylight as.”
You grimace at the question knowing your answer is nowhere near as impressive as his. “I’m a phone-rep for Interlude Shipping, I work in their tracking department.”
His reaction is not the usual glazed expression you get when you reveal that you work in a call centre, but a look of awe. “You must be so busy this time of year, how do you have energy for volunteering too?”
“I’m used to it.”
“Do you like it there?”
“It’s... a paycheck. I needed a full time position with benefits right out of school and that was what was available. I would have preferred something else but...” You stop yourself, scolding how much you almost revealed. Finding it far too easy to talk to Namjoon. He doesn’t pester you to continue but lets your abrupt end linger in the silence until he points out his house within the estate. “So I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Namjoon nods in agreement with his dimples on full display. “Looking forward to it. Thanks again for the ride.”
After he leaves your car another nervous giggle you’ve been holding in finally escapes you. Three weeks working with this kind, considerate and downright gorgeous man. Though there’s no ring on his finger, he has to be attached to someone. Men like him don’t walk around single for long. Your shoulders fall at the thought, despite the fact that you have no intention of forming an attachment at this time... it’s still too soon.
Before you even pull out of Namjoon’s driveway, your phone vibrates from the cup holder you stashed it in. Aunt Emma’s name popping up on the display. You press the green button to accept and put her on speaker while you pull out onto the road.
“Hello my dear, just checking in to see how the first night went?”
“Good, no great actually. I think you’ll be happy with the result.”
“And your partner? Everything working well with him?”
“Yeah,” You confirm looking up in the rearview mirror taking one last look at Namjoon’s house. “He’s really nice, we already have a system in place so I think we’ll work well together.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. I was worried at first, wondered if I had made the right decision-”
“You did!” You encourage her, not wanting her to change her mind, and make another switch.
“Great, so we’ll carry on as is then. I’ll message Maria to let her know, I think she’s still on shift at the hospital though...” Aunt Emma mutters to herself. “Speaking of which I had to stop by there today and guess who was asking about you?”
You freeze in the front seat of your car, unable to say his name, but that doesn’t stop your chatty Aunt from continuing on despite your silence.
“That Jackson, such a nice young man, it’s a pity you-”
“Aunt Emma, I’m so sorry but I should go. ” You cut her off unwilling to listen to her disappointment over your own personal matter. “It’s getting late and I have work in the morning.”
“Oh of course, no problem dear. Call me if you need anything.”
When you arrive at your cold and empty apartment. The silence greets you with the usual punch to your gut, just as it has for the past eight months. She should be there to say hello and ask you about your day, just as she always had. But all that’s there to welcome you is the stack of dusty Christmas decor boxes thrown in the corner of the living room. Unwilling to spend another minute alone you sulk off to bed, ready to put another day behind and start the next. But for the first time in a while, you are actually looking forward to a fraction of the never ending cycle.
...
Whoever said Christmas time is the most wonderful time of year, clearly never worked a customer service job. They’ve never been yelled at for four hours straight, gone to lunch, and then endured another four. With a couple weeks still left until the looming deadline of Christmas you can only imagine what you’ll have to listen to in the coming days. The woes of a parent trying to track down their child's number one gift... it’s enough to send chills down your spine. Just once you’d like to find someone happy on the other end of the line, someone who didn’t need something from you, someone who called just to say hi, and indulge you with a friendly chat.
With the last call of the day done you throw on your coat, and bolt out of the office before anyone else. Elated by the fact that you have somewhere else to be, happy that someone else is expecting you. Namjoon beats you to the station today, chatting with the other volunteers as they leave. One of them pats you on the arm and delivers a sad smile, you seize with fear and the worry that they had discussed you, but when you find Namjoon beaming without a hint of concern the weight lifts and you can once again forget your loss for now.
“Hey, how was work?” He asks.
“Good... good.” You cover with a smile not wanting to drag him down. He doesn’t look convinced his eyes narrow and the corner of his lip twitches, but you reciprocate before he can confirm. “How about your day?”
“Quiet, I’ve spent the past few months alongside the curators putting together an exhibit and with it finally finished all that’s left is to wait until it’s over.”
“So you had to stay here for Christmas only to wait for it to end? That’s too bad.”
“There are a couple other tasks I have to attend, an auction, and an event for the patrons, but the tear down on the 24th is pretty important, some of the lenders will want their pieces back in time for Christmas.”
“That’s such a miserable deadline for so much work. Why would they ask you to give up your Christmas Eve to do that? Surely it can be done after the holiday can't it?”
“Not this one, it’s ‘The Gift of Christmas’ Past’ exhibit,” Namjoon explains. “Many people were good enough to donate their family heirlooms for the majority of the season, but come the actual holiday, it’s time for them to return home.”
You just about fall off your chair in awe. You’ve seen that exhibit advertised everywhere, even been tempted to go yourself, but the thought of going alone has prevented your attendance. “I had no idea, that’s such a popular exhibit, you worked on that?”
“I did, I even helped come up with the idea for it.” Namjoon beams, with a small amount of red rises to the surface of his cheeks. “The curators at the museum have been more than accommodating. I never thought I’d get the chance to step into their roll myself. I was lucky to be given the chance, so you can understand why I had to stay and help them once it’s finished. Of course it’s given me some other opportunities I would never have had in the past too, like the ability to help you here.”
You nod still looking at him in admiration, while in your mind a further divide falls between you. As friendly as he is to you, it’s obvious that he’s way out of your league. Even if you wanted to pursue something more with him, someone of his status... really it’s a wonder he even looks in your direction, let alone chose to volunteer at this tiny holiday wrapping station.
Your conversation is interrupted by a mall goer with a bag of gifts. Namjoon helps as best he can, supplying you with tape as he learns over your shoulder. Loaning you his finger to help you knot the ribbon around the gifts. With a sizeable donation left in Namjoon’s care you are both left alone at the table again.
Between clients you do your best to show him how to wrap the small boxes and ready cut paper at your disposal. Though his folding has improved, his use of tape can be considered... excessive. “You shouldn’t need more than three pieces on a present like this.” You chuckle as you catch his hand before it can apply the seventh piece of tape.
“But your packaging looks so durable compared to mine. How is it supposed to hold together if not for more tape.”
“Years of practice with tighter folds and better adhesive placement.” You analyze his work. “You might be an up and coming art curator but wrapping is my craft.”
Namjoon laughs and grabs a fresh sheet along with the scissors.
“Should I go fetch my band-aids?” You ask, gazing at the sharp implement with trepidation.
“No I’ve got this, I’m ready to earn my redemption.” Namjoon folds the paper several times before cutting a rounded edge. “Wrapping might not be my forte, but this I mastered long ago.” He opens up the paper grinning madly as he reveals a perfect snowflake.
You giggle at the innocence of the piece in question. “That is quite impressive, when did you become such a proficient?”
“I’d say I peaked at eight. One evening when it was just my sister and I, we covered my whole house with them. Every surface, every window, plastered with paper snow. Though my parents were less than enthused I like to think of it as my first full art show.”
“What on earth possessed you to do it?” You ask, trying to imagine the look on his parents as they returned home to the indoor flurry.
Namjoon looks up with a heavy expression, for such a lighthearted story why does he look so wary to tell you “A mutual fri-”
But as chance would have it he is once again interrupted by another coming to your station. When the post dinner rush hits you hardly get another chance to chat.
...
-2 Weeks Until Christmas-
The week passes in much the same way as the past two days, but with each evening session Namjoon is able to improve upon his wrapping skills a little more. To the point where you are comfortable to leave him alone for a few minutes to man the station.
“You’re sure it’s all right if I just run to the washroom for a minute?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I could put up the be back in five minutes sign if you-”
“Go, I can hold down the fort... just leave the band-aids.” You are ready to let out a big sigh when Namjoon holds up his hands in defeat. “Just kidding, I promise, now go.”
You hurry off as fast as you can swearing when you find a line up. By the time that you are finally able to return you find Namjoon finishing up with an attractive woman and her single gift. You smile at her as you join him behind the table, she pauses, caught off guard for a moment but then hands him the donation along with a slip of paper.
Namjoon opens it as she walks off. Blushing profusely before throwing it in the trash along with the wrapping scraps.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing... she just must have gotten the wrong impression.”
“Did she give you her phone number?”
Namjoon nods looking down with guilt.
“And you're not going to keep it? She was gorgeous.”
“What? No, of course not.”
“Right, I assume that wouldn’t go over well with your girlfriend.” You speculate, seeking to figure out his status once and for all.
“No girlfriend.” Namjoon mutters.
“Boyfriend?”
“No boyfriend either.” Namjoon smiles. “I just wasn’t looking to get her number.”
You look at him in disbelief. If she wasn’t good enough, there’s no way in hell you could ever dream of being with him.
...
The drive home in the evening is rather quiet. Namjoon’s fingers drag across his lips as if in deep compilation.
“Any big plans for your couple days of freedom?” With Aunt Emma’s team working the weekend that gives both you and Namjoon some time off, but unfortunately apart.
“What? Oh yes, I suppose.” He answers as though you dragged him from a stupor. “I have an auction to go to tomorrow for work.”
“Buying art for the museum are you?”
“Not exactly in the market to buy. But if you're not busy you should come along, I would love some company.”
“Not because you would love a drive?”
“No, not at all, I was planning on booking a car tonight. I could come pick you up on the way.”
You shake your head. “No, if we’re going together I’ll drive. No need to waste your money on something like that. What time should I pick you up?”
“I’ll have to double check and get back to you but likely late in the morning?” You nod in agreement as he pulls out his phone. “What’s your number?”
You give it to him and your cell vibrates in your pocket as he sends off a text a second later, leaving you with his own.
“So I guess I will see you tomorrow now then.”
“It’s a date.” Namjoon smiles as he gets out and leaves you in the car.
You snort in disbelief, staring after him while he runs off to the front door of his house. No, there’s no way, he can’t be serious, it’s not a date, date. The phone vibrates again, reminding you of the unread message he sent, prompting you to look at it before you drive off home.
This was the only phone number I actually wanted.
See you tomorrow,
- Namjoon
...
You lie in bed caught between denial and anticipation for what’s to come in the next day. Every moment that excitement bubbles up inside, you are forced to push it down with the weight of scepticism. Namjoon was looking to distract from his lonely Christmas, you are just the band-aid to his superficial wound, but would that be so bad? Haven’t you been using him the past week in the same manner, a mode of distraction? The only difference is the depths of your injuries. While his might be a simple cut repaired by time, yours is a laceration straight to the heart, damage that will soon bleed through a flimsy bandage, but at least you can hide it for now, you can conceal the extent of your misery and enjoy the comfort that is him for the holiday. Ripping that band-aid off won’t hurt, not compared to the damage that has already been done.
You look back at your phone smiling at his message, confirming that this is what you want for now, when to your surprise another comes in.
KNJ: Are you awake?
You double check the time, 12:23 a little late for a friendly chat isn’t it?
YN: Yeah, everything okay?
KNJ: That depends, what are your thoughts on Hallmark Christmas movies?
You pause in confusion, questioning his motives for such an odd query. Coming up dry you can give him the most truthful answer you can.
YN: They’re chestnuts.
KNJ: Chestnuts? 🤔
YN: Palatable only when thoroughly roasted. 🔥🔥🔥
Your phone starts ringing a second later, the caller Namjoon. You pick it up to hear him laughing on the other end. “I’ll have to remember that. You up for burning a film? I could use another open fire, there’s a pretty horrible one on their channel right now.”
“I’m sure I could spark an ember of criticism. How bad are we talking?”
“There’s a made up country, a town that looks like it exists solely for the purpose of celebrating Christmas-”
“And let me guess, a prince?”
“You know it?”
“Nope, just following the trend of tropes.” You grab your earbuds and venture out to the living room wrapped in your blanket, a beverage in hand, and ready to turn on your own TV. With one bud lodge in your ear to listen to Namjoon the other is free to take in the cringeworthy dialogue. “My god why were you watching this?”
“Couldn’t sleep, and I thought this would also help put me in the Christmas spirit, but I can’t stop laughing at how bad it is.” Namjoon chuckles deeply as the heroine stumbles over a mere pebble and falls into the hero’s arm.
“I don’t think you have any right to laugh at that part.” You join him in laughter. “You two appear to have some similarities.”
“Wait, so does this make me the clumsy lead and you the dashingly perfect love interest?”
“Oh most definitely, I’ll be saving your Christmas.”
“I suppose you are pretty perfect.”
You’re thankful that Namjoon isn’t there to see your response, silently choking on your glass of water, followed by spilling your sip all down your shirt, further emphasising your next point. “I’m not perfect.”
“Well you should let me see that side sometime, or I will continue to feel like this poor woman who is confronted with someone way out of their league.”
Namjoon thinks that you're out of his league? “No, I’m sorry but in order for me to save your Christmas based on this movie I have to play the perfect hero.” Of course the leading lady swoons in her prince's arms. “I just wish the characters had more depth, I’ve read kids books with a wider emotional range.”
“Me too. And the timing,” Namjoon scoffs. “It’s always so perfect. They always meet at the perfect moment and latch on immediately only to have everything work out in their favour, and it all claims to be a Christmas miracle, it doesn’t work like that.”
“That sounds like someone’s been scorned before on Christmas.”
“Not scorned no. More like a missed opportunity, one that I’ve regretted for a long while.”
“Anything I can help with?” You ask. “As the supporting lead that is my mission is it not?”
“Maybe, I’ll have to think about it. Unfortunately my dilemma isn’t so easy to solve.”
“I don’t think anyone's dilemma’s are ever as easy or clear cut as theirs.” You yawn as you lay down on the couch and watch the pitiful drama unfold. “Their world is perfect and always has their back through some sort of mystical power or being.”
“I think people in the real world call that god...” Namjoon chuckles.
“Yeah well, our god is a shitty writer if this is what their creations come to expect.” You murmur, stifling a yawn.
“Is that a crack in your shining armour I spy?”
“No, just commentary.” Though your own internal defences are askew, and the longer you watch the more you understand why. It’s jealousy, jealousy of how quickly they overcome any tragedy, and how they do so with a picture perfect life, as if the creators left all the negative emotions, the realistic impacts of trauma, on the cutting room floor. If only you were that perfect love interest that Namjoon wanted you to be... maybe you can keep the facade until the end of the holidays, at least one of you can have a better Christmas for it.
All you have to do is continue ignoring the most painful parts, a practice you are well versed in considering the boxes still looming in the shadowy corner, still unmoved after all this time. You know nothing good will come from unpacking them, there is no comfort inside, the only thing that could help is long gone, the story which your mother used to read to you every Christmas before you moved here. You’ve hunted through those boxes so many times while she was still here with you, but now that she’s gone you don’t even have the desire to look, nor the strength to store them away.
...
You wake hours later with a loud crumpling sound in your right ear. Your bud still in place, and your call time continues to count past the 7 hour mark. “Namjoon, are you there?” You inquire with a groggy yawn.
“Fuck... yeah, did I wake you?”
“It’s fine, sorry I fell asleep.”
“Don’t worry I did too. But unfortunately I seem to have lost an airpod at some point in the night.” The rustling continues as he chats to you. “I refuse to lose another to this couch, it’s taken so many from me already, you’ think I would have learned by now.”
“Oh, then this is a regular occurrence for you? Chatting up women until you fall asleep,” you scoff.
“No! God no, I just usually fall asleep listening to music and then my cushions eat them when I lower my defences.”
“I leave you to battle it out with your sofa, but what time should I pick you up?”
“Eleven okay with you?”
You double check the clock, ensuring you have enough time for a shower and to look presentable. “Yeah that works. I’ll see you then.”
...
You pull into the packed parking lot of a large warehouse. With Namjoon looking dapper in a blazer and peacoat. You yourself are glad to have chosen to dress a bit classier than your usual garb for a Saturday afternoon. When he said it was for work you couldn’t risk dressing down.
But there is still an air of confusion about your reason for being here. If he’s not attending to buy something for the museum or a client, why is his presence required? The items up for auction are not exactly what you expected, with the majority of it being furniture and woven rugs. You tilt your head in confusion as Namjoon eyes up an old wooden desk.
“Sorry,” He mutters, seeing you as he comes to from his distracted state. “I have a personal weakness for such items.”
“Don’t be, but is that why we're here?”
“No, although it is tempting.” He nods over to a collection of old black and white sketches on the wall across from you, graphite scenes of the city from long ago judging by subject matter and the yellowing of the paper behind the frame. “They’re the real reason we’re here. When I heard of this estate sale I knew that some of those works would likely come to market. I’m here to find out who buys them, and hopefully see if we can secure a possible loan for the museum in the future.”
“So how do you do it? How do you convince them to part with such pieces other than that dangerous smile of yours?”
Namjoon humours you, flashing his most coveted weapon. “Many of the artworks found at estate sales like this, they’ve fallen into disrepair. They often haven’t been cared for, likely kept in some musty room where the humidity damages them. The museum has a team of top rated and highly respected conservators who would be able to properly preserve it and slow any further deterioration, and in exchange for their services we ask for a short term loan of the art.
“A win-win.”
“I like to think so, but some people are rather protective of their investment. It can be a tricky negotiation which I have been on both sides of when I worked for the private sector.”
“Which do you prefer more?”
“Definitely the public. The museum doesn’t pay as much, but the audience and notoriety far greater. I really hope that I can continue my work with them once my initial contract ends.”
“I assume securing this for them will help in that goal?” You nod to the pieces, admiring the sought after collection.
“One can only hope. Who knows, maybe I’ll get my Christmas miracle like the movies promised.” He jokes, putting his hand on your shoulder and leading you on.
While you and Namjoon continue to look around at the lots up for bidding, he proceeds to fawn over the wooden art and furniture, taking pictures and looking up the makers.
You can’t help but enjoy his interest, watching his eyes go wide and his mouth gasp when he’s found something which intrigues him. “Have you ever purchased something for yourself at one of these?”
“A few things, tables, chairs, and books too. It’s a great place to find unique pieces, or things lost to the past.” He gives you a shy smile. “Is there anything you’d like to look for?”
A possible item springs to the forefront of your mind. “Do they have any books here now?”
Namjoon grins at your request and leads you over to several crates filled to the brim with books. All the copies inside look to be older editions of epic novels, nothing like what you hope to find. Your heart sinks as you let out a sigh of disappointment.
“Can I help?”
“Nah, I think I’m out of luck. I was looking for a kid’s picture book. I briefly met someone at the wrapping station who found a copy second hand, must have been at a sale like this. I was hoping I would have the same success, but that seems like a bit of a far reach.” Had it not been their gift to someone else you would have made them an offer for it or even gotten their name at the very least, but you were so distracted at the time... all you can see and remember to this day was the book in front of you.
“I’m sorry-” Namjoon starts with an unnecessary apology, it wasn’t his fault that you lost the favourite book of your youth, that you missed the chance to give your mother one last glimpse of the pages with you before she passed.
“It’s fine,” You cut him off not wanting to dwell on the loss or risk deteriorating that perfect cover right here in front of him, in front of everyone, when he has something important to attend to. “Should we go find seats before they start the auction?”
Namjoon nods, seeming to examine your eyes with careful study, but he will find no tears, no dampness there, those are locked away tight. He escorts you to a seat near the back. “This way we can get a better view of those bidding without looking out of place.”
The auction lots pass by with many remaining silent. Namjoon points out several antique dealers to you that are snapping up many of the pieces. But the rest of the buyers all appear to be waiting for the same prize that Namjoon is.
“Do you have any favourites to win?” You whisper to him as the collection is carried into view.
“I’m hoping for anyone I’ve dealt with in the past.” Namjoon nods in the direction of a middle aged woman dressing in a fur trimmed coat and strands of pearls draped around her neck. “Mrs. Coleman already has a few works in one of the exhibits, and Mr. Roth over there.” He turns to a man wearing a tweed jacket and a sturdy wooden cane in hand. “Is one of the most notable patrons of the museum.”
Silence falls in the room as the auctioneer takes up the gavel again and describes the works. Many around you sit up a little straighter as Namjoon’s eyes dart around at those he thinks might attempt to purchase.
The bids flood in, with very few gaps for breath as the numbers are rattled off. It takes only two minutes before the going price is more than your annual salary. You lower yourself, pooling in your seat as the extravagant wealth is thrown around you.
Once the pace slows, Namjoon's face highlights his concern, his eyes glancing back and forth between two people, the older lady in mink he spoke of before, and an unknown man with a cell pressed to his ear.
As the wooden hammer drops so do the corners of Namjoon’s lips.
“And sold to the gentleman on the phone number three-two-eight, number three-two-eight for sixty-five thousand.” The auctioneer announces.
“Shit.” Namjoon mutters under his breath.
“What, what happens now?”
“Now we have an anonymous buyer who I have no ability to meet or advise.” He sighs, hanging his head, with his fingers dragging across his mouth again.
“I’m so sorry.” You whisper as he nods next to you taking several deep breaths. Your hand reaches out to his arm and he turns to you with a small smile.
“It’ll be fine, I’ll figure something out, but I might as well make the most out of my time here.” With the auction now over he rises from his seat and approaches one of the museum's patrons with an outreached hand. “Mr. Roth, good to see you, you’ll be attending the final night of the exhibit I hope, and who is this with you...”
While Namjoon continues to make pleasantries and exchange business cards you keep your eye on the sketches watching as they are rolled behind the desk and packed away in crates. You approach the area where one of the clerks is recording and distributing the information for the now rightful owners, with a mob of bidders descending on him for their newly purchased items so they might leave as soon as possible.
It would seem that this business too is feeling the crunch of Christmas. A flurry of paperwork is exchanged in haste passing from one hand to the next, until one signed receipt of purchase escapes his notice and falls to the ground in front of you. Picking it up you wait for the crowd to clear, giving the clerk a chance to recover before you approach with the lost sheet, setting it on the desk before him. His confused gaze soon changes to outright shock over his loss when he realizes what you’ve returned.
He thanks you profusely, causing you wonder how much strife he would have encountered had you not been there to return it. “No problem, you look like you have a lot on your plate.” You smile politely, attempting to soothe your fellow casualty of the Christmas rush. “I just have a question for you though, if that’s okay?”
“Not at all how can I help?” He agrees, his stance far more relaxed than it was with the horde a few moments before.
“My friend, he was hoping to get in contact with the purchaser of those sketches there, on behalf of a museum. I don’t suppose there’s any way we could get a hold of them, is there?”
“I’m sorry but not at liberty to divulge that ma’am.” Your rising hope falls, you knew it would be a long shot but you didn’t want to leave without trying. “However... if there’s a phone number or information regarding the museum’s interest I can include that in the paperwork to send off along with the purchase.”
“Really? You would do that?”
When the clerk confirms, you immediately turn on your heel and take a step in Namjoon’s direction before bumping into his solid chest, not realizing that he had already come to find you.
“What are you doing-”
“Getting you that miracle.” You grab one of his business cards from his hand, and turn back around to give it to the clerk who tucks it into the envelope along with the other documentation. “Thank you.” You smile at the clerk who returns the gesture.
“And you said I have a dangerous smile?” Namjoon mutters as he leads you away with a chuckle. “What did he say exactly?”
“That he would include it with the paperwork for the sale. I just hope they will reach out and call you.”
“Me too.” Namjoon smiles, but it doesn't quite appear to reach his eyes. “Shall we head out. I think I’m done here.”
The drive home is rather quiet, the weight of Namjoon’s gloom hanging in the air and he makes no attempt to hide it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just trying to figure out where to go from here,” he groans. “Those sketches were going to be the start of something new for me. I know the buyer might still come through but I’m not going to hold my breath. I need to keep searching for what comes next, I’m just a little lost, but I’ll find my path again soon.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Sometimes it is, sometimes life will drop it right in front of me and other times I will have to search for it, but that’s a problem for after the holidays.” Namjoon looks out his window at the lights which start to come alive as you drive home. “Are you ready for the big day?”
“Christmas?” You give a nervous laugh, “No, I haven’t even put up any decorations.”
“Why not?!” Namjoon asks in alarm.
“Just haven’t really felt the need this year. There’s no one there to enjoy them but myself.”
“Which makes it all the more important to put them up.” Namjoon sits up in his seat, his whole persona changing. “I could help you if you’d like?”
You wince over the quandary. With your decorations sitting in your living room under an inch of dust it might arouse some confusion, and his heart would likely sink if he knew how long they actually rested there for. “I’m not sure I’m quite ready for it yet. Maybe another time?”
...
-1.5 Weeks Until Christmas-
Work continues to degrade as the countdown progresses. The only thing getting you through the shifts is the thought of Namjoon’s help at the stand. But as soon as Christmas is over, you wonder if your friendship will go the same way as the festive season, cast aside like the wrapping of the gifts you tended to in the weeks prior.
After a few days of busy shifts you’re both thankful to make it to another close. But when you are packing up the station Namjoon’s phone starts to ring. He looks down in confusion at the number without a contact attached. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.”
He grins as he answers the phone pacing further back into the vacant shop space and away from the sounds of the echoing mall. You continue to count off the deposit, and roll the wrapping paper. Trying your best not to listen, to give Namjoon his privacy, however you can’t help but notice the happiness in his tone, spotting his dimples from across the room when you sneak a glance. When you grab to move the last box of bows Namjoon ends his call. Tears glisten in the corners of his eyes accompanied by the widest smile you’ve ever seen from him.
“That was- that was the buyer.” He explains as he comes to help you with the final box, taking it from your hands and placing it on the back shelf. “He wants to meet with me this weekend.”
He’s so close, vibrating with an overwhelming delight. His arms move around you as though he is about to pull you in for a gracious hug. You start to congratulate him as he embraces you, “Really?! That’s gre-” only to be cut off when his lips come for yours instead. Once the shock evaporates, you start to appreciate the heat of the moment, the warmth of his skin, the softness of his mouth. Your hands reach up to his toned shoulders and neck pulling him down, diminishing the space between you. Breathing him in like this with your eyes closed, nothing else matters in the moment, nothing other than his firm chest pushing back against yours, his hands on your waist gripping at your shirt.
With a deep sigh and a bite to his own lip he pulls back. “Sorry I just-”
“Don’t, don’t apologize.” You cut him off this time.
“I can’t even begin to thank you.”
“I hardly did anything.” You laugh at the extremeness of his appreciation, though a small part of you dies when you realize his kiss was nothing more than a gesture of gratitude.
“That’s not true...” He responds, giving you his wide eyes and a shy smile.
On the drive home your companion can barely contain his delight, breaking into random smiles and laughter as he informs his coworkers of the success via text.
“There’s this event...” Namjoon starts, as you pull in front of his home. “At the museum on the twenty-third, a week from today, I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”
“Next Wednesday? But we have a shift at the wrapping station.”
“I spoke to Emma a few days ago and she agreed to cover if we both wanted to go.”
“Emma, making a change so close to Christmas? I don’t buy it. What did you offer her in return?” You ask with a critical gaze. The woman runs such a tight schedule, only something great or important would have prompted her to agree.
“My next year of service.” Namjoon confesses, he looks down at his feet as though he might buckle from the embarrassment.
“Next year? You already promised to work it?”
“If you want me there that is. I’ll practice more in the meantime, I promise I won’t leave you to all of the difficult packages.” Namjoon chuckles. “But what do you say, will you go with me?”
“Ye-yeah I would love it’s just...” You stutter trying to come up with a good excuse but your brain draws a blank leaving only the truth. “I don’t know how well... how well I’ll fit in there.”
“What? No, why would you think that?” Namjoon places his hand on your leg while you drive. A move which causes the both of you to pause in reaction and him to retreat. “Trust me when I say you belong there more than anyone else.”
You nod your head and give him a small smile, wishing more than anything his hand would return. “I’ll come if you want me there. What’s the attire?”
“Semi-formal, and don’t worry about driving I’ll pick you up.”
...
-2 Days Until Christmas-
You stand in front of your mirror, wearing a dress which fits your shape perfectly, but stretches your pocket book significantly. The price tags hanging down from the zipper taunt you, tempting you to rip them away, to commit to the indulgence. Even if it’s only for a night, the payoff in the end might be worth the overpriced lace. You give in with a snip of the scissors and a swallow of guilt, letting the printed cardstock hit your bedroom floor.
You’ve spent the past couple of hours leading up to this moment in a fit of stress cleaning, disposing of the dust bunnies. Now at least if Namjoon comes over after... you won’t be completely off guard.
The phone on your bedside vibrates with a new message.
KNJ: Just pulling in.
YN: Be right down.
Sliding your shoes on and grabbing what you need, you leave your empty apartment with a growing smile on your face. The moment you can see the car from the buildings foyer both Namjoon and the driver exit the vehicle, though Namjoon is quick to wave the driver back to his seat, choosing instead to hold the door for you himself.
The thoughtful gesture is made more appealing as if it gives you a full view of your date in his dark three piece suit, his hair tamed back framing his handsome face, whose gaze appears to be giving you the once over for you too.
“You wrap up nice.” Namjoon jokes.
“Of course, I couldn’t embarrass you now could I? Have to land that first impression.”
“You would never. Besides I’m sure my colleagues will be fascinated to know who has enough courage to teach me how to wrap.”
“And how do you plan on introducing me to those colleagues of yours? As your date or your teacher?” You laugh.
“I was actually hoping I could introduce you as my girlfriend.”
“Your girlfriend for tonight?” You panic, not expecting this development. “Wait, is this one of those fake dating scenarios? Did you tell them you had one and then-”
“I think we’ve been watching too much Hallmark.” Namjoon laughs and shakes his head. “No this is not one of those scenarios, but I’ll take whatever form of companionship you are the most comfortable with.”
He gives you the stare of a man who is looking for more, but you know he won't need you once the holidays pass. His loneliness is temporary, yours is permanent. You’d rather not get your hopes up only to have them lost as he fades away in the cold gloom of January when his family returns. “Let’s see where it goes.”
Upon arrival Namjoon leads you through the massive doors by hand, taking your coat and checking it. The main hall just off the entrance is filled with patrons and staff all mingling and drinking while dining on tiny hors d’oeuvres. You look at the crowd with apprehension.
Namjoon’s fingers interlace with yours again, a grip clearly intended to give you confidence. “I’ll introduce you to some of the staff first.”
Several people congratulate Namjoon on the exhibit as he passes, he responds giving them a brief thank you as he ushers you through the crowd. Stopping at a small group of two, who greet Namjoon with a warm welcome.
“Thank god you’re here, people have kept asking for the brains behind the exhibit.”
“And why didn’t you answer them.” Namjoon smiles before turning to introduce you to them, following up with the man who just spoke. “This is Eric Nam, a curator who I worked on the project with.”
“Don’t pass the torch, we both know it was your idea, I just helped put it into motion.” His coworker smiles gazing at you. “And you must be the one Namjoon has talked so much about.”
The heat rises to your face as you look to Namjoon who confirms the statement with his own embarrassment. “Thank you Eric for sharing that with her...”
“No problem, it’s the least I could do for someone who gave you the insp-”
Namjoon coughs and shakes his head, cutting off his verbose friend.
You're about to question your partner himself when the other colleague of his starts asking you questions. “What do you do for a living Ms....” You remind her of your name while Namjoon spotting refreshments wanders off with a whispered promise to get you both a drink.
“I-I work for Interlude Shipping, in their tracking department.” You explain clasping your hands together in an attempt to settle your nerves.
“Oh, how nice...” The false quaintness in her tone is matched with a smirk as she takes a sip of wine. “Maybe you can help me find out if my sister’s present will arrive in time tomorrow.”
“Valerie...” Eric growls.
“What? I’m merely curious about her employment.” She smirks at him before continuing to her inquisition. “How long have you worked there? Did you have to get a degree for your role?”
“No,” This is exactly what you were afraid of coming here, you just didn’t think the judgement would be coming from someone who works with Namjoon. “I started there right after high school. I didn’t have the luxury to go to an elite school to work in a place like this.”
Eric comes over and claps you on the back. “Neither did Valerie; she just has family on the board.” Giving a coy smile to his coworker who scowls and stalks off without another word to you. “In fact you’ve actually done more work here than her in the past month. I hear you’ve been helping Namjoon secure the collection we’ve been after?”
You nod looking off after the departed curator, worried as to what impact your interaction could have with Namjoon’s position here.
“Don’t worry about her. She’s just bitter that Namjoon didn’t ask her to accompany him here.”
“Oh, does she- do they-”
“Fuck no, but if she’s not everyone’s first choice she’s not happy.” Eric gets in a little closer. “You don’t have to worry about Namjoon looking elsewhere, if he’s at all hesitant it’s just because he’s a little cautious with you.”
“Why would he be cautious?”
“Why would who be cautious?” Namjoon asks, handing you a drink as he appears by your side again.
“Mr. Roth, that man should be careful. I heard he had hip surgery recently.” Eric responds, cutting in with a lie to cover your discussion. “It's good of him to still join us tonight, but enough about that, why don’t you go show her the exhibit before it gets too crowded in there?”
Namjoon offers up his arm in agreement. “I suppose we can get started on the tour, if you’d like.”
“Yes please,” You answer, threading your arm through his. “Thanks again Eric, it was nice meeting you.”
“You too, I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”
The stand next to the entrance bears all the names of those involved in the creation and a countless list of those who loaned out pieces to make it possible. “There’s so many involved, how large is this exhibit?”
“Not too big, you’ll see why there’s such a long list soon.”
When the door opens you find yourself in a hallway amidst what you can only describe as a snowstorm. The walkway, made to look like an alley set adrift in snow, with flickering lights and paper creations hanging from the ceiling. “Did you make any of those?” You ask, grinning as you squint through the flurrying beams.
“No, I left those to the talents of the students who came by on school field trips. It didn’t take them long before we had enough.”
“Find any new prodigies?”
“Several.” He answers, before pointing to the mounted photos on the wall. “But these works here are some of my favourites.” The pictures are framed to seem as though the viewer is looking in through the pains of a window to happy holiday scenes. From unwrapping presents around the tree to the busy crowds of your very own mall, each image sets out to draw from you a sense of nostalgia.
“I can see why.” You find yourself lingering on the last of the photos by an accredited local photographer, savouring the display as much as you can, worried that it might end too soon.
“Don’t worry,” Namjoon whispers, taking your hand in an eager urge to press on, “There’s plenty more to look at.” He points to the end of the hallway, where you find another door, though this one is dressed with a knocker and wreath looking as if it’s the entrance to someone's home.
You open the door to reveal a series of rooms connected by one long hallway. The first you step into you washes over you with warmth and comfort, the sound of a cracking fire surrounds you while the light of fake embers flows from the side. Set up through the room are tables of items from old to new ranging from Christmas tree ornaments, and household decorations to handwritten cards. “All of these-”
“Were loaned by families from the region, they gave a piece of their history and traditions up for most of the season so everyone could enjoy it. Over here we have...”
You could spend hours sitting and admiring in this room alone, but more than anything you want to push on more to see Namjoon’s excitement in sharing it with you. Each room features a different spot of the home. A chilly shed with vintage toboggans and sleds, a kitchen, stuffed with cookbooks and the smells of baking featuring countless cookie cutters of every shape and size.
The next room is a little unusual and different from the rest, throwing you off for a moment, when the distinct scent of pine hits your nose. In the centre you find what look to be the replication of a massive trunk, and above false branches twinkling with lights. All round in a circle you find toys in glass cases spanning generations, when it hits you. “Are we under the Christmas tree?”
Namjoon gives you his coveted dimpled grin. “Yeah, do you like it?”
“I do. I can’t believe you managed all of this.” You exclaim hurrying between each display like a kid on Christmas morning. From wagons, and Rubik’s cubes, all the way to Furbies and gaming systems he has the whole collection of popular toys throughout the years.
Namjoon beams with pride once you’ve circled the entirety of the fake trunk and the presents beneath it. “Only one room left, but I think you’ll like this one the most.”
You're ushered into the next, a dimly lit space, a bed with a quilted cover stands in the centre, and on the walls you find countless story books, pinned open to so their stunning art is on display, papering the room with climatic holiday scenes and loveable characters. In one you find Scrooge meeting the ghost of Christmas past, in another you witness the Grinch save the sleigh from a perilous fall. Namjoon was right, this is without a doubt your favourite. While people filter in and out, you take your time looking at each set of pages. Your pace slow and steady, until you reach the special story that stops you entirely, the book you lost long ago, and have been trying to find ever since. Drawn on the pages before you is a little blue koala, with a pale purple nose, round ears, and a smile that lights up his face as he cuts out dozens of snowflakes. Namjoon stands behind you with a hand on your shoulder as you gaze at the book you know to be titled ‘Koya’s Christmas.’
You take a deep breath, while trying not to bend to the tears that threaten to break from your eyes. Focusing your attention instead to seek out the owner of the book, but unlike most there is no nameplate attached to this desirable artifact. “Namjoon, who loaned this? Is there any way I could contact them?”
When he gives you a sad smile, your gut clenches over the possibility that this might be a similar issue to what happened at the auction, a lender who wishes to remain anonymous. The only difference here being that you’ll fight Namjoon for the information if you have to. You’ve already let this book escape from you last year, you refuse to let it happen again. “Please, I’ll-” Just when you are about to plead with Namjoon’s integrity, another memory of your past walks into the room, but this one unfortunately has more tragic ties. “Shit,” you whisper, shifting to put your date between you and the newcomer.
Namjoon catching the change in your expression immediately reaches out in concern. “What? What’s wrong?”
“There's someone I know just over there,” You nod in the direction behind Namjoon. “I’d like to avoid him if I can. Sorry, it-it’s complicated. ”
Namjoon puts his hands on your shoulders, eyeing a path the closest exit without letting go of you. “Do you want to leave?”
“If that’s okay?” And just when you thought you were free, when you were ready to make a break for the door. The man in question, spots you and calls out your name.
You turn to face him, trying your best to keep your tone even and your lips pulled into a smile. “Jackson? Hey, it’s good to see you.”
“It’s been so long, not since...” Thankful he stops, not dragging up the subject you wish to avoid.
Namjoon moves closer, moving his arm from your shoulder around your waist, a comforting and protective gesture. “Dr. Wang... I had no idea the two of you were acquainted.”
“You know him?” You ask Namjoon, your concern rocketing over what else your date might become privy to.
“Dr. Wang was the phone bidder. I invited him here tonight to see the work we do.”
“The exhibit was impressive, I can’t wait to see what you have planned next.” Jackson confirms.
“I should go and let the two of you discuss-” You ready to step away when Namjoon’s hand grabs yours and Jackson calls your name again.
“No reason for you to leave, we should catch up.”
“May-maybe later?” You plead with him fighting back the tears, pushing down the memories his presence drags up. “Sorry I just, I need to go.”
You pull your hand free and race to the exit.
“Wait.” You can hear Namjoon call behind you. Though you continue to proceed out the exhibit and towards the closest exit outside, breaking into the cold evening air, only to find that he still followed. “Let me call for the car and we can go together.”
You stop in realization that your running will not deter him, he’ll pursue you unless you give him a reason otherwise. “No you should stay, this is your big event, I won’t ruin it for you.”
“Not without you.”
“Please Namjoon,” you beg, adamant that he return. “I don’t belong in there, I don’t fit in and I never will. Even when I try...” The ghosts of your past have a way of finding you and destroying your facade.
“I’ve told you before you belong in there more than anyone else-”
“That’s not true. I can barely keep myself together. I can’t, I can’t go back in, I'm sorry.”
“I don’t understand, what does Dr. Wang have to do with it? Did he hurt you? Did he-”
“No! No, he did nothing of the sort. Jackson was always very kind to me. Don’t let me affect your plans or any arrangement, you should go back and talk to him, I just can't be there.”
“You think I’m going to just drop you for him, especially when he makes you so uncomfortable? No, I’m leaving with you.”
“Fuck, just... please listen to me. He is a good man, he’s a good doctor, you would be foolish to give up this chance.”
“A good doctor...” Namjoon pauses as a grimace hits his face. “Does he have something to do with your mother?”
“How-How do you know about that?”
“I didn’t mean to pry, I swear. It's just, when I was first talking to Emma about you, out of concern she opened up about your past... about your mother, about your loss.”
“She told you?” Aunt Emma, you should have known she would do something like that, god forbid at least one person not know your history. “Then all of this, these past few weeks were they all out of pity?” You should have known, there was no way he would like someone like you. It was all out of sorrow for what you’ve been through.
“Not pity no, I like you, I like you a lot. When Emma said you were pushing her and so many others away... I concealed it out of fear of losing you too. I wanted you to open up about it until you were ready. I was just trying to help you get through this.”
You look up at the museum, drawing a distressing connection between Namjoon’s daily life and you. “Why? You think I’m some abandoned project you rescued from a deceased’s estate? One for you to mend, and later show like an achievement? You should have just left me where I was, instead of breaking me further.”
Namjoon’s hands immediately pull back from you. “I never meant to hurt you. Only help you move on, you can’t deny that you are frozen in place. You have so much more potential, but you're living in denial.”
“I live there because it hurts less...” You snap back in fury, as he exposes your painful flaws. “I live there so I can work, so I can help others.”
“But what about you? When will you let someone help you?”
You step away unable to answer his question, turning your back on him you race to the sidewalk to hail a nearby taxi, refusing to let him see a single tear fall.
Once home, you crawl into bed after throwing the dress to the floor. This was so far from the evening you had hoped it to be, with you instead left alone to ruminate on Namjoon’s words. Despising all the evidence he laid bare against you, turning it over again and again in your mind until your morning alarm startles you out of your stupor. Signalling for the last shift before your break for the holidays.
...
-Christmas Eve-
It’s finally here, the worst of all days at the call centre. With your eyes heavy from a lack of rest you take a seat at your desk with an extra large coffee in hand. On your computer you have this morning's team email pulled up, and attached to it a list of de-escalation tactics. You’ll need them today because if people don’t get their package by the end of the routes this evening, there’s no hope for tomorrow morning.
The call board on your phone is already lighting up like a Christmas tree, but you know those little embers to be fuelled by wrath, fury and unkept promises of delivery dates.
You try your best to remain calm during the egregious conversations. Offering up tips and tricks to parents who are worried that this will be the year that their child gives up on Santa because your company failed to deliver.
Your lunch break can’t come soon enough. But when you finally check your own phone it’s littered with texts from Namjoon. Messages of concern, apologies, and the hopes that he will still see you at the wrapping station tonight. He even sent a picture of your abandoned coat and promised to bring it along.
Fuck, you had completely forgotten about you wrapping shift together. Just one more night, then you can put it all behind you again. If you can just keep your cover for a few more hours then it’ll all be over and Aunt Emma will have what she was promised.
You send Namjoon a quick message confirming that you will be there, but not promising any more before you head back to your desk.
The calls get progressively worse with several people using foul language and demanding to speak to your supervisor, you try to talk them down as best you can knowing any call passed on to the higher ups will reflect poorly on your efforts.
Until one woman calling in search of her package finally wears you down, insulting you, your profession, even your family.
“Ma’am I’m sorry but if you continue to speak to be in such a way I am well within my right to disconnect the call.” A desperate bluff, your superiors would rather them end the call than you, you’ve been penalized for it before, and you’ll be damned if it happens again. But unfortunately she calls your hand.
“You will not! I have spent hours on the line trying to reach anyone. The shortsightedness of your company and staff is all too apparent.”
“It’s the holiday sea-”
“I know what time of year it is, but it seems your staff doesn’t realize Christmas is tomorrow!”
“You ordered your package past the guarantee date, we could not insure-”
“Now you listen to me, if there was any form of intelligence in that office you’d be working hard to ensure that all packages make it out before tomorrow morning, but instead you just sit on your ass fielding phone calls and giving excuses so you don’t have to actually go out and do honest labour. You must be the biggest disappointment to your family, not even having a proper job. How can you go home and face them knowing you've left so many without their gifts?”
With the woman's last insult, something inside you finally snaps, giving you the freedom to do what you’ve dreamed of for so long. “I don’t,” you pronounce, building up to take your final shot at both her and your employment. “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to let you go, as I’d rather not listen to your nonsensical bitching. So merry fucking Christmas to you ma’am, I suggest you go spend it with your own family if they’re willing to put up with your pompous ass.” You hang up the phone and pull off the headset, refusing to answer the next blinking light that comes on to replace it.
You just sit there looking at it denying the next caller their chance at verbal abuse, and your company's lax policy to protect you from it. The chatter of apologies continue to echo around you as your coworkers press on, but after the years of abuse you can no longer hold it in. Your company always said that this position was a stepping stone to greater things, that opportunities would come you just had to wait a little longer, but after being shackled by circumstances, and no forthcoming higher step to take, you refuse to press on any longer.
...
You pull into the mall parking lot, far too early for your slot at the wrapping stand, with the contents of your desk now stationed in the trunk of your car. Taking refuge in the women's bathroom cleaning your face of the tears you shed on the way over as you try not to think too much about what you’ve just done. After refusing to concede and admit to any wrong doing you quit, telling them to shove their shitty policies right back where they came from.
Namjoon was right... and with the mall closing early tonight you’ll only have two hours with him, two hours to smooth the tension over and allow for an amicable goodbye while maintaining your cover.
He’s already waiting for you, with your coat in hand, when you show up. The look of pity that you never wanted to see grace his face directed at you. “Are you okay?”
“Fine... I just would prefer if we didn’t talk about last night. I’m sorry for what I said, and now I just want to let it all go if that’s okay with you?” You smile up at him extending the olive branch.
Namjoon nods looking down at the floor as his hands habitually fold a scrap piece between his fingers. The silence between you is drowned out by the carols echoing down the emptying halls of the mall.
“Didn’t expect it to be so slow.” Namjoon mutters after what seems like an age with no one coming to the stand.
“On Christmas eve? Yeah generally people are home by now, spending time with their-” You force yourself to stop, unable to say a word which will bring sorrow to your heart and loneliness to Namjoon’s.
“I’m sorry I can’t do this,” Namjoon interjects. “I want to talk about last night, I need to talk about it.”
“Now is not the time.”
“There’s no one here but you and me. It’s just us, the mall is closing, it's our last shift, if not now when?”
“Anytime but now. The last twenty-four hours have been the worst in my life since-since...” You take a deep breath burying the wave of sadness and regret back down in your chest refusing to let it out. “Please, just forget it okay?”
“Not until you stop shielding yourself like that.” Namjoon scolds you. “I’m tired of you living in fear that your tears will erode your cover, and that your anger will tear it away entirely. I’m tired of you thinking that people will only appreciate you if you maintain this perfectly wrapped state. You might think it’s pretty, that it’s convenient for everyone else, but you are only keeping others out.”
“Maybe I keep it on so that you won’t be disappointed in what you find when it’s discarded. A sad woman, with no direction, no dreams, unable to cope with loss, and I suppose I can add unemployed to the list now. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want to find?”
“That’s not all you are... and as for your job, I’m sorry but fuck it. It’s about time you moved on to better things, that place was only holding you back, you deserve so much more.”
“No I don’t, do you want to know why I worked there? Do you? I took that job to make sure she got the care she needed. I promised her when she got better I would quit and find something else, but she never did. But if I leave now I’m accepting the fact that she’s gone... that she doesn’t need me anymore, because I couldn’t do enough to keep her here.” The first tear falls breaking through the long standing divide.
“Staying there wouldn’t have brought her back. Tormenting yourself by remaining frozen in place, won’t bring her back. It’s Christmas for god sake and you are being kind to everyone else but yourself.”
“This isn’t Christmas for me. If it was, she would be here... not you. I’m tired too. I'm so tired of looking at her chair and- and-”
Namjoon wraps his arms around you pulling you forward as your emotions tear through the shroud. He moves you to the back of the vacant store sitting you among the boxes. “I’ll be right back okay?” You nod, while he tugs the table in and drags the gate down to indicate that you are now closed. When he returns his eyes too are starting to redden. His hands brush through your hair, the side of his palm pressing on your cheek and catching your tears. After seeing one of his own fall you crush yourself against his chest, clinging harder to him than before. His lips touch the top of your head, his hands rubbing on your back and arms as he waits, waits for you to be the first to pull away. The lights for every other store shut off around you the music lowers, all that’s left is the retreating chatter of those going to celebrate the eve of Christmas, and still you hold on to him.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been a very good substitute.” He whispers, encouraging you to finally lean back and admit your denial, accepting his efforts to help, when you yourself wanted to do the same for him.
“Don’t say that, it was never going to be a happy holiday for me, just something I needed to get past. But for you, I at least wanted to make yours better, I’m sorry I wasn’t a very good one either.”
“You never were a substitute. You were the one I wanted to spend the holidays with. A different Christmas than usual but no less enjoyable.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.” You smile, but you doubt it’s true. “I suppose we should go...”
“What about all the supplies?”
“Emma will come by in a few days to collect it all.” You grab the small donation from the lock box and seal it in the plastic pouch, while Namjoon rummages through his own bag. “Do you still want a ride home?”
“If you're offering, I would love one.” The flap of his satchel closes as he stops his search and instead goes with you to the bank and finally your car. You hadn’t checked the forecast for tonight so finding your car buried in a few inches of snow comes as an unexpected sight. At least with Namjoon’s help cleaning it off is a quick task.
Once inside you both warm your hands on the sputtering heater, changing them on the wheel as you continue to thaw your fingers while you drive.
“Do you have any plans for the next couple of days?” Namjoon presses, though hesitant in his tone.
“Maybe look for some jobs, and take a good long nap?” You answer with a dark chuckle, still preferring to miss the entire holiday if you could. “You?”
“No, nothing in mind. But if you wake up and want to come over, you're more than welcome to spend it at my place.”
You return both hands to the wheel as the road becomes more difficult to drive on, your tires slipping here and there on the ice beneath the snow. “I’ll think about it, though depending on how much snow we get tonight we might both be stranded at home.”
You pull through the neighbourhood gates and up Namjoon’s driveway. With the car stopped he once again dives into his leather bag and pulls out a thin rectangular gift he looks to have wrapped himself. Dressed as per usual, with far to many pieces of tape, he hands it over to you. “I know this won’t make up for everything, but I want you to have this. Consider it a very belated Christmas gift.”
“Belated? But Christmas isn’t until tomorr-” You take the present and succeed in pulling back the wrapping to reveal the book that you were reunited with just the night before. “Oh...” You look up from the cover to find the return of the sad smile on his face you saw in the museum. “But if this is late then, last Christmas, it-it was you? You were the one at the stand... with this?”
...
-One Year Ago-
You are counting down the hours and minutes until the mall closes, until you can pick your mother up from her doctor's appointment and head home, to your promised tradition of putting up the decorations. The past few weeks have been so busy, with work, volunteer shifts, and her treatments at the hospital, you’ve made it all the way to Christmas eve with the tree and ornaments still packed away in boxes, sitting in the corner of your living room since December first.
Aunt Emma is currently taking your mother’s position at the cashbox, thanks to the scheduling of the last minute check up. You light up your phone again checking the time, only an hour left.
“You can head out if you want my love,” Aunt Emma offers while swaying and humming to the carols. “It’s quiet enough for me to manage myself.”
You grin embarrassed by your desire for a hasty departure. “No it’s fine. I’m still waiting for the phone call to say she’s done, otherwise I’ll just end up waiting at the hospital.”
“Suit yourself.” She stands up to look down the halls of the mall. “Oh, I think we might have someone, he’s heading this way. He’s cute too, you should give him your number and put that mother of yours at ease.”
“Aunt Emma, I don’t need your dating-” You look in the direction she was speaking of losing the rest of your words when you find a tall beaming man coming closer to your station.
“If you need me I’ll just be in the back fetching more ribbon.”
“But we have plenty.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” She waves herself off when he makes it to your table.
“Hi,” He greets you with the warmest smile and an even tone. “I was wondering if I could get these wrapped together?” He holds up a bag of gifts which he hands over to you.
“Of course. Any preference on paper?”
“Whatever you think is best, it’s for my mom. Just a bottle of her favourite perfume and something a little more special.”
You open the bag to find a small box containing the fragrance, and the other what looks to be a kids picture book. But what initially seems to be an odd choice for his mother, slams your chest with nostalgia when you see the cover and read the title.
“Koya’s Christmas.” You laugh with delight, you can’t stop yourself from smiling when you examine the artistry. The memories it brings back is enough to make your eyes well with tears.
“You know it?” The man asks, looking pleasantly stunned.
“Know it? I had it memorized as a child. I loved it so much I couldn't bear it when it was packed away at the end of Christmas each year.”
“Me neither, I flat out refused to let it go, I read it year round to the point where our old copy is currently falling apart on the shelf. Even made snowflakes to put in my windows like he did.”
“That’s right, that scene was one of my favourites. May I?” You gesture asking him for permission to look through it. He nods just as excited as you by the concept of something so sentimental. As you flip through the book you recall the beautiful storyline of a koala living in Australia, one who is so upset that they must celebrate Christmas in the summer, never getting to have a while Christmas described in the songs and shown in the movies. But once Koya talks to the leaves in the trees, and the other small animals of the forest, the realization hits that none of them would be able to stay there if it was cold enough for snow.
You are so close to tears when you reach the page where the little koala realizes it’s more important to have friends for the holiday than the frozen flurries. Proceeding to stay up all night cutting out perfect snowflakes to hang in the windows for all to enjoy at the family's Christmas Eve party.
“Where did you find a copy? I’ve looked for so long, I lost my own in the move here.”
“I actually found it by chance, amongst a bunch of rare second-hand books at an auction.” The man itches at the back of his head. “Sorry, I can’t be of more help in locating another.”
“No it’s fine. I’m just glad I got to see it again. I’ll have to tell my own mom that I was lucky enough to see a copy, she loved it as much as I did.”
You quickly wrap the two gifts in the one sheet as requested. Handing it back to him before you can be tempted enough to make an excessive offer of your own on his mothers gift.
“Thanks again.” He hands you two twenties for the donation. “My mom usually helps me with the wrapping but I didn’t want her to see this, you’ve made her Christmas.”
“I’m glad I could help.”
When he walks off you notice that he makes several glances back to you, holding a smile each time.
“So did you get his number?” Aunt Emma pokes her head back out from the stock area. “Maybe his social media, his dick-dock or whatever it is you kids do these days?”
“No, I did not get his tiktok.” You answer, unable to contain your laughter. “I was distracted by-” You’re ready to defend yourself when your phone starts vibrating on the table, the screen lit up with the number of your mother’s doctor’s office. You answer it, excited to share your account of the book. “Hey mom, you all finished? You’ll never believe what I just wrapped-”
“Sorry dear this is Laurie, I’m just calling on behalf of Dr. Wang’s office. We were hoping you could come by as soon as you can, the doctor would like to meet with both you and your mother before she leaves for the day.”
“Y-yeah, I’ll be right down.” You hang up the phone taking a deep swallow of fear, the moment of happiness and nostalgia vanishing with the prospect of the news to come. It’s never been a good sign when they’ve wanted to meet with you both in person.
Aunt Emma catches on in an instant, pushing your coat on your shoulders and your purse in your hand. “Go, I’ve got this. You give your mother a big hug for me, and I’ll stop by soon to see you.”
...
While you try to relive, to pull back and hold on to, that moment from a year ago, Namjoon nods confirming your suspicions.
You mentally kick yourself for not recognizing him, for not remembering a single thing about him except your connection with the book. But after everything you had gone through, in that night alone, the devastating news regarding your mothers health had blacked out everything else. You took her home that night, trying not to cry, trying to be strong for her. Helping her into bed for some much needed rest, leaving your previous plans boxed up in the corner... where they remain to this very day. And the year only got worse leaving your mind engaged elsewhere, far from the man with the kind smile and similar taste in literature. “I’m sorry, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you sooner.”
“No, it’s fine, it was a while ago, and I’m the one who should be sorry,” He whispers. “The moment I stepped outside that day, I realized you needed it more than my mother needed a second. I went back, but you were already gone. I was selfish though, rather than leaving it with another, I wanted to be the one to give it to you myself, I wanted to see you, to talk to you again, and so I kept it. I even put it in the exhibit on the chance that you might find it. When I met Emma at the museum and found out that you’d be doing the fundraiser again it seems like fate, but then I heard about what had happened since I saw you last. I realized how foolish I had been, how I had stolen your chance to share it with her before she passed.”
You reach up to your face attempting to wipe away the tears before Namjoon can see anymore, but he catches your hands before you can hide your grief.
“When you saw the book that day, you have no idea the impact it had on me. Watching you react, your emotions so close to the surface. You didn’t care where you were, what you were doing, all you could see was the memory in front of you. I wanted to create that for everyone.”
“Then the museum exhibit-”
“Was a result of my meeting you, my breakthrough idea which got me a chance to curate was thanks to your reaction. I was going to tell you when we were there, why you deserved to be there more than anyone else, but everything fell apart so quickly.”
“I’m so sorry, I never intended to ruin your night. I just-” You take a deep breath, finally letting out the words you’ve been holding back. “I was scared. Jackson was one of my mother’s doctors, he was always friendly and kind to the point where my mother would joke that he would make the perfect son-in-law. We even went on a date, but when she passed... it was difficult, painful for me to see him again. Finding him there last night, I was so worried you would learn about what had happened, and that you would look at me with the same pity he did, so I ran.”
“You didn’t ruin it, I deserved what you said for not being more open with you about what I knew. I was scared of losing you. So no more running, no more hiding okay?”
You give him a nod, unable to speak through the tears as you gasp between sobs. He hugs you across the cars divide. “Now will you please come inside? At least for a bit. It’s Christmas Eve and I can’t let you go home like this. I have the snowflakes up and everything but we both know it’s not enough without someone else to see them with.”
You shake your head, now laughing despite the tears, “You really know how to reel me in.”
“I’m just admitting that I don’t want to be alone on Christmas,” He looks at you with a raised brow. “And I don’t think you want to be either.”
...
Namjoon’s house is the very opposite of your apartment, filled with warmth and light, wooden furniture and plants in every corner. The Christmas decorations bring another layer of himself into the fold. As promised, his window pains are full of snowflakes and the sills... you squint at several small blue lumps perched beside the glass. Moving closer you recognize them as clay koalas made by the skill and hands of a much younger age. Namjoon catches you staring at one position in a dozing state. He takes it off the ledge and hands it to you to give a better look.
“Careful with that one though,” He points to another figure stationed in the corner. “It’s ears like to fall off.” He rolls the round bit of clay out of position chuckling as it exhibits the trait.
“Did you make these?”
“When I was a kid. My mom held on to them.” Namjoon muses as he continues to fidget with the figurine. “She dropped off a box of decorations before going off to be with my sister and her family.”
“I’m glad she did.”
“Me too. But even with all the trimmings and decor here this year doesn’t feel quite normal.” He replaces them both in their rightful positions of honour and gestures to the massive couch behind you. “Make yourself comfortable,” he insists, before wandering off to the joint kitchen. “Is there anything I can get you to drink?”
“I’ll have whatever you're having.” You take a seat on the monstrous cushions, which ease you in before swallowing you in comfort. Making it easy to see how this beast of a sofa has eaten several of his several earbuds.
“Beer okay?”
“Perfect.”
He comes round with the drinks and takes a seat beside you. Turning on the television he lets it play with low volume in the background so you might continue your conversation if you wished, but at the same time eases the pressure from you if you’d rather not.
You smile down at your beverage as the overly dramatic film plays out. Your mind still lingering on the damage that you might have caused with your hasty departure the night before.
“Have you talked to Jackson since, is he still going to loan the sketches?”
“He wants to, he sent me an email today saying so...” Namjoon pauses taking a sip of his drink, swirling the contents around in the can. “He asked if you were okay too. I haven’t responded yet, I wanted to talk to you first and get the full story, rather than speak on your behalf. But it’s clear he has feelings for you, if you told him how you felt, I’m sure you could still work things out if you wanted to.”
“No, I don’t think it’s feelings but his concern. He’s just too good of a person not to worry, and I’m sure his own guilt has a place in there too. Jackson and I never would have worked out, we went on that date, we didn’t have much in common, there was nothing there that I wanted to pursue, not like my time with you.”
Namjoon’s eyes perk open as he smiles. His arm reaches around, pulling you in to lean on his side and shoulder. As the strained plot plays out before you.
“Why do you insist on watching these.” You ask as your eyes become heavy after a few minutes. Leaning into Namjoon more he lays back putting his feet up and sliding you down with him to do the same. Your head now resting on his chest the deepness of his voice carrying down to your ear.
“They’re like the snowflakes-”
“A paper thin plot full of holes?”
“Funny and true, but not what I meant. I know they are by no means real, but they have this way of adding to the feeling of the season. I didn’t realize how much of a tradition it has become for me and my family until this year, when watching them alone just felt wrong. The movies were an excuse to sit down with them, to talk and laugh. The other night when I called, it wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep, I just wanted to spend the time with you.”
“But why me? You could have anyone, even Valerie seems to-”
“Why would I want anyone else when you helped me achieve something I’ve long dreamed of? You may think this cheesy but at the end of all these films, when everything comes together wrapped in a perfect bow, that’s how I’ve felt in every moment with you.”
“You’re right, very cheesy, but not unwanted.” You look up at him from his chest finding only sincerity in his face. “Now if we’re to continue in this similar Hallmark course of action, I do believe this would be the part where you kiss me again.”
“But I’m just the clumsy lead,” Namjoon jokes. “I’m pretty sure that’s your-” You lean in doing just that, cutting him off and pushing him against the couch as you kiss him. His chest quaking with silent laughter soon turns to rumbling groans as you fulfil the expectation of your role. “Though this would also be the part where I tell you we should wait before giving into temptation.”
Your nose scrunches up in displeasure over the notion of such abstinence. “Then let's omit that line, and go off script for the rest of the night.”
Namjoon takes his turn, flipping you over to push you down onto the plush cushions, where you sink under his weight. “Gladly,” he growls, his mouth trailing down your neck pulling on the collar of your sweater to seek further in.
Desiring the same you discard your own knit garment, before moving on to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, pushing it back until he is forced to tear his hands from the sleeves himself and whip it down to the ground.
Sliding between your thighs he wraps your legs around his back and picks you up off the couch. With an arm wrapped around your waist, he continues to kiss you while you squeal from being lifted into the air.
“Bedroom?” You ask, excited by the possible prospect.
He nods, looking up at you with a smirk. “If that’s okay? I’d rather not risk losing you to the couch too.”
You giggle at the notion, while Namjoon heaves you up again to get a better grasp, his mouth tucking into your chest. He fumbles for the door now behind you looking as though he might break it open if the knob won’t turn to his grappling grip. You reach back to assist and push it open. The cool air of the room hits you, causing you to cling to Namjoon’s warmth.
With two more steps you’re lowered onto the bed, where he grips the waist of your pants, unbuttoning and tearing them down your legs. Laying on the edge of the mattress, you watch as Namjoon kneels down between your legs. His hands glide up your bare legs and pause at the tops of your thighs massaging them as he asks to go further. “May I?”
You take his fingers and press them down on the dampening fabric. Namjoon groans and dips the tip of his index below the material peeking inside to find the warmth of your cunt. It’s a pity it’s so dark in the room, you would have liked to see his smile.
But it seems you're not alone in this desire, as Namjoon gets up and reaches over flicking on the lamp beside his bed. “No more hiding, I want to see you, all of you.”
“I want that too. I want you.”
He smiles kissing you with both hands before rolling over and pulling you on top of him. You return the favour by taking off his pants and boxer briefs releasing his erection. Running your fingers down the soft skin of his shaft, curling them around the base. Tilting his cock towards your mouth you take the tip, teasing your tongue on the rim of the head. Namjoon groans in delight, thrusting his hips up, you take it again as far as you can manage, enjoying his reactions to your tongue trails downward, tracing the swelling veins of his dick. With another drag of his cock you release him with the pop of your lips and he reaches down to grip your arms, breathing heavily with closed eyes.
“I thought you said you wanted to see me?” You chuckle at his undoing.
“I do, but I also want to last.”
“Condoms?” You ask, continuing to stroke his cock while you adjust to straddle his thighs.
“In there.” He mutters, pointing to his bedside table breathless and helpless to your touch. Only looking up when you have to free him to reach for the box and unwrap its contents. His own hands help you to roll it down his shaft.
You guide yourself down on his cock while Namjoon arches against his pillow and mattress. His fingers tracing up your stomach and ribs. You reach back to unclasp your bra just as he reaches your chest, and lean down into his touch.
With his firm grip you rock your hips clenching on his dick and grinding your clit on his pelvis. The louder he gets the faster you move, trembling as you chase your own high and pivoting down further. When Namjoon’s hands grip your hips pressing you into him the pressure becomes far too great pushing you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure through you until you collapse on his chest. He holds you in place as he thrusts from beneath, gasping as your climax continues, coaxing you to clench down on him, straining his thrusts until he comes.
Dotting the side of your face and neck with his lips at a soft and slow pace, he succeeds in forging another smile in your still gasping lips. He tilts you off and beside him in your blissful haze so he may dispose of the filled barrier. When returning to your grasp you cling to him and he you, dragging the covers up and over the both of you.
“I could get used to this.” You whisper, curling into his warmth. No longer afraid of the emotions that the holiday will bring. Glowing over the prospect of not facing Christmas morning alone, but wrapped together with Namjoon in the sheets of his bed. “Maybe even consider it a new tradition?” You joke with him looking up to witness his smile.
“If that’s a tradition...” Namjoon whispers, coming in for another kiss. “I plan on celebrating Christmas everyday for the foreseeable future.”
#bts smut#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#kim namjoon#bts x reader#rm#bts fanfiction#bts fanfic#bts christmas au#bts angst#bts fluff#bts wrapped together
895 notes
·
View notes
Text
Van Zieks - the Examination, part 11
Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).
Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.)
- These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly.
-The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred.
- I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent.
-It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Bring on the game's credits! BRING IT! The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo part 2 is here!
Episode 2-5: The Resolve of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, part 2
This is the first time in a while that I actually want to try other options to see what happens. The 'accusation' leads to some witty banter with a frustrated Stronghart, but 'report' is one that gets a reaction from Van Zieks himself. Ryu theorizes that 'since Klint was a well-bred and fastidious man, and knowing the end was near, he might have wanted to tie up some loose ends in all of his outstanding business'. Van Zieks immediately replies that his brother had no outstanding business.
DID I JUST GET PENALIZED BY THE DEFENDANT??? Just for implying his brother might've had some loose ends to tie up? Van Zieks really hates it when people show his brother even the slightest bit of disrespect, huh? Well, it's about to get a whole lot worse. Let's go for the confession option! Van Zieks definitely doesn't take kindly to this one.
“What are you saying? Do you even realise?! A confession...about the true identity of the Professor... That, that would mean...”
He fumbled his speech, there. We've never heard him do that before. And he's gone back to that bobbing, unsteady animation halfway into the above dialogue. Ryu insists it's the only explanation that fits. The man who murdered those members of the aristocracy wasn't Genshin Asogi at all, it was the one believed to be the fifth victim, Klint van Zieks himself.
Welp. We broke him. Stronghart remarks that Pandora's box has opened at last, making it clear he already knew what we just revealed. The gallery is outraged.
We've gone from well-bred to thoroughbred, have we? Susato feels very bad for Van Zieks, but Ryu asks himself whether such a brilliant prosecutor never suspected “what his older brother really was”. To clear up doubt further, he asks whether Klint Van Zieks owned a dog. Barok doesn't intend to dodge the facts of the situation, it seems.
Not what the concept art says, but it's possible Klint owned a different, smaller dog before Balmung. Van Zieks talks about how loyal the dog was and how it wore a jewel-studded collar which was stolen from the house “some years ago now”. This implies it was less than ten years ago, and must've been kept in the house as a keepsake even after Balmung passed away. Ryu and Susato bring up that they've seen such a collar; it was Selden's loot in case 2-2. They note the fancy B emblem on it, and this is the first time we find out that Klint van Zieks was a married man. His widow's maiden name was Baskerville. It's a little odd to me that for someone who thought so highly of his brother, Van Zieks never mentioned his sister in law before now. Conveniently, it never came up for the sake of a twist, I suppose. Either way, the emblem confirms the collar they saw was Balmung's. Ryu notes there was a considerable amount of blood on the collar (nobody washed this thing?) and while it could've come from typical hunting trips, it could just as well have been human blood. With that, the gallery begins to lean towards the truth that Klint van Zieks really was the Professor himself. Stronghart seems to have realized there's no way out of this now and announces that 'they may have the truth'.
Here comes that 'true nature' thing again, just worded a bit differently. Van Zieks doesn't intend to shirk away from it, though. He's open to the insinuation that his brother was, in truth, something truly horrible. Stronghart explains that Klint attempted to fight the growing darkness in London, only to end up being consumed by it. He also admits that after the fourth victim fell, Genshin showed up at his office, putting forth the accusation that Klint was the Professor. He didn't have any evidence and needed a warrant to get some, but Stronghart refused to anger the aristocracy based on the accusation of a visiting student, so he sent Genshin away. As a result, the man headed over to the Van Zieks mansion and Klint perished. Stronghart continues to admit that he was responsible for pinning the Professor's crimes on Genshin, right down to ordering Gregson to fabricate evidence. Sure enough, the late inspector's earlier claims ring true: it seems he did genuinely believe Genshin to be the killer, but was reluctant to falsify anything until Stronghart strong-armed him into it. The jailbreak agreement was also part of Stronghart's plan; he manipulated Genshin into agreeing by proverbially dangling his 14 year old son in front of him. Van Zieks brings up one more point: that Stronghart was the mastermind behind the Reaper organization. Not only does he admit to it, he calls it a “brilliant idea” and even takes credit for how his “minions” worked tirelessly to ensure Van Zieks was never accused of being the Reaper himself. What a smarmy bumhole. He insists it was all for the preservation of law and order across the empire, and the gallery is actually suckered into falling for this ploy. It seems as if he's going to get away with his masterminding without decent consequences. Kazuma now has one more question for Van Zieks, and it's the exact one Ryu asked himself earlier; did he never have any doubts about his brother?
“My brother's sense of justice was extremely strong. Perhaps...too strong, I observed. […] During the time of the Professor killings, my brother did not appear to be himself. But it was only once. Not more. Klint wasn't the culprit. That was my conclusion at the time. And I still believe that now. […] The third victim...was the Lord Chief Justice at the time. It was he who had recognized my brother's potential and trained him as a prosecutor. No matter what the circumstances, it's unthinkable that my brother could have killed his friend and mentor!”
So here, we learn that Klint wasn't an infallible paragon of virtue in his brother's eyes. Simply by saying that his sense of justice was “perhaps too strong”, a flaw is being brought to light. Younger Barok saw that Klint's need to ensure justice was overpowering him, and he also saw that during the time of the killings, something was off about his behavior. Enough to have the younger Van Zieks consider, for a brief time, that perhaps the Professor was him. However, the death of the third victim was like a lifeline to him, a flotation device keep him from going under- or perhaps more like a straw to grasp. It offered a sort of justification to him; a firm belief that Klint would never kill his own mentor and therefore he couldn't possibly be the Professor, and Barok was wrong to ever doubt him. However, it was just a very meager excuse to put his suspicions at ease and blind him to the truth. There are, after all, plenty of reasons why Klint would kill that Lord Chief Justice if indeed he were the Professor.
So Stronghart now tries to wrap everything up with a neat little bow, saying that's all the truth they'll be able to get from this trial and he'll present himself at the Ministry of Justice for whatever sanctions are deemed necessary. Since he's the Lord Chief Justice, I can't imagine the Ministry of Justice will give him more than a slap on the wrist. However, he says just a bit too much in his closing statement and Ryu jumps on that immediately. A third page of Genshin's will was hidden from everyone! Turns out, it was a personal message to Kazuma that they never bothered to send to Japan. Governor Caidin conveniently brought it with him and the contents are read aloud after some pressuring. With this last secret message left behind by Genshin, Ryu manages to find Klint's last will and testament hidden inside the Asogi clan's sword. GASP.
Oblivious to the shenanigans playing out in the Court Record section of the game, Stronghart once again tries to end the trial and even goes so far as to say Klint was basically insane when he took his mentor's life (to which Van Zieks objects fiercely). Ryu interjects, saying he has one more piece of evidence to present. When Stronghart calls the very notion absurd, Van Zieks once again raises an objection, pointing out that “this gentleman has an uncanny habit of producing evidence at the final hour that had escaped everyone else's attention.” Which, y'know, is true. That's how Ace Attorney works. I do want to draw attention to the fact that he said “this gentleman” as opposed to “this Nipponese” or even something like “this barrister”. He considers Ryu a gentleman now! So with that, Ryu has the opportunity to shove Klint's will in everyone's face and things escalate very quickly.
Ooh, his speech faltered again. He is shook! And it gets even better when he gets a closer look at the document.
Stronghart panics and demands Ryu hands the document over to him at once. When that fails, he even tries to forcibly adjourn the trial and get everyone to clear the courtroom. If that isn't suspicious, we don't know what is. It sure is satisfying to watch him squirm. Naturally, he can't actually put an end to the trial now- not with so many people watching, so the document is read aloud. It's revealed that Genshin challenged Klint to a duel, so that he might “depart this world with honor”. Klint goes on to write that he finds himself undeserving of this honor and that “the Japanese are a truly merciful people”. So here, already, we get the final nail in the coffin for Van Zieks's entire motivation for racial prejudice and for hating Genshin in particular. Klint never thought ill of Genshin, not even in his final moments. If anything, he was grateful for being put out of his misery and being allowed to 'depart the world with honor'. Genshin's actions were not betrayal; not ever. They were merciful. (COOL MOTIVE, STILL MURDER.) What we also learn is that while Klint did indeed take the life of the first victim on his own accord, he was then immediately identified as the culprit and blackmailed into the next three killings by someone else. You guessed it, it was Stronghart! Despite his earlier panic, he now has a myriad of justification ready, talking about how sacrifices have to be made for the sake of justice and whatnot. He also explains that he was the one who pressured Jigoku into shooting Genshin in the graveyard when Drebber showed up there. He acts like Jigoku is the only one to blame, but considering Stronghart was basically screaming in Jigoku's ear, I wouldn't be surprised if this poor man pulled the trigger by accident simply because he was startled by the shouting. Stronghart was the one who decided that Genshin needed to die and forced Jigoku to act, so Stronghart is the one ultimately responsible. Naturally, Ryu and Kazuma both attempt to argue Stronghart's justifications into the ground. At one point, Stronghart plays the victim card and asks them to acknowledge his 'struggle', but Kazuma insists that this jerk has done nothing and:
WELL. Okay. Looks like we've finally convinced Kazuma that Van Zieks is a victim in this whole ordeal, as well as someone who 'acts justly'. That's a wonderful way forward. With all this out in the open, though, Stronghart offers a literal round of applause. It's true; he's “done nothing” and “merely been surrounded by fools who've acted very rashly indeed”, which means he can't be charged with any crimes. We can't even prove he threatened anyone into doing his bidding, as he says it might as well have been “bargaining”. Thing is, bargaining with someone to end a third party's life is known as “contract killing” and is, in fact, illegal. I can't find any sources to verify whether it was already illegal in 1900 England, but I can only assume so, or people would've gotten away with murders very easily. I guess the bottom line here is that we can't prove Stronghart really did extort or pay anyone to take a life, since there's no material evidence for that sort of thing, nor anyone who can testify on it. Stronghart claims that the minutes of the trial will be heavily redacted to remove matters not related to Gregson's death, in the interest of preserving law and order, as well as to protect the queen. The gallery has now turned against us as well, chanting Stronghart's name.
Here we have a singular opportunity to deviate into the closest thing to a bad ending this game series has. Anyone who remembers the iconic 'the miracle never happen' ending in AA2, or even the bad endings in AA5 where either Trucy or Athena is implied to be killed by Aura, will be sorely disappointed by this one. First, to compare... In the standard ending, no matter how far along you've gotten in the trial- including proving that Stronghart was the Reaper- Van Zieks will still be found guilty. Stronghart will utter the words that he “would like to think however misguided, [Van Zieks] acted out of a sense of justice nonetheless”, and then pronounces the poor man guilty of crimes we've already proven were never committed by him. Now, in this slightly different ending, if you run out of all your penalty points because you fail to present Harely, the dialogue is tweaked. Stronghart declares that for the sake of justice, “the only correct course of action has been unanimously acknowledged by the clear majority here present. All mention of that which has been discussed in this courtroom today will be struck from the records. Barok van Zieks – Or should I say, Reaper of the Bailey... The heinous crimes committed by your brother, Klint van Zieks, will be lost in obscurity, this time forever. May you also find peace now as you join your sibling in the eternal darkness.”
And then, just as in the standard ending, Van Zieks is pronounced guilty and the doors slam shut. So effectively, the only real difference here is that Stronghart really rubs it in our faces that Van Zieks is taking the fall as the Reaper in the eyes of the public. He knows Van Zieks isn't the Reaper- everyone present in the courtroom knows it. However, since the entirely gallery is siding with the real mastermind, the minutes of the trial will be confiscated and destroyed so that the truth will be lost forever. Neither Kazuma nor Ryu reacts to this turn of events on-screen, which is a shame. Van Zieks doesn't fight the adjudication either, he simply accepts the verdict in silence- Hang on, where have we heard that before? Genshin? And didn't Van Zieks say that so long as his death served a purpose, he wouldn't mind dying over being called the Reaper? Stronghart certainly seems to feel that Van Zieks ought to be thrown under the omnibus and sent to the gallows for the sake of minimizing crime in London.
But we're not going to let the true antagonist of this game get away with his bullshit! Time to pull Harely's ears! Cue another (S)Holmeus Ex-Machina where it turns out the entire secret trial has been livestreamed to the Queen of England through holograms. By royal decree, Stronghart is stripped of his title and will be prosecuted for his crimes at a later time. FINAL BOSS, DEFEATED.
With Stronghart out of the way, Van Zieks has some closing sentiments to offer.
“Is that my brother left this world without a word to me.”
I can see why that might bug him. Van Zieks always looked up to his brother and shielded him from disrespect even a decade after his death, but Klint in turn didn't seem to want to leave any parting sentiments for him, not even a simple farewell. That's not the case, though! Susato points out there's actually more to Klint's will than was read aloud, so let's hear it now.
“Barok, you have always looked up to me, and now, you follow in my footsteps to become a prosecutor. It is my fervent wish that my unspeakable deeds should not hinder your advancement. I ask not for understanding, for none could understand my depravity. I ask only for forgiveness. Asogi is a fine detective, and a hunter worthy of respect. He has agreed to honour my final two wishes. The first is that this document survives. The second... I cannot commit to paper. I have confessed my sins to my wife. May she find resolution in my death. With my eternal gratitude to my Japanese friend, I rest my quill.”
Imagine how different things would've ended if the will had found its way to Van Zieks shortly after Klint's death. It would've prevented so much grief and so much prejudice, because if Van Zieks had learned that Klint still regarded Genshin with so much respect and gratitude even in this situation, he would never have blamed him for Klint's death nor considered it too great a betrayal. Everything that happened was in line with Klint's wishes. As it stands now, the words in Klint's will basically serve to scold Van Zieks for his attitude and hatred these past ten years.
Yep, there we go. The final straw. He's been truly, utterly embarrassed and made to confront his mistakes. When Stronghart explains how his ambition to become Attorney General is what prompted him to silence people like Watson and Gregson. Van Zieks asks him whether he ever bothered to count the number of brilliant people he had killed. Kind of a questionable remark, since Stronghart mostly had criminals killed. We don't even know for sure whether Watson was a good person or not; he comes across as a cowardly skeeve. I guess Van Zieks is mostly talking about Genshin, but even that is... Uh...
I received an Ask a while back, bringing up the matter that Genshin appears to be exonerated of any wrongdoing when the truth of Klint's death is revealed. That despite duels being outlawed and it being literal murder, Kazuma seems to take this truth as his father's name being cleared. Indeed, going over everything we've learned so far, it feels as if the narrative has set up both Klint and Genshin, and even characters like Jigoku and Gregson, as victims of Stronghart's manipulation. The thing is, though... Both Genshin and Klint took at least one life of their own free will, Jigoku pulled a trigger twice for the sake of his own career (and recruited someone into an assassin plot), Gregson conspired with a notorious assassin to commit over a dozen murders just because his boss told him it was the right thing to do... Feeling bad about murder or resorting to it because 'the other person is even worse and needs to be stopped' doesn't change that it's murder. It doesn't seem as if Kazuma or anyone else outright says their loved ones are absolved of any responsibility/their names are cleared, but it does really come across as if the narrative wants you to forgive them. So uh... Yes. This is something the game should have properly addressed, instead of just going 'oh, these poor people, all used as puppets by the final boss'.
Anyway, (S)Holmes takes the time to remind Van Zieks that he's the defendant in this case, not the prosecutor. Our old friend Santa Judge returns for the adjudication! Turns out, he was in the gallery all along. (Was he chanting Stronghart's name too?) He talks about how the darkness of the past ten years has lifted, in part thanks to a bright young star from the East. Awww, we've completely won over the judge! Van Zieks now also has something to add.
“I had the faintest of intimations. That if British justice, so warped and twisted over its long history, was finally to know change... This might just be the man to do it. But at the time, I wouldn't allow myself to acknowledge the possibility. I couldn't overcome my hatred of the Japanese, after the circumstances of my brother's death. Mr. Naruhodo...”
He takes a flourishing bow here, an acknowledgment that Ryu is worthy of his respect and perhaps even that Ryu is superior to him, then stands up straight again for the final whammy.
Ryu is shocked and Susato is brought to tears. We did it, y'all. We've secured the full, heartfelt apology. I'm not sure there's really anything to add to this, nor anything we could want from it at this point in time. Ryu doesn't say he forgives Van Zieks for his discourtesies, but considering how hard he worked to get this guy cleared of murder, that would feel kind of out of place. The forgiveness happened long before Van Zieks apologized, or so is the implication. (Is that the correct narrative path? Not at all, but I'll get back to that in the conclusion.) So after some more closing words from Ryu, Van Zieks gets his not-guilty verdict and court is adjourned.
In the defendant's lobby, Ryu feels a bit conflicted about how this whole thing went down. Susato tries to cheer him up by saying that everything will seem much better once he sees Van Zieks's smiling face. Indeed, in most other Ace Attorney games, this would be the point where at last, an emotionally distant defendant/witness drops their walls and allows themselves to smile (or cry). Just think of Gina, Lana Skye or even Athena Cykes when she cries tears of joy during AA5's ending. Hilariously enough, Van Zieks is not one of those characters.
This is a really fun subversion of expectations and Ace Attorney tropes. And I still believe his face got frozen like that. Even so, he's got something heartfelt to say.
“For you to have risen to the level of excellence you demonstrated today... Well, it's quite remarkable.”
Sounds like a hatchet job of a compliment at first glance, but the sentiment is there. It is extremely remarkable for a foreign exchange student who's only been in the country for about 9 months- and who only spent like 2 of those as an active lawyer- to rise to such a level that he not only uncovers the truth of the current case, but of a cold case from 10 years prior, which was part of a huge cover-up. Ryu points out that he exposed a most 'unpalatable truth' in court and that he feels as if he robbed Van Zieks of something precious. Van Zieks doesn't seem to agree. He reminisces on Stronghart's words.
“But that... That was just the feeble excuse of a coward. Only those with a steadfast eye for the truth have what it takes to fight the dark forces of crime. You made fine work of establishing that fact in court today.”
So once again, he's complimenting Ryu's courtroom performance. Not only that, but he's acknowledging (in different words) the earlier sentiment that the truth needs to come out, no matter how painful. Perhaps, indirectly, he's calling himself a feeble coward as well. Ryu and Susato are proud of Van Zieks's growth, with Susato saying that surely Kazuma would be smiling if he were here. Naturally, when he shows up at that very second, he isn't smiling at all. Like mentor, like disciple! Kazuma takes a polite bow before Van Zieks and congratulates him on his acquittal. Naturally, after watching Kazuma prosecute so ferociously for two whole episodes, that doesn't feel sincere. Van Zieks asks him whether he doesn't instead want to curse him. Kazuma apologizes for his earlier behavior, which does feel 100% sincere.
“Your father, Genshin... If I had been stronger, then perhaps... I made an unforgivable error of judgment. … I can offer no excuse.”
One more apology to add to the pile! And here we once again reach that question of whether the narrative is acting like Genshin should be absolved of all blame. In a technical sense, Van Zieks wasn't wrong to prosecute Genshin, since he did seriously murder Klint. That alone is already warranting of the death penalty, so the added crimes of the Professor on top of that don't change too much. However, I don't think Van Zieks's lines truly relate to the Professor trial itself. The error of judgment, in my eyes, can also be seen as the blind acceptance that Genshin betrayed him (as well as Klint) when there was actually far more at play. This notion that Genshin was a horrid traitor who abused their trust and hospitality was then allowed to grow into an irrational hatred which festered for a decade. Regardless of whether Genshin killed Klint, the insistence that the man's true nature was that of a monster was wrong, and I think that's what he's apologizing for. To be clear, he's not apologizing for racist sentiments uttered towards Kazuma or anyone else from Japan with these lines. This purely relates to his treatment of Genshin. However, he already apologized for his many discourtesies back in the courtroom and I think the racist outbursts were part of those discourtesies.
Kazuma says he can offer no forgiveness, which is totally fair. Kazuma isn't obligated to forgive this man. He does, however, admit that he has respect for Van Zieks, since he “fought for justice and the truth”.
Awww! Remember how in my very first 'strong thought about Barok' post, I pointed out that Barok almost appears to have been designed to be Kazuma's rival prosecutor instead of Ryu's? Yeah. Here we see it very clearly. The reconciliation conversation between these two feels like a much better resolution than the conversation between Van Zieks and Ryu.
So now Kazuma brings up that Genshin promised to do two things for Klint, but the second wasn't mentioned in the will. Mikotoba shows up to share a very heartbreaking tale about Klint's unnamed widow, the lady Zieks-Baskerville, who was hiding out in Dartmoor and passed away from childbirth very shortly after Genshin was executed. The newborn baby girl survived, though! Van Zieks blurts out that that makes no sense. “Why on Earth wouldn't Klint have entrusted the child to my care in that case?!” And that alone is already kind of tragic, but what really packs a wallop is this:
This means Klint and his wife deliberately kept the pregnancy from him. It's never explained why. Genshin showed up at the manor in the spur of the moment and Klint died that very same night, when his wife must've already been around 8 or 9 months pregnant. (she gives birth about a week or two later, after all.) Klint says that he 'confessed his sins to his wife', but that also must've been very recent, if not that very same night, since Stronghart was threatening to tell Klint's wife and brother of his misdeeds. Stronghart's hold on Klint would've weakened if he'd told her the truth months ago, which in turn implies the both of them decided not to tell Barok while she herself was still oblivious to the Professor truth. Honestly, it all feels like a vague plotconvenience.
What is explained is why the newborn baby wasn't entrusted to Van Zieks. It isn't because Klint had the amazing foresight to know his younger brother would become a salty, loner alcoholic; it's because he and his wife feared the truth of the Professor might come out. Heck, if Genshin had never been arrested for Klint's death, perhaps it would've come out for certain. “The girl would be forever branded as the daughter of the infamous mass murderer.” So the baby girl was distanced from the Van Zieks family as much as possible, with all of London unaware of her existence. This girl is, of course, Iris.
Right on cue, the Harely plushie activates to receive a call from (S)Holmes and Iris. She invites everyone over to 221B for a feast and makes sure to invite “Mr. Reaper” too. He very awkwardly declines the offer.
Humanization? Humanization! He does, however, give Iris his word that he'll present himself at 221B in the near future to express his gratitude. I think a big part of why he declined the offer was because he wouldn't feel at home during the big celebration when a whole group of people is there. He'd much rather visit Iris during a more quiet, private moment and that's sweet too. Plus, I don't think he's in the mood for a celebration, considering all the horrible truths he's learned in a single day.
So now Kazuma prepares to leave and asks Van Zieks to accompany him. The wording of “would you care to-” makes it very clear this isn't a demand, it's a very soft request that Van Zieks is free to decline. Not that he hesitates for even a second. Here's some more parting words.
“I believe... You saved my life.”
He takes a deep, flourishing bow and honestly I've lost track of how many times he's praised/thanked Ryu by now. More than Edgeworth thanked Phoenix, most likely. The prosecutor duo prepares to walk away, but Ryu calls after Van Zieks, asking him to wait. Which he does. Ryu asks him what he intends to do now.
... “Prosecutor van Zieks chooses death”??? In a way, he's thinking of pulling a similar move. He intends to publicize the full truth of the Professor, and I can only imagine that includes Stronghart's involvement in what went down 10 years ago. Maybe he'll even share the truth of the Reaper who's haunted the courtroom all these years. He believes that “once that's done, the Van Zieks family will be ostracised completely from London society.” (I don't think he means living family members, but rather, the legacy of the Van Zieks name and the rights associated with it.) So because of that, he intends to leave the capital as soon as he's free of his employment. Considering how easily this man took a five year sabbatical and adding in the fact that the Lord Chief Justice just got arrested, I expect his resignation could be as easy as packing his desk and leaving his office without saying a word. Kazuma, however, calls him a fool and a coward. He basically dares Van Zieks to keep going now that he's finally freed from the pseudonym of the Reaper. Van Zieks neither agrees with the sentiment nor shoots it down, instead saying it's unexpected to hear those words from Kazuma of all people. With that out in the open, they leave for realsies.
Just as Van Zieks doesn't attend the Baker Street party, he isn't there when Ryu's at the docks to return to Japan. I like to think Kazuma did bother to tell Van Zieks that Ryu is leaving the country, because withholding that information seems like a bit of a jerk move, but... Well. Not showing up at the docks to say some final farewells is even more of a jerk move on Van Zieks's part. Though it's possible he felt he wasn't wanted there, and may eventually ask for Ryu's address so he can write a letter (which is far less imposing than invading a heartfelt farewell with a scowling face). It's a shame, though. I would've liked to hear his thoughts on Ryu's departure.
We learn that Kazuma will “stay in Lord van Zieks's tutelage for the time being” to become a full-fledged prosecutor. Which is fine, I guess. It doesn't matter whether he's a defense attorney or a prosecutor; all that matters is the pursuit of the truth. What catches my interest is that even with all that bad blood and refusal to forgive Van Zieks, Kazuma still agrees to keep studying as his disciple. This implies to me that he sincerely doesn't believe Van Zieks to be a bad person anymore, and acknowledges he can learn a lot from this man. Which is not the same thing as being on friendly terms with him, but at the very least he's giving Van Zieks the benefit of the doubt when it comes to improving their... Well, their dynamic, I suppose I should call it.
On to the credits scenes we go! This time, Van Zieks legit does get a scene of his own, but before we address this one, I want to skip ahead real quick to Albert Harebrayne's scene.
“He sent me a very nice letter saying he'd like to show me around now that everything was settled. B-But what have I done? I was so excited, I picked this splendid hotel and now I can't afford the bill! Oh Barok! Come to my rescue again, please! I, I wish I could just vanish into thin air sometimes!”
Several things of note can be taken out of this little scene. First of all, with the Reaper nonsense behind them, Van Zieks seems to have wasted very little time with asking his best buddy to return to London for that sightseeing that was promised. Presumably, he even paid for the trip (again), since Albert still seems to be very low on money. This, coupled with the fact that Van Zieks was reading that letter with quite a bit of dedication in his jail cell, indicates to me that he's longing for the good old days, when he could smile and have friends. He's trying to return to a sense of normalcy and since Albert is still considered his closest friend, it makes sense he'd reach out to him instead of a relative stranger like Kazuma. Baby steps. Now, the fact that Albert says “come to my rescue again” sets the very clear tone that this guy believes Van Zieks has helped him before- during the trial, of course. It's another reinforcement of the notion that Albert is thankful Van Zieks chose the role of prosecutor in order to defend the teleportation theory, even if it meant that he himself would be branded a murderer. Despite his gruff exterior and blunt words, Albert thinks of Van Zieks as a sort of knight in shining armor who will come save him. … With cold hard cash, in this case, but it's the gesture that counts. Van Zieks might allow Albert to stay in his mansion instead, but it depends how high the risk of assassination is at this point in time. People are probably hating on the Van Zieks family now that the truth of the Professor is out.
On to credits scene of Van Zieks himself! We have confirmation by now that he hasn't retired as a prosecutor, since Kazuma already expressed his intent to keep studying under him. So we see Van Zieks in his office, addressing Klint's painting.
“In those days, when I was known as the Reaper, I felt your presence at my side. Once, unable to bear the burden of that grim pseudonym, I even retired from the courtroom. Despite everything, I still wear your prosecutor's badge with pride. But the darkness that beset me is no more. As you, too... Are no more.”
The first two sentences of this bit feel very disjointed and barely related to me, so I had a quick look at some fan translations. First is the sub translation on Youtube: “I could feel you standing by my side through the days in which I was called the Reaper. Yet there were times I could not bear the burden of that name, and left the courtroom far behind me.” The “yet” is very crucial, since it makes the insinuation that feeling his brother's presence was very important to Van Zieks, but the burden became so overwhelming that he retired anyway. Taisa the Gamer's script doesn't have a “yet” in it, nor any equivalent, but the sentence structure still flows well enough not to cast doubt on how he felt about Klint's supposed presence. Contrasting that, the localization's wording with “even” almost makes it seem like feeling Klint's presence was a negative thing- that he was overwhelmed by it and that this was the burden associated with the Reaper name, as opposed to the killings. Which can't possibly be right; he already admitted to us that the idea of his brother's ghost helping him was one of the main reasons he kept on being the Reaper. So long story short, the localization's take on these first two lines is a little off.
The prosecutor's badge thing, however, is spot on. Despite everything- despite the 'true nature' of Klint now exposed, Van Zieks still wears the badge with pride. We know the badge is symbolical, of course. He still believes in Klint's sense of justice and he's still going to openly admit to being Klint's brother- to being a Van Zieks. That's sweet. He goes on to say that the darkness within him is no more. To really grasp what that means, let's go back to the end of case 2-3 for a second. There, Van Zieks says that after his brother's death, he found himself in “a very dark place indeed”. In case 2-4, he mentions that he refuses to trust others to protect himself against betrayal, but has now sunk into a proverbial mire which makes it impossible to breathe. All of that is the same darkness he's referring to now, I'm sure. I don't believe depression can lift this easily; there's no way that darkness is no more. However, I think what he means to say is that it no longer has such a strong hold on him that it manifests in paranoia and irrational hatred. He has a chance now to start fresh and that's what he intends to do. He's striding away from that darkness, towards a brighter future. In order for a person to change for the better, they themselves have to want to change, and it looks like Van Zieks is all for that.
Which at last brings us to the conclusion of this essay series! The conclusion, which looks back on the original query posed in Part 1, will once again include a load of screencaps. To keep the post size lighter, I'm going to put it in a separate post. I hope you'll look forward to it!
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Midnight Waltz
Request: So I saw your one-shots about Sev, Can I request some fluff Snape x reader. BTW I love your writing skills and your one-shots <3 <3
Requested By: Anon
Genre: Fluff
Synopsis: (Y/n) arrives at Hogwarts the same year as Umbridge. After Dumbledore spills the beans about Sev and her relationship, they take to the halls near the Ravenclaw dorm.
Pairing(s): Severus Snape x Fem Reader
Warning: None
When the train arrived at the station, all of the Hogwarts students began to scramble on. September the first, traveling day, was exciting for all students and the Golden Trio was no different. Their fifth year at Hogwarts was about to start and Hermione was already seated on the train, a large text book on her lap.
Harry and Ron sat across from her having a thumb war, something that Harry had taught Ron while at 12 Grimmauld Place. The train was going to leave any minute and they could see parents waving at their children. Hermione closed her book and put it back into her trunk.
As Ron was pinning Harry’s thumb a slight knock on the compartment door made the teenagers jump. A pretty, young woman gave a smile and waved at them. Hermione opened the door after she regained her senses.
“Hello,” she said, “Might I come in? Everywhere else is full.”
“Absolutely.” Hermione said. “Are you in seventh year?”
“No, I’m a new teacher. My name is (Y/n), what are yours?” (Y/n) shook Hermione’s hand and took the seat next to her.
“It’s nice to meet you Professor (Y/n), I’m Hermione Granger.” Hermione kicked Harry’s leg.
“I’m Harry Potter.”
“Ron Weasley.”
“Well it’s nice to meet all of you! Are any of you in Ancient Runes?” (Y/n) asked her smile widening.
Harry, a bit taken aback by her disregard of his fame, gave her a huge smile.
“Hermione is.” Ron explained, Hermione shooting him an evil glare.
“That is excellent Ms. Granger, and I assume all of you are taking potions.” (Y/n) nodded her head. “As it is mandatory.”
“Professor Snape is the worst.” Harry said looking out the window as the train shifted and began to move towards Hogwarts.
“And why is that?” (Y/n) asked, her features growing cold, frosting over her optimism.
“He gives way too much homework and is always picking on students who mess up.” Ron spat as he picked at a fraying hem on his jumper.
“Oh I see,” (Y/n)’s sunshine came through the cloudiness of the sour look she had given Harry. “Should I leave you to yourselves? There is probably a teachers compartment somewhere.”
“That was rude!” Hermione said, crossing her arms and looking at her friends. “She could be Snape’s sister for all you know!”
“She’s too pretty to be related to him!” Ron scoffed.
Harry looked at the teacher in front of him. “I’m sorry professor, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Mr. Potter you didn’t offend me. I didn’t realize that Severus made you that uncomfortable.”
“Professor did you go to Hogwarts?”
“Yes Mr. Potter. I was a (Y/h) and prefect.” She looked around, as if checking for bugs, “I was in the same year as Regulus.”
Harry looked at her in shock, “Are you an Order member?”
Ron and Hermione stopped bickering to look at the professor with wide eyes. “Harry!” Hermione gasped
“Yes, Mr. Potter I am.” (Y/n) smiled. “So is my husband. The order is a much larger organization than you think.”
“What does your husband do?” Ron asked curiosity, winning over his better judgement.
“He’s a Hogwarts professor as well.”
“What does he teach?” Hermione asked, and (Y/n) winked at her.
“That’s for me to know and you not to find out. Now that I’ve played this game of twenty questions with you, I’d better disapparate, trains make me motion sick.” (Y/n) took out her wand and made her way to the door. “It has been nice getting to know all of you.”
With that, she spun and, with a small crack, disappeared into thin air.
Harry smiled at his friends. This would be an interesting year.
“If she’s going to be teaching Ancient Runes, who do you think will be taking on the Defense Against the Dark Arts banner?” Harry asked, looking at his two friends.
“Can’t be worse than last year.” Ron said, continuing to pick at the loose thread. “A death eater in disguise,”
Hermione gave a chuckle and the train chugged forward to their school.
When the Hogwarts express pulled up to the station and the students disembarked, the group of Gryffindors exited the carriage began to walk toward the thestral coaches.
The feast was about to begin. The tables were lined with newly sorted students and the chatter grew quiet as Dumbledore stood.
“Good evening children, now we have three changes in staffing this year. I am pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures, while Professor Hagrid is on temporary leave.” Professor Dumbledore nodded at the older woman.
“We also wish to welcome our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Professor Delores Umbridge. And I’m sure you will all join me in wishing the Professor good luck. Finally…” Dubledore, continued until he was interrupted by a fake throat clearing.
Everyone turned to face the woman clad in pink sitting near the end of the table. She than made her way to the front of the room.
“Thank you, headmaster.” She began, “For those kind works welcome, and how lovely to see all of your bright happy faces smiling up at me. I’m sure that we’re all going to be very good friends.”
Nobody was smiling at her and (Y/n) wondered if this was going to be Umbridge’s schtick all year. The other woman continued, “The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance, although each headmaster has brought something new to this historic school.”
Dumbledore looked just as annoyed with her as the rest of the school.
“Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected and prune practices that ought to be prohibited.” Umbridge, obviously did not or could not read the room because the only person interested in her speech was Filch.
“Thank you Professor Umbridge. Now, as I was saying,” Dumbledore continued, “we must welcome our new Ancient Runes teacher, Hogwarts Alumni, Professor (Y/n) Snape.”
(Y/n) stood and smiled at the Golden Trio, winking at Ron who looked at her in shock.
“She is married to Professor Severus Snape, and I would advise that you treat all three of the new professors with the utmost respect.”
After the feast was over (Y/n) and Severus made their way back to the teacher dorms. “I love you.” She said, filling the silence with her sweet smile.
“And I love you, my dear.” Severus replied, taking her hand in his.
“How long has it been since we last waltzed?” (Y/n) asked her brooding husband, quoting one of her favorite characters.
Severus smiled at her, “Hours.”
He took her hand and, in the dark hallway, they began to sway to music that only the two of them could hear.
As the students made their way to their dorms, any and all Ravenclaws who went up one hallway too soon saw the bat and his bride, gliding over the floor, they only saw each other. The shadows that spread across the wizarding world could not touch their light. The war that lay in front of them could not frighten two adults so in love as them.
Author’s note: Some diolouge taken from the OOtP movie. Please send in requests. I hope all of you lovely readers enjoy.
#severus snape#severus snape x reader#severus snape x you#harry potter x reader#Harry Potter#fem reader#Reader is female#please request things#fluff
125 notes
·
View notes
Note
for mermay, indruck, 5, sfw? poison could refer to a love potion of some kind, or maybe a blue-ringed octopus (or other poisonous sea creature) mer?
Here you go!
Even with his future sight warning him this would be awkward, Indrid twitches his tail nervously as Juno, the volunteer checking him in to the venom donor clinic, frowns at her intake form.
“See, trouble is, because today’s a mer donor day, most of them give their donations from barbs. You’re gonna have to give from your fangs right?”
“Yes.” Maybe he should just cut his loses, come back on one of the Naga days, and hope no one tries to kill him.
“Volunteers gotta go through special training for milking fangs, so you may have to wait until one of them is available.”
“I do not mind waiting. I came to donate, and I have no urgent engagements. Is there somewhere I can be out of your way?”
Juno smiles, “We got some nice sunny rocks--hold that thought. Duck, you just get here?” She calls this to a human in khaki clothing. His black hair is streaked with grey--matching Indrid’s tail--and his smile is so bright Indrid wants to bask in it.
“Yep! Thacker got to the station a little early so I could clock out sooner. Seems like you got somethin’ I can help with.”
“Sure can. Duck, this is” she glances at the form, “Indrid. He’s a mer, but he needs to donate via fangs.”
“Roger that.” The man holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, I’m Duck. It’s a nickname.”
Indrid shakes his hand, his visions having taught him this is the correct way to reciprocate the greeting.
“How long can you be outta the water?”
“Quite some time.”
“Great, in that case we’ll just go to the normal milkin station rather than me luggin things down here. Right this way.”
Indrid slithers up the beach behind him, drawing perplexed stares from humans and distrustful ones from the other mers. Duck holds open the flap on a tall, tan tent and Indrid heads inside.
“You ever given venom before?”
“No. I, I am only recently back in the area. When I heard about the program I knew I could be of help.”
“Sure can. Sea krait, right?” Duck gestures to the silver and black of his tail.
“Yes” Indrid smiles; most people just say snake.
“You reptile cousins can really fuck a human up. And who knows, your venom might be one of the kinds they can engineer multiple anti-vemons from.”
“I would like that. I like humans, and wish to help you. It is not your fault so very many things can kill you.”
Duck raises an eyebrow, “what happens if a King Naga bites you? Or even another venomous mer?”
“....I die. Ah, I, ah, see your point.” He smiles, sheepish, “apologies, although I wish to help humans, most of them prefer to stay far away from me, and so my manners are not always what they should be.”
“No harm done. Here,” he steps up onto a short stool, holding out a half circle of plastic filled with strong, astringent liquid, “put this in your mouth and bring your fangs out; we learned we have to disinfect them right before we milk.”
“PHeelphhh” Indrid winces as the liquid stings his senses.
“I know, it ain’t pleasant. Won’t be much longer.” The human stretches a thin sheet of rubber across a shallow circle, checks his watch, and then steps back onto the stool, “okay, when I say open, open your mouth wide so I can slide that one out and get this one in position. Don’t bite down until I say to.”
Indrid nods, opens his mouth when commanded. Even with the disinfectant in his noses, Duck’s scent is overwhelming from so close up; sweat, sunscreen, soap, and something woody that must be his deodorant. He bites down when Duck says, drops of venom pattering into the container. The human keeps one eye on the time, explaining that he doesn’t want Indrid to exhaust all his venom accidentally, thus rendering him vulnerable or unable to hunt.
“Aaaand done, go ahead and put those fangs away.” Duck removes the collection jar, labels it and puts it in a fridge as Indrid stretches his jaw, tensed from giving such a prolonged injection bite.
“Now, we always give donors a thank you; come pick what you like.” He swings open a second fridge. Indrid cocks his head, studying the packs of what he knows to be sushi and the different types of fruit. Flicking out his tongue, he scents something delicious, and picks up a bottle of pink liquid.
“I will have this Guava Juice.” He pops the cap and dips his tongue in for a taste, then for a second and a third. A charming noise enters the air, like a bird who long ago gave up on being dignified. Duck’s laughing.
“Sorry, wasn’t expectin that to be so cute.”
Indrid blushes; that’s not a word generally applied to him.
“Thank you for the juice. And for acomodating me.”
“Any time. Welcome to come back the next time we host a drive.” The human holds the door open for him, waves as he slithers down the sand, sipping his juice.
------------------------------------------------
“Hello, Duck.”
Duck doesn’t even turn around before he replies, “Nice to see you back, Indrid.”
This marks the fourth venom donation day the mer has come to, and he always gets paired with Duck. Duck doesn’t mind one bit; Indrid might be alarming to look at, not the elegantly finned, otherwise humanoid creature most people expect a mer to be. His scales appear on his arms and shoulders, and there’s even a patch of them on the back of his neck. His eyes are blood red, his smile wide and a little alarming even without the fangs showing. He’s also sweet, in an odd way, and takes genuine interest in Duck’s wellbeing and daily life.
Honestly, Duck wouldn’t chatting with him at a time when he isn’t jamming venom collection jars into his mouth. But asking to hang out with a patient is weird enough without the added difficulty of that patient needing to be in the water most of the time.
They go through their usual routine, Indrid helping himself to a mango juice this time before waving goodbye.
Two days later, Duck is checking on tree specimens when he senses red eyes on his back.
“You do not want to touch that trunk, there is a very large spider in that knot.”
“Indrid?”
“......no?”
“Just a prescient voice in the trees?”
“Yes. I am a very helpful tree.”
Duck turns in the direction of the river, one that feeds directly into the sea, “You know I ain’t gonna be mad if you wanna talk, right?”
“Of course, it was merely an attempt at a goof.” Indrid comes into view, peeking out from the bushes on the shoreline, “I was curious about your work and wanted to see you in action.”
“Afraid there ain’t much of that. What you’ve seen is kinda the gist of what I do.”
“I find it fascinating all the same. May I continue watching?”
Duck smiles, “Sure.”
Indrid turns out to be excellent company, in that he’s quiet for large stretches of time only to ask Duck about the exact thing he wants to talk about. It’s not until Duck is wrapping up and readying to head inland to the ranger station that Indrid asks an entirely new kind of question.
“You are a long way from home, aren’t you?”
He nods, “Spent decades in my home town, feelin like I couldn’t leave, like I had a responsibility to stay. When the chance to work out here, to try to preserve this fuckin amazin ecosystem, popped up, I decided it was time for a change of scene.”
He shivers as Indrid’s tail pets his ankle and the mer sighs, “I am glad you did.”
---------------------------------------------------------------
Indrid becomes a regular work companion after that. Sometimes he arrives with helpful information, like which paths might have tourists in need of assistance or where Duck can find the specimen he’s looking for, other times he comes just to talk or listen. These days, Duck finds himself hoping for the glimpse of silver and black in the water that announces his friend’s presence, and enjoying the appreciative looks he spies Indrid giving him when he thinks his back is turned.
So when something slithers in the bushes behind him, he simply calls out, “What’d you think of those cookies Juno brought in yesterday?”
“I do not know of what you speak, human.”
He whirls, finds a King Naga staring him down. This is probably bad, probably the reason rangers are required to carry a machete or hatchet, but he doesn’t want to be wrong and hurt someone just because they startled him.
“Can I, uh, help you with anythin, sir?”
“Yesss, you can. Be a nice human and stay where you are. I hate having to chasssse my food.”
“Uh” he steps backwards, keeping one eye on the fanged mouth, “that ain’t necessary. Know plenty of places you can get food, if you want.”
“Meager portionssss. And not half assss tempting.”
“Look man, I don’t wanna fight, so please just back off.”
The naga hisses, winding closer at an alarming speed. Then there’s a burst of movement and a flash of silver.
“You stay away from him.” Indrid rises as tall as he can, his body between Duck and the threat.
“Mind your own busssiness, ssseagoer.”
“Someone trying to make a meal out of my friend is most definitely my business.”
“Sssso be it.” The naga lunges. Indrid pushes Duck out of the way and catches his opponent, the force of the strike sending them both sliding down the incline towards the river. The naga outweighs Indrid by a considerable amount, keeps pinning him down only for the mer to wriggle free at the last moment. Duck knows the agreement is humans stay out of Naga/merfolk conflicts, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to sit by and let Indrid get killed for his sake.
Right as he locates a large, hopefully sturdy branch, there’s a tremendous splash. The naga thrashes in the water as he’s pulled downstream. Indrid is underwater, holding his opponent in such a way that, the next time he strikes, he has to put his head beneath the current. Right into Indrid’s waiting grasp. The mer keeps his head trapped as his tail whips back and forth. It’s only when the naga is mostly limp, and Duck afraid he’s just witnessed a murder, that Indrid releases him. The half-drowned creature drags himself onto the shore, slithering away without a second glance at Duck.
“And, and do not come back!” Indrid pants from the shallows, struggling to pull himself back onto the sand. Duck hurries down to him, and Indrid reaches out his hand, concerned, “Are, did, did he hurt you.”
“No, not a fuckin scratch. ‘Drid, pretty sure you just saved my fuckin life.”
“Oh good.” Indrid’s smile is bright, even as his eyes grow blurry, “it is nice to end things with a worthwhile deed.”
Duck sees the puncture wounds in the merman’s arm the instant before he passes out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Indrid wakes up, which is in and of itself a surprise. As is the fact he’s half submerged in water. Rolling over with a groan, he discovers he’s still on the beach where he fought the naga. His bandaged arm aches but is intact, someone has thoughtfully placed a pillow under his head, and there’s a small tent just up the incline. Sound asleep in a sitting position outside the tent is Duck.
He wriggles and crawls his way to the human, arms giving out as he reaches him, which means his head lands in Duck’s lap.
“Huwhazzat? Oh fuck, ‘Drid, you’re up.” Instead of pushing him away, Duck cradles his head and pets his hair, “thank fuck, I was so fuckin worried. Dani said it might take a few days for you to recover but I couldn’t stop worryin.”
“Duck? How long have you been here looking after me?”
“Since you got bit. So three days ago. Sarah got some anit-vemon down for you, and Dani swam up to bring you extra medicine just in case. Oh, and Barclay brought you food, I been tryin to get it into you when you were a little bit awake.”
Indrid manages to sit up, curling his tail around them, “You did not need to do all this for me. I knew the risks when I came to your aid. You did not need to save me in return.”
“Fuck need, I wanted to. You, you mean so fuckin much to me.” Duck strokes his cheek, runs his fingers up his tail, “I missed you so much the last three days, realized how so often the part of my afternoon was you comin to talk to me.”
The futures take an odd turn and Indrid shakes his head to clear them, certain he’s seeing wrong.
“And, uh, and I wanted to ask, uh, when you’re feelin better do you, uh, wanna have dinner with me. Like, uh, on a date?”
“Yes, so very much” Indrid drapes his arms around him, resting their foreheads together.
“Mind if I get a little kiss to tide me over?”
Indrid dips his head down, planting a chaste kiss on his lips before rubbing their cheeks together with a purr, “Apologies, but my kisses must be close mouthed. I’d hate to nick you with a fang.”
“Fine by me.” Duck kisses his shoulders, rubs his tail, “any kind of kiss from you is a goddamn blessin. Besides” he murmurs in Indrid’s ear, “sure we can figure out lots of other things to do together.”
“Absolutely” Indrid purrs, “but for now, would you care to join me for a swim?”
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Our Savaged Souls
Trying out a new thing of posting the full chapter on tumblr. You can read from chapter one one AO3 (unless it’s not your thing, and in that case you can send me an ask and I’ll be like! sure! I love to be accomodating! I’ll post full chapters on tumblr :) )
Feyre Archeron is born under the new Wall separating human lands from the Spring Court- her home. She hunts in her forest, forms a friendship with the High Lord's third son, and is introduced to his friend. Then it all goes wrong.
Chapter 6
Tamlin soon forgets his ire about the Suriel. Or at least, he pushes it down far enough and eventually bounces back, dragging her out on more adventures. He manages to swing by for a few hours of her birthday party, and then is required at home for much of the spring. By the time the summer rolls around, Feyre can tell he’s eager to be away from family and make up for lost time.
The latest outing is a jaunt to a pool of liquid starlight, one that Feyre has visited only a handful of times. It’s one of Tamlin’s favorite places, she knows, and she felt the honor in the first invitation.
Her linen dress brushes just past her knees, only half of her hair pulled back in anticipation of a relaxing afternoon spent lounging in the shade and wading in the water. No boots or tight braid needed today. Her contribution to the picnic is a batch of scones, some ruby-red cherries, raspberry preserves, and roasted almonds. With her bounty and dress, Feyre decides to winnow rather than pick through the forest.
Feyre expects it to be a small party, but she does not know how small it actually is until she arrives.
There are two people there. Tamlin and Rhysand.
Of course. Rhysand. Of course he is here.
“You managed to make it on time!” Tamlin greets her with an enthusiastic kiss on the cheek and takes her basket from her hands, retreating to add it to their pile of food and blankets. The space already looks inviting, dappled in shade. Sweating bottles of lemonade and ice water peak out from a wicker basket full of white porcelain plates with painted primrose borders and crystal glasses. A partially wrapped loaf of bread and hard cheese rests on top, along with a sharp knife and a bounty of fresh fruits.
Feyre scowls. “I was late one time, Tam, it’s not funny anymore.” She glances at Rhysand. It would be impossible to pretend he’s not there. It’s just the three of them. It would be rude to not say anything. It should not be difficult at all to just greet him. She wrangles her expression into something pleasant. ���Hello, Rhysand.”
“Feyre darling,” he smirks. “I thought you were calling me Rhys now?”
She actually turns a bit red and fumbles. Thankfully, Tamlin’s big mouth saves her. “When did that happen?”
“A while ago.” Rhysand reclines on one of the picnic blankets, lounging like a cat. He waves a hand. “Won’t you join us, Feyre?”
There’s really no way to refuse. She takes a seat, folding her legs under her. “It’s hard to break a habit. I’ve been calling you Rhysand for a long time now.”
“I’ll have to keep reminding you, then,” he says as he roots through a picnic basket, plucking out a tin of cookies. “Want one?”
“Thank you, Rhys,” she stresses his name, plucking one of the cookies from his hand.
He smiles at her, and the tension seems to melt away.
Has she always looked at him like this, or did the Suriel trigger something in her soul that flipped the world upside down? Feyre wonders how long this feeling, this awareness of him has been growing in her heart, encroaching so slowly and naturally that she has not noticed until someone drew her attention to the blossoming.
For a child of the Night Court, Rhys looks good in the sun. She has always known he is beautiful, but something has changed. As they chat and nibble on the picnic, Feyre observes him. There is something fuller in his laughs, more playful in his smirks today. It would be impossible to forget that he is an Heir— powerful radiates from his body and he approaches every conversation and confrontation with arrogance. He is still guarded. But if his true soul is an impenetrable fortress, Feyre thinks they’ve passed through the gates of one or two battlements.
The sun beats down on them, stronger now that the world has moved and positioned itself in summer. The Day Court is absolutely sweltering, Rhys informs them, and there’s been some problems with heat sickness in Summer. In Spring, Feyre keeps an extra canteen of water and takes frequent breaks when romping about.
Sweat gathers at her brow and pools on her upper lip. Eventually, sipping cool drinks and relaxing in the shade is paltry comfort.
“I’m going for a dip,” she stands. “Anyone want to join?”
The males scramble up after her. It’s some work to unlace her stays, so they end up shucking their clothes and splashing into the pond before her. Feyre finds herself sighing in relief when they don’t look twice or offer to help. It would be well meaning from them, her friends, if not a little playful and flirty. But if Rhys offered…
Mother above. Surely it should take her longer to fall?
“Are you coming?” Tamlin calls from the water, flicking some water in her direction. It glitters like diamonds where it lands on the grass and dirt. It might not actually be water, but Feyre has never known what else to call it.
She scowls. “It takes a little longer for me.” She toes off her slippers, wiggling her feet in the cool grass. In the past, Feyre hasn’t had trouble with stripping down to almost nothing and jumping into lakes and rivers. Now, she keeps her chemise on and tries not to think too hard about it. After tossing her hair pins on the blanket, she wades in.
The pond is cool and refreshing. Sunlight almost blinds her as it bounces off the surface. Feyre glides through the water, slowly acclimating herself. When she dunks her head under and emerges, the liquid starlight clings to her lashes and makes the world look brighter and chaotic. She swipes a hand at her eyes and blinks to clear her vision.
Tamlin floats on his back, golden hair floating around his head like a halo. Rhys lazily swims a circuit around the pond, much like she was. Feyre treads in place for a moment before floating a bit closer to Rhys.
Sensing her presence, he surfaces. Feyre’s breath catches. She’s sure he reads something incriminating on her face, but before he can speak she opens her mouth. “This pond suits you.”
“Oh?” he questions. His feet must reach the bottom, because while Feyre is working to stay afloat at the edge, he is merely holding out his arms to keep himself steady.
“The starlight.” Her eyes roam over his face and dip down to his neck before shooting back up. If she looks too far down she won’t be able to return her gaze to his face. “Son of the Night Court. It all works.” She waves a hand in his face, and he laughs. The starlight clinging to his hair and shoulders and dripping from his chin bring out the constellations in his eyes.
“You don’t look too bad yourself, darling,” Rhys nods at her.
She wishes she had a mirror, if only to try and memorize her own look for a painting later. “Do I?” she asks, leaning back a bit in the water and pretending like his words do not send her heart racing.
Her eyes are on the sky, but when Rhys is silent for too long she propels herself upright. He’s frowning a bit, looking more unsure of himself than she’s ever known him to be. “Rhys?”
“I can show you,” he says, expression much too serious for an afternoon swim.
Feyre laughs softly. “You have a mirror? Where are you hiding that?”
Rhys’s smirk lacks some of its swagger. He brings up a hand and, from nowhere, conjures a hand mirror. “I do have some tricks up my sleeve. But that wasn’t what I was talking about.” As quick as it appeared, it's gone.
Feyre cocks her head. Rhys wants to show her what she looks like, but without a mirror or any reflective surface...and it’s not like he’s an artist…
She gapes a little, swimming closer. Tamlin is still floating on his back, hearing muffled from the water, but she lowers her voice anyway. “You’re daemati?”
It’s the only thing that makes sense. And she would expect no less from Rhys. In addition to being obscenely powerful, to have this as well...he won’t just be a powerful High Lord, he’ll be unquestionably dominant.
His brows lift a little in surprise before his expression settles. “Clever girl. I shouldn’t be surprised that you guessed.”
Feyre bites her lip, torn between being pleased and being concerned. She does not think that Rhys has ever used his power against her. But how would she know? She has heard plenty of stories, has been given plenty of reasons to be wary of the Night Court. Feyre is not so arrogant as to think that she is a worthy target, but just the thought of her thoughts being combed through or someone getting information from her mind is disconcerting.
Rhys— whether by looking at her mind or her face— knows where her thoughts lead her. He moves a little closer as well. “I have never looked in your mind, or Tamlin’s for that matter. I’m not that kind of male.”
“I know.” The words are said without thinking, but they ring true.
He does not look convinced. “If I wanted to use you, I would have hovered in your mind as you hunted the Suriel and asked them a question myself. I would have probed your mind to see what you asked.”
She nods. Part of her knows it to be true, but another part, an animal, instinctual part, shies away from him.
But the Suriel told her to trust Rhysand.
It’s not effortless, but she stays. “You keep it a secret?”
“We keep it quiet,” Rhys admits. “We” probably means his family, his Court.
What does it mean that there is a secret daemati ready to inherit one of the mightier Courts of Prythian?
If she was a good person, she thinks, she would tell someone. But being a good citizen and a good friend are directly opposed at the moment. It does not take Feyre very long to decide which title is more important to her.
“I won’t tell anyone.” She values her friendship with Rhys, trusts him more than she maybe should. Even considering what the Suriel said, she would be a fool to throw herself into his arms blindly.
“Thank you.” Under the water, he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “I know you still aren’t comfortable with this.”
It’s difficult to meet his eyes, so she looks down. Right at the curves of his shoulder, where brown skin and black ink peek from beneath the surface. Her mouth goes dry, but she manages to force words out. “It is...strange. To realize how vulnerable I’ve been.”
There are dangers in Feyre’s life, but she has always known them. She has rules, has trained and armed herself against threats. Don’t stay out too late after night falls in the forest, don’t stray too close to creatures who have young ones to protect. Keep your eyes averted when speaking with the High Lord and try to not attract too much attention, bite your tongue in front of certain people and laugh and gossip in secret circles only.
There is no such defense against Rhys. At least, she assumes so until he speaks. “I can train you to shield your mind.”
Feyre blinks, shocked. “You can?” It’s possible? And he would offer that to her?
A deluge of cool water drenches her. Feyre cries out in shock, whirling to scowl at a laughing Tamlin.
“You two are much too serious,” he says, slapping the surface of the water again to send another splash their way. “What were you talking about anyway?”
“We had a run-in with a daemati in the Night Court a while back,” Rhys says smoothly. In an instant, his cool confidence is back. He swims away from Feyre, closer to Tamlin. She is sure there is a good reason he turns his back and tells herself it does not sting. “I was telling Feyre that I wouldn’t mind offering some lessons on how to shield her mind.”
“Why would you need to shield your mind?” Tamlin asks her.
She scowls. “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you want to keep your thoughts private?”
“Sure,” Tamlin shrugs. “But it’s not like any daemati would target you.” He is lackadaisical and inattentive, paddling around the pond like a slippery otter. The mere word “daemati” was enough to alter Feyre’s mood, but Tamlin is barely affected.
“She’s been spending time with two sons of High Lords,” Rhys points out, flicking some water into Tamlin’s face. “I’d say that makes her plenty vulnerable. You should learn to shield, too.”
Tamlin nods, finally starting to take it seriously. “You were taught?” He propels himself upright, staring intently at Rhys. It is not hard to see how Tamlin esteems their older friend. Anyone who spends five minutes with the two of them can see how Tamlin might look at Rhys for approval, how he weighs Rhys’s words and commits them to memory. Sometimes, Feyre worries about how reliant Tamlin is, how he has replaced his own older brothers with the Heir to the Night Court. But she hardly has room to talk.
“Almost as soon as I could grasp the concept,” Rhys says. “I’ll give both of you lessons. It’ll be hard to test without an actual daemati, but it’s worth trying.”
You’ll have a bit of an advantage over Tamlin. Feyre gasps as Rhys’s voice echoes in her head. Her limbs freeze. She sinks a little in the water before propelling herself back up, sputtering.
Tamlin glides closer. “Feyre?”
“I’m fine,” she assures him, pointedly not looking at Rhys. “I thought something brushed my leg. What lives in this water anyway?”
“Nothing natural,” Tamlin scowls at the opaque surface as if his ire can be translated to whatever dwells below. “Come on, let’s leave before we find out.”
Feyre wades out of the pond, chemise sticking to her skin and hair dripping down her back. She squeezes her hair to dry it as best she can, then moves to gather a fistful of her chemise and wring out the water.
It’s silent for a moment. When Feyre looks up, she sees two males looking at her instead of getting out of the pond.
Emboldened by their attention, Feyre raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Tamlin coughs, looking away and stepping out of the water. He passes her without a comment, even as Rhys continues to look. Her challenge is answered as his eyes rove over her body, from long bare legs to the wet material clinging to her hips and chest. She half expects something flirty to spill from his mouth, but he just keeps the smirk on, looks his fill, and emerges from the water.
It takes a lot of effort not to pay him back in kind, though Feyre does sneak a look at those tattoos and well-muscled chest.
The light breeze chills their damp skin, and the once sweltering heat becomes a comforting embrace. The trio sprawl out. Between bouts of dozing off, they have a contest to see which pair is best at tossing grapes into someone’s mouth. When Feyre’s hair is mostly dry and her fingers get caught in tangles, Rhys slips behind her and braids it back.
She is half awake as his fingers comb through her hair, catching every other word of his explanation that his little sister has now grown old enough to demand all sorts of hairstyles and pampering from her devoted older brother. Feyre hums with a smile, picturing the scene.
There’s a knock on the edge of her mind. One she is better prepared for this time. Rhys slips a memory into her mind, one that is not hers, but his. Through his eyes he sees a head of black hair, a young girl’s bedroom, a reflection of him and a little girl, the former wrestling with a hair brush and the latter rifling through a basket of ribbons. There is a love infused in that memory, a feeling so pure that it nearly brings a tear to Feyre’s eye.
I almost neglected my promise earlier. Rhys’s voice is low and smoky in her mind. A moment later, a different memory. Her grinning face, covered in droplets of starlight.
There is emotion in this memory too, though not the all-consuming devotion Rhys feels for his sister. But it is something, and it makes Feyre smile anyway.
It is the perfect day. Feyre is not naive enough to think that this dynamic, with her two dear friends, can last forever. Rhysand will one day become High Lord, and Tamlin’s own role will likely change when his father passes. But fae are immortal, and she is untouched by death, and the thought of painful change is so far away in that perfect summer afternoon.
She cannot be blamed for thinking peace will last for a good, long while.
--
Being the Lady of the Spring Court is good for little else besides ordering the servants around the house.
Alis can grumble and protest and toss every veiled hint that she can think of, but in the end she cannot prevent Feyre from leaving her bed. Sleep came and went in the night. When the discomfort impeded her peace, Feyre tossed back healing tonics and pain remedies and whatever cocktail of drugs that the healer left on her nightstand.
Her smaller cuts are healed, but her ribs are still tender. The worst bruises are black and blue and impossible to look at. Feyre chooses a boring corner of the room to stare at as Alis dresses her in light fabrics and a dress that laces loosely. Alis picks a gown in an opaque green with a yellow underskirt, as if that will lend color to her pale skin or brighten her gaunt face.
Feyre tells the staff that she and the High Lord will not be entertaining any guests and to send away anyone that might drop by. Not that anyone comes for Feyre unless she specifically invites them.
The only other person in her home besides the servants is Lucien. He clearly did not expect her to leave bed and nearly leaps from his seat when she slips into the dining room. “You should be resting.”
She probably should. There is an exhaustion that has settled in her, infused in her bones and powdered on her skin. Her tongue is weighed down. Feyre has no words for her friend, only enough energy to squeeze his shoulder as she walks past to take her seat. She sees the way his eyes scan her, the way his jaw clenches when he notes how she sits gingerly.
Tamlin’s chair at the head of the table is empty. The space feels like a chasm.
When Tamlin is home, the table usually is weighed down with food. Today, Lucien just has one plate sent up from the kitchen. Feyre gets the same toast, fried eggs, and sausage. No platters of sliced fruit or tureens of gravy or plates of sugary pastries. Lucien pours her a cup of tea wordlessly.
Feyre eats in peace, but Lucien has a stack of papers by him that he leafs through in between bites. With Tamlin gone, his work will be all the more difficult. Lucien cannot make certain decisions, cannot sign off on projects, cannot approve a budget. But there are some things that must get done and emergencies to deal with.
“Anything I can help with?” Feyre speaks her first words of the day.
Lucien’s eyes flick up briefly. “I’ll let you know.” He’s gone a few minutes later, only a squeeze of her shoulder as a goodbye.
There are things Feyre can do, even some things that Tamlin might expect her to accomplish. Ferye thinks of the piles of letters she can respond to and the parties she might plan. The next holiday is never more than a few months away, and Tamlin likes to take any opportunity to celebrate and fill their home with his friends.
She does not do any of that.
The servants push back on some of Feyre’s whims, but they can never outright refuse her. A few months ago, it was a battle to get them to relinquish their gardening tools. Another battle to ask one of the gardeners to teach her, show her, and not do anything beyond that.
But a few months ago she was also a bit more fragile, and so they followed her directions with less protesting than she usually was in for.
Now, Feyre knows where to find the tools she needs. She slips on the gardening gloves that Alis procured and forced on her. While it might be seemly for the Lady of Spring to prune a few roses, cuts and calluses were utterly unacceptable. Feyre can stroll in the gardens, can even kneel in the grass, as long as she has a wide-brimmed hat to shield the delicate skin on her face.
How she longs to rip off the hat, unpin her hair, and sprint through the fields once more.
No one disturbs her as Feyre weaves through the perfectly manicured gardens. She passes tall hedges, venturing deeper until she crosses into a little hidden nook. It is cordoned off by nothing more than a charming wooden gate, but symbolism is strong. No one has ever entered without the express permission of the Lady of Spring.
Feyre let the little space go unattended for years, not caring much for gardening or pretty flowers. Now, the hidden nook is ringed with blooming jasmine. She might add a stone bench in the middle, but for now she is happy to sit on the grass.
A proper gardener might prune and use sophisticated techniques to care for the jasmine, but Feyre likes to see it grow wild. She removes weeds and brushes away dead leaves. In Spring the bushes are almost always flowering, clogging the space with their intoxicating scent. She would have kept blooms in her room, if not for what they symbolized.
Jasmine is a Night Court flower.
Tamlin does not come to her jasmine garden. He either does not know or was informed and has not confronted her directly. Now that she is in the garden, Feyre wonders if this is, in part, what set him off.
The flowers are not for Rhys. Not really. True, they remind her of him, in a way. But she mostly likes the scent, likes that when she smells it she immediately feels at peace. Jasmine is not the most beautiful flower in the world, but it is still pretty. A flower alone cannot make her happy, but it settles something in her soul anyway.
White jasmine is crisp and clean. Pure.
For a while, Feyre had no closure after the loss of her child. These things happened, so the healer ensured she was physically healthy and then sent away. There was no goodbye, no body, no ceremony to send the child off. They were there one moment and gone the next, not having made any mark on the world besides a scar on Feyre’s heart. She does not know if they were male or female, if they had Tamlin’s blond hair or her own darker shade, if they would have had freckles or their father’s straight nose. After they were gone, the child seemed to exist for Feyre and no one else.
So she planted the jasmine.
Now, as she lays on her back in the grass, she can imagine it. A giggling toddler, running circles around her. But not here, not in Spring. The flowers perfume the air and make it all too easy to pretend she’s in another place.
Maybe the jasmine is selfish. Maybe Feyre did have another motive in creating this secret space.
While she is here, she can mourn her child. While she is here, she can pretend that she is someplace else.
5 notes
·
View notes
Note
Could I request an Emily Prentiss x female!reader with “Is this okay?” & “I’m yours, in every way possible.”
emily prentiss x female!reader.
word count: 1976
rating: mature, for the pains of what happens when you lie to the one you love most (tw: blood, food, hospitals, divorce, and a whole lot of hurt without much in the way of comfort).
-
“Ow,” you snap, but her hands don’t stop pressing against your scalp. “Prentiss, I swear to God, it’s not a brain bleed. Just leave it be.”
“I’m trying to see how deep it goes,” she counters, but you’re already pulling away, holding a hand up to the spot.
“There’s an ambulance coming,” you sighed. “Just let them handle it.”
You don’t need to look up to see what look she’s giving you. You have all of her looks memorized after all. This one is exasperated, her mouth a little open, brow furrowed as she rolls her eyes. Even now, with her as unit chief and you across the country, some things never change. “You have a concussion, and you’ve got blood pouring from your scalp. I’m not going to stand aside because your ego got damaged in the crossfire.”
“My ego?” you snorted. “Yeah, the BAU is here and I’m the one with the ego.”
You don’t imagine the way she stiffens. It’s sudden and sharp, and it gives you the chance to stand and pull away.
“You were a part of the BAU once, too,” she says with something pained in her tone, but you don’t look her in the eye. Just brush the dirt off of your knees, lift your hand to wipe the blood from its trail down your temple.
“Yeah. Once. Notice how I didn’t exactly stick around.” Your hands, bloodied, dirty, have stopped shaking, at the very least, and you use them to carefully let down your hair, letting pins fall out of it and onto the ground below.
If you close your eyes, you can see those pins hitting Emily’s bathroom tile, see the way she comes up behind you in the mirror and smiles warmly at the sight of the two of you, together. She’s in your shirt, and her hands move to rest on your hips –
You blink, shaking your head, ignoring the twinge of pain it sends through your body. “Just. Find a patch of dirt. They’ll be here to get us eventually.”
For a while, that’s all there is. Silence. That’s all there can be, with you holding your head in your hand and pretending not to look at Prentiss, and Prentiss doing her damnedest to not look right back. It’s a dumb game, but it keeps the peace, until she sits up tall in her plot of dirt and meets your eyes when you glance up one more time.
“You didn’t stick around. You left. Why?”
You’re caught in her gaze. The car is useless next to the two of you, idling with a bent axle, so that’s the sound that fills the air, the cicadas from the trees a distant choir. All you hear is that question, and all you see is her, and at the end of the staring contest… you lose. You duck your head and sigh, think about the way you thought your hands fit so well together.
“You know why, Prentiss.”
It’s her last name, the last shield you have left. Because this case, all of it, had brought back the best memories with the worst.
You see her pinned below you, her hair fanned out on your pillows, her laughter as your fingers tickle into her sides and one hand pins her wrists above her head. You see her snort as you miss at darts again, your marksmanship on the field never translating to the bar. You see her smile and laugh, and you see the rest of them, bright and shining and good.
“I’m yours, in every way possible,” you’d told her, holding her hand, and she’d whispered it back, all over your body, the words tattooed on your skin.
And then the ambulance sounds off down the road, and you hear the worst. The sound of fists colliding against her body in Texas. The way she snapped at you when the pressure got too much. The sound of her gasped-out pain in the warehouse, the feeling of her hands in yours and Derek’s as the ambulance sped towards the hospital. The sound of your name called, next of kin, JJ watched on as the doctor tells the wife of Emily Prentiss that she died on the table.
The sound of silence as you stare at her, realizing she can’t look you in the eye as she goes to hug Derek first. The sound of your questions, each one just as unanswered as the last. The sound of your suitcase zipping up, the creak of her floors as you sneak out the door, unable to think about what happened to the Emily Prentiss you knew. The sound of Emily Prentiss’s wife walking out the door and not looking back, the papers sent over a month later with little fanfare.
“Is this okay?” she had asked you, when the dust had settled, when Emily Prentiss was back again. When Doyle was dead and her hands could hold yours, and you hadn’t known how to scream ‘no.’
It hurts. So much more than your head does.
The medics fix you up at the scene. Your ride is crapped out, and so they take you to the hospital, and before you can say so much as a ‘goodbye’ Prentiss is telling them how hard you hit the ground, Prentiss is telling them you blacked out, Prentiss is fucking telling them the blood she saw through your fingers. Which means that you have to stay, which means you need a CT, and you find yourself waiting in a cramped room after, two hours and three cups of Jell-O in, about to lose it while you wait for the results. The hospital gown does nothing to stop the chill, and you shiver, crossing your arms over your chest to hide the way your nipples want to peek through. It’s embarrassing. It’s infuriating.
“I told you I was fine,” you repeat for the third time. “Why couldn’t you just leave it be?”
“There was blood everywhere. You lost consciousness,” she ground out through her teeth. “I wasn’t just going to let them discharge you without taking another look.
You can’t help the tightness in your throat, the way that it’s hard to speak or think or breathe when she talks like that. Like she has any right discussing self-preservation when she… when she… god. You’re blinded by your anger, push out of the hospital bed in the emergency room and move to start grabbing your clothes from the chair. “I’m leaving. I don’t need your pity.”
Her eyes shoot up from the ground, meet yours with barely contained fury. “Pity? You’re telling me it wasn’t a close call? It’s a head wound, and you’re staying.”
“I’m not! I don’t need to be here.” You start to move, hands reaching for the curtain so you can have some privacy.
And then her hand reaches for your wrist, stops you in your tracks. You whirl to face her, and her eyes are like daggers, even as you yank your hand away. When she speaks her voice is flint, sharp, and cracked. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you walk out again. Like you’re better than the rest of us.”
“I learned from you, Emily. Leave when it gets tough. To make it. To survive,” you sneer.
“You think I don’t know what I did? I apologized. I’m sorry, for everything. You left. I lost you, and you didn’t even give me that much.”
“You didn’t lose me, Emily!” You’re shouting now, all of a sudden, and though your voice cracks with the intensity you don’t back down. You’re standing up, pushing on your toes to get in her face, ignoring the way you sway, the rush of dizziness with the adrenaline. “Fuck, don’t you get it? I transferred. I didn’t die. I couldn’t pretend anymore, I couldn’t pretend that it was all okay, that I hadn’t been widowed –”
She’s standing now, too, and your words falter, just a little. Just once, but that’s enough for her. A moment is all Emily Prentiss needs. “You didn’t say a damn word, and you know that. And instead of facing it, you left! You left me, you left the whole team! And you thought I’d just be okay with that! That I would understand?”
“I didn’t need your permission!”
“But it didn’t warrant a conversation?” Her eyes are almost black, in the flicker of the lightbulbs over your heads, in the shine from the hallway. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s statue still. All of her power is in her stance, in the way her voice seems to echo in the room. “You didn’t say goodbye, you didn’t say anything at all! You told Hotch you were fucking leaving, and that was that, huh?”
“My life is not yours! The BAU, whatever hell we were left with, was killing me. Slowly. I was watching it tear apart everyone I ever cared about, and I couldn’t just stand by and let it happen!” There are tears in your eyes now, and they match hers. They match hers.
The silence between the two of you grows. The silence over years, over lifetimes. You’re trembling, now, and when you move it’s to push past her, sit on the bed again.
“Why did you do that?” you gasp out, and you’re sobbing. Your head hurts, and your heart hurts, and everything just hurts. “Why’d you have to die?”
And you don’t have to look up to know that her lower lip is trembling, that she’s looking to the sky to summon the courage to sit down beside you. You don’t have to watch to know that she’s reaching for your hand, that she’s planning to pull you close. That she cradles you against her chest so you can hear her heartbeat, the audacity of that lie echoing in her pulse
“You know, all I could think about in Paris was the fact that I never took you,” she murmurs against your temple. “That I never – I never brought you to a place I knew so well.”
“Europe,” you whisper back. Thinking about the daughter of an ambassador roaming the streets of Italy and France as she pleased.
“You’re all I could think about,” she admits. “And even now, still, I – I keep you with me.” Her hands move to her pocket, and there’s something on a chain, something she moves to enclose in your fist.
It’s warm metal. A band, simple and plain outside, engraved inside with letters that you know spell your name.
“I died so that Doyle could not – would not find you,” she whispers. “I died so that my family could live. I died so that when I came back – when – it would be to you and not your grave. I needed that. It was the only thing that kept me sane.”
She lifts your fist. Kisses the knuckles. The sound of silence stretches, settles, and the two of you wait like that, her holding you ever so close and you unwilling to pull away.
“I’m… I’m sorry I left,” you whisper, and she can only sigh. “But it wasn’t because I stopped loving you.”
“I’m sorry I died,” she whispers back. “I was always planning to come back to you at the end of the day.”
There’s healing to be done. There’s – god, there’s work, and there’s time, even still, to let pass. There’s the hurt of your heart and the hurt of hers, too, and the pain is nowhere close to over. But for the first time since Emily Prentiss died, you, her wife, her widow, you feel her steady heartbeat, and it doesn’t feel so much like a lie anymore.
“I’m yours,” you murmur, because it’s a reminder of things past.
“In every way possible,” she returns, because it’s a promise of things to come.
#prompt fill#emily prentiss x reader#emily prentiss#female!reader#criminal minds#my fic#tw blood mention#tw food mention#tw divorce#tw hospital
78 notes
·
View notes
Text
Velveteen Letters
Notes: Merry Holidays <3 This one-shot is different than what I’ve been planning, because work and life are mixing up a fine cocktail of “wtf”, so here’s my piece during these times. I apologize to those who were expecting a different flavor to the story, and it’s rushed, but I hope that you like it, nonetheless <3
Gender Neutral Reader, Rated T, so everybody can enjoy some fluff
Setting: Victorian? Kinda? Reader’s country is unknown, and everything is fictional for the purposes of the plot.
You met him when you were eight, and him being ten. It was a custom meeting between two noble families, yours entertaining your guests from far off seas within your garden.
The two of you were hiding behind each of your respectful mothers, him bashfully staring at you, while you took shy glances at him. The round, pudgy boy with amber-colored irises and soft blond hair, was to be your future husband. Although looking rather uncomfortable, he was wearing your country’s clothing for this certain meeting; a royal blue outfit in which that had contrasted his more warm features.
You, like the most nobles in your country, had been told and molded to serve as the future holder of one’s each respected estate. Of course, being a powerful noble family house, your father had sought out a marriage candidate for you, in which that was not the crown heir. The reason was simple, to put it out there that your family’s estate was not power-hungry for the crown, and that you being the only heir, were spoken for, already.
You, being an eight year old child, had limited knowledge of the world, and only knew that you were to be married, and to start studying.
“Tai-chan, go say ‘hello’.” His mother, a woman wearing odd, yet expensive-looking clothing that you’ve never seen before, nudged her son. Her accent was different, as well, but you liked it.
“Hello.” The boy said, although a bit shy, his voice had a firmness to it.
“Hello.” You couldn’t help but answer back at your mother’s own nudge, your voice barely above a whisper.
It wasn’t an awkward meeting, and your parents and his seemed to take in amusement at the two of your shy natures. Your mother sighed, and his mother laughed.
“It can’t be helped, Your Grace. Perhaps they could write to each other?” His mother suggested, and yours hid her smile behind her fan.
“From overseas? Wouldn’t it take forever to receive such letters, Lady Toyomitsu?” She asked. The other woman with elegant, pinned up hair, smiled in response.
“A private letter, should be handled secretly. A trusted captain of one of my merchant’s ships, should be able to hand it to one of your trusted servants in each six months.”
“Oh, you’re a genius! It is a shame that they’ll get their letters in half of a year, but I think that it would be for the best. Keeps them pining and waiting.” Your mother laughed, and his joined in. You, being young, didn’t really understand or care about their conversations, but you were intrigued by the shy boy.
After the short meeting, your mother had bid her long-time friend farewell, and you bowed stiffly to an equally bowing, flustered guest, who was to be your future husband.
“In the future, you can’t be as shy as you are now.” Your mother said quietly, and you understood.
………………..
It was a slow start, at first. The two of you, being children, sent letters full of inquisitive questions, such as why was the sky blue, both complaints about studying, and what was one’s each favorite color. You did feel a little bit braver, sending him flowers pressed into paper, explaining how to properly preserve them in books. You weren’t sure if his country had a system of flower codes, but yours sure did, and you had felt a little braver each time, sending him a secretive message that you weren’t sure that he’d understand.
It was the principle of the matter, for you searched high and low for the prettiest blooms in which were in not only in your garden, but also in your room in which you grew them in.
Of course, he’d told you that his country also had a system, called “Hanami”. Since each flower represented something different from each place, you unabashedly sent him a small booklet about flowers from your country. In return, you’ve gotten the same, from him, but in a neat scroll.
He’d grown on you, for the past nine years. Of course, the two of you only being able to send letters and gifts each six months, you were always eager for the red and brown merchant’s ship that breached the docks every early morning.
Although only seeing him, once, you were fond of him, and didn’t mind seeing him in any shape or form, just as long as you’ve gotten to see him.
You were so excited, already dressed and ready to meet your loyal handmaid, who always would giggle or fawn over your eager expression as she handed you in whichever he would gift you. Slipping on your coat, you couldn’t help but rush outside into the December morning, ignoring the crisp air burning at your lungs as you searched for the familiarity of your servant who was the first to greet the ship, and then return to you.
Time seemed to drawl as you couldn’t help but feel as if something was a slightly bit off, but you didn’t pay it no mind.
You sighed in relief as you spotted your servant trudging up to you, but your smile fell as you realized that although holding a letter, her face looked grim. A sinking feeling had begun nestling in the bottom pit of your stomach as your feet moved on their own before you could process in what was happening.
“Is he-?” You let the sentence hang, but she only handed you the envelope.
“My liege, a merchant’s ship did not greet me, this morning.” She was shaking, slightly, and you couldn’t help but strip off your coat, and place it onto her shoulders.
“Don’t worry about it, Dear. I’m a fool to let you travel in the snow, in the first place. Let’s get you some hot tea.” You admitted, ignoring the fear and worry bite into you as she nodded, the two of you returning towards the estate.
Getting comfortable, she still shook, but not from the cold as you tried your best to poke at the fire, letting the flames lick eagerly at the dried wood.
“Now, what happened?” You asked, curiosity biting into you.
“Jolly Rodger. That’s what greeted me, this morning, Your Grace.” She let it slip out as she handed you the letter. You froze, letting your heart sink as you hastily grabbed it. The front didn’t have his family’s wax seal, but you recognized his handwriting, addressing your name on the front.
“They weren’t malevolent, yet they were still pirates, jeering that they’ve got a letter for you. I left as soon as I received it, Your Grace.” She murmured, eyeing your stiff form with an expression of shock.
You grabbed your letter opener, slicing the envelope open, as you reached inside with shaking hands. A thousand thoughts ran through your head as you unfolded it. Your heart lurched as you couldn’t help but began to read the short sentence in his handwriting.
“I’ll come for you, I promise to explain everything. For now, I am safe, so please don’t worry about me. Please stay safe, as well. I wanted to tell you this in person, and not in a letter, but fate is not in my favor, right now. You are very dear to my heart.”
You couldn’t help but stare in disbelief. It was exactly something that he’d say, and it was in his usual style, but you still couldn’t believe it.
“My Liege?” Your servant asked timidly, her own curiosity and worry was evident.
“He tells me that he’s fine, and that he’ll come for me, but…is he fine?” You murmured, and she craned her head.
“It is a very short letter. Come, Dear, we can tell your father and mother of what we know, so far.” She took your hand, and through your small shock, you felt yourself rushing towards your father’s studies.
….………….
He liked them. He liked them a lot. Ever since they were children, their shy demeanor mimicked his, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of feeling to protect. Although the letters arrived a little later than he liked, he found it as an excuse to write more, sending at the very least two pages full of recent events, as well as flowers and gifts.
Of course, his intended spouse was responsive as ever, teaching him the etiquette basics of his future home country, as well as they tried their best in making him feel welcomed and loved in their own special way. He really did love them, even if it was through letters and gifts, he knew that they were the one that he wanted to settle down with.
Although he didn’t like secrets, his mother had insisted to wait to tell them that he was Captain of the Guard, not wanting to worry his future spouse. So, gathering a small group of his men and a good ship, he wanted to surprise them for the holidays in which they celebrated this winter. Of course, it wasn’t that easy.
His sword clashed against another, whilst his anointed men guarded the rear of the boat, keeping the angry ruffians at bay. He didn’t want to rely on pirates, of all people to deliver his message, but they were neutral-sided, and Tamaki had knew them, once. Of course, delivering a few messages to the dock had costed him a pretty penny, but they had miraculously rowed up after he and his men had been under siege from another band of blood-thirsty pirates.
Seeing an opportunity to send a letter to his loved one, and to his neighboring country to ask for help, he did just that.
Searing pain shot through his side as he tried to dodge the pirate captain’s blade. He gritted his teeth as he held his bleeding side, as he made a sharp-aimed jab, mimicking his bloodied wound.
“Captain’s bleeding!” His men called, but he paid no heed as his thoughts raced suddenly, having you in his mind had made him more resilient, refusing to suffer from blood loss, before he had seen you.
He had to see you, he couldn’t help but think as once again, his sword clashed against his opponent’s.
……………..
Worried would be an understatement. Your father had reassured you that he would be fine, and it was just a little trouble that he ran into, his reasoning of sending out a small fleet of ships. Trouble? You wondered. He was suppose to be safe in his estate, there was no reason why he should be in danger, shouldn’t he?
Your friends and family soothed your worries, telling you that the best that you could do, was to take care of yourself. That was easier said than done. You felt drowsy, staring at the blank parchment of paper, feeling the need to write something else that wasn’t linked to your book of Odysseys.
It has been a week.
You were tired and withdrawn, mind full of worrisome possibilities, in which you had forgotten minor things. You were lucky that you were good friends with your estate’s staff, for they were endearing and had made sure to remind you to eat brunch, relax for tea time, and head to bed a little early for a full night’s rest. Truthfully, you didn’t know what to do without them, and while the holiday was nearing, you busied your mind into convincing your father into giving them a pay raise, as well as the day off so that you could be alone with your thoughts.
You hadn’t met him in person for so long, but the man who occupied your thoughts, had grown very dear to you, and you waited anxiously.
……………………
You were just minding your business, staring at the softly falling flakes of the year’s first snow. It was one of the winter holidays in your country, a very important one. Your father had held a ball, and you liked the dark blue outfit with white lace dripping smoothly from the cuffs of the sleeves, giving the outfit a feel of both elegance and class.
Although you always attended evening parties, you refused to dance with persons who weren’t your parents, or close relatives, lest giving an unwanted suitor the wrong impression that you were available. On another side, you didn’t want false rumors fluttering through the estate, giving an ill impression to your soon-to-be spouse, whenever he would reach to you.
Although a little chilly, you rather be outside of the estate, mind wondering on how each small flake was suppose to be different, yet falling in the aged old familiar sync.
“My Liege!” Your servant’s voice cut through your mindset. Swerving your body around in surprise to face her, she panted and huffed, face beet red, as if running to look for you.
“Come get dressed! I received news!” She bleated, picking up her lower skirts to avoid getting the fabrics wet from the snow.
“What about the party?” You half-mindfully asked through the turning gears within your head. It didn’t take long to know what she was talking about, however, in your excitement, you knew that you shouldn’t ignore your duties.
“It can wait, Your Grace, you must hurry! They fetched him in this morning, into Your Grace’s usual doctor, is what I overheard from some gossiping birdies. Not sure why or what he’s been doing here, but I think that you must get dressed, for luck might not be on our side!” She huffed out the sentence, dragging your curious yet racing mind along. You didn’t really care on how he had gotten here, you were more than worried, right now as you followed your maid through the servant’s quarters, avoiding the main attraction in which was the ball.
“I’m sure that he’s fine, My Liege, they say that it’s a bad ship that they hauled him off from, but he was still breathing.” She tried to say gently, if not to catch the fleeting breaths back into her lungs. Through the servant’s quarters, you tugged on a spare coat that you knew was your father’s for his evening rides, in which the stables were linked to.
“Tell my father that I’ll be late, please? If he asks, just tell him the truth of my whereabouts.” You told her, letting her nod your affirmation, as you then trotted through the corridor, and out into the snow towards the stable, feeling your heart pounding within your ears as you made your way to an already saddled horse.
………..
The cold, small rush of wind beat at you, as your horse cantered you hurriedly into town, passing by carriages, carts, and other riders who were daring to be in the snow. You half-yelled out of politeness for your hurries, tipping your hat more out of habit, than respect as your heart and mind won it’s own little race against your mount.
Quick as a flash of lightening, you found your heavy breathing form tying the reigns onto a post, not thinking twice before basically rudely entering the doctor’s office.
He jumped, startled at the footsteps of a visitor, but then his shoulders relaxed as he then realized that it was you.
“Where is he?” You panted out before the elderly man could speak. He sighed softly, pushing up his glasses, as he was one of the few who knew about the arrangement.
“Impatient as ever, my Liege? I understand that you are worried, although, I cannot understand how fast gossiping birds fly.” He mumbled, but a small smile graced his features.
“He’s coherent, although I rather there be a waiting period before a patient is fully healed, I cannot deny an anxious lover. In the back room, last one on the right.” He finished, waving his hand at the door, huffing out a laugh of disbelief as he then turned back to his papers.
You couldn’t waste any more time. You’ve been waiting for a while, but now the opportunity was here, itching to be taken, and you couldn’t have felt more hungrier for it.
You entered the room in which was accommodated by the wounded, your heartbeat escalating as thoughts raced, throwing out ridiculous scenarios such as him not wanting to see you. You had to push that down, knowing that it was your fear being irrational just to take over. Each bed had a curtain shielding the patient from curious eyes, giving them privacy from gruesome neighbors. It being midday, you strolled past curious onlookers as you slowed your steps to the last curtain on the right.
Behind it was your future husband, you thought, swallowing thickly as anxiety pooled at you. Of course he wanted to see you, he wouldn’t oddly be here, wouldn’t he? You rationalized with yourself, surprised by the silly thoughts and fears that had suddenly gripped you. Sending a letter indicating your arrival should have been your first priority, not leaving your father’s held event to rush off to a possibly sleeping man. Biting your lower lip, you gathered your courage as you brought your arm up, letting your clenched hand knock softly, but firmly onto the soft sheets.
“Hm?”
You couldn’t help stifle down your curiosity and anxiety, anymore. Biting the bullet, you gripped the curtains, and yanked them aside, causing a gasp of surprise from behind them.
Silence flooded into the room as the world had stilled, your eyes locked onto his. He was in his country’s military dark blue uniform, still, as he had small bandages here and there, giving him a more gruff look. He was still round, yet taller and had a bit of muscle to the arms. His hair was still thick, soft and yellow, while amber irises stared at you. You couldn’t help but find him perfect, you thought.
A twinkle of familiarity sparked within his eyes as they widened with sheer surprise.
“You idiot.” Was pulled out from your mouth as a sudden burst of emotional warmth speared through you suddenly. He leapt up, surprising you into a tight, squeezing hug.
“Oh, My Darlin~!” He cooed in a unique honeyed voice. You could help but feel all of the pent up stress and anxiety rush out of you like escaped air, as your shoulder’s relaxed, and your jaw loosened from the tension. Not wasting an opportunity, your own arms reached around him to give a hug of your own.
“I have so many questions.” You murmured into his chest, and you felt his body reverberate as he chuckled a bit nervously.
“We’ve got all the time in the world to catch up, Dear. Stay with me?” He asked, and you nodded your head with little hesitation.
…….
You knew that your father knew where you were, but you couldn’t care any less. The bed was a little bit smaller than your liking, but the two of you had found a way for you to sit next to him, seeping into his warmth as he talked. You felt yourself pressed up against his side, face warm as you felt him rumble with his explanations, apologies, and genuine words of endearment, shyly glancing at your equally flushed face as you bit your bottom lip, heart fluttering inside your chest as if it were a wild thrush.
His injuries weren’t severe, and luckily, he and his crew had beaten down the pirates with hardly any causalities, and the ship, although scratched up, still sailed towards your homeland as planned. He told you everything, how long it would take him to write, how eager he was to receive your own letters, keeping each and every one in a decorative cedar chest.
You, in turn, told him about your own feelings, duties, and in general, while the two of you had talked, you’ve noticed that the sunlight seeping through the window, had dimmed greatly. Your heart had sunken, a little, but he kissed your cheek in reassurance.
“I was actually not just gonna visit ya, I was gonna ask yer father for yer hand in marriage, properly.” He rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly, and then gasped in surprise when you had hugged him.
“Contract or not, my personal answer will be a “yes”.” You buried your face into his side, but he hummed, gently stroking the back of your shoulders.
The two of you had a lifetime to figure it out together, after all.
……………………….
Aaaah tried, I hope you like it, and Warm, Best Wishes <3
#Taishiro Toyomitsu#Fatgum#Fatgum x reader#Gender Neutral Reader#Rated T#There's a small hint of violence#But against bad guys that's it#Merry Holidays <3
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
Hidden Shapes
Based on This Post by @fangirltothefullest (who is awesome and amazing, go follow). This was supposed to be a simple one shot, but as always, it’s really gotten away from me, so expect three to four chapters, instead.
...
AO3
Next
The dark sides all have animal traits. But they also have hybrid forms. Something Patton, Logan, and Roman don't realize until Janus isn't able to help it.
....
He doesn’t feel quite right.
He brushes it off, at first, ignoring the slight chill that comes over him, every once in a while, the mild achiness to his bones, he ignores them all.
Then Patton comments on how his scales look pretty on his arms, when he’s doing the dishes, sleeves rolled up, and he nearly drops the plate he’s washing, before he regains his composure, letting Patton think the slip was from the unexpected compliment, as he excuses himself.
He notices his fangs are longer, sharper, the next day, and his chills are stronger as well, he spends nearly the whole of it working at his desk, wrapped in a blanket, trying to ignore the pain taking up residence behind his temples, pounding dully against his skull, as he examines and rearranges the schedule to make sure everyone has at least a day of self care planned for the week, before sending it back to Logan for assessment. He won’t admit it out loud, but he rather enjoys the back and forth, the bargaining, the trade offs, it’s a bit of a game of wits, finding how it all can fit. But today it just makes him exhausted.
He makes an excuse, not to come out for supper that night, saying he’s tired and plans to turn in early, which is true, he just leaves out the reason, which would lead to Patton trying to take care of him, and the last thing he wants is to force pity from Patton, so he keeps his mouth shut.
…
He’s shaking. The world is swirling and writhing around him, shadows stretching and shifting around him, forming almost figures, eyes glaring at him accusingly, whispers menacing his ears, telling him how poorly of a job he’s really doing, and he grits his teeth and bears it, even as he feels himself shifting into something different, scales blooming across the entirety of his face, his arms, coiling in on himself, as his tail forms, a ball python’s markings, in deep blacks and hazardous yellows, marking him as the venomous creature he is.
He doesn’t want to be this monster, but he can’t stop it, can’t stop the change, so he just hisses, cursing the world, burying himself in his tail so he doesn’t have to see anything, feel anything, outside his little bubble, though he can’t seem to stop shaking, no matter how tightly he curls.
…
He sees clawed hands tearing at him, shredding him to ribbons. Dark figures laughing as they rip him limb from limb. Violet eyes and neon green grinning, as they set him aflame, burning him to ash, and somehow, he can feel every second of it, taste the smoke on his tongue, convulsing and writhing as he tries to escape the smoke, but there’s nowhere, nowhere to go. Webs, pinning him down, eight eyes, eyes he knows so well, staring into his as the pincers bite into his neck, tentacles wrapping tight around his throat, lifting him off the ground, constricting him until he can’t breathe, until his own weight suffocates him-
Then suddenly it’s bright, far too bright, and he can’t see clearly, and he hears gasps, voices around him, hissing and flinching back at a touch to his forehead, slitted eyes flashing as his tail lashes, coiling.
“Leave me alone!” He growls, baring his fangs, his claws, ready to spring, even as the world spins and colors blend, everything shifting as if he’s looking through a fun house mirror.
“You’re burning up…”
“Calm down, Janus, let us help!” He hisses, drawing back further, heart pounding with fear, pulse racing with adrenaline, but everything is too much, too loud, too bright, and he can’t focus, can’t figure out where he is or what’s going on or who is speaking, past the pounding in his ears.
Then a hand comes into view, trying to reach him, and he snarls, letting the coils do their job, propelling himself forwards, pouncing, but the sudden movement sends a wash of lightheadedness through him, and the world goes dark.
“Janus! Janus, are you ok?!” He groans, barely managing to register the voice, barely managing to flick open his eyes for long enough to see a flash of deep blue, to realize someone has caught him, stopped him from falling.
“lo…gan?” He manages weakly, feeling the logical side let out a relieved breath, though he’s no less worried.
“Yes. You’ve got a severe fever, Janus, how long have you been sick?” His mind seems to be working at half speed, his tongue feels heavy and thick, and he barely manages a shrug.
“w-week?” He offers, already slipping away.
“Oh honey. We’re gonna take care of you, alright? You just get some rest, and when you wake up it’ll all be better.” He doesn’t trust that voice, not completely, but he knows in this case, it’s telling the truth, so he nods, shivering at the cold air on his scales, wishing for his heating pad, before he blacks out once more.
…
Logan lets out a low breath as Janus collapses in his arms, cheeks flushed, even through the scales now peppering both sides of his face, his pulse coming in odd unsteady beats, his breathing shallow and uneven. He’s ill, extremely ill, and he doesn’t know how none of them had noticed.
Then again, even after becoming accepted, Janus has always been the most aloof of all of them. Even now, they don’t really know much about him, he holds everything close to his chest. Which is maybe why Virgil and Remus are the only two who don’t look entirely surprised at the state of him.
That state being a half human, half snake, commonly known as a Naga, in folklore.
“We need to break the fever. Help me lift him, onto the couch?” Logan states, more than asks, and instantly, the twins are there, each taking half of his tail while Logan takes his torso, sliding him onto the couch, before wrapping him with blankets, trying to quell his incessant shivering, coiling tight, teeth chattering.
“Now what?” Roman asks, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Heated blankets, he has some, yes?” Remus nods.
“I’ll go get them.”
“Virgil.” He startles at Logan addressing him, his eyes had been locked on Janus’s form, huddled and so small, despite his large coils. He hadn’t realized his breath was starting speed, his heart starting pound. “Virgil, I need you to answer some questions for me. It could help in my treatment of him.” He nods, though his throat feels dry.
“He has shifted like this before?” He nods again, forcing himself to take a deep inhale and exhale.
“yeah. He doesn’t… he usually doesn’t. Doesn’t like to. But when he gets sick or hurt, he loses control, sometimes. Goes… goes into attack mode.” Logan nods.
“It makes sense, that as self preservation, he would have this kind of protective mechanism. Given his scales, I’m not surprised that he would take Naga form. And Remus has his tentacles, his half animal form being an octopus-“
“Kraken, dear Logic!” Remus trills, returning and tucking the heated blankets around Janus, making sure they aren’t set too high. They want a toasty snek, after all, not a toasted one. A minor distinction, but an important one, in this case.
“And Virgie here is-“ Instantly, the room grows ten degrees colder, the shadows lengthening, as it grows darker, all eyes turning back to Virgil, who is shaking his head, maybe just shaking in general.
“don’t. Remus, please… don’t.” Remus pouts, but instantly nods, coming over and rubbing his arms to dispel the chill, smiling as Virgil’s head thumps against his chest.
“Sorry, Vee. I forget what I’m not supposed to say and what I am. I didn’t mean to spill the beans.” He feels Virgil nod, knows he understands, he’s just scared and stressed right now, and so is he, it’s why his tongue nearly slipped. He has a bit more control than the others tend to think, at least when it comes to important things, secret things, like this.
“Virgil? You… you have animal traits too? That’s really cool, kiddo, why didn’t you tell us?” He winces at Patton’s question.
“you wouldn’t like them. Trust me, Pat, it’s better I just keep them tucked away, where they won’t cause any problems.” He mutters, a bit of fear curdling in his chest, at what he is, fear blooming at what they would do, if they knew.
If they knew his eyeshadow was to hide the three smaller eyes dotted underneath his normal ones, if they knew about his eight, spindly spiked legs, that could extend from his back, much like Remus’s tentacles, making him much faster and stronger than any of the rest of them, if they knew how quickly he could move, slinging web, how reflexive an action it once was, when he and Remus were young and would tussle, if they knew about his own deadly, venomous fangs, if they knew how when he was stressed, he still vanished into Remus’s imagination, to weave intricate webs, to put his hands to work so his mind would be silent.
“Virgil. I love you kiddo, no matter what, okay? Just remember that, if you ever do want to share. Whatever it is, it won’t change that.” He looks away, nodding once, though if Janus were in working order he’d call bullshit from a mile away, there were some things that they could grow to accept about him, yes, but his half spider form? Definitely not one of them, when even curtains with cartoony spiders warranted being called “creepy crawly death dealers” and getting attacked by Roman’s sword.
“So… now what do we do?” Roman asks breaking the silence.
“wait. He’ll shift back, once he’s feeling better, in control, again. Until then, we should all give him plenty of space, you three especially.” Virgil answers.
“Why is that?” Logan asks, and Remus grins.
“Janny’s got quite a nasty bite. Those fangs aren’t just for show!”
“He might lash out, is what he’s saying. And it’s better if no one is in reach when he does. Me and Re have a certain amount of immunity, to the venom, thanks to our… traits, but it would be really, really bad, for any of you. Plus, he isn’t used to you all being around yet, he’s less likely to lash out if it’s me or Remus, nearby.” Virgil explains, “you, um, you’ll trigger his fight reflex.” He doesn’t have to look up, to see the slightly hurt expression on Patton’s face.
“He doesn’t trust us yet.” Logan says softly, and Remus nods, though his face is tight, with a frown.
“That’s… understandable. We haven’t been the best of companions.” Roman murmurs, surprising both Remus and Virgil.
“He trusts you.” Remus states, looking firmly at Logan, who’s eyes widen in surprise, hand flying to adjust his glasses. “He doesn’t trust you.” Remus states, looking at Roman, who nods minutely, a brief look of regret flashing across his face. “And none of us trust you.” He turns his sharp gaze on Patton, who winces.
“Remus!” Virgil hisses, grabbing his arm.
“What? It’s true, otherwise you would have told them what you are, by now! Tell me, the reason you haven’t, isn’t exclusively to do with Patton.” He flinches, drawing back, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t have to see the hurt on Patton’s face, though he hears the sharp inhale of breath. “Tell me you aren’t afraid, of what he will do.” He gasps, the air flooding out of him, feeling as if he’s been punched in the gut, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He opens his mouth, ready to deny it.
“I can’t.” he whispers instead, blanching at his own words, drawing further back, into himself. “I… I can’t.”
“that’s ok, kiddo.” Patton’s voice is soft, trembling, and he looks up in surprise, at the words, Patton taking a step closer, though still giving him his space. “It’s ok. I’ve hurt you, a lot, in the past, unintentionally, but I still hurt you. It’s ok, that you don’t feel comfortable telling me everything, telling me anything. I don’t expect you to. I don’t need you to. I’m happy to just be here, that you’ve let me have this much with you, and it’s ok, that you don’t entirely trust me. It’s ok, Virg.” His lip trembles, then he’s in Patton’s arms, head tucked against his shoulder. “we’re ok, kiddo.” Patton hugs him tightly, rubbing circles against his back, pretending not to notice the sniffling.
“thank you.” Virgil whispers, pulling away, Patton reluctantly letting him go.
“Of course, Virgil. I’ll go get started on some soup and grilled cheese. Everyone needs to eat something, and hopefully we’ll be able to get some soup in him, too. Thank you, Remus. For being honest with me. It… it hurts, but I need to hear it, sometimes. It keeps me moving forwards. Keeps me getting… better.” Patton flashes him a small, tired smile, before ducking away, into the kitchen.
“I’ll go help. He gets shaky, when he’s worried, and he’ll nick himself cutting the vegtables, otherwise.” Roman mumbles, looking back at Remus, hesitating as if he wants to say something, before shaking his head and turning away, a rueful smile on his lips, a promise in his eyes, that they’ll talk later, when he knows what he wants to say.
“He… trusts me?” Remus rolls his eyes, sitting on the arm of the couch.
“Um, duh? You’re the only one who accepted all of us, right of the bat. Sure, you aren’t buddy buddy with us, but you also didn’t just dismiss us. You also listened to us, took us seriously, debated, not disagreeing just because of who we are. You treat us like… equals. That’s a rare thing, around here, Logan.”
“…oh. I… I see. Well. I will be keeping an eye on his temperature, checking in every few hours. If anything changes, fetch me immediately. I’ll get some cool water and towels, for his forehead. See if you can’t coax him into drinking something, as well, he’s likely severely dehydrated. I would suggest an IV, but I doubt his reaction to that would be ideal.”
“Ok. Sounds good, Lo. Thanks.” Logan nods once, before leaving, dropping off a bowl and towels, before vanishing once more. Virgil slumps to the ground, back resting against the couch cushions, hands buried in his face as he lets out a long, shaking breath, trying to stave off the panic creeping up his shoulders.
Remus frowns, brushing back Janus’s hair, dabbing the rag across his forehead, willing with all his might for the fever to go down, for his eyes to open, for him to smirk and say something bitingly sharp.
“Come on, DeeDee. Playing coy doesn’t suit you.” He whispers, eyes flicking to Virgil at the small snort from the emo, who shoves his hands up through his hair, leaving it messy and disheveled, his eyeshadow smeared across his face. If he looks hard enough, he can spot his dark little eyes, shiny, pure pitch little things, like reflective black buttons. “you know I’ve always found your little quirks cute, right?” He asks, not mentioning specifics just in case someone came by. Virgil lets out another short laugh, though the small smile stays on his face, as he shakes his head.
“I think you’re the only one who would describe them that way, Ree, but yeah. I know.” He mumbles, not protesting as Remus slips off the couch and onto the floor beside him, slowly and gently resting an arm around his shoulders. He scoots closer, tucking himself against Remus’s side, letting himself burrow into the warmth, safe and protected. “I’m scared.” Comes the low whisper, and Remus coos, turning to wrap his other arm around him in a warm hug.
“I know, shadow. I know.”
#sanders sides#tss#Janus Sanders#remus sanders#virgil sanders#patton sanders#logan sanders#roman sanders#dragon witch#sympathetic janus#unsympathetic remus#sympathetic virgil#sympathetic patton#sympathetic logan#sympathetic roman#sickfic#sick janus#naga janus#spider virgil#kraken remus#dark sides have animal forms#hurt/comfort#angst#fluff#eventual happy ending#patton's trying to be a good friend#protective remus
91 notes
·
View notes
Text
A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (5/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]
If there was someone or something overseeing their lives, pulling the strings of their destiny and purposefully nudging them toward specific paths, then Clarke wanted a fucking word with them.
It was a surprise, if not a shock, when she saw Lexa stroll into the shop with her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. It was barely a week after Clarke had resolved not to think about her anymore, a plan that hadn't always been successful. Lexa walked toward the counter with a proud chin, as if nothing had changed.
"Good morning," she said.
Clarke could have thrown a mini Bundt cake at her if Wells hadn't nearly burnt his apron making them.
"It was," she answered, deciding that professionalism was not in the cards today.
“I’ll have some pie, please."
“Humble?”
Lexa set her jaw. “And what would that taste like?”
Clarke smiled sardonically. “Bitter.”
Lexa held her stare before looking at the display. "I think I'll try the mini Bundt."
"For here or to go?" Clarke asked as she rang it up.
Lexa seemed disappointed to see that her usual seat by the weeping fig was occupied.
"Looks like it's busy."
"Faithful clientele," Clarke retorted, and then, "for the most part."
Lexa exhaled sharply before pulling out her wallet to pay in cash. "No problem, I'll have it to go."
Clarke put the mini Bundt in a paper bag. "No coffee?" she asked, though she didn't care much for the answer.
"Not today."
"I'm sorry we're fresh out of kale juice." It was a snippy comment that Clarke knew she was above making, but Lexa's sudden reappearance had touched a nerve.
Whatever Lexa wanted to say, she visibly stopped herself. She grabbed her mini Bundt and then pulled out a sheet of paper from her bag.
"Would you mind if I put this up? It's the ad for interviews."
"I offered, didn't I?"
"Offers change."
"I don't go back on my word," Clarke answered stubbornly.
Lexa challenged her stare before nodding and walking toward the board. She scanned over each flyer, seemingly trying to figure out which one she could put hers next to. Finally she pinned it near the middle right. It was a sober flyer; no bold colors or giant fonts, but eye-catching in its minimalism compared to the busier ads surrounding it. As always, Lexa stuck to the basics.
Carrying her mini Bundt, she gave Clarke one last look before leaving. Clarke noticed the tip she'd left and hung her head before going back to her doodles. It was going to be a slow, rainy day.
* * *
It was a slow, rainy week. The wind came first; strong gusts that swept up old leaves and knocked down hats. A downpour followed on Wednesday, unrelenting and miserable. Customers came into the shop drenched, sticking their umbrellas in the already full rack by the entrance before rubbing their cold hands together.
Clarke liked watching their faces; the expressions of relief at finally finding some shelter and comfort from the brutal rain. It was gloomy outside but the café was everyone's home for a little while, the colors still warm and the plants still thriving. She couldn't help but enjoy these moments regardless of the cold, remembering this feeling was exactly why she'd gotten into this business in the first place.
Still, Clarke was human. An hour before closing time she was already fantasizing about hot tomato soup and the comfort of her bed. She'd finished chatting with a regular when Wells came in looking like he'd run a mile to get here. He usually left much earlier than she did, but sometimes swung back to check on things before driving to meet Raven at the theater.
"You want to read this," he told her with barely contained excitement, clutching his phone against his soaked raincoat.
He rounded the counter and showed her the screen. It was an article from the Costial Gazette with a damning title:
Finn's Coffee & Bagels: Neither Fresh nor Clean
"What is this?" Clarke asked, skimming the article. There were mentions of false advertising, misleading business practices, trouble brewing with the Federal Trade Commission, mentions of artificial preservatives despite claims of the contrary, and, to top off the proverbial shit cake, an anonymous employee detailing horrid management. It was a scalding report - one Clarke had dreamed of writing herself.
Understandably, Wells couldn't stop grinning. "This is good, right? Especially the FTC stuff. Bad for him, good for us."
Clarke was about to answer when a thought struck her. She quickly scrolled back up: By Echo Blake and Lexa Woods.
Clarke shut her eyes closed. So maybe she'd jumped to conclusions when she'd seen Lexa at his shop. Maybe she'd made it personal. Who wouldn't? Lexa was still… Lexa. Impossible to read and impossible to understand.
"Titus will drop him for sure," Wells mused aloud. "How the hell did Finn get the old man to carry his brand anyway?"
"Money. Connections. Empty promises." Clarke had no doubt about that. "That's mostly how Finn gets what he wants."
Wells was still smiling from ear to ear when he texted Raven a link to the article. "Looks like it finally bit him in the ass. We should send the Gazette a Thank You cake."
Clarke leaned her elbows on the counter and let out a noncommittal grunt.
"What's wrong?" Wells asked. "I thought you'd be happy about this."
"Oh I'm happy. Just thinking about the humble pie I'm gonna have to eat myself."
* * *
Naturally, Clarke had to wait another week before Lexa dared show up again. She'd noticed that her ad had attracted some attention - curious customers reading it and then pocketing a tear-off tab - and was anticipating Lexa would come in to either replace it or take it down.
When she did, it was during the usual afternoon lull and Clarke felt nervous. Now that she knew her anger had stemmed from… well, a combination of things but also an overreaction, she was embarrassed by the way she'd previously spoken to Lexa.
When Lexa walked in, Clarke was cleaning one of the coffee machines. It was her distorted reflection that she saw in the nozzle; her discreet gait as she walked toward the board and unpinned her ad. Clarke figured she would leave immediately, but Lexa approached the counter. Her eyes scanned over the display glass.
"Can I get you anything?" Clarke tentatively asked.
Lexa looked up and readjusted the strap of her satchel. "Are there any baby Bundts left?"
Clarke shook her head. "All out. It's pecan tartlet week. But Wells liked making them, burnt apron aside - we could put them back in the rotation this month."
Lexa seemed surprised Clarke even suggested something that would please her. "That's alright; I'll just wait."
"Regular coffee?" Clarke asked.
Lexa nodded while looking away. "Sure."
As Clarke poured Lexa's regular in a paper cup, she couldn't help but feel like this was their first conversation all over again. Odd and stilted but also one that she didn't want to end so soon. Clarke capped the coffee and turned to her.
"I read your article on FC&B. It's really good." She gave her the cup. "Personal bias aside."
A small smile graced Lexa's face and Clarke felt a thrill. "My co-writer did most of the investigative work."
"But you did some too," Clarke remembered, knowing Lexa would also recollect the time Clarke had spotted her in Finn's shop. "Tried their juice and everything."
Lexa's nose scrunched subtly. "If that's what you want to call it. But still, Echo deserves the credit for the piece. It was her story from the beginning; I was mostly a sounding board."
Something about Lexa dismissing her own work bothered Clarke. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"I've read your stuff before; I know there was some of you in that article. Just take the compliment, Lexa."
There was that fierce light in Lexa's eyes again. "It's not fully mine to take."
"I guess they just put your name on there to fill space?"
Lexa pressed her lips together, unimpressed with the sarcasm.
Clarke huffed. "Why are you so-" She couldn't even finish her question, unsure where to start. Why couldn't they communicate normally? Why did every sentence feel like a mountain to climb? And how on earth did Lexa push her buttons without even lifting a finger?
"You're frustrated," Lexa pointed out.
"I am."
"With me?"
"Is that so hard to believe?"
"No. I've been told I can be frustrating before."
She said it with such a jaded expression that Clarke couldn't help but laugh. "God, how could I ever think…"
"Think what?" Lexa asked without skipping a beat.
Clarke shook her head and walked to the end of the counter. "Nothing."
Lexa followed. "You know, I'm not the only one who sidesteps questions."
There was something unnerving about her tone, like she was challenging her, and Clarke wasn't known to be a graceful loser.
"You don't want the answers."
"Try me. You might be surprised."
Clarke scoffed, then decided she wouldn't back away any longer. "What do you really want to ask, Lexa?" It was the same turn of phrase Lexa had used on her at the bar; the frustration of unspoken truths reaching a boiling point.
"What did you see?" Lexa inquired, never once looking away from her.
Clarke hesitated. They couldn't do this here, now… could they?
"Clarke," Lexa said, almost like a plea.
Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever heard her name said that way. She waited a beat. "Fine. I saw you."
Lexa visibly swallowed. "What about me?"
"You're a journalist. Guess."
"Good journalists don't guess. I would need some information to first form a hypothesis and then-"
"You kissed me," Clarke interjected, fed up with logic.
Lexa's mouth clamped shut, so Clarke continued:
"And I mean you kissed me everywhere. Is that enough to form a hypothesis?"
Lexa processed for a moment, her cheeks a shade darker. "It explains… things."
"Why?" Clarke paused, thinking it through. "Did you have…"
"Yes."
"The same?"
"Not exactly."
"Well? Spit it out."
Lexa looked around them, but no one paid them any attention. "I was making coffee. In my underwear.”
Clarke frowned, unsure she'd heard her correctly. "You're kidding, right? I make coffee every day, how is that so embarrassing you couldn't tell me?"
"No, you don't understand," Lexa weakly said. "I don't… like… coffee. Hate it. Any hot beverage actually."
"You hate coffee," Clarke repeated incredulously, eyes going to the very cup Lexa was holding.
"But I was making it," Lexa reiterated. "In an apartment that wasn't mine. With doodles framed everywhere. After recognizing the style, I figured… I was making it for you."
Clarke stepped back, bewildered. She had never once thought that Lexa might've seen the same thing she had, or something close, or even seen her. She wasn't even sure what that meant, if anything at all.
"Oh."
"Yes."
It was like everything had shifted in the span of a few seconds, the before and after she had revealed what she'd seen. It was different now. Lexa knew, and she knew, and everything that had brought them here took on a different meaning. Lexa starting a dialogue; Lexa inviting her to a play; Lexa catching her eyes from across a room. She had been trying to solve a puzzle too; trying to understand what she might've missed before.
But.
Something between them never quite… locked. For the first time, Clarke realized that Lexa was just as wildly out of her depth as she was. Even in her anger she'd put Lexa on a pedestal; seen her as the diligent journalist with the clever words and the impenetrable stare. Now she saw Lexa as someone looking for answers just as she was. They'd both been trying to form a connection based on a vision - maybe that was the problem.
"Well, that kind of takes the surprise out of it," she said, finally exhaling.
Lexa opened and shut her mouth, unsure where to go from there. She settled on a mute nod while Clarke fiddled with her hands, glancing toward the front door and praying for someone to walk in. No such miracle happened quickly enough.
"Thank you for telling me." Lexa had gone quieter; introspective in the way Clarke was used to.
"Yep." Clarke rubbed the back of her neck. "It's probably for the best that- I mean, it's a relief actually."
"It is. I'm sorry if I acted strangely," Lexa said. "I was confused."
"Right. Because we barely knew each other."
"Exactly."
"And I mean… we were both clearly trying to see if there was something… there, and, I don't know that-"
Lexa's eyes flashed to hers. "No, of course not. I'm just a customer."
Clarke frowned. "I didn't say that."
"But it's true. We were drawn to each other because of something out of our control. It's something I've heard a lot in recent interviews. A guy walking up to a woman after he had a vision of her dress. A wife divorcing her husband because she had a vision of herself accepting a drink from a stranger."
Lexa seemed to have gone back into business mode and Clarke didn't know if it was some sort of deflecting mechanism. Regardless, Clarke had never felt this awkward in her life. Like she might trip on her own feet if she even moved.
"So the visions push us to act a certain way," she tried to catch on.
Lexa nodded. "I'm exploring the theory that they're just one thread among hundreds of others. No one is forced to pull that one specifically. Nothing is ever inevitable."
Clarke didn't know what else she could do but nod in acknowledgment. That was it? People got life-altering information from their visions but she got a theory from the woman she shared the supposedly most exciting event of her life with?
"I'm glad we could clear the air."
"Absolutely," Lexa agreed.
Silence stretched for what felt like a minute before Lexa looked at her watch. "Speaking of interviews, I have a phone call soon."
"Great. Hope it's helpful."
"I'm sure it will be."
When Lexa started to leave, Clarke suddenly remembered something. "Wait!"
Lexa looked at her with wide eyes, practically in disbelief Clarke would want to prolong the excruciating moment.
"One more thing," Clarke said.
"Yes?"
Clarke took a deep breath. "Was it a date?"
Lexa frowned. "What?"
"When you offered me a ticket to Lincoln's play. When you mentioned the after party. Were you asking me out?"
"You'd mentioned wanting to see a play," Lexa stammered. "I had the spare ticket."
"Did you want to pull the thread, Lexa?" Clarke asked, feeling a surge of confidence. Now that the secret was out, she needed to know everything. She needed their bizarre back-and-forths to have an explanation.
Lexa froze. "I'm a journalist; I investigate. You were my only lead."
It affected her more than it should have, considering Clarke had promised herself she wouldn't let Lexa Woods get to her again.
Lexa must've noticed. "I didn't mean - you're obviously not just-"
"It's fine. I get it. I wanted to be sure too." Clarke turned to grab a towel for the counter. "It's like you said: nothing is inevitable. I'm glad we got it squared away."
Lexa nodded weakly. "So everything can go back to the way it used to be."
"Sure."
"I look forward to tomorrow's new batch," Lexa told her politely before leaving.
Clarke dropped her towel and sat on the stool they kept behind the counter. Lexa was back in her life, but somehow it felt worse to return to normal. Somehow all Clarke could think about was that Lexa wanted to pull their damn thread but something was keeping her from it.
And maybe it was time to admit she might’ve hoped Lexa and her were inevitable.
-
[part six]
165 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
celebabs
hotmen
adamci1
BA animation
losshurts
Miscarriage
theyanderemaster
uwubean
stakesofmarika
@milposclint