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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

a saturday ritual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: mild swearing, a single parent home, mentions of death (death of a parent & a significant other), mentions of alcohol consumption, and a lil pining, but mainly just FLUFF Word Count: 5.6k Request: anonymous: “I love your Spencer Reid fics! I was wondering if you could write something with Spencer and a single mom reader?? Thanks”

A/N: a very brief summary: spencer is infatuated by his new neighbour, a single mom to a five year old boy who likes to wreak havoc in their shared corridor. also, this one turned out to be a lot A LOT longer than i initially thought it would be but honestly i had so much fun writing this fic, it really could have gone on foreverrrrr ENJOY and as always let me know what you think !

For about a week after you moved into the apartment across from his, Spencer wondered what would be an acceptable excuse to go introduce himself.

Having been away on a case those first couple of days, he missed the initial opportunity. Later, his colleagues told him that was enough of a justification. Much later. Too late. Now the moment has passed, and he wondered whether pretending he needed salt or sugar was a good enough pretext. Lame.

He's caught glimpses of you out in the shared hall returning from the grocery store, or by the post box downstairs collecting your mail. Glimpses. Passing fleeting seconds. Never enough time to say hello, however enough to notice you were really beautiful.

Also enough to notice the little boy constantly tugging at your clothes. From what he could see, the resemblance was uncanny. The boy was your son no doubt. And given that Spencer hasn’t seen another adult around, he came to a conclusion you were a single mom.

It was now Saturday morning. Saturday. A day he usually spent grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. And this weekend began no differently.

With a cup of coffee, he sat at his desk and began working away when an odd droning sound caught his attention. Buzzing. Yet it wasn’t mechanical, no. The peculiar hum echoing outside seemed more manmade. Childlike.

Yes, the brunette doctor deducted, the buzzing sounds he was currently hearing were most definitely airplane noises made by a kid.

At first, he decided to pay no attention to what was going on outside his door. He felt bad enough for not going to introduce himself, so he wasn't about to become the mean man from across the hall who gave out about playing children.

After taking a sip of his coffee, he proceeded to bury his head in the papers scattered across his desk. The sound wasn’t too loud meaning it wasn't a big distraction. He could continue to get his work done despite the clatter.

It was then he heard your voice for the first time. The melodic tone drew him in even more than the buzzing echo.

Dropping his pen, he instantly got to his feet and ambled towards the front door - now was his chance.

His hand hovered over the knob, but before he got a chance to do anything, he heard a slam. The noises stopped. Silence once again filled the hall outside.

The hazel-eyed doctor felt slightly foolish. He didn't really know what he wanted to accomplish by springing up so fast. Even if he managed to catch you, what was he going to say? I heard your voice, and wanted to see you. Stupid. You would think he's absolutely clinically insane. I heard you out here, and wanted to finally introduce myself. Better. Although still a little weird.

With a sigh, he sunk back in his seat and continued with his usual Saturday routine. Hoping he would get another chance.

Sunday he heard the buzzing again. Only this time he was walking up the stairs, returning from a late afternoon stroll.

Once he reached his floor he came face to face with the source of the airplane noises currently echoing throughout the building.

Spencer thought the young boy couldn't be more than five. He was wearing a jumper that was clearly too big on him. Probably one of yours, Spencer thought. Arms spread out by his side, the oversized garment covering his hands in full, the kid ran circles up and down the corridor. A wide grin on his face. The hoodie dragging on the floor collecting dustballs.

Mixed with the noises was the sound of your laughter, coming from inside your apartment. The honey-like harmony was like music to Spencer's ears. A small smile crept up on his features; what the hell was going on with him? How could he possibly feel an attraction to someone he’s never met, held a conversation with.

The boy stopped abruptly when he noticed Spencer. His arms fell, and he ran into your apartment. Vanished as if he’d seen a ghost. Although, he must have been waiting, looking out for when the coast was clear again, because as soon as Spencer closed his own door the buzzing resumed.

It continued on for hours.

Having spent time with JJ’s boys, Spencer was no stranger to the amount of energy little kids possessed. Often when playing he would be the one to grow tired first. He would be the one that needed a break while they continued to wreak havoc. Therefore the noises didn't bother him. He went about his evening, subconsciously listening out for your voice.

The next few days were quiet.

Not like he spent a lot of time at home anyway. Between his classes and his unpredictable work hours with the FBI, he only went back to his apartment to sleep. And that was usually really late at night.

Thursday evening, after a surprisingly short day, he was fumbling through his bag in search for his key when the sudden urge to go and finally say hello came over him. He knocked on your door and instantly heard shuffling inside. There was no turning back now.

Soon you were standing in front of him. Subtly, he looked you up and down. His grip on the strap of his bag tightening. Wow, you were even more beautiful than the glimpses he caught.

That came off rather stalker-ish, he took a mental note.

“Hello. Can I help you?” You asked while leaning against the frame, one hand holding the door so not let the brunette stranger see inside.

“Hi, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He introduced himself, examining your face for any sort of reaction. Completely blank. “Can I help you?” You repeated. The brunette doctor was slightly taken aback by your cold shoulder. He pursed his lips into a thin smile. “No. I just wanted to introduce myself and say that if you needed anything-” “Thanks.” You cut him off and closed the door in his face.

Spencer took a step back. That definitely didn’t go as he thought it would. He rationalised your behaviour as a response to his tardiness with regards to greeting you and your son in the building. Although he still couldn’t believe you were so, for lack of a better word, bitchy.

Glancing one last time at your door, he unlocked his own and stepped inside. At least now he could say he tried introducing himself. He tried being the friendly neighbour.

Saturday arrived once again in the blink of an eye. This particular morning, the hazel-eyed doctor had an abundance of papers to grade. He made himself comfortable and got to work.

Unlike last week, when the airplane noises didn't bother him, today he found them to be quite irritating. He would reread the same sentences at least twice before he even began to understand them. Not ideal.

Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his already messy curls and let out a deep sigh. He really needed to concentrate, but he also didn't want to be a dick about it. Possibly making the already tense situation even worse.

Quickly, and rather impulsively, he gathered his things. He put on his shoes, threw his bag over his shoulder, and walked out into the hall.

This time the little boy was sitting on the floor in the middle of the corridor. In his hands he gripped two toy planes, flying them around in the air. The boy looked up at Spencer and smiled, but continued to play. Spencer smiled back while locking his door, and proceeded to make his way down the stairs.

Yes. He felt good about his decision to work somewhere else for the day.

That evening, as he was about to reheat some leftovers, there was a knock on the door. It was faint. So faint in fact he wasn't sure if he heard it at first. For a split second he hesitated, his attention now focused solely on the door. Another knock. Louder this time. He hurried over and opened it to greet the mysterious guest.

You.

Dressed in an oversized band t-shirt, one Spencer didn't recognise, and a pair of biker shorts - all covered in spatters of colourful paint. Your hair was up in a bun with loose strands escaping by your face. Spencer also noticed a yellow paint smudge on your left cheek, and white speckles on your forehead. Despite the dishevelled attire, you looked considerably more relaxed than the day he went to introduce himself.

“I guess I should start off by apologising.” You began in that melodic tone he first heard last week. “When you came by, I was really rude. I'm not usually like that, I swear. It’s just I have a lot on my plate right now. Benny’s grandparents, from his dad’s side, are giving me grief for moving so far away from them. Even though it’s only an extra twenty minute drive. But you know, they are Benny’s grandparents and I love them. They’re family. Anyway, minutes before you knocked I was on the phone with them, again about the same thing, and the conversation put me in a foul mood. Which really isn’t an excuse for the way I acted towards you so, yeah, inexcusable. I’m sorry.”

The hazel-eyed doctor couldn't help but lightly smirk. He’s never met anyone that rambled nearly as much as him. He’s learned more about you in the last ten seconds than he did the whole time you lived across from him.

“Okay. Okay, you’re smiling. That’s a good sign, right?” You brought your hands to your face, gently pressing your fingertips to the corners of your mouth as if to cover the embarrassment you were no doubtly feeling right now. “Because I did actually come here to invite you over for pizza. A truly lame attempt to try show you that I am in fact a good person and not that bitch you met.”

“I love pizza.” Spencer simply stated causing a sigh of relief to escape your lips.

“Great. That’s great.” A warm expression graced your facial features. “Oh, I’m Y/N by the way.” You were about to reach out your hand when you noticed the colourful paint covering your fingers. “Mom life.” You joked, cheeks flushing a soft pink, and let your arms fell back down to your side.

You patiently waited for Spencer to grab his keys and phone before making your way across the hall.

Your apartment was slightly larger than his, two bedrooms, and the decor also couldn’t have been more different to his own. Colourful, vibrant, homey. Those would be the words he’d use to describe what he was witnessing.

In the middle of the living space stood a dark green couch. Draped over it were numerous blankets, hiding underneath them were mismatched throw pillows. On the coffee table lay a stack of books, surrounded by children’s toys. The wall behind the television was decorated from corner to corner with various sized frames. Inside those frames were different movie posters, photos, random prints, and what he speculated was some of Benny’s artwork.

He was in awe as to how fast you managed to make this place feel like your own.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna quickly wash my hands to try get this pesky paint off, and then we can order food.” With that you disappeared leaving Spencer alone to examine the rest of your place.

His attention was caught by a not so white bedsheet, opposite end of the living space. It was covered in paint. On top of the sheet, stood an old pickle jar that was filled with water. It held numerous brushes. Next to it was a plastic box with tubes of acrylic paint with every colour a person could possibly dream of.

Spencer took a couple of steps towards the bedsheet. He didn't want to seem nosey, he just wanted to get a better look at the currently drying canvases. A distinct pitter of small feet caused him to stand up straight, frozen, as if he was caught doing something illegal.

“A-are, are you the pizza guy?” Benny asked curiously, tilting his little head to one side.

“No uhm, I’m Spencer. I live across the hall.” He explained. “Your mom invited me.” That felt like an important thing to add.

Benny sized him up. His eyes narrowed, lips pursed into a serious pout, nose scrunched. He crossed his little arms as if he was daring Spencer. It was rather silly, this five year old trying to intimidate a grown man, and yet the brunette doctor began to feel nervous. He didn't understand why. He was usually really good with kids.

“Benny, bunny, quit trying to scare our guest.” You returned, grabbing your sons attention and breaking the odd charade. Benny’s gaze traveled to you. “Go do a little clean up of your toys please. I saw those planes your pops bought you in the bathtub. That’s not their place, is it?” Benny shook his head and ran off with a loud chuckle.

You glanced at Spencer and shot him a kind smile.

“Sorry about that. He gets the whole intimidation thing after his dad.” “That’s okay.” Spencer replied. You could tell he was being nice, just like he could tell Benny’s dad was a touchy subject. Spencer wasn’t about to make it worse. It wasn’t his place. And you didn't know him well enough yet to spill the secrets of your past relationship. Therefore, the two of you stood completely still for an awkward second just looking at one another.

“Would you like anything to drink?” You asked, breaking the silence. “We have orange juice, water, or mom juice.” “Mom juice?” Spencer raised an intrigued brow. “Wine.” You explained giggling. Spencer nodded his head with a smile. “I’ll have some mom juice then.” “Good choice.”

As he sat down on the couch, you receded into the kitchen, returning shortly with two plastic cups in hand. “I forgot to ask which you’d prefer, red or white, so I brought a glass of each. Whatever you won’t have, I’ll drink.” You reached out your hands. Spencer took the cup with red wine, his fingers brushing gently against yours in the process. Spark. No, he thought. He was imagining things.

Unknown to the brunette doctor, you felt it too. The blood rushed to your face for a split second as you nervously cleared your throat before taking a sip of your wine.

“You have to forgive the plastic cups. One of Benny’s latest favourite activities is pretending to be an airplane and breaking everything in sight, so I locked all my nicer glassware away.” You explained while elegantly plopping down next to Spencer. “Plastic cups are nice. It’s like a picnic.” God, how dumb. He mentally smacked himself. Idiot.

However, your light giggle indicated you didn’t seem to mind. Your eyes widened a little, and he could have sworn they were glistening. “Well thank you Spencer. You’re the first person to say something nice rather than commenting on my parenting style.”

It was the first time you said his name out loud. And in that melodic tone of yours, it echoed inside his brain like a song. Leaving a permanent mark.

“My mom thinks I need to discipline him more, but no-one ever said it would be this hard alone.” You babbled on, completely oblivious to the silent commotion currently going on inside Spencer’s mind. “Benny’s dad was the bad cop per se, I’m no good at it. My son can cause all the trouble in the world, and still all it would take is for him to look up at me with those bunny eyes and all is good again. Probably because he has his dad’s eyes...” You stopped yourself, and chewed down on your bottom lip.

“Sorry.” You fluttered your lashes at the man sitting next to you. “I’ve been told I talk too much.”

Spencer brought the cup to the brim of his mouth and chuckled. “Don’t be. I’ve been told the exact same thing.” He took a sip of his wine.

“I find that hard to believe. You’ve barely squeezed in four full sentences these last fifteen minutes, while I just go on and on and on.”

“Give it time. I guarantee you’ll be sick of me by the end of the night, and I will never get invited over for pizza again.”

Without thinking, you reached out and placed your hand on his forearm. The air hitched in Spencer’s throat as his eyes briefly traveled down to where you were gently grasping. “Consider this your weekly invite.” You said in a silvery tone and proceeded to give his arm a gentle squeeze.

Just like that, Spencer’s Saturday routine was richer by one more item. Perhaps the most important item on the list. Pizza at the apartment across from his.

Truthfully, it was his favourite time of the week.

During those weekly visits, Spencer quickly learned a lot about you. Where you grew up, any likes and dislikes, hobbies, facts about your family. He learned that you used to teach art at a high school; a job you loved but ultimately decided to leave after you became a single parent. Now, you work at an art gallery only a few blocks from here.

Spencer evened out the scale by sharing his own stories and fables. You were quite surprised to hear about the numerous doctorates he possessed, the work he did, some of the shit he went through, and honestly just how smart he actually was.

Each time you met, you each discovered something new about one another. Something that made you seem even more interesting in the other persons eyes.

Although, an unspoken agreement was in place, the topic of Benny’s dad was off limits. For now.

When Benny got comfortable having Spencer around, the weekly pizza routine evolved into other activities involving you and your son. Movie nights. Walks to the park. Playground visits. Home-cooked dinners at yours. Puzzle afternoons at his. Spencer taught Benny and you magic tricks, while you taught Spencer how to paint.

Soon enough you were exchanging keys and before either of you even realised, six months passed.

Spencer spent Saturday morning preparing class materials for the week ahead, as usual. Through the thin walls he could hear unmistakable airplane noises and patter of feet running up and down the corridor. He smiled to himself. The echo was a pleasant reminder it was only a few hours until he would see you for pizza.

See during these last few months, Spencer fell head over heels for you. He fell hard. The ever present smile on circling your already perfect features when he was around, your honey-like laughter, your lavender scent, the way you were with Benny, the way you always watched the hazel-eyed doctor with such great interest whenever he broke out into an obscure fact.

The more time he spent with you, the more his love grew.

Spencer knew that he could never act on it. If he was a selfish man perhaps, but he wasn’t. He would never put his own needs ahead of your friendship as it wasn’t just you and him in this scenario. He had to consider Benny. What if the relationship went south and he was just another man to break both of your hearts? No. He’d never act on his feelings. There was way too much at stake.

Though he still considered himself lucky. Having a place in your life, being your friend. That’s lucky.

“Right on time as always.” You beamed as Spencer stumbled inside, closing your apartment door behind him. He ambled towards the coach and sat in his now usual spot - the left corner, with you in the right.

“Where’s Benny?” He asked, looking around for the little monster. “Benny is tucked away in his bed. He kindly requested a slice of pizza to be brought to him once it arrives so it’s really just you and me tonight. Hope that’s still okay with you.” “I mean, yeah, I guess that’s fine.” Spencer teased, shrugging his shoulders.

You rolled your eyes at him, but didn't say anything else on the matter. Odd, the brunette doctor thought. You always had a witty comeback. It was one of the many things he loved about you.

“I’m sure you could tell me how many pizza nights we had exactly, so I took the liberty of ordering our food already.” You said with a small smile.

“Thirty-two pizza nights.” Spencer stated simply. You furrowed your brows. “That doesn't right.” “Taking into account every Saturday we spent together, plus pizza on your birthday, Memorial Day, and the other few evenings we didn't feel like cooking, it adds up to thirty-two.”

“Holy shit. Maybe we should start ordering salads.” Spencer chuckled at your response. “Pizza is a lot better.” He pointed out and you couldn't argue with that logic.

Food arrived shortly after. You briskly took two slices over to Benny on a plastic plate, checking up on him in the process. While you were gone Spencer chose a movie. One that you would both equally enjoy.

You sat down again, only this time you sat beside him in what is usually Benny’s spot. Shoulder to shoulder. Spencer froze completely. Thinking if he’d move even an inch, it would scare you off and you’d shift away. You reached for a blanket and draped it over the two of you before glancing up at the hazel-eyed doctor.

“Is this okay?” Contrary to the usual melodic tone of your voice, the question came out quite croaky. Nervous. He met your gaze, losing himself completely in the colour of your eyes, and slowly nodded his head.

He’s thought about kissing you before and always managed to fight the urge. Although, in all the time the two of you spent together he was never situated this close to you. Your face was a mere few inches away from his. Oh fuck.

The moment lasted only about half a second, but to Spencer it felt like time stood still. Honestly, if you hadn’t turned away to start the movie, he probably would have lost the inner battle. He wouldn't have been able to hold himself back. He would have kissed you. Maybe he was a selfish man after all.

Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Spencer also turned his attention to the tv. Without breaking your eyes from the screen ahead, you handed him a slice of pizza which he took gratefully. The two of you ate in silence. Enjoying the movie, but mainly each other’s presence.

The brunette man couldn't place the exact moment you cuddled yourself up to him. One minute he peeked to ask you a question about something that now seemed unimportant and you were just there, your head resting against his chest.

A smile circled his lips. He could definitely get used to this.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m completely lost.” You mumbled. “And that says a lot considering I’ve seen this movie before. I didn’t understand it then, I still don’t understand it now.”

“If you've seen this before, why did you let me choose it?” Spencer asked. You tilted to look up at him. “Because I thought you’d be able to explain it to me. You know, using that big genius brain of yours.”

Spencer chuckled. He lifted his hand and began to gently caress the top of your head. “What if I tell you my theory and it ruins the movie for you?” He asked, but you waved your hand dismissing his question. “What if you tell me and it improves the movie?”

“That’s a fair point I guess. Okay.” He continued to run his fingers through your hair as he began to explain. “The movie seems confusing because it’s actually reverse order storytelling. It kind of works its way from the end to the beginning through a series of flashbacks and flash-forwards. Therefore, as you’re watching, you get a view into Lenny’s diminishing state of mind.”

You raised a brow. “Are you sure you haven't seen ‘Memento’ before?”

He raised his hands palms up. “I swear this is my first time.” He pledged, corners of his mouth twisting into a smile. “Hmm...” “I’m just extremely observant. Plus you know I love puzzles, and this movie is like one giant puzzle.” He continued.

“Let’s pretend I believe you Spencer.” You said squinting at him, before turning back to look at the tv. The brunette man smirked under his breath. His hand once again tangling itself in your hair.

The sound of a delicate tiptoe approaching the living room caused you to sit up and reach for the remote. Although to Spencer’s surprise you didn't move away from him. Instead, you leaned your body into his side so that if you wanted, you could place your head back on his shoulder.

“Mommy.” Benny muttered. With a little hoist from you, he scrambled into your lap. “Mommy.” “What’s up bunny? Mommy was just finishing a movie, and then I would have come check on you.”

Benny shook his head. He gripped onto the collar of your t-shirt with one hand, the other travelled to your face. He pushed himself into you, angling your head so that he could whisper something in your ear.

Spencer watched as the smile on your face widened at whatever it was Benny said. The young boy pulled away, and waited for your response. “I don’t know kiddo. Would you like me to ask him?” Benny nodded, also now grinning.

“Spencer?” You turned to address the brunette man. “What is your opinion on pillow forts?” He saw the sparkle in your eyes and he couldn't help but smile. “I love pillow forts.”

Within the hour, the living space was completely transformed into a squashy soft kingdom. Benny joyfully screamed that this was the best pillow fort ever as he crawled inside, teddybear in hand.

You nudged Spencer’s arm before staring up at him. “Thank you.” Your eyes locked as your hand slid into his with ease. Fingers instantly intertwining together like magnets.

“We haven't done this since his dad passed. I’ve suggested it many many times, but he uhm, Benny never wanted to.” Pause. The expression on your face dulled. Mouth quivering as you spoke. “Ehm, his dad was a pilot hence my little guys obsession with planes. He died really suddenly nineteen months ago. Benny was so so small. And I don’t really know how much he remembers of his dad, I mean I tell him stories all the time and so do his grandparents, it’s just hard to tell sometimes if uhm... Pillow forts were like their thing, so after his dad I think they were too painful for Benny.”

Spencer gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You were both now standing toe to toe, facing each other fully.

“I guess Benny just needed to feel ready again. Happy even. So what I’m trying to say is, Spencer, thank you. Truly. Thank you for brining joy back into his life.” You hesitated, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Thank you for brining joy back into both of our lives.”

It meant a lot to Spencer that you finally felt comfortable enough to share more details about Benny’s dad. He never wanted to replace the man, he wouldn't dream of it. All he really wanted since the day he met you was to make you a little bit happier, and to hear he was succeeding warmed his heart.

You immediately noticed how his face lit up ever so slightly. A miniature smile circled your lips. “I just hope we didn't obscure your life too much these last few months.”

Using his free hand, he placed the loose strands of your hair behind your ear. Gently caressing your cheek with his thumb in the process. “Are you kidding? There is nothing I would rather be doing. I love spending time with you guys.”

Your eyes sparked with admiration.

“I love our pizza nights, overanalysing different movies with you, listening to Benny’s rendition of ‘In Summer’ from ‘Frozen’. Heck, I love that I now know what ‘Frozen’ is.” You chuckled as he carried on. “I love painting with you, and how you tell me I’ve gotten a lot better at it even though we both know that’s not true. I love that you get a long with my friends. I love that I can take you and Benny over to JJ’s for playdates. Surprisingly, I love playdates. I love how you let me read to Benny when you’re cooking. I love that he loves when I read to him. And of course I love your cooking.”

Tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. Tears of happiness. Tears of joy. The man standing in front of you was saying all of the right things, and he didn't even know it. Or maybe he did. You couldn't really tell. The intense emotions circling through your mind right now made it hard to think.

Spencer continued. Now that he started, he couldn't stop. He wanted you to know all of these things. He wanted you to know how he felt.

“I love when we go grocery shopping all together, and how you give out to me for my bad diet habits. I love how that always makes Benny laugh. I love how you framed a photo of the three of us and hung it up on your wall, don’t think I didn't notice. I love building lego sets with Benny. I love how the two of you call me when I’m away on a case to make sure I’m okay and tell me about your day. I love the sound of your voice. I love... I love Benny.”

He paused for a split second.

“And I especially love you.”

Tiny salty droplets trailed down your cheeks as you fluttered your lashes. “You love me?” You asked quietly. Spencer nodded his head. “I do. I’m in love with you Y/N.”

You didn't say anything.

Spencer thought he was done for when you let go of his hand. He thought he ruined it. His nose twitched. His stomach dropped. He was about to apologise, say that if you didn't feel the same way it was definitely more than okay. He just wanted you in his life. But he didn't get a chance too.

Instead, your hand was now holding his face. Your lips attached themselves to his in one breath. He instantly noted how they were softer than he could have ever possibly imagined.

You tasted like coconut chapstick. Like bliss, delight. Instinctively, Spencer’s arm wrapped itself around your waist pulling you as close as humanely possible. He could feel your heart beating in rhythm with his. As your hand tangled itself in his curly hair, he wished this moment could last forever.

When you pulled away breathless, your cheeks were flushed pink. You briefly bit down on your bottom lip before once again meeting Spencer’s inviting gaze - his arm still holding you in a tight embrace.

“Tell me again.” You whispered. Spencer’s lips circled into a warm smile. “I love you.” He declared. You slowly traced along his jawline with your fingertips. A bright bream circling your features. “I love you too Spencer.”

The second those words filled the air, he picked you up by the waist and spun you around. A carefree shriek slipped out from your mouth. He set you down and gently grabbing your face, he hauled you in for another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I have wanted to tell you all of those things.” He muttered against your lips. His stubble grazing your chin.“How long I’ve been wanting to kiss you.” You giggled.

“Maybe one day you can enlighten me, but I think now we better crawl into that fort as it is way too quiet in there. Suspiciously quiet.”

Spencer laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” The two of you broke apart. Hand in hand, you joined Benny inside the pillow kingdom.

The boy was tangled up in a fuzzy blanket, slowly drifting asleep. He cuddled himself up to you the second your back hit the ground. You kissed the top of his head before turning to Spencer.

“Do you want to finish the movie?” You asked quietly.

“It’s okay.” He effortlessly squeezed his arm behind your neck. This allowed you to snuggle in closer and rest against him. “We can just lay here.” “What a perfect plan.”

The smile on your face caused Spencer's heart to skip a beat. He placed a kiss to your temple feeling 100% content.

It was Saturday morning. Saturday. A day Spencer used to spend grading papers and preparing class materials for the week ahead. Now, thanks to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, his Saturdays looked much different.

Gradually, you stirred next to him. Eyes fluttering open as a yawn escaped your mouth. “Mhmm, good morning.” “Good morning beautiful.”

“How much time do you think we have?” You asked while stretching. “I would say,” Spencer glanced at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “, about five minutes.” He looked down at you and began slowly leaning in. You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle. “Let’s make ‘em count.”

A clatter of fast approaching feet caused you to halt right as your lips were about to touch. Spencer groaned knocking his head back against the wooden headboard.

“Your calculations were a little off Dr. Reid.” You teased sitting up as he ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. He looked at you once again with the kindest smile. You loved that smile.

“My apologies Mrs. Reid.” He pecked your lips just as the door flew open, your kids bursting through.

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd

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missmentelle · 3 years

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Hey, I have spent my career working with people who are either homeless or at acute risk of homelessness, so this is one of the biggest challenges I help people navigate on a daily basis.

Here’s what I recommend:

Check for available resources in your area. Most cities will have some non-profits or agencies available that might be able to provide free or very low-cost counselling. In Canada and the US, you can call 211 to learn more about resources in your area; you can also go online and Google to see what’s out there. Check with religious organizations in your area as well; many of them provide some form of free counselling, which is often non-denominational and available to people who aren’t a member of their congregation. If you are a student, definitely check out the mental health resources available at your school. The options you can find in the community might not be perfect, but they can at least be a start.

Use supportive listening services. A supportive listening service is a service where an anonymous stranger has a conversation with you, gives you a shoulder to cry on, and helps you sort through your feelings and figure out your next steps. It’s not a substitute for counselling, but it can help you get through a rough moment when you feel like you have no one else to turn to. The most well-known free service is probably 7 Cups of Tea, but you can check Google for more that might be available in your area.

Know your local emergency hotlines. If you struggle with suicidal thoughts or feel that you might be in danger of making a suicide attempt, familiarize yourself with your local suicide hotlines - most countries have a national hotline, and some cities or areas may have a more localized one as well. Keep the numbers somewhere accessible - ideally, save them in your phone.

Join an in-person or online support group. Sometimes the best source of support is someone who has been in your shoes and knows what you’re going through. Check around online for support groups that are tailored to your specific needs - you can find some mental health Facebook groups, Discords and subreddits that might be a good place to start.

Check out mental health apps. The rising cost of mental health treatment has led some mental health professionals to create apps that you can use as self-help tools to try to manage your own mental health. These apps aren’t a replacement for therapy, but they can give you a little extra support in getting through the day. Do some research to figure out which ones are available for your region and device - popular ones available in North America include Happify, Self-Help for Anxiety Management, MindShift, What’s Up, and Lifesum.

Reduce stress as much as possible. I know that this is always a lot easier said than done, but do the best you can to minimize the stress in your life. This could look like a lot of things - it could mean reducing your college course load, taking a break from social media, or ending a relationship that causes you a lot of stress. Take some shortcuts with your house chores if you can - use the dishwasher instead of hand-washing dishes, use disposable paper plates, stock up on frozen or easy-to-prepare meals to reduce cooking.

Try to stick to a daily routine. Our brains crave routine - structure and routine are often an essential part of managing mental illness. Again, I know this is easier said than done, but it’s important to start taking baby steps toward it. Try to eat something three times a day - even if it’s not a full meal, it’s a good start. Try to wake up at around the same time every day. Try to have a bedtime routine, and try to go to bed at similar times each night - even switching off your phone at a set time and getting into bed with a book is a good start toward establishing a healthy routine.

Focus on your physical needs. Mental health issues are a destructive spiral - your mental health issues makes you neglect your physical needs, and when your physical needs are neglected, it makes your mental health worse. Tending to your physical needs isn’t a cure for mental health issues, but it can make it significantly easier to manage your symptoms and reduce their severity a little. Pretend you are a Sim - which mood bars need to be filled right now? It’s okay to take baby steps - take a “sink bath” and change into clean pajamas if you don’t have the energy for a full shower, eat a few slices of lunch meat if you don’t have the energy for a full meal, bag up the garbage in your apartment even if you don’t have the energy to take it outside.

Reach out to loved ones for support. Sometimes the best sources of support are all around us. Staying in regular contact with loved ones can be difficult when you are struggling with your mental health, but it can also be essential for your well-being. Don’t be afraid to ask people for the support you need. Do you need a shoulder to cry on? Do you need help with material tasks, like cleaning your apartment or getting your taxes filed? Don’t be afraid to let people know that you are struggling and that you could use some extra support - needing help is nothing to be ashamed of.

Best of luck to you! MM

#Anonymous #answeredbymm

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wing-ed-thing · 3 years

Text

Group Project (Shino x Reader x Kisame x Temari)

Request:

Word Count: 2,282

Tags/Warnings: Language, Alcohol Mention, Gender Neutral Reader @brokennerdalert @narahanabi

Notes: I have never written for Temari before. I think I got her spot on tho. This was actually too fun to write. Enjoy, y’all.

The only time that worked for everyone was 10 o’clock. Which, by the way, sucked ass. At least, that was what Kisame said in the groupchat just ten minutes before you dragged yourself out of your dorm and into the rain. You trudged through the puddles, holding your jacket closed over your body to protect your backpack-encased laptop. Shino had a night lab. The earlier he finished his work the earlier he could leave. Temari had been insistent about that. She had some sort of circle and you remembered Kisame asking her why she couldn’t just skip for the week only to be met with a passive aggressive response. And Kisame himself had hockey practice. Even the sports houses were off campus, only impeding your scheduling efforts.

When you got to the longue, Temari had already set up all of her belongings. She sat herself in a cluster of four shallow armchairs and spread out a flurry of papers on the long coffee table. With the packed schedule that she threw into the chat, you wondered how she got there so quickly. Temari looked up at you with one long, slender brow raised.

“Oh good, at least you’re here.” Unsure, really, of what to make of her backhanded compliment, you sat down in the chair across from her and wordlessly unpacked your laptop.

You never liked general classes. At the end of the day, you worked on a few big, group projects, ultimately learned nothing, and your grade depended on the work ethic of others. You glanced over at Temari. She likely didn’t even have the same major as you. Granted, that was probably the point of the class, but nonetheless, it weighed on your already drooping eyes knowing that you’d have to pour so many late night hours into a project that would amount to nothing.

You pulled up your school account and sifted through your notifications.

“I signed us up for a research question. I thought that censorship in the classroom was an easy and relevant one. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to get into the intricacies of drones at this time of day.” You couldn’t help but nod. Temari sure pounced on top of things quickly and for that, you were thankful to have received an easy prompt.

“Sounds great,” you mused and the heavy door from the outside to the longue slammed shut. You glanced over your shoulder to find Kisame, still in athletic clothes grinning as he approached.

“Well this is bullshit, isn’t it?” Those were the first words to come out of his mouth and you could practically hear Temari groan in exasperation. Kisame plopped down in the armchair beside you, offering you a wink as he did. “What kinda professor assigns a project on Tuesday only for it to be due Thursday? Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

You averted your eyes back to your screen, pretending to sort through your notifications. You hummed in response, too easily flustered and too tired to process. Temari’s fingers flexed over her own keyboard.

“It’s the beginning of the semester. It’s to test out organizational skills and teamwork,” she managed through half-gritted teeth. You looked between your two teammates, wondering what exactly happened between them that made them so hostile to each other. You made a mental note to not get in the way of whatever that was. Kisame scoffed, sitting back in the arm chair and reaching for his own computer.

“I don’t really care what it is and why it is. What I care about is that I’m wasting my Wednesday night…”

“Ah, yes, Wednesday night,” Temari repeated mockingly, “Because I know that I like getting plastered in the middle of the week.” Kisame leaned towards you on his left arm cushion.

“Soy Sauce over there is just sore that her brother picked a fight with one of my boys and lost. Sasori’s a short guy too, you should link with us sometime.” You heard Temari scoff.

“Yeah, like Kankuro would lose to any of the thugs you hang around—”

“Who are you calling a thug?” Temari met Kisame’s pointed glare. Even so, he sank farther into his seat, lifting one ankle to rest on his knee. “Though, I think it says something that you knew exactly what I was talking about—” He punctuated every word with a smug swing of his head before Shino walked in.

“Nice to see that things are lively in here.” He made his way across the lounge before plopping down next to Temari. A white piece of cloth hung out from his backpack, something that Temari didn’t miss as Shino prepared his materials.

“That’s a hazard.” She bit the inside of her lip.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s been grumpy since before you came here,” Kisame quickly explained, much to Temari’s disdain.

Looking across from you, you almost wished that you had just been paired up with Shino. You didn’t know him that well, but he seemed smart, capable and overall, quiet. Temari had drive, but her approach felt intense. Meanwhile, Kisame seemed like he couldn’t care less about the project. Or perhaps, it was more that he couldn’t care less about Temari.

“So the paper,” you began out of sheer nervousness. “And the presentation…” The three sets of eyes turned to you. You glanced at the clock. You had already wasted more than a half hour.

“Let’s be real here, a five page research paper is nothing,” Temari said, also crossing her legs. “It’s the presentation that we should worry about.” Kisame let out a breath.

“Well, here I was about to say the opposite.” He turned his neck to the side and you heard a few audible cracks. “What about we split it up if the paper is so easy for you?”

“I’m not just doing the paper by myself. Besides, I’d need to find sources and by the time I’ve found sources and written everything up, I’ll have done most of the work.” Temari wrinkled her nose at your partner next to you. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what you were banking on.”

“Here.” Shino’s low voice broke through the room. With one exaggerated click on his keyboard he looked up at the three of you. “I just put a list of sources in the shared doc. There’s ten of them which should be more than enough. I pulled a few articles and a few academic papers which should meet the criteria from the rubric.”

Temari blinked down at her computer, furiously switching tabs. Her lips formed a round ‘o’ shape.

“Nice work, Shino,” you praised only to receive a shy nod. “I think if we take an anti-censorship stance, it’ll make out work easier given the time that we have to finish. Maybe Temari, you can start the paper and I can start the slides.”

“I can help you with that,” Kisame offered and you typed his email into the share box.

“I’ll help Temari with the paper,” Shino said with another nod.

“Start with the counterarguments. I’ll work from the top, you work from the bottom.” Temari gestured widely to Shino’s screen and you let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you’ll be able to get all of this done after all.

Time flew during the late hours of the night. You didn’t know what it was about the nighttime that made time feel quicker than usual. Soon enough, the clock struck one. Temari plucked ferociously at her laptop and it surprised you that Kisame hadn’t asked her what she was punishing her keyboard for. Shino, on the other hand, liked to stand. About an hour ago, he had stood up from his seat, and with one foot on the low level of the coffee table, kept at writing his part of the paper. Temari and Shino didn’t speak much. Rather, their side of the table mostly sounded of clicking.

Meanwhile, you and Kisame were having a great time. He made you laugh much to Temari’s annoyance, but knowing that you were getting your parts done, she didn’t comment. Despite his outward physique, Kisame had a sense of style when it came to design and organization. You flew through fonts and images quickly and by the time you had cleared the first few slides, even you were impressed by how professional it looked. The clock read two o’clock.

“This was your conclusion, right?” You turned your screen in your hands to face Temari. She squinted over and her eyes lit up.

“Actually, that’s a way better wording. Imma just steal that…” She clicked some more. “That’s some great work.”

“It was actually all Kisame.” And to your surprise, he didn’t gloat. Instead, he remained eerily focused. Temari glanced at him before glancing away.

“Like I said, great work…” she muttered.

“We’re almost done with the slides,” you announced, “Do you guys need help with the paper?” Shino shook his head. You found that he preferred non-verbal answers.

“We’re wrapping up over here, too,” Temari answered.

“Good, because I’m fuckin’ starving.”

And with the one mention of food, you all looked up at each other.

***

There was only one place open this late at night and it was one block away from campus. Fast Food, of course, but no one in your group complained. The dining halls were closed and most of you didn’t keep your rolling pantries stocked with anything worth eating at two in the morning, so you packed up your things.

It felt odd walking down the road with this group of people. You chattered amongst yourselves about anything other than your assignment.

“Me? I’m a biology major. I want to study beetles but I have to get my undergrad before I can do anything really specific.” By far, Shino had to be the most interesting of you all. You made your way off of campus, the restaurant in your sight. And as the walk continued, so did your conversation.

“I’ve wanted to try the new place that they opened up by admissions but they’re always closed when I try to go.” Temari pouted and you crossed the street together. You wondered if spending four straight hours having to communicate with any three people could make talking to them this easy.

“Marine biology?” You stared up at Kisame. “I don’t think I would have guessed.” He let out a hearty laugh that sent a few birds flying.

“Oh yeah, they have us go out of labs for the whole day. And when I say the whole day, I mean the whole day. I’ve always loved the ocean, but I think I’d have to transfer if I had to wake up at seven and come back at eight for more than one day a week.” Kisame reached for the handle, only for it not to budge in his grip. He tried again.

“Are they closed?” you asked, getting slightly agitated at the prospect.

“No.” Shino cupped his hands around his eyes as he stared through the window. “Wet floor signs are out. This must be the time that they clean the dining room.” Shino hardly had to finish his sentence before Kisame was already on his way to the drive thru.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Temari yelled after him as she jogged to catch up. “You can’t just walk through the drive thru.”

“Sure you can.” Kisame stood directly in front of the speaker with his hands in his pockets. “There are no cars around and even if there were, they’d have to take our order to get us out of the way… Hello?” The speaker crackled and Kisame shot a pointed look at the rest of you before moting for you to come closer to order.

“What can I get you?” the apathetic worker droned.

“Can I get a number nine?” Kisame started.

“Oh me too,” you whispered to him, not entirely sure why you spoke with such a hushed tone. He crossed his arms with a smirk.

“Make that two number nines? One large—” He stepped back to let Temari come up to the speaker.

“May I please get a number six with extra sauce, please? And, uh, a number seven too, please.” Like Kisame before her, Temari stepped to allow Shino to talk.

“Two number forty-fives, one with cheese and a large soda.”

With nowhere else to sit, you claimed a spot in the empty parking lot. Temari ended up paying. You put up a fight, but she insisted. You were secretly convinced that she was loaded anyway.

“You two got a lot of food.” Kisame handed you your fillet burger. Temari hummed, taking one of her backs and folded it behind her.

“One’s for my boyfriend,” she said, and before Kisame could get out a snarky comment about how Temari could ever land a boyfriend, Shino answered,

“I just usually eat all at once. Can’t usually grab dinner while doing night labs.” You all grimaced to yourselves. You knew the feeling of skipping meals because of your schedules.

You looked out at the city. Your school sat on a hill just outside of the twinkling lights. You found comfort in the blinking that came from below and your surroundings made the atmosphere feel completely still.

“You know, if we have a choice, we should just stick together for the rest of the semester.” Shino’s monotone voice cut through the air. You turned to the rest of them. Temari shrugged.

“It’s less of a gamble since we know each other, I suppose. I know that most of you won’t mess up our assignments…” You and Kisame nodded along, both stuffing your faces with french fries.

The decision was unanimous.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes:

Shino’s lab coat was in with his regular supplies which is technically a hazard when working in chem and bio labs since lab coats should be sealed.

Not all fast-food places well take your order without a car, but if you block the line they’ll give in (that’s what I did). Don’t blame me if you get arrested for doing that though.

"I'll have two number 9s, a number 9 large, a number 6 with extra dip, a number 7, two number 45s, one with cheese, and a large soda."– Melvin "Big Smoke" Harris

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swanhookheart · 3 years

Text

Angry Grishaverse book review time!

After watching and LOVING s1 of Shadow and Bone, I read the trilogy! I was not impressed.

Spoilers incoming for Grishaverse stuff, so if you don’t want those, don’t read on!

Watching Shadow and Bone this past weekend, I was hooked : Darklina, the lore behind the amplifiers, the Aleksander backstory… I was really impressed and hoped that this was it--that at last, I’d found a fantasy series that was going somewhere big, something I could really, thoroughly sink my teeth into.

*Sigh*

Then I read the books.

The reader / viewer enters the Grishaverse associating darkness with pure evil. The Fold, described early on, is shown to be this bleak, awful, ruinous place where people go to be eaten alive by volcra and hope goes to die. We therefore, naturally, associate the Darkling--who possesses the power of shadow--with that evil from the off. I’m speaking as someone who only got into the Grishaverse last Saturday. My initial thoughts were, “oh, he’s being set up to be viewed as dark and scary; this is the expectation Bardugo wants us to have so that we’ll be blown away by some great twist later. Count me in!”

But that twist never came. He was set up as evil, and he stayed evil. Surprise, he’s the Black Heretic! Surprise, he’s an abomination effectively created by Morezova’s greed! Surprise, he’s ruthless and horrible and does cruel things! Except none of those things are actually surprising, given he was SET UP from the beginning to be viewed that way. He did bad things, walked a bad walk, and talked a bad talk. I kept thinking “ah, so he’s gonna get a sweeeet redemption arc,” and then he just never did. That element of the story was predictable to a nauseating degree, and that predictability made the entire universe feel a bit flat. If the reader saw more of his backstory, had more real, logical, sound justification for why he does the things he does (like in the show, where they at least tried to paint his actions as borne of some misplaced sense of servitude / protection for the Grisha or where we saw him actively struggling at points to grapple with the darkness inside him), then maybe the trilogy wouldn’t have been such a letdown. And yes, I know about his sacrifice or whatever later on. It’s not enough.

In villains, I and probably plenty of others like to see humanity. We want to empathize with our villains to a certain extent--to understand them just a little bit--so we can fully commit to hating them when they violate our trust. The Darkling didn’t have that human, redeeming quality, though--at least, not in the books. In the books, he was just a power-hungry jackass who simultaneously didn’t want to be alone and kept trying to kill his only opportunity not to be alone. His single-mindedness, his lack of human empathy, the simplicity with which he pursued this made him seem almost stupid to me as a reader. For someone who’s lived hundreds of years, he’s kind of an idiot when it comes to other people--which, itself, almost seems incongruous with his having lived for so long. If he’d maybe had more backstory or more in his story to justify his actions, maybe he’d feel like a better villain. But atm, all I’m doing is rolling my eyes with him. I couldn’t love him because he didn’t put in any work toward being a better person. Even in the end, he doesn’t actually do the work or repent. But I also can’t hate him because the source material hasn’t given me enough actual human qualities to hate or to feel betrayed. His character just… missed the mark for me.

As did Mal’s. Fucking MAL, oh my GOD! This dude’s literal only personality trait was loving Alina. Cool, he could track--for Alina, mostly. He could fight--for Alina. “I am become a blade”? Sir, you got a whole-ass tattoo announcing that you’re an object in this woman’s service? No WAP is worth that, and I’m speaking as a very bisexual woman. My dude, it’s weird, it’s extra, it’s just too much. I’ll go back to the Darkling for two seconds to say that, ofc, his actions were painted as problematic and misogynistic and gross. But, like, the possessiveness Mal displays with Alina kinda feels on that same level? Why are we pretending he’s better when he actively tries to keep her low, keep her powerless, and keep her his? Again, dude got a tattoo of her sigil. He was fully prepared to be the leader of her guard even if she married Nikolai just for the opportunity for some sexytimes. I know that YA is about really intense emotion, the fire of teenage hormones and stuff, but that all just felt a bit toxic. The way that his entire life revolved around her while she tried to balance the role of saint, hero, orphan, and all the things she was just felt goofy and like a wildly unhealthy dynamic.

Their whole relationship also felt really obvious, as I guess the Darkling being revealed as the trilogy’s big bad did. It was predictable, set up to be that way from the start. There were no surprises. It was Mal, and then it was still Mal, and in the end, it was also Mal. We weren’t really shown any of what made them so drawn to each other, we were just kind of told and expected to be fine with the intensity of it. But it read as being way too much for me, and god, it kept getting worse. Again, this one felt like low-hanging fruit--low effort, lazy writing. Nothing about it actually read to me as romantic, just as too much. They didn’t so much as fall in love as just start out that way, and reading that was somewhere between boring and uncomfortable. At least with the Darkling or hell--even Nikolai--we saw some of that chemistry unfold on the page. We were shown some of what made them work the way they did. There was something underpinning their relationship, and not just “oh, they’re supposed to be together”. I mean, after all JKR’s bullshit, I feel totally fine saying fuck authorial intent. If you can’t even be bothered to actually put your shit on the page, don’t ask me to blindly accept your version canon as gospel truth.

We could have had Deckerstar vibes, Beauty and the Beast vibes, seen light and dark come together and surprise us by actually working well together. But no, we saw a special girl lose everything that made her special and settle for some mediocre fuckboy from her hometown. We get characters that actually have the potential to be dynamic and make for a good story, but she still ends up with this bland, vanilla, trick-ass bitch? It’s a major letdown when you’ve actually been exposed to decent fictional couples, tbh.

OOF! And the ending? Oh jesus fuck, that ending. Darkling just… dies. Just like that. I read three whole books for that? I know he comes back and dies again and all, but the whole trilogy felt like it was building up to something more, something deeper and greater and more profound. He was horrible for the things he did, sure, and he deserved defeat as long as he refused to waver from his power-hungry, destructive path. But his death brought about no closure. He and Alina never actually had the fight they needed to or reached an understanding with each other. Everything is left undone, unsaid, unexplored. The ending just felt super anticlimactic on the page, and so, the trilogy as a whole fell completely short of any mark I hoped it might hit.

Did I hope Darklina would be endgame? Sure. But I’d also have been A-okay with a tragic ending if it had been done right. Did I think it would have been a lot more interesting to see a redemption arc for Darkling than just… more of the same? Or maybe Mal develop a personality outside of Alina? Absolutely. There was so much potential, and it really feels like Bardugo squandered all of it. And for what? This was nearly as disappointing as the eighth season of Game of Thrones. I probably won’t be watching future seasons if they follow the books, but I guess I’m glad for the day or so of fleeting pleasure I got when I still had hope for a properly told story.

#Shadow and bone #anti-mal #darklina #shadow and bone spoilers #grishaverse

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imaginethebeautifulworld · 3 years

Note

hi (: could you do a blind!england x protective!reader during the events of hetaoni? preferably a one shot (:

(: No (: amount (: of (: smiley (: faces (: can (: rid (: me (: of (: the (: emotional (: trauma (: that (: game (: gave (: me. (:

I only vaguely recall plot specifics of said game, Anon, so I offer advanced warning that I took quite a bit of creative license with this one. Also a note that this ficlet is set in one of the many unexplored timelines as I'm certain our favorite sarcastic spellcaster outtaxed himself repeatedly.

The mansion was full of ghosts. The atmosphere was over-saturated with them, heavy with their presence, nearly overwhelming you from the moment you had first set foot into this thrice-damned place. You had no way of knowing at the time that the ghosts you felt- the phantoms lingering in each dark corner, the specters cloistered away behind every locked door- were your own.

Not until-

No.

You weren't thinking about that right now.

Yet again, you forced your mind away from the blood, so much blood-! and back to guiding Arthur through the corridor, wincing silently at the awkwardness of his shuffling, trying not to panic too much at how prevalent his limp had become.

The hand not resting on your arm clung to Feli's diary, and you tried not to think too much about the crimson stain visible on the binding, refusing to think about the room that-

A heavy thud from somewhere deeper in the house halted all train of thought.

Arthur stiffened beside you, his left ear pointing towards the source of the sound, eyebrows furrowed in worry, eyes wide in fear.

Both of you held your breath.

Waiting.

Listening.

Praying.

Another thud, now accompanied by an odd shuffling, sounds you knew couldn't belong to any of your friends.

Cursing under your breath, you unsheathed Gil's sword, opting to keep it on hand in case the Thing reached you before you found a room in which you could barricade yourselves.

Arthur's hand brushed against your forearm, a silent plea you obliged without question. Resuming your search, you guided him ahead, begging whatever deity or benevolent spirit that may be listening for just-

You sagged with relief upon finding an open door, leading to a small, empty room- likely a closet at some point in time. Arthur angled his head towards you- the question never needing to be spoken as you offered your confirmation.

"We should be safe in here for a bit."

He arched a brow towards you, even as he let you guide him through the doorway, helped him sit on the floor, soon joining him after ensuring the lock was secure, little protection as it was.

He was hauntingly quiet, had been subdued since the last-

You knew he blamed himself for Fran, knew that-

Dim light trickled in from outside, the windows layered with years of dust. You didn't bother trying to open it, nor did you waste your energy in attempts to break it. The Mansion was sealed tight, and nothing Mystic nor Mundane was getting out.

You tried to avoid looking at him too much, especially his eyes. It hurt too much; every time you glanced at him it was in half-hope that you would see that beautiful, familiar green once more. But you were near inconsolable; the vibrant green that always reminded you of the moors in his homeland had dulled, nothing now save the lifeless, brackish grey of the marshes remaining.

And what was worse-

What was so much worse-

It was your fault.

You closed your eyes for a moment, let the small warmth of intangible sunlight settle around you, let yourself pretend that you were both at home, sharing a spot in the parlor, simply enjoying one another's company after a long day with the family.

Perhaps some part of him was yearning for the same, as he never truly had relinquished his hold on you. It was more a gentle connection between his fingers and your wrist now, but he hadn't-

You released a shaky breath, hanging your head and opening your eyes once more to your bleak surroundings.

The thudding had disappeared, though the hope that the Thing itself had left was one immediately quashed. They had a capability for seemingly materializing out of thin air, taking you all repeatedly by surprise.

Arthur was resting his head against the wall, eyes focused somewhere near the ceiling. You instinctively went to look yourself, mentally berating yourself when you remembered-

You turned away, overwhelmed by the rancid bouquet of guilt, helplessness, and antipathy. And beneath it all, the fine thread weaving it all together, was your grief, your aching over the loss of-

Everyone, now, actually.

Everyone else was dead.

You had been holding out hope, held it out for so long, but when Kiku-

Then Ivan-

Felice told you everything, frantically, desperately, shoved the journal into your hands, begged you to try again, for your forgiveness, for-

Arthur's head falling to rest upon your shoulder snapped you back to attention, the movement reestablishing your awareness, grounding you in the present. His fingers were woven with your own now, the intimacy of it all so damned familiar and gentle that you could only stare stupidly.

"You should go."

Silence reigned for several moments following his proclamation, the words dancing aimlessly in the air until they finally registered.

Appalled, aghast, you angled your head towards him, aggravation coating your reply. "Once you're rested enough to come with me."

From your angle, you couldn't make out the shape of his scowl, nor could you quite determine the level of irritation surely marring his features, but it was clearly painted into his words. "How many times are we going to have this bloody argument? I can't-"

"I don't care," you growled out, refusing to hear him finish his statement. It was, after all, a point of contention he had been trying to claim victory of for near the whole day now. Sighing in partial defeat, you allowed your tone to soften. "I can't lose you too, Arthur. Pl-"

You turned, dropping your face into his hair, the conflicting scents of his mousse, blood, dust, and lingering Magicke all assaulting you for the effort. Your words fell out as a pleading whisper, eyes closing for the small prayer. "Please don't ask that of me."

"Darling, please-"

"Stop," you interrupted, sharp and desperate, every possible emotion bound to that single syllable.

Arthur, shockingly obliging, said nothing further, silence reclaiming you both.

You knew his logic was sound: without his vision, he couldn't read the spell correctly, wouldn't be able to reset the clock. And while Felice had assured you that the spell would heal all injuries, would reset everything-

Arthur's vision was taken by Magicke; there was no guarantee he would ever see it again.

If you had just-

If you had only-

"It's not your fault."

Arthur once again cut off your thoughts before they could spiral too far downwards, stealing your attention with those four words alone. You opened your mouth in hopes of offering a protest, but found you couldn't formulate one coherent enough to articulate. Instead, you sighed in resignation, relaxing incrementally against him.

"You're incorrigible."

He huffed out the foundations of a laugh at that, humming quietly in agreement. "Would you have me any other way, luv?"

The exchange was so hauntingly familiar, so mundane, so perfectly ordinary that for one small moment-

Arthur seemed to sense the shift in your mood, his pinky brushing against your own, soon twining the two together.

Together.

You were leaving here, together, no matter how much a stink he may raise insisting otherwise. It was no matter how much of a self-sacrificial ass Kirkland could be; your determination was even more formidable an opponent.

He was an idiot if he honestly thought you would abandon him, if he truly thought you could leave him.

Your lives were interwoven together, bound through years of friendship and affections and sharing hopes and dreams and eventually even the most intimate of secrets. It was true you had been close to the Others, and losing each of them had been beyond devastating. But to lose Arthur-

You once again forced that train of thought away, refusing to even consider the possibility.

You had already lost so much. You couldn't lose him, too.

There was a hitch in his breath, a silent snore you would recognize anywhere. You felt the flicker of a smile, that familiar warmth that always seemed to strike whenever he fully relaxed around you. Gently lifting his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles, you turned once more to the door, free hand adjusting around Gi- your sword.

You'd let him sleep, for at least a few minutes.

Then you were both leaving this hellhole.

Whether he liked it or not.

54 notes · View notes

cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

domus - pt. 3 (final)

a/n: it’s done. oh god it’s done. it’s like 2AM so it’s unedited for now, but i’ll make edits in the morning. i also apologize in advance for the slightly rushed ending fas;elifjac you will need to read parts 1 and 2 (linked below) for context!

plot: when kuroo tetsuro drops the hard-hitting truth that he’s fallen out of love with you, your first thought is to escape. but you find comfort in the least likely person: akaashi keiji, a boy you had grown up with out of forced family interactions, who always seemed so distant from you. yet you probably knew more about him than anyone else.

characters: fem!reader, ex-bf!kuroo, & family friend!akaashi

wc: ~8k

genre/warnings: angst with teaspoons of fluff; mentions of alcohol and getting drunk

pt. 1 | pt. 2

The grey sheets fail to startle you this time around, granted that it’s been about four days since you first arrived. It’s the constriction of cotton around your body that wakes you up on this Tuesday morning, and your brain can’t fathom why your loose pajamas have suddenly become so uncomfortable. But then the threads tickle the skin of your arms, your legs feel the slight scrape of denim, and your toes have trouble wiggling around due to the constraint of…socks.

Why are you wearing socks to sleep?

Much to your body’s protest, you stumble out of Keiji’s comfortable sheets (note to self: ask him where he got them from) and into the reflection of the body-length mirror in his room. Your vision blurs when all the colors of the rainbow come into place, exploding into a million stars as you lose a bit of your balance. Thankfully, your hand finds purchase against the wall and allows you to regain some stability. It only takes a few seconds, overwhelmingly agonizing as they are, before you can properly assess your current state.

Yesterday’s outfit glares back at you, though much more mussed and wrinkled than you last saw it. Similarly, your hair is in a disarray, hands subconsciously trying to take out any tangles while you can. Knowing the state of cleanliness that Keiji keeps his space in, you feel a wave of regret wash over you for having slept in his bed in air-polluted clothes that must have caught who knows how many germs. Immediately, you move to your suitcase to find something to change into, discarding your current outfit into a large plastic bag that acted as your nomadic hamper. As soon as you’re done, you begin to gather up all the layers of Keiji’s bed, fitted sheet and all, and leaving them on top of the mattress in separate piles by how they should be washed. But while you gather the first bundle into your arms, you take a quick look at the clock, slightly flabbergasted that it’s only a little past 6AM.

In your somewhat frantic attempt to atone for your sins against Keiji’s abode, you failed to notice the lack of sun rays peeking from behind the curtains. And much like you’ve done every day since you showed up, you pull the material back and greet the nostalgic view of Tokyo once more.

But serenity doesn’t come to you. In fact, your heart seems to be weighed down by an unknown anchor. Instinctively, your arms come up to hug yourself slightly, knowing that it’s a feeble attempt at best. The weight gradually mixes with a grasp of suffocation and the feeling closes around your throat. Immediately, you seek a source of fresh air, eyes catching a handle on the window that you somehow missed all these days. This means that Keiji has two separate doors to the balcony, including the one in the living room, and you do your best to quickly yet quietly slide the pane open. As soon as there’s enough space for you to slide through, you practically bound out and lean yourself over the rail of the balcony, lungs taking in deep breaths of oxygen.

Below you, the city has already begun to awaken, pedestrians the size of ants seemingly crawling their away down the street. Faint car honks echo through the city, the occasional train horn blaring louder than the rest. These are sights and sounds you find familiar, and somehow, the unease in your chest settles. Everything seems okay again, and you wonder why it crept up on you so suddenly.

The realization creeps through your veins as you drink in the sight of the SkyTree: you’re not quite ready to leave yet. You don’t think you’re ready to hop on a plane back to Sapporo and back to the apartment that you and Tetsuro spent the last few years building together. Every corner, every nook and cranny of that unit was filled with memories upon memories, mostly good and some bad. And even if you want to think back on them, to be able to look at them and recall the moments fondly, you know that Tetsuro’s unfortunate confession would immediately overshadow all of it. They would just leave you in the same pool of broken bitterness that you originally escaped from.

You still haven’t texted him.

He must be worried sick, you think as your feet drag you back inside and grab your device from the nightstand. You check through your notifications as you step out onto the balcony again, and after a few minutes, your thumb hovers over his conversation thread. A stinging pain courses through your system at the nickname you have set for his contact, and you hate it. You hate how fresh it still feels, completely and utterly frustrated at yourself that part of you still hasn’t let go of him. Why couldn’t you be stronger than this?

But despite your distress, you tap on it and hesitate above the keyboard, trying to think of the right words. Only a few come to your mind, and before you can convince yourself to back out (because you owed him at least this much), your thumbs type out two words and hit the send button, immediately locking it afterwards and sliding it into the pocket of your gym shorts. Out of sight, out of mind, right? He wanted a text of confirmation, you give him a text. That’s all you would allow yourself without crumbling again, and you were trying to put all the Band-aids you could on it.

Undoubtedly, Keiji’s presence helps. It’s easy to not think about Tetsuro when you’re around him, busying yourself with either work emails or recipes that you want to try out. The former doesn’t mind being a guinea pig, as he so kindly put it on Sunday. In fact, he handed you a cookbook from his shelf that had some recipes tabbed with sticky notes, pointing out the ones he thought you might enjoy. Surprisingly, they were all very appealing and to your taste, and part of you wonders if it’s just a mild coincidence. So far, you haven’t messed anything up, and Keiji always finishes his portion with slightly veiled enthusiasm. He knew how much you enjoyed cooking and baking for others, evidence presented by the years of instances when you stopped at their house to drop off your newest creations – so whether or not his compliments were genuine, you took it.

What you don’t know is the number of knowing glances throughout middle and high school that Keiji’s mother would give him as he munched on your edible gifts, pretending to seem unfazed though his eyes adopted a slight twinkle as he ate his fair share. If she could see him now, she’d notice the same shine in them.

Part of you itches to see if Tetsuro read your text message, if he will bother responding. The phone burns in your pocket, but you decide against it, letting it scorch against your thigh as you lean against the rail and watch the sky grow brighter. You miss the carefree mornings like these when you aren’t in a rush to leave the apartment. All that’s really on your mind now is what to make for breakfast, mentally running through all the ingredients that Keiji has.

Today seems like a good day for pancakes.

Keiji’s eyes snap open when his phone goes off, mentally groaning when he realized he forgot to turn off the daily alarm he usually sets for going into work. Now that he’s spending a few days at home, there’s been no need to get up so early. He left it on yesterday since they had that early ride on the bullet train, but with all the events that happened last night, he simply forgot.

Keiji sees that his bedroom door remains closed and believes you’re still asleep. But when he stands up to stretch and looks out his balcony windows, he catches a glimpse of your figure through the gap in the curtains. The breeze from the AC slightly causes them to flutter, giving him a better view as he steps around the couch to get a better angle. You look pensive and somewhat defeated, staring out into the open space as the wind from the heights tousles your hair. He wonders if you’ve taken the initiative to let Tetsuro know if you were okay.

At this thought, his eyes are drawn the phone on his coffee table, staring for a few seconds and calculating to see if this is a good idea. Unable to find any issues with it, he steps back to reach for the device. On the off-chance that you did text him, he doubts that you told your boyfriend where you’re staying. Keiji knows that Tetsuro would be worried regardless and perhaps might gain some comfort from knowing that you were staying with a friend. So before he can chicken out, he taps a short text, ignoring the fact that it’s been months since the two had last spoken outside of the group chat Koutaro created for the three of them and Tsukishima.

The lack of an immediate reply indicates that the former Nekoma captain is either still asleep or busy with his residency. Keiji casts one last look at you, noticing that you haven’t moved in the last few minutes. It seems that you’ll be there for a while and lost in your thoughts. There were only a few times in his life when he had witnessed this faraway look of yours, knowing it was better to leave you alone than to try and rip you out of the reverie. Perhaps he’ll take a chance with breakfast today, a small repayment for the onigiri and juice boxes you bought him on the train.

He thinks you might enjoy having some pancakes.

The deafening creak and slide of plastic ripping away from its rubber suction startles you. Much like you did when Keiji first scared you on Saturday morning, you turn to the source of fright with a hand over your pounding heart, staring in disbelief as said man walks out with a tray of food. Though this time, much to your amusement, he looks rather apologetic. The humor quickly morphs into guilt as you notice the two plates of pancakes – just how long had you been standing out here?

In a few steps, you meet him and silently take the tray from his hands, allowing him to close the balcony door. There’s no good place to put it besides the ground, and when Keiji sits next to it – legs stretched out – with his back against the plexiglass, you demurely mimic his movements on the other side of the tray. Without a word, Keiji places his portion onto his lap and grabs his own set of fork and knife. You simply stare at him until he gestures for you to do the same, returning the small smile he gives you. Both of you say your thanks before digging in, and you can’t help but notice how Keiji has drizzled just the right amount of syrup and in the way that you like it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” you apologize after a few bites in. Despite how fluffy and soft they are, the pancakes have a hard time going down your throat. Keiji had also gone through the trouble of making some freshly squeezed orange juice, yet the sip of the beverage doesn’t help much.

“It’s the least I could do after yesterday,” he says softly, and his eyes let you know he really didn’t mind. “Really, you’ve been cooking everything else. I saw a chance and took it.”

“But still—”

“I was more than happy to do it,” Keiji interjects. “It’s my way of saying thanks.”

“…has anyone ever told you that you’re too kind sometimes?” It’s easier to swallow now.

“Bokuto-san has mentioned it a few times,” he replies quickly, staring at you before you both burst out laughing.

From there, conversation flows more smoothly, topics ranging from the MSBY practice session yesterday to what mangas he’s been editing. The pancakes quickly disappear as the sun beams through the clouds, gradually heating up the earth until it was becoming somewhat unbearable in the heat. Keiji sports a light sheen of sweat by the time you two decide it’s wise to go back inside. He takes the tray before you can even think of grabbing it, ushering you to go ahead and shower first while he washes the dishes. As a sign of thanks, you give an affectionate squeeze around his upper arm as you walk past him.

Keiji pretends that his skin isn’t burning from the touch.

Right as he’s placing everything onto the drying rack, his phone rings from the pocket of his sweatpants. He’s not entirely surprised when Kuroo’s name flashes on the screen – after his text, he figured your boyfriend would either message back with lots of question marks or simply call to demand answers. A quick exhale leaves his lungs as he hits the green button and brings the device to his ear.

“Hi Kuroo-san.”

“What do you mean ‘she’s staying with me’?”

Keiji glances in the direction of the bathroom and hears the shower still running. Chances of you eavesdropping or overhearing would be low.

“It’s exactly what I mean. She’s staying with me for the time being.”

“Why you?”

“Honestly, that’s a good question.”

“…wait, so you didn’t know she was coming?”

“She called me when she was at the airport,” Keiji sighs, leaning back against the sink to keep a lookout on the bathroom. “I was just as surprised as you are.”

“You’ve been treating her okay?”

“Of course, what do you take me for?”

“Sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Kuroo groans. “I only have about 10 minutes left in my break. How’s she doing?”

“As well as someone can do when their significant other suddenly tells them they’re not in love with them anymore.”

The silence is deafening over the phone. Keiji didn’t really mean to slip up right then and there, but he couldn’t help the simmering anger rising in his stomach.

“…I’m guessing she told you then.”

“Just last night. I asked when she got here, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. We went to see Bokuto-san yesterday.”

“That would explain the weird text I got from him last night. Did it help?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good then,” Kuroo sighs into the speaker, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Keiji replies. “Though if you don’t mind me asking…how did it happen?”

“I don’t have a lot of time left so I’ll make it quick. It just – I don’t know, it kinda hit me one morning. I was wondering why I stopped feeling like I needed to get home as soon as possible. Stopped asking for details about her day, or at least nothing more than how it was. I’d forget half the things she was telling me whenever she talked about her job. It was nice coming home to someone after a long shift, but I just…it didn’t feel all that special knowing she was the one waiting for me. I love her like a best friend, just not romantically anymore. She doesn’t deserve to get dragged along because I can’t speak up about my feelings, so I told her. You understand, right?”

Immediately, Keiji wants to say no. No, he doesn’t get it. It’s nearly unfathomable to him that Tetsuro can just slowly stop caring about the things that were important to you. He imagines your figure curled up in bed, anxiously waiting for your boyfriend to come home safely. He imagines you greeting Tetsuro happily, blissfully unaware that the man only kissed your cheek in greeting as a force of habit.

He imagines your face falling little by little as Tetsuro explains himself, your guard failing to mask the anguish you were feeling, and it pains him. Yet his torment at the thought could only be a small fraction of what you experienced – neither was this the time to be heavily biased.

“I don’t have any say in the matter,” Keiji begins and tries to keep his voice as level as possible. “But you know she’s not going to give in to your terms, right?”

“I know it’s not exactly sensible, but I’m trying—”

“Do you really think she’d be happy knowing that?” He nearly hisses into the phone, simply fed up with Kuroo’s stubbornness. “You’ve just told her you don’t love her anymore, insinuating that you’d be happier without her – knowing how much she loves you, do you really think she’d let you force yourself to try for her sake? You know how selfless she is!”

“And I’m trying to give her a chance to be selfish for once – this is on me, and I could at least try! I loved her once, who says I couldn’t love her again? I’ll give her all the time she needs and—"

“If you really cared about her, you would let her go!”

“It’s not that simple!”

Keiji has never wanted to punch someone so bad in his life. “Don’t you understand it’d be nothing but torture for her? Every day, hanging onto some flimsy hope that everything will go back to the way it used to be? There’s a high chance that you’d never feel that way again, so you’re going to let her waste all that time on you? That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

Tetsuro knows Keiji’s right. He knows, and he loathes it. His own fear of drastic change caused him to spill all those empty promises to you, simply refusing to acknowledge that his own selfish desires were the demons speaking.

“…I’m glad you’re the one she’s staying with. It’s better than being alone in a hotel for a week.”

“You’re digressing.”

“Let her go, huh?”

“Like I said, if you really cared, then yes. Anything she asks of you, go with it. It’s the least you could do.”

“…I gotta go, my break’s up. Thanks, Akaashi.”

Keiji isn’t doing it for him. “Bye, Kuroo-san.”

Beep.

“You cannot leave your room until I let you!”

“(Y/n), what—”

“I need to get groceries and what I’m making is gonna take a really long time, but I’ve been dying to try it and this is the perfect time! I wanna surprise you though.”

“You don’t need to surprise me—”

Keiji’s feet are planted in the entrance of his bedroom door, heels digging into the hardwood as much as they can. After he came out of his shower and grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, you were pushing him towards his room, words spilling from your lips a mile a minute.

“Please?” You nearly pout when Keiji turns to get a good look at your face. “You said you need to work anyways, right? I’d be much less of a bother if I was doing something else.”

“You know I don’t mind you being in the same room,” he says gently, hoping that he never said anything that could’ve insinuated your presence wasn’t welcome wherever he was. “Company is nice.”

“We have tomorrow for that, it’s just this one time. Plus, I’m washing the bed and the sheets are still in the dryer.”

“You didn’t have to do that – hey, what if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“You have to promise not to peek!”

“(Y/n)—”

“Pinky promise, right now!” You demand, sticking out a pinky in between the two of you. Keiji pretends to be annoyed at your antics, but he can’t help but smile as your two pinkies link together and thumbs come up for a stamp.

“What if I need to get something to drink?”

“Just let me know and I’ll bring it to you. And no peeking!”

“As I promised, yes.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease, and Keiji can only watch a little despondently as you disappear out the front door. He isn’t looking forward to the same sight that’ll occur in three days, though that time you’ll be lugging a suitcase behind you and potentially leaving for good.

Instantly, the apartment feels too empty. Everything is too quiet again, reminding him why he has a difficult relationship with working from home. Part of him is so used to the hustle and bustle of the manga company that the silence in an empty home somehow feels wrong. And now that some liveliness has been thrown into the mix, painting his abode with splashes of gentle hues, the void feels even more foreign.

You’ll be back within an hour. He just has to bear with it for that short time frame – there’s a decent pile of work waiting for him anyways.

It might be a good time to start practicing being alone again as well.

With determination, Keiji throws himself into his work, only stopping every couple of hours to lean back into his chair and rub his eyes. His little energy bursts come in various forms: when you first came back and greeted, “I’m home!” through his bedroom door, whenever you come in to refill his cup of water, when you come in with two plates of sandwiches during lunch time, and when you bring him some tea as a change of pace in the afternoon. Every gesture is strongly appreciated, and he wishes he could help you in the kitchen.

(He tries to ignore how domestic everything feels. It’s a sensation he finds himself getting drunk on, the bliss encasing his nerves with a pleasant numbness.)

Keiji broadcasts a bit of his work to you, talking you through his process and the things he looks out for when editing. With you, he doesn’t have to worry about leaking spoilers – in fact, you look more enraptured with his set-up than anything. He enjoys the awe and childlike wonder that cloud your face. It’s a far cry from the ruminative expression from this morning, and Keiji hopes that he’ll never have to see that face again.

Always a man of his word, he stays in his bedroom while you finish making dinner. Based on the smell and distinct sound of something being seared in a hot pan, Keiji gathers there’s meat involved. Earlier, his food processor had been going as well, though he couldn’t exactly place why it sounded like you were beating something against the counter. You might have been butchering something, meaning there was meat involved. But he knows his curiosity will be pleasantly sated and bides his time with mindless YouTube videos.

There’s a quiet knock on his door before it opens, revealing your slightly exhausted frame. Concern washes over him as his eyes frantically assess your current state, flitting around until he spots where your hand seems to be cradling the other. It could only mean one of two possible scenarios, and without a word, he grabs the medicine box from his closet in search of the burn ointment. You begin to try and explain what happened, but before you can even say that you accidentally touched one of racks in the oven with the back of your wrist, you spot the little tube between Keiji’s fingers and fall silent. His eyebrows furrow as he approaches you, standing no more than a couple of centimeters away from you as he finds the burn and begins to apply the balm.

“You should’ve let me help,” he says quietly, regret laced through the words. His lithe fingers hesitate over the mark, hoping that the salve was applied quickly enough to prevent any potential blistering.

“This is nothing,” you try to soothe him. “I was just lost in thought and didn’t realize that my arm was getting a little too close. What matters most is that I still saved the dinner.”

Keiji shakes his head and releases his hold. “That’s not the most important at all. Are you sure there isn’t anything I can help you with?”

“You can help me by waiting here for another 15 minutes until I tell you to come out.”

“You know that’s not—”

“Keiji,” you firmly interject. Your hands grasp one of his, clenching around them to let him know it was okay. The small burn was no one’s fault but yours, and there was no need for him to feel guilty. “I’m okay, really. All the hard parts are over now, I just need to let something cool down and set up the table.”

The man before you releases a defeated sigh and you let go of his hand. Instantly, he misses the warmth and subconsciously flexes his hand in some strange attempt to retain the heat running through his fingers. “Call for me if you need any help, okay?”

“Of course.”

Once more, you exit his room and close the door behind you. He takes this time to stand by and stare out his balcony doors, watching the sun slowly sink below the horizon. A warm, orange glow fills his room as Keiji turns to look at his freshly washed bed, remembering the way you had scuttled in with an armful of linen and batted him away repeatedly from trying to help. He pictures the way you would curl up in sleep, imagining once again just how nice it would be to wake up together with the Tokyo sunrise.

“Dinner’s ready,” your voice calls out from behind him, stealing him away from his daydream. He makes his way around the bed to meet you where you demand him to close his eyes. The skeptical look causes you to laugh as you continue to goad him.

“I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything, promise.”

“If I so much as nudge a table with my big toe, I will kick you out.”

“So dramatic,” you scoff and roll your eyes. “Come on, please?”

Giving in to your requests seems second nature now, he realizes as his eyes slip shut, relying on nothing but the gentle hold you have on his hands and the sound of your voice. You do well in warning him about any possibility he might bump into something and Keiji’s trust in you solidifies – hell, they could be on the outskirts of an exploding volcano and he’d let you drag him around with a blindfold on. He can feel the nervousness rolling off you as you sit him down in his chair, hurriedly taking the seat across from him and adjusting yourself. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

Keiji has to blink a few times to refocus his vision and chooses to ignore the way your teeth gnaw on your bottom lip for the plate in front of him. Two slices of beef wellington sit elegantly on the white porcelain, a glass of red wine in the top corner, and a set of a knife and fork on opposite sides. It looks straight out of a cookbook and he loves that you were right – he would be pleasantly surprised, and your hard work would certainly pay off.

But what makes the smile on his face form is the memory of you two discussing different cooking shows on the walk home from school one evening. You had asked him out of the blue if he watched anything cooking-related, and when he had listed some of the channels he watched from time to time, you rattled off a list of things you wanted to try making some day but never could with time constraints. Beef wellington had been one of those items, as well as a croquembouche, Totoro macarons, and others.

“Did you finally get to live out your Great British Bake Off dreams with the puff pastry?” Keiji jokes, lifting his utensils and beginning to cut through the meat. At his question, he realizes you must’ve been pounding out the slab of butter to be used when making puff pastry from scratch.

“That, and try to channel Gordon Ramsay for everything else,” you chuckle and watch him carefully as he chews on his first bite.

“This is really good, holy shit,” he murmurs and relief floods your system. “Are you sure this is your first time making it?”

“Yep!”

“I’m gonna have to get seconds later,” Keiji says, still slightly suspended in disbelief. You’re practically shaking in your seat from how well received the dish is.

“Try to save some room for the dessert wine later.”

“Oh, you bought some?”

“Yeah, they had the brand we like at the supermarket.”

“What’s the occasion?”

You ponder on that for a bit, trying to find the right words for it. What he didn’t know was that you caught the last half of his conversation on the phone with Tetsuro. At first, you felt a flare of anger when you put the pieces together and realized that Keiji had ratted out your location, almost storming out of the bathroom to give him a piece of your mind. But when you heard him defend and stand up for you, you faltered, hand hovering over the doorknob. Once again, he was holding your best interests at heart and risking potentially fraying his friendship with Tetsuro for you. It was exactly the kind of support you needed in that moment.

So you do what you’ve always done to show gratitude when it comes to Keiji: make something edible for him. In middle and high school, you felt that food was the least awkward thing you could give to him if he did something for you, considering that you felt you two weren’t very close. Permanent gifts were a touch too intimate, and you could always hide the fact that you were gifting him something under the pretense of wanting to give it to his mother instead. Any batch of cookies, muffins, palmiers, or pastries were mainly meant for him, saying thanks for walking home with you, driving you home, entertaining you during get-togethers, letting you win in Monopoly for once, and many more. That was something you originally planned to take to your grave since you figured that Keiji would find it weird or disturbing, but now…now seemed okay.

Just not this exact moment.

“To a new beginning,” you decide and lift up your glass, angling it towards him for cheers.

“To a new beginning,” he echoes. Keiji clinks his glass against you and you both take a sip, his eyes glimmering over the rim.

You are very tipsy. Borderline drunk. You honestly can’t remember the last time you got wine drunk, but somehow you just couldn’t stop drinking. If you had to give your best estimate, about 70% of the red wine had been consumed by you. And now that the dessert wine was open, you were nearing 60% of that as well.

Keiji sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, indulging you by letting you watch Ouran High School Host Club through some streaming service on his TV. It had been ages since he last saw anything from it, though he mainly focuses on your how far your inebriation is getting ahead of you. An hour ago, he had placed a cup of water by your side, though there was still half of it left. He wonders if he should be cutting you off soon, but you look too carefree and happy. And from experience, he knows that you could easily walk in a straight line if told to. It was an uncanny ability that you possessed, one that was somewhat showcased when you and Tetsuro showed up at a house party in college he just happened to also attend. Smashed overexaggerated your drunken state at the time, but the glossy look in your eyes now was very similar to that incident all those years ago.

The laugh that erupts from your chest as a result of Haruhi’s deadpan humor is slurred and lasts a little too long to be considered normal. Keiji feels his chest ease up when you reach for the water this time instead of the alcohol and chug it all down. He freezes when you turn towards him with a lazy smile spread across your face, but it turns into a pout when you hand him the now empty mug.

“Keiji-kun,” you mumble. “Please gimme more water?”

“You can’t get it yourself?” He taunts, chuckling when your pout intensifies.

“I don’t wanna acci-acc-accid-accidentally break the mug. You brought it from your parents’, right? I used this one all the time back then.”

“Mmm,” he hums, prying the porcelain from your hands and standing to comply with your request.

Not even a minute passes after he returns when you clumsily shift closer to him. He doesn’t even have to time to internally gasp when you lay down on your back and plop your head onto his thighs, his arms now slightly suspended in the air because he honestly has no idea what to do with them. The best he can come up with is resting one arm on the back of the couch, the other tentatively placed on top of your head. He fights the need to run his fingers through your hair, although knowing it would bring you some comfort as the world begins to blur. It takes everything in him to not look down, but he’s not absorbing anything from the anime. The sounds fall short to the pounding in his ears, and the only time he can remember being this nervous was their last volleyball match during Nationals.

“Thank you, Keiji.”

“Hm? For what?”

“…sticking up for me to Tetsu.”

“…didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” Keiji attempts to digress, pinching the shell of your ear.

“It hurts!” You cry out, overstating the pain you felt. In his defense, he barely put any force behind it. “I just wanted to say thank you, ‘s all.”

“It was nothing, I—”

“You really think we’re friends?”

Keiji frowns. “I said that before, didn’t I? Did you ever think we weren’t?”

“Honestly…no, I didn’t,” you confess. It’ll be a miracle if you remember any of this tomorrow morning. “You always seemed so far away…there were a few times when I thought you maybe hated me, only tolerated me because you’d never hear the end of it from your mom if she ever caught you being mean to me. I mean, if you ever think about it…you never talked about yourself, y’know?”

Keiji pauses the TV, throwing the apartment into complete silence. He only hears your shaky breathing and the AC running.

“Anything I ever heard about you was from your mom because she’d tell my mom, and then my mom would gossip,” you continue, chuckling bitterly at the end. “I knew you, but did I really know you? It felt so weird, walking by you in school and knowing what you were struggling with. But then you’d just smile at me like nothing was wrong and that hurt.”

He’s been staring at the same frame for the last minute or so and feels more and more awful with every word that leaves your lips. Somehow it’s everything he’s wanted to hear for years, but it’s also so bittersweet and tragic. But the more important matter currently at hand is the sound of your sniffles. Oh god, are you crying? Keiji finally has a reason to look at you now, studying how a forearm is strewn across your eyes – but he can see the tear tracks and feel the dampness on his sweatpants as they slide down your face. He attempts to move the limb away but you resist as much as you can, though it doesn’t take much. Keiji reaches over and plucks out a tissue to help clean you up, trying to placate both you and the semblance of a heartbreak.

“I was always worried that you were just – hic – hiding your emotions, bottling them up inside until it’d burst one day. But then I had to – hic -- remind myself that you had other close friends to confide in. With how much you got along with your teammates, I figured they’d keep an eye on you…but I still worried a lot. I hoped that you’d finally open up during our family dinners someday. Instead, it took a break-up and me getting drunk.”

He’s frozen when you lift your hand to his face, the tips of your fingers barely ghosting over his jawline. The anguish in your eyes is palpable; he can’t help but broaden the contact, leaning into your palm until it’s cradling his cheek while maintaining eye contact with you.

“You were okay, right?” You whisper. “You could talk to Koutaro? Or Akinori?”

Keiji’s gaze softens considerably. He analyzes the drooping of your eyelids, how they fight to stay open until you receive a desirable answer from him. It’s incredibly touching how much you wanted to reach out to him during all those years, waiting, wishing, hoping. You were right – he did expose some of his more vulnerable moments to his teammates. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t have days where he ached to call you and spill every negative emotion he was feeling.

“I was okay, I promise,” Keiji reassures you, giving in to comb through your hair. “Thank you, (y/n), for caring about me.”

Your arm slowly drops from its hold and curls up against your chest. Even in your drunken state, you feel at peace, like the world has finally been lifted from your shoulders. It’s the answer that you’ve been silently searching for all this time, the unknown stewing and festering in the back of your mind.

“I’m…glad…”

Keiji observes as you fall asleep and your breaths even out. With a heavy sigh, he gathers you into his arms bridal-style, hoping that the jostling doesn’t wake you up. Just like last night, he tucks you into bed, though not without leaving a gentle press of his lips against your temple.

The futon is cold and lonely. He’s really starting to not like it very much.

Wednesday and Thursday fly by so fast that he wonders if he accidentally time-traveled into Friday. Before he knows it, you’re rolling your suitcase out of his bedroom and towards his front door. As you slip on your shoes, your mind rattles off the locations of your important things: phone, wallet, keys, passport, driver’s license, and more. You turn back to look at your gracious host, shooting him your most appreciative smile.

“Thank you for everything this past week, Keiji. You don’t know how much it means to me, and I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

“I was happy to have you, and you’ve done more than you needed to in trying to pay me back. Are you sure you don’t need me to drop you off at the airport?”

“I couldn’t impose on you any longer,” you wave off. “An Uber will do just fine.”

“You’ll let me know when you’re there? When you get back to your apartment?”

“Yes, mother,” you poke fun at him, laughing at the way he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll let that one pass for now. Remember, you can call me anytime, okay? About anything, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll remember that. See you around then?”

“See you around. Be safe.”

Neither of you make a move, not until Keiji steps forward to wrap you in a tight embrace. You do your best to return it ounce of ounce, bundling the back of his shirt in your fists. The last seven days have been pivotal to your friendship and you’ll never forget everything he’s done for you. Minutes pass, neither wanting to pull back until you can’t anymore, needing to meet the Uber outside. Keiji doesn’t have the heart to walk you all the way to the main entrance of the apartment complex, and you don’t force him.

Sitting in the airplane back to Sapporo is much less nerve-wracking than you originally predicted. You already have a list in mind of how to clear things out with Tetsuro, what steps you two need to take to make this split as seamless as possible. Various apartment listings had been bookmarked over the last couple of days, units big enough for just one person rather than two. The wound is still somewhat fresh, but scabs have already begun to form. You have Keiji to thank for in this process of healing.

As promised, you update him whenever you can, the final notice sent when you stand outside the door of your and Teturo’s apartment. It’s impossible for the nerves to not strike you now, even more so as you slowly unlock the door. The work shoes to the side of the doorway indicates that he is home, probably passed out in bed after a long shift. You quietly pad around the unit while putting some of your stuff away, though leaving the suitcase in the living room for now. When you step into the bedroom, Tetsuro is curled up on your side of the mattress, breathing deeply and soundly.

Two months ago, you would have peppered his face with kisses, demanding that he give you enough room to cuddle next to him. He would have opened his arms willingly, trapping you effectively in his new cage and you would’ve never thought of wanting to escape from him. So much has changed now, you think as you sit on the edge. You believe your action was subtle, but he stirs from his asleep, addressing the fact that you have returned. There is no screaming or crying, no tears or pleading. Instead, he shifts closer to give you an awkward hug around your waist while still laying on his side. It’s not the kind of hug that says, “Welcome home,” or “I miss you”, though.

It says, “I’m sorry,” and the placement of your hand on his embrace replies, “It’s okay.”

2 years later

Keiji likes this new routine with you.

For the last year and a half, you two schedule a weekly video call to catch up with each other. He likes this because he can watch you pull yourself together, adjust to the new life without Tetsuro. He gets to hear all the work stories that the other stopped bothering to pay attention to, no longer waiting for your next Snapchat or Instagram story update. Keiji’s at the friendship level now where he knows something has happened before you even post the photo. Sometimes you both cook together, finding a recipe that you’ll want to try. Other times you might just want to watch an episode or two of a show that’s caught both of your interests, swearing to each other that you’ll avoid spoilers or watching ahead.

It’s not the kind of relationship he truly wants with you, but it’s close enough and he’d be a fool to not take it.

Last week, you had to miss the video call, saying that your boss dropped a massive project onto your desk. You were going to be pulling overtime, and Keiji reminds you to take the necessary breaks. Texting is sparse and he feels the worry exponentially grow – were you pushing yourself too hard? Were you eating foods other than convenience store bentos and onigiris? Were you getting enough sleep at night?

His phone blares your custom ringtone from his kitchen counter and Keiji practically lunges for it, quickly picking up and holding the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

What is this feeling of déjà vu? “I was about to start cooking something up just now, why? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was so busy, I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk last week. What about you?”

“I’m good, everything’s normal. Where are you?”

“I’m on my way home. By the way, I bought you a gift. They said it got delivered not a few minutes ago.”

“Really? That’s weird, the front desk usually notifies me as soon as they get it. But you shouldn’t have.”

“Consider it an early birthday present,” he hears and relishes in the warmth your words bring. “Why don’t you go downstairs and check?”

“I guess I can. Stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.”

“What’d you get me?”

“What’s the point in me telling you when you’re about to open it in a few minutes?”

“Well,” Keiji starts and wrenches open the door. “I—”

He stops in his tracks, voice caught in his throat. You stand sheepishly before him, phone still at your ear as you drink in his stunned expression. Keiji doesn’t get taken by surprise very often, and you wish you had a camera for this moment. Koutaro would’ve loved it.

“Hey there,” he hears from you and through the speaker, a slight delay between the two phrases as his mind grasps at the situation.

“Why are you here?” He asks, hanging up and letting you in. Keiji hopes it doesn’t sound as rude as it might’ve come across. Like a gentleman, he takes your jacket and allows you enough space to take off your shoes.

“They’re doing renovations at my new apartment so I can’t really move in yet…I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days?”

Wait, new apartment? “Are you moving back to Tokyo?”

Excitement isn’t enough to describe the pure feeling of joy that runs through his veins when you nod. This is what you must have been so busy dealing with, packing everything up and scheduling a small moving van. All you have is your purse and a large suitcase, meaning that the rest of your belongings must still be en route.

“You can stay for as long as you need to. Take the bed, I can—”

“Actually, I lied. Not about moving to Tokyo,” you quickly defend when he seems to bristle at your words. “There aren’t any renovations and the rest of my stuff is coming tomorrow…but I purposely booked a ticket to get here today. You’re the first person I wanted to see.”

Not your parents, not some of your other friends. Him. You wanted to come and see him first before anyone else. The tone in your confession holds so much weight, a fondness in them that’s too intimate for someone who was just a friend. This was your way of trying to let him know that there was something more going on, but you were afraid that he would reject you. The ball was in his court now, and it was entirely up to him to decide how to proceed.

No one knows you better than him. No one is in tune or in sync with you as much as he is. It’s terrifyingly thrilling, but you want this. You want him.

So he takes one stride forward, cradles your face between his hands, and crashes his lips onto yours with a searing passion that’s been kept under lock and key for far, far too long. It’s perfect, you smile to yourself. But most of all…

It feels like home.

Bonus (a week later):

[Konoha]: hey, kou, is keiji dating anyone????

[Bokuto]: not that I know of??? why???

[Konoha]: apparently he just rsvp’d to my wedding and said he’s bringing a plus one??? i’m so confused, why wouldn’t he tell us??

[Bokuto]: did your fiancée see a name anywhere?

[Konoha]: hang on, she’s checking.

[Konoha]: oh shit.

[Konoha]: OH SHIT.

[Konoha]: HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHAT THE FUCK

[Bokuto]: WHO IS IT YOU BETTER TELL ME RIGHT NOW

[Konoha]: HE’S BRINGING FUCKING (Y/N) JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

[Bokuto]: ABOUT GODDAMN TIME

[Konoha]: YOU OWE ME 5000 YEN, PAY UP

525 notes · View notes

chalkrevelations · 3 years

Text

Word of Honor Ep 6, and let’s talk a little about what’s canon, and what’s not, and about the particular slip-slidiness of the line between them on this show.

But first, due diligence: If you are NEW or JUST VISITING, this is a re-watch, so you’re going to find SPOILERS not just for this ep, but for the entire show. Scroll away and come back later if you haven’t seen all 36.5 eps and want to watch unspoiled. Also, heads-up, this got super long, because I had to talk about that stuff up there and then still talk about the ep. Hashtag long post (remorseful).

So, “canon,” as applied to fannish source material (in Western fandom, at least) traditionally has been considered the official stuff – the episode, the book, the comic, the movie – based on the religious definition of “canon,” the collection of texts accepted as genuine and official within a religion. The word “fanon” – widely accepted fannish ideas – plays on this, as does the fandom concept of “word of God,” or things the Creators have said about the text but outside of it. Is it in the show as it aired or the book as it was printed? Canon. Is it not in the show as it aired or the book as it was printed? Not canon. (Apocrypha? Maybe. Anyway.) Generally, I think we’d say that things like material in the first draft of a script that doesn’t make it through revisions and onto the screen isn’t canon, even if you can get your hands on a copy of the first draft. The final product that airs is what’s canon. BUT this gets super slippery in something like WoH, in a way that’s exemplified in this episode. This ep is one of the places where people who can lip-read Chinese have spotted some significant dialogue changes between what the actors say on-screen and what lines have been dubbed in. (Everybody’s dubbed in cdramas, it’s just the thing that happens. You have your on-screen actors, and you have your voice actors. The ONLY person in The Untamed who did his own voice dubbing, for instance, was Ji Li, who played Nie Huaisang. All the other characters had voice actors dubbed in. In fact, the voice actor for Jiang Cheng in The Untamed is the voice actor for Wen Kexing in WoH.) One of the descriptions of WoH that I’ve heard is that this show was filmed as a bl and dubbed as a bromance. The thing is, nobody tried very hard to hide the shift. There are plenty of places that you can clearly see the actor’s mouths don’t match the dubbing, and they’re not artfully shot or edited to hide this. They’re fully on-screen, mouthing words that don’t match, right out in the open, almost like they want to you to pick up on it. Almost like it’s canon, because it’s right there on-screen, aired in the episode. In my first-watch reactions to Eps 36 and 37, I talked a lot about how the dubbing puts a layer of de-queered no-homo over what the on-screen actors are saying in these places, but if you can see what they’re actually saying and understand it, does that make it canon? What does it mean, both textually and meta-textually, if you can’t believe what you’re hearing – what you’re being told – because it contradicts what you’re seeing? How does that affect what we’re told about Our Protagonists and its “truth,” particularly in the final scenes? How much is the show deliberately working against censorship in this way? How much is it teaching us to look deeper than what we’re hearing on the surface?

Several people have talked about what’s actually being said by the on-screen actors in places where this happens, and I’m going to direct you to AvenueX on Youtube if you want a complete overview, because she’s reliable and has a good compilation that’s easy to find. She has a couple of videos called “Lip Reading for Sugar,” and the March 9, 2021, installment includes the Ep 6 incidences, the most significant of which are: At 3:05 in the ep, when WKX throws himself on Zhou Zishu’s back during the zombie Drug Men attack, calls him “mom,” asks ZZS to carry him, and tells “mom” that “your shoulder blades are the most beautiful.” Only no, Gong Jun didn’t say this, if you watch his mouth compared to the sound of the words. Instead of “niang” (mom), he says “Zhou Zishu.” Twice. “Zhou Zishu, carry me.” “Zhou Zishu, your shoulder blades are the most beautiful.” This is not only important because it emphasizes he’s gay for Zhou Zishu’s shoulder blades, but also because he’s fucking baked on Drunk Like A Dream incense when it happens, and later, ZZS will reveal that Drunk Like a Dream makes you see what you most desire, and he’ll confront WKX about how he “kept calling” someone’s name while he was under the influence of it. This makes no sense with the dubbing we get, because with “mom” dubbed over ZZS’s name here, WKX only calls Zhou Zishu’s real name once while he’s under the influence, at the end of ep 5. That is not kept calling. ANYWAY, once WKX clears his head and flies them away from the Drug Men, back to the a lakeside, there’s another disjunct at 5:05, when the dubbing has WKX tell ZZS not to play hero, that he doesn’t lose face if WKX helps him, and ZZS responds with something about your grandmother’s bear, which AvenueX tells me is a real Chinese idiom, although not for what. What Gong Jun and Zhang Zhehan appear to actually have said, though, is that WKX tells ZZS that this was just like a hero saving a beauty, with the implication that ZZS is the beauty, the damsel in distress, and ZZS respons that no, it’s like the beauty saving the hero, without a lick of concern that he’s the beauty, the damsel, in this scenario, just that he did all the work killing Drug Men and now this asshole is going to act like he’s the one who did the saving. At 31:24, dubbing has WKX telling ZZS that he’ll give ZZS whatever he wants if ZZS can get him some of the Drunk Like a Dream, but AvenueX tells me that he actually offers his body in exchange, in a way that implies marriage. And at 32:22, when ZZS asks WKX what he saw under the influence of the Drunk Like a Dream, the dubbing gives us some random story about baby WKX throwing a rat on his mother’s bed, while Gong Jun’s mouth seems to be saying something something about being in the bridal chamber with his beloved … so circling back to our first instance at 3:05, WKX using Zhou ZIshu’s name is now super-interesting, eh?

Another slip-slidey point of canon here is that there are two versions of this episode. The original version didn’t have the rabbit-washing scene. That was an extra that was inserted later into a Special Version ep when Youku reached 2 million subscribers. But the Special Version is now available on Youku’s channel (it’s the one I watched for this re-watch), AND it’s the regular version that’s on Netflix. So at 25:28, we now get this adorable little scene where ZZS and WKX are cleaning two rabbits in the lake before cooking them, and WKX splashes ZZS who pretends to be irritated before splashing WKX back and running away up the riverbank, chased by WKX. It’s flirty and playful and ALSO a foreshadowing of the flashback we’re going to see in a later ep, when they play together for an afternoon as children. Wasn’t canon before. Now it is.

Anyway, even with the (bad) dubbing that we get, this is a fantastic WenZhou ep. We open with them still being menaced by the zombies Drug Men, with a lot of swordwork by ZZS before he starts flagging because of his Nails Issue, whereupon WKX instantly sobers up, goes Evil Ghost Valley Master on Imposter Hanged Ghost who’s controlling the Drug Men, kills him with his Fan of Death, then scoops up ZZS and flies him off to a lake, where he attempts to tenderly check ZZS’s pulse and take care of his wounds before ZZS slaps away his hand like an offended maiden. WKX has to give him the qi smackdown in order to hold him still to :coff: pull down his robes and suck out the poison from the Drug Men scratches on the back of his shoulder. :hands: I remember the first time around, watching this with my mouth hanging open, demanding to know the heterosexual explanation for this. (Also, if you’re rummaging on Youtube, the Five Straight Guys Watching Word of Honor for this ep is not to be missed. They’re a little questionable in their reaction to the poison sucking, but before that, they’re a bunch of squeamish babies over using the dagger to further slice open the wounds to get to the poison, and it’s HILARIOUS. They can’t even look at the screen once the dagger comes out, hiding behind their hands. I love them, more and more as the eps go on, but they are WEAK compared to even the newbiest hurt/comfort fangirl.) There’s some more back and forth between WKX and ZZS about revealing their true selves to each other, no you, no YOU. WKX makes it clear that he knows there’s something really wrong with ZZS, and then they fight, set to romantic music, and ZZS ends up falling in the lake. I do the victory arms ( \o/ ) to myself where I’m sitting on the couch and startle one of the cats, because FINALLY we’re going to get rid of that execrable fake facial hair. ZZS fucks with WKX by staying underwater long enough that WKX panics and also dives in, we get some really cheap and awful underwater effects, and ZZS reveals his face! They end up back on the edge of the lake, drying their perfectly dry outer robes, while they sit around the fire together in their perfectly dry inner robes, but I am not going to complain because y’all. I CANNOT with how smug and pleased ZZS is for just a moment about WKX mooning over how pretty he is. Then he remembers to be an ill-tempered gremlin and pokes at WKX with a flaming stick, but I had to rewind four times just to catch that little moment of satisfaction about being admired again – it’s subtle and gorgeous and Zhang Zhehan is going to kill me with his face one of these days. ZZS demands dinner on this date, and fake-coughs pitifully to get WKX to go hunt something down, while he stays and does his delightful little thinky face as he pokes at the Soul Winding Box they got from Imposter Hanged Ghost. Then we get a shot of WKX looking at ZZS before he heads off to catch some rabbits that confirms he now knows he’s really Zhou Zishu, rather than Zhou Xu.

So, we’ll get back to the Ghost and the Box in a minute, but I do want to mention that this whole ep is layered through with mini-references and thematic stuff. Imposter Hanged Ghost rings his little bell to control his Drug Men, and remember that, we’ll see that again. WKX asks if ZZS came from the Healer’s Valley when ZZS offers him an antidote to the Drug Man poison; we learn later that WKX, himself, is the one who came from the Healer’s Valley. When ZZS gets the Soul Winding Box open and finds a piece of the Glazed Armor inside (Danyang’s, taken off of Ao Laizi by Ghost Valley before he was hung at the gate of Sanbai Manor), he gives it to WKX, tells him to throw it away if he doesn’t want it. WKX says he couldn’t possibly, and that he’ll wear it because it’s his first gift from A-Xu. Compare this to the way Xie’er will wear Awful Yifu’s Glazed Armor around his neck. We also see some of the thematic and referential stuff come up in conversations that form a repeated pattern in this ep of ZZS stressing what a bad and dangerous person he is: He scoffs at the idea he’s from Healer’s Valley, and asks if he looks like someone who practices medicine; WKX responds that he looked like a professional killer (true) who was cruel in the abandoned temple (presumably while escaping Mirror Lake) and frightening to a kind-hearted man like WKX who can’t even kill a chicken (particularly amusing given the prep for New Year’s dinner in a later ep, when WKX is the only one who CAN). At the lakeside and again after ZZS hightails it away from Sanbai Manor when they spot Han Ying there (HAN YING, my beloved), WKX asks if ZZS is a fugitive, what he’s hiding from, and says that he’ll protect him – by reason, because would he kill anyone unreasonably (omg, where to even begin? How many guys have you choked out at this point)? When they’re arguing about ZZS revealing his “true” face, ZZS warns that most people who’ve seen his real appearance are dead (probably true). WKX says he’s not afraid of death (not his own, at least, we’ll see that the thing he’s afraid of is ZZS’s death). ZZS warns WKX that he’s not only sharp-tongued, he’s ruthless (true). He tells WKX that he’s murdered many people (true) and set them on fire (not unlikely, frankly) and committed many crimes (true, in a way, although they were state-sanctioned, making them legal, if morally reprehensible). This is the ZZS who put the Nails in himself, who talks to himself about what a truly awful shixiong he is, who tells Prince Jin that he’s only good as a weapon. I like how we see this at the same time that we’re starting to see the side of him that’ll preen when someone thinks he’s pretty - this is a process, and it’s subtle, not as high-drama as WKX’s, but it’s there, nonetheless.

We also formally meet Xie Wang in this ep, artfully posed and playing his pipa among the bodies – old and new – of Zhao Coffin Home. He and Changing Ghost have a bit of a slapfight over whose fault it is that Imposter Hanged Ghost, who was actually Long-Tongued Ghost, got killed and got his (Danyang’s) Glazed Armor took by WKX, when Changing Ghost stole it from Ao Laizi, put it in the Soul Winding Box and gave it to Long-Tongued Ghost specifically to deliver it to Xie Wang. Xie Wang is super cool through all of this, and I think we get a sense of how deadly he is by the way Changing Ghost backs down. So, here’s what’s falling together: Some iteration of Ghost Valley is working with Xie Wang and the Scorpion Sect, giving the Scorpions access to the Soul Winding Threads, which we saw used at the Mirror Lake massacre and in the woods outside of Sanbai Manor to kill Yu Tianjie in the last ep. Via Xie Wang, Ghost Vally has access to use of the Drug Men, which we’ve seen at the Zhao Coffin Home (so far), although we haven’t yet been told (I think) how Xie Wang got access to the potions to create Drug Men (we also know ZZS read about Drug Men in a book somewhere, and got enough info to engineer an antidote to them). Xie Wang and the Scorpions have access to Drunk Like a Dream incense, which had to come from Prince Jin’s court, having been engineered by ZZS based on a much stronger formulation. Han Ying, from Tian Chuang in Prince Jin’s court, has been seen at Sanbai Manor, Zhao Jing’s place.

Meanwhile Chengling is doing poorly, with no appetite and getting bellowed at some more by Shen Shen, who would be the worst if only I didn’t know everything I know, which makes me cringe when Zhao Jing refers to Chengling as “my son, now.” NO. RUN, Goldbean. For some more thematic and referential stuff in this ep, WKX calls Chengling a “lonely chick with no one to rely on” and tsks over the fact that he’s “surrounded by hounds smarter than foxes” now that he’s under the care of the Five Lakes Alliance. This is clearly to manipulate ZZS into thinking Chengling is better off with ZZS, but it also sounds like an awfully apt description of Zhen Yan in Ghost Valley. I’m just sayin’.

#zhou zishou #wen kexing #xie wang #zhang chengling #zhao jing #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

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alienheartattack · 3 years

Text

To All Of Us, From 2000 Years Ago

I got so mad about 139 and the leaks that I banged out my own 3000+ word ending to the manga today. Please keep in mind that this is a non-shipping story. Although I’ve exclusively written Rivamika before, this is not a Rivamika story, and although there’s an Eren/Mikasa scene at the beginning. there is no relationship between them, only the implication of feelings that are not quite reciprocated. I also threw some Levi fan service in there because why the hell not?

CW: There are references to and non-detailed descriptions of rape in this story.

You can also read this on AO3!

"You know what you have to do," Eren says. Mikasa pretends not to hear him over the rush of the little creek they're sitting by so he says it again, louder.

"I know," she sighs. "Even now, knowing that you've done something so unforgivable, a part of me doesn't want to."

"You're a good person, Mikasa. You'll be even better without me."

She snorts a laugh. "I've killed people, too. Just not as many as you did."

"You always had the weirdest sense of humor." Eren puts an arm around her, presses a kiss to her cheek. "I'm going to miss it." That's what finally brings him to tears, the thought of not seeing Mikasa again. Or Armin. Or Connie, or Jean, or Captain Levi, even the rest of them. He's had plenty of time to accept that he'd die at nineteen, was always going to die at nineteen, but now that the moment has arrived he wants to hold on just a bit longer.

Mikasa doesn't cry, at least not the way he expects her to. Tears stream down her face but she doesn't sniffle, doesn't sob, doesn't rage or scream the way she’s done in the past. He sees them both, Mikasa the girl and Mikasa the soldier, perfectly coexisting in the inky blackness of her eyes. She has made her decision. She made it before she even stepped into the mouth of the Titan.

"Kiss me one last time," Eren weeps. "Please."

"Okay," she nods, cupping his face with one hand and leaning in close. "See you later, Eren."

When Mikasa pulls away from his lips, the deed is already done. His severed head feels sickeningly heavy in her blood-stained hands. His eyes gaze beyond her, beyond the veil of this world, clouded with the knowledge of the void. The Titan around her begins to disintegrate in plumes of white steam. Mikasa swears she can smell wildflowers.

"Mikasa Ackerman," a girl's voice echoes. Mikasa whips her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Someone seems to materialize from the steam, swirling eddies of smoke coalescing in the form of a small girl, scraggly blond hair falling into her eyes, barefoot in a dirty white dress. Her face is blank, her eyes downcast.

"Ymir," Mikasa says, the name forming in her mouth before she can think of it.

Ymir nods, then points to Eren's head. "You loved him. Why did you kill him?"

"I had to."

"Why?"

"Because some things are more important than my love." Ymir stares blankly, seemingly confused. "The millions of people who died are more important. The world is more important. Besides, what kind of person would I be to stand beside someone who could slaughter so many people so senselessly?"

"You… don't love him?" The little girl blinks quickly, white lids snapping over black eyes. Something about it seems inhuman, wrong somehow. Mikasa cannot help but think of insects.

A tear falls from her face and lands on Eren’s, snaking a trail down his cheek as though he'd shed it himself. "I can never forget what he did and I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive him for it, but I'll always love Eren."

"You wouldn't die for him?"

Mikasa answers without hesitation. "Never."

Ymir's gaze snaps up to Mikasa's, and she feels sick from what she sees in the girl's odd, dark eyes: a hunger, almost starvation, for the scraps of affection Karl Fritz would throw at her; a longing to be treated well, to be fussed over and doted on and adored. Ymir would close her eyes and dream of a shining, beautiful man when the king held her down and fucked her, made her recoil, made her bleed, beat her when she cried out or complained of the pain. She carved out a space in her mind for him where she sculpted him into her ideal. Sometime between that first bloody night and the day the assassin's spear pierced her chest she invented a Karl Fritz out of whole cloth, a man whose cold entreaties and brutal assaults were proof of his undying love.

Mikasa sees these things from Ymir’s eyes, feels the bruises forming on her back, the tearing and bleeding between her legs, the rotted wine breath of Karl Fritz in her mouth.

"I would never have jumped in front of that spear," she says, more confident than she’s ever felt. "I wouldn't even have considered it." Ymir frowns, cocks her head like she's trying to understand. "You thought you were doing the right thing, but you protected a man who never loved you. You laid down your life for a man who forced your daughters to consume your body. He didn't even mourn you."

A flash of anger contorts Ymir's face. Her eyes dart around wildly, turning Mikasa's words over in her mind. "But he loved me," she insists.

"Did he ever tell you he loved you? Or did he treat you like a slave?" Mikasa's voice wavers at the word slave, at the memory of Eren screaming at her across that restaurant table; the moment her wall of denial came crumbling down. No matter what his plan was, it became clear that day that he would step on any of them to achieve it. She had no idea how true that assessment would become, millions of bodies crushed into the contaminated earth beneath the feet of Eren’s Titans.

She wonders if things would have happened differently if he'd just admitted once that he loved her.

"You are free," she tells Ymir. "You choose your own destiny. I am free, and I chose mine."

Ymir says nothing, her eyes luminous with tears, and then dissipates into the smoke. Mikasa is vaguely aware of the wavering steam around her, of Levi flying on Falco's back and pulling her out of the Titan's mouth before everything turns hazy and white.

She can see the scene from two thousand years earlier as clear as though she were there, floating above it all: the crowd come to see King Fritz's speech, the hooded assassin's arm pulling back, the tip of the spear glinting in the daylight. The assassin lets the spear fly, its arc perfectly aimed at the heart of the tyrant. His wife Ymir, older and slimmer than the girl Mikasa met but still with those same sad, black insect eyes, watches in horror as the tip of the spear flies closer and closer; but she does not move, not even when it impales her husband through the chest and the light in his eyes is snuffed out.

In time-lapse, Mikasa sees it all: the accession of Queen Ymir, wise and fair, and the moderate reigns of her three daughters, and their daughters after them. The power of the Titans remains within the royal family, passed down from mother to daughter, a shameful, secret birthright. They create diplomatic ties with other countries, offering succor and counsel, avoiding the path of war so as not to reveal their ultimate power. There is no Great Titan War, no walls, no telepathic manipulation. The world moves forward in fits and starts as it always has, small skirmishes and occasional wars, but the Eldians remain steadfast and committed to peace. Satisfied with Ymir's choice, Mikasa finds herself closing her eyes, opening them for the first time again in the year 835, in her parents' house just outside Shiganshina, as a new doctor pulls her into the world. He is not Grisha Yeager, she notes, and then she forgets who Grisha Yeager is entirely.

In the year 845, there is no Wall Maria for the Colossal Titan to breach, and no Colossal Titan to breach it.

Inside one of the cities in what was once Wall Rose, a history teacher writes notes on a chalkboard before his first class arrives for the day. He draws a crown in the middle of the board and writes the subject of the day's class inside of it: QUEEN YMIR THE WISE. The teacher is startled by a noise behind him; he turns to find one of his students, a shy girl called Sarah, taking a seat at her desk.

"School hasn't started yet," he says. "You're supposed to be outside."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith," Sarah replies. "I was looking at a really interesting bug and the other girls started making fun of me."

The teacher nods. "All right, just this once. If you’d like, sometime I could teach you how to stand up to those girls."

Hundreds of miles away, the forests of Dauper ring with the whoops of an exuberant girl, triumphing at having killed her first deer with a bow and arrow she carved herself. She doesn't care that she's scaring the other game away with her commotion, or that she has no idea how she'll lug a hundred-pound carcass all the way back home.

In Trost, a young boy lingers over his breakfast; not because he wants to miss school, but because his mother's omelet is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten and probably ever will eat. His mother ruffles his hair and pinches his round cheek, then gently chides him to eat faster or he’ll be late.

A little boy in Ragako District, a few inches shorter than his friends, demands another explanation of the multiplication tables. He doesn't quite understand the concept, goes blank when his friends try to explain arrays of rows and columns, but he believes that he can pass today's test if he tries hard enough.

Across the sea in Marley, the prosperous Eldian District is strewn with streamers, celebrating the 2000th anniversary of the assassination of the cruel King Fritz. The children have the day off from school and are gathering in the streets, purchasing candy and ice cream from vendor stalls and exchanging them as gifts to celebrate the sweetness of life. A little blond girl receives an extra coin from her father, who tells her to get something special for herself.

A few blocks away, a doctor fills his medical bag and sets off to see his first patient of the day. As he walks through the crowd of happy children, many of whom he’s delivered himself, he hopes that his only son will change his mind and join the family business.

In Mitras, a shopkeeper opens his door for the first time, pausing for a moment in the early morning sunshine to admire the wooden shingle hanging by his doorway, gently swinging in the breeze. It depicts a hand wrapped around a mug of tea, wisps of steam rising into the air above it.

The door opens while he's adjusting the canisters on the shelf behind the counter, making sure their labels face perfectly forward. His heart leaps at the tinkle of the doorbell. He picked the most musical one, the one that made him happiest when he heard it, and he feels very good about his decision.

"Hello, welcome to Ackerman Tea— Mom!" His voice takes on an adolescent whine when he addresses his mother, which makes him feel like a child and impossibly old at the same time, despite his twenty-six years.

"Did you really think I wouldn't be your first customer?" she asks, beaming. "Of course I'm going to come support my sweet boy." Her gaze sweeps over the shop, its walls painted a deep forest green, the mahogany counter polished to a mirror shine. "I'm so proud of you, Levi. You've worked so hard and it shows." Her voice quavers, her eyes filling with tears.

"Moooom," he trills, softer this time, quietly moved. Her presence feels like an auspicious omen, a reminder from the universe that someone will catch him should he fall. "Is there a tea you’re interested in, or would you like me to help you choose? We have more than thirty varieties."

"You've been practicing," his mother notes with a nod.

Levi shrugs off her comment, feeling a bit bashful that she’s noticed his hard work. "I've never been great with people, and this job is nothing but people. At least until I can hire someone to cover the counter while I blend tea in the back."

"You'll get there soon," she says, pulling a few coins from her purse. "Get me something you'd think I'd like."

He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, before his face lights up and he grabs a step-stool to reach a canister of black tea flavored with strawberry and rose. "This one is sweet and floral, but it becomes so much more when you add a bit of milk. You don't even need any sugar."

"Perfect. You even thought about how I take my tea." She places a few coins on the counter, watching her son approvingly as he scoops the tea into a bag, folds it closed with surgical precision, and ties a blue ribbon around it. "You're going to be a success, my love. I know it."

"That makes one of us," he smirks, then scoops the coins into his palm and puts them in the cash register, enjoying the feel of the heavy keys under his fingers, the spring-loaded pressure of the drawer. He hopes he gets to use it many more times today.

"Will you be home for dinner?"

"I should be. I can't imagine people will want to buy tea at night."

"Good," his mother says. "Because now that you're in business, we should talk about finding you a wife."

"MOM!" he exclaims, a furious blush coloring his face.

Further south in Shiganshina, Mikasa sulks as her mother walks her into town, not wanting to leave the safety of her parents' cabin to learn and play with the other children. She is perfectly happy to do chores on the farm, to learn the simultaneously mundane and arcane secrets of coaxing a plant from seed, to throw feed to the chickens and pull weeds in the garden.

"Mikasa, you're ten years old. Your father and I can't teach you everything," her mother says.

"I can learn from books. I don't need to go to school."

"The fact that you're saying that means you need to go. There's more to the world than just our farm, my sweet. You might want to see the world someday."

The little girl huffs. "I doubt it." Her mother simply shakes her head and smiles, ruminating on her daughter’s impending teenage years, a possible hint of rebellion, but finds that hard to imagine. Mikasa is usually a calm, easygoing child, though perhaps a bit too inquisitive and stubborn for her own good.

Mikasa hugs her mother fiercely at the school gate, watching as she turns and walks back up the road that leads to their farm. She’s excited to make new friends and learn new things, but she misses her home more than she ever thought possible. She lets out a soft sigh, then turns to face the crowd of running, yelling children; her new classmates.

She trudges around the grassy schoolyard, dodging groups of kids chasing each other or playing impromptu games. Everyone seems to know each other already; even if she did feel comfortable enough to go up to someone and introduce herself, she has no idea who to approach first.

"Hey! Give that back!" someone screams behind her. Mikasa turns around to see a small blond boy jumping up and down, reaching for a book that a larger boy dangles just above his grasp. The larger boy just laughs at him, taunting him with the book, threatening to tear it from its spine.

Mikasa frowns, balling her fists at her sides, then approaches the boys. "He said to give his book back," she says to the bully. "Give it back."

The bully laughs. "You think you can tell me what to do?"

"I think you should give the book back if you know what's good for you," she snarls, putting her hands on her hips. The bully laughs again and shoves Mikasa out of the way with one hand, making her stumble backwards, tripping over her own feet until she lands on her behind in the dirt. She gets up, dusts herself off, and runs up to the bully, punching him square in the nose. He falls to the ground, dropping the book. Mikasa tosses it to the blond boy. The bully grabs his nose, tears welling in his eyes, and lets out a wail when he sees his hand smeared with blood.

"You leave him alone!" Mikasa threatens, looming over the bully, her dark eyes shining. He scrabbles to his feet and runs away and she lets out a relieved breath, her heart hammering in her chest.

"That was amazing!" the little boy says. When he approaches her, she finds that he's not actually that small, only a few inches shorter than her. "I've never seen you before. Are you new?"

"It's my first day," she replies. "I've lived here all my life but I haven't been to school yet."

"I'm Armin," the boy says. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa."

"That’s an interesting name. Are you from Hizuru?" Armin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity. He holds up his book, a thick, leather-bound tome, A Brief History of Hizuru and the Minor East Sea Islands written in gilt lettering. "My parents told me that the whole country is built around a volcano. A big mountain filled with liquid fire! Well, technically it’s molten rock."

"My mom's family is from Hizuru, but I’ve never been there and I don't know anything about any liquid fire mountains," she says tentatively.

"It's real!" he gushes. "I'm reading about it now. I could tell you about it more at recess if you want. I like to sit under that tree over there." He points off in the distance, at a huge pine tree that shades a corner of the yard. "They're going to ring the bell soon, otherwise I'd tell you now. Volcanoes are so cool. Sometimes they explode and shoot the liquid fire into the sky like a firework."

"Wow!" Mikasa marvels with a smile. "I can’t wait to hear about them."

#snk 139 #snk spoilers #snk leaks #snk fanfiction #alienheartattack writes

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 9

MANY Thanks to @raspberrydreamclouds who designed this cover as a gift! ☝

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Lacey)

Word count: 8.3k

Warnings: Dark themes, smut, fluff and angst. Unprotected sex, hints of stalking, violence, swearing, sexual mentions, slight gore, choking, death.

A/N: Okay, this chapter is long, it was hard to write, you guys may never speak to me again after this. So I’ll just post it now, and turn off my phone and hide beneath the blanket with excessive anxiety. Thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.💖

As always, comments and feedback are more than welcome 💖💕

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Lacey

~*~

Have you paid the ferryman?

~*~

The cool light of fluorescent doesn’t do the honeyed gold of her hair justice.

Doe eyes meet him, a striking green. Pure, like freshly-cut grass on a spring morning. The navy-coloured suit she wears counters the sunny shade of her slightly curly hair. She sports mid-length tassels, cut neatly just above her shoulders. She looks like she had it done this morning by the looks of it .

“Hartmann, Lacey.”

Sitting at his desk with a pen pressed to his lips, the CIA agent observes her while ignoring the small hand in front of him. A tall, fit man in his late 20’s, face clean-shaven, hair like pure chocolate, combed neatly to the side but for a large rogue curl that falls on his brow. He collects it between his fingers and attempts to tuck it back in place.

“I don’t do partners, sweetcheeks.” he retorts after a short glance and turns away from the young agent, returning to his computer to browse a file he was just reading before she interrupted him.

An amused sigh passes through her plump lips as she shakes her head with sheer disbelief. “Do you have it any more cliche than that?”

“I might, depending how long you are going to loom over there, princess.” August shoots back and slightly adjusts the tie around his shirt collar, not bothering to face the young woman again. It’s obvious what this is: a muzzler, or rather a babysitter in the form of a really good-looking girl.

He fights the temptation to take another gander at the way her hair frames the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“But since you’re already here, how about you fulfil your purpose in life and get me a cup of coffee? Double espresso, no sugar.”

August shoots her a look, observing her immediate reaction. Lacey’s green eyes widen, her mouth slightly opens. She rubs her knuckle between the soft pads of her fingers while thinking of what could be a suitable response to his disrespectful request.

I guess Erica didn’t bother prepping her.

Sloane, the heartless lioness. She leered at him with that sour look on her face since the day he stepped into the building. He swears the woman must have slices of lemons hidden in her panties. There is not even a drop of respect in those dark eyes whenever he sits in her office. Nor does she harbour any trust in his performance on the field.

It all just worsened thanks to Ukraine.

The explosion in the old Soviet power plant killed dozens of innocent lives at the cost of one. Though that man was responsible for the death of thousands, if not more.

If you want to tear down a building, you better use a fucking hammer.

That cunt should thank him and promote him.

“Nothing but daddy’s boy.” That’s what she sees in him. He might as well be another dead CIA agent like his father, then. Erased from memory, his great achievements discredited. At least he doesn’t have a family to throw to the dogs so they can rip them to shreds.

Oh Sloane, if only you knew half of the shit that goes beneath that stuck-up nose of yours.

Releasing another deep sigh, Lacey slumps to the seat in front of him, crossing her long legs together and leaning back in her chair while grabbing the folder on her desk. Her lips clamp together tightly, trying to hide the saltiness on her face. Long lashes curtain her eyes which pretend to read through the file. August rolls his eyes with annoyance, trying to ignore her existence and continue working his way through a case he’s been reading before she interrupted him.

Yet every now and then his storm-touched eyes peer at the naive-looking woman, observing her and trying to determine how long will she last.

~*~

Is this hell?

~*~

That dusting of freckles on her nose and the fresh shimmer in her eyes give out much softness, yet she is anything but weak. Lacey Hartmann is a shield-maiden of some sort. For 2 months she withstood August’s “boot camp,” meaning she appeared unaffected by his cold demeanour.

At times there is even a hint of a smile hiding beneath that peach shade lipstick when August challenges her with an obscene dark joke. A hint of amusement tints the green of her irises, but she never dares to admit it.

Too coy, almost chaste, yet iron-willed.

August finds her behaviour borderline masochistic as he continues to prize her with nothing but arctic affection. Even so, she always listens when he speaks, her eyes open with pure intent, a fertile green field in her glance.

Something spikes at the marrow of his bones, intrigue or so. Trivial thoughts find themselves latching into the tunnels of his complicated mind. His CIA brain begins to note her morning routine. A glacial stare registers the vanilla latte she drinks almost religiously every morning at 9, with two teaspoons of sugar. Lacey has a sweet tooth, it seems. She never misses dessert at the cantine and he once caught her bending the rules and sneaking candies back from their previous mission at eastern Europe.

He also noticed how when she is nervous, she twirls a finger in her hair with agitation and chews her plump lips.

Blue is another point of interest. The colour seems to be dominant in her attire and accessories for some cryptic reason, though. not obsessively. She wears black or grey but then ties a silk scarf the shade of the sky around her delicate throat. When she is having a bad hair day, it’s the red pencil suit that draws attention to her body instead. The combination is horrifying when she sits in front of him holding her favourite mug which is glittery cerulean.

He begins to wonder about her life outside of the headquarters. Her file rested in his apartment for weeks yet only recently he found himself bored enough to peek inside and read about her personal life. No husband is listed under her marital state, yet he wonders if a woman as attractive as Lacey has a man waiting for her at home. Someone kind, he imagines, and pitiful. She looks like a woman lacking a strong man in her life.

“Are you going to finish that?”

August’s brows furrow as she cuts into his adventurous trails of thought. His glassy eyes pierce at her as she sits in front of him at the cantine, sharing a lunch table. He hardly speaks during lunch anyway, and only listens to her musings with the usual sulk on his face.

Lacey appears slightly frightened when she sees his menacing expression, yet her fright melts into a soft blush and a coy grin, in an attempt to pacify him. He nudges the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in her direction.

“No, go ahead.” he watches as she digs her fork into it with excitement, her eyes shutting with near orgasmic pleasure as the chocolate melts on her tongue.

His mind continues to wander, offering him possible imaginary visions of her personal life while she mumbles something in the background about the cake being outrageous.

Her home address would be in that file too.

It’s nothing but idle curiosity, after all.

~*~

You don’t believe in hell.

~*~

It’s been over 6 months of enduring her by his side. August imagined she’d run off crying to Sloane 2 days after being forced into this partnership, but she keeps a vow of secrecy, even when he bends a guideline or two during missions or violates nearly every HR policy. At first, she would warn him about his behaviour, but now she just calls it “The Walker Way”.

It almost feels like he has a partner in crime.

They arrived in Sicily a night ago, their mission is to locate and capture a millionaire-turned-terrorist and bring him in for questioning. It’s a high profile target, which means the CIA spared no expense providing them with the finest hotel suites and fancy attire to attend a gallery opening. An informant suggested the suspect might be doing his bidding at the same mansion.

Lacey meets August at the hotel’s main parking lot, wearing a cornflower blue mermaid-cut gown. Threads of silver adorn the outlines of her cleavage and little pieces of sparkling glitter draw his attention to her bust. He doesn’t attempt to hide the way his eyes fixate on her breasts. Beaming at the pale pink fat of her bosom before his gaze finally wanders to meet her face, giving her his regular cocky stance.

Is she wearing a bra underneath?

“You look handsome,” Lacey compliments, swallowing a complaint about the obvious way he objectified her. “We look as if we’ve matched colours.” The royal blue three-piece suit brings out the ocean in his eyes and she allows herself to dwell in the calm water as she glances back, offering him a smile.

Stoic, he ignores her praises, studying her face quietly. The shade on her lips is not the usual one; it’s darker, making her look more vamping. He doesn’t like it, her natural appearance is sweet and supple, and this colour clashes with her complexion and the concept of her in his mind.

The unnerving silence between them greatly challenges her. The need to crack the autumn evening air with some sort of dialogue pans in her chest.

“Are you…” Lacey begins speaking when her eyes squint at the region of his mouth. “...growing a moustache?” Bold fingers reach up, ghosting over his upper lip where a few days’ stubble seems to grow longer than the rest on his jaw. August cocks his eyebrow as the tips of her fingers almost touch his mouth. She notices his disapproval and pulls her hand away apologetically.

“For the mission, I thought it might make me look older.”

An amused smile cracks on her face, her cheeks rounding up to perfect blushing circles. “The real Mrs. Walker would be mortified.”

August scoffs, rolling his eyes at the notion before turning away to watch the cars that pass by. His hand rests on his chest, straightening the vest underneath his suit and stretches the muscles of his back. A timid-blowing zephyr caresses his face; his Adam apple rises and drops dryly in his throat.

“Is there a…”

“Oh c’mon, Hartmann! You know the answer to the question, don’t act stupid and play small talk with me, it’s not your style.”

Lacey’s lips press shut together, her green eyes dropping to the floor. She knows the only Mrs. Walker is his mother, and Madeleine has been gone for a couple of years now. Everything is in his file, allowing her to learn about the “mundane life” August Walker leads, or at least the ones he allows her to see through her CIA spectacles.

It was an obligation to do the same with her. His old man once told him to learn who he’s dealing with before opening his “goddamn mouth.” That’s all there is to it, and his curiosity if he has to admit it.

Lacey Hartmann lives alone with her cat, Sir Podrick, on Hampshire St 457 on flat number 45. A magazine two-room apartment, picture-perfect, tidy to the point of OCD. She has an older sister but they rarely see each other. On her free weekends, she loves to watch romantic comedies while drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

He often wonders if her sweet tooth is compensating for something missing in her life. Yet there is never a man in her apartment.

Sometimes she dances in front of the window, especially after a hard day at the office. He can’t tell which music is playing in her headphones, but the way she moves her body makes him believe it’s something upbeat and cheerful.

The images of her bedroom window vanish as a slightly irritating thought peaks in his mind at her comment. Mrs. Walker. A hiss of violent air shoots from his nostrils.

Relationships were not something he cared to pursue. Life had other offerings.

Besides, the women he liked were too tender and he was too rough. So, his conquests never lasted more than a night.

Agitated, he pulls his sleeve to look at his Rolex, muttering something obscene under his breath which makes Lacey shift uncomfortably on her feet. The driver should have arrived by now. Every car that parks at the pebbled road bears disappointment, dropping off more honeymooners and rich, older married couples.

A soft smile breaks on Lacey’s painted lips while she stares at August who’s facing the driveway with his fists clenched at the sides of his body.

“Well, since we’re stuck here waiting for a ride, you better entertain me.” Lacey speaks with grace, not a hint of nervousness or fright in her voice. She learnt how to deal with August and his tantrums by now.

August remains silent, his sight never breaking from the driveway and the alley of palm trees that pave the path.

“Or I guess we can stare at the big full moon,” she says to herself, lifting her eyes to the clear sky.

August stares back at the golden-haired woman, her long lashes fluttering gently as she counts the stars in her mind. A naive glint sparks her eyes as she’s captivated by her own fascination. The pale blue of the moon reflects on her milky skin, making her look like a siren in her beautiful dress.

“Yeah, it’s lovely,” he says in his deep voice.

*~*

And even if it existed, hell wouldn’t have you.

*~*

The expo is held at a royal mansion of some sort. A large Sicilian palace that is owned by an ageing millionaire. Golden floral embellishments spread across the azure velvet walls, shimmering at the lights of the crystal chandeliers which dangle in the halls.

Various ancient trinkets are placed in glass cubes. Crudely-made bows and arrows that were carved from cheap wood by a half-brain neanderthal are offered for the price of 200,000,000 Euros.

Ridiculous.

Keen on finding their target, both August and Lacey decide to split up upon their arrival, planning their strategy ahead by protocol. August is the striking image of professionalism tonight, stretching his gaze around the large hallway. He has been this way for the last several missions, working by the book, making sure to perform as clean as possible, whatever that means in CIA terms.

He even managed to win a word of praise from Sloane, who still can’t stand the very sight of his face. But at least she ceased from eating his head at the conclusion of every mission.

And Lacey seems to appreciate it, too.

The brooding man spends the night pretending to be enthralled by the exhibition and its boring guests who continually attempt to strike pointless conversations with him. As part of his task, he only speaks with those who seem to be an asset and brushes others away by answering in fluent Italian, pretending to not understand a word in English while smiling at them politely.

Blending in, the young agent stands by one of the bars, leaning onto the marble counter and enjoying some type of strawberries-in-cream dessert which was offered to him by a tall, abnormally attractive waitress who’s been walking around with a silver tray.

Lacey would love this fruit-pudding thingy, he muses as his fingers brush through the mid-length stubble above his lip. His eyes carefully scan the room for any group of men in their late 30s for a clue or a sign.

The sound of a woman’s laughter chips away his attention like a siren’s call.

So that’s how she sounds like when she laughs.

Grabbing a glass of champagne, he steps forward on the black carpeted floor, following the cheerful voice as it rolls delightfully in his ears. Storm clouds gather in his eyes. The siren is behaving unprofessionally to the point of being offensive. A tall glass of half-empty Lambrusco hangs between her slender fingers while her head falls back; her hand rests on her chest, trying to contain her laughter.

She is the centre of attention to a group of famished men.

August frowns with disapproval. She’s supposed to act drunk, not get buzzed. Standing at the large pathway, he watches how she smiles widely, mouth gaping, small dimples peeking at the corner of her lips. The honey of her hair makes her stand out in a room of dark beauties, the shade of her dress an anchor for any travelling eyes.

He takes an irritated sip from his champagne, swallowing the sparkly liquid, trying to ignore the bells of laughter which begin to sound like an insult, meant to provoke him. His piercing eyes search for the target in the room, focusing on the task on hand and being the professional his father urged him to be.

Yet as if magnetized, his glare returns to her.

For a moment there he nearly forgets that she is a CIA agent. The men around her flirt nearly barbarically, their mouths salivating with predatory hunger. Is she too pure to understand their intentions? The vultures are waiting to tear her limb by limb. Possibly hoping she will be drunk enough to be dragged by one of them.

The storm inside him rages. Thoughts of her being tainted by one of these hideous men enter his mind and poison bubbles in his throat, drowning him in anger.

He puts his champagne flute on the tray of one of the hostesses who passes by. He fixes his tie over his neck and swallows hard. His strides are confident and charismatic as he marches into their circle abruptly, reaching an arm over to Lacey.

“Sweetheart, here you are. Come see this piece, you’re going to love it.” hee speaks with contained anger, his baritone loud and clear, roaring through his puffed chest and squared shoulders.

Lacey turns to smile at him as he latches his fingers around her forearm, rescuing her by pulling her away from the predators with as much elegance he can muster at his current aggravated mood.

“Are you fucking drunk, Hartmann? What’s wrong with you?! We have a dangerous man to catch.” He whispers angry and low in her ear, carrying her toward an open terrace where they can discuss and re-strategize the mission.

The cool breeze caresses their faces, tenderly running through their hair as they approach the open air. The young woman continues to giggle as August’s fingers tickle beneath her armpit while he takes her to stand next to the large renaissance modules that hide them from the guests of the event. He lets go of her forearm, looking down at her with a scowl.

“Relax, I was trying to make it look convincing with these decadent, empty idiots.” she attempts to pacify him, looking up into his eyes, her head reaching just beneath his square chin.

“Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“What is?”

“The way they sell these artefacts on such a high price when it was created by a primitive creature who ate his own fleas,” she mocks with a mischievous smile. “This is the end of human culture, this capitalistic point of view.”

A cold shiver crawls at August’s spine as he hears her speaking of his ideals. He had never seen her this way before.

So opinionated, so bold.

Has she been reading my mind?

They have never been this physically close, he can smell the lupines on her skin and the Lambrusco on her breath. Lacey’s amused grin begins to relax somewhat, her eyes now staring at something with stark fascination.

“You have a brown spot in one of your eyes.”

August brow furrows even deeper, dark lines forming between his thick eyebrows as the woman ogles him in a bizarre way. His blood thickens as the pleasant wind brushes at his face.

“Sectoral heterochromia, I was born with it.”

“It’s beautiful,” she answers with an enchanted glare, batting her lashes and moving further to study the shape of his flaw. Her feet arch to the tip of her toes, reaching higher to his face. August remains still, watching as if within a haze when her lips crash onto his.

Chills spiral through his nerves, his eyes wide open as her soft lips press into his in a long, chaste kiss. There is a small hum in her voice, painted lashes look like black curved trails as her eyes shut with an enchantment. For a second he can feel her body press into his, her breasts grinding at his broad chest. She slowly detaches from him, opening her eyes and falling flat on her feet.

Alarm spills onto her face, her hand covering her mouth with guilt as panic surges. August stares back without a sign of emotion on his arctic face.

“I’m so sorry!” She calls out in utter embarrassment, moving away from him by a step.

His breath grows rigid, his mind a war. In an instant, he pulls her wrist away from her face and claims her into his grasp, kissing her earnestly, even violently. Lacey’s moans melt into his mouth, her body crashing into his, writhing as her lips gape, accepting his insidious tongue.

She tastes like sugar.

August slams her against the wall, growling as her hands roam down his body and messing his outfit. A fervent stir tingles at his groin and the way she squeezes the muscles of his behind and tries to shove her hands under his trousers does nothing to relax his racing heart. Depraved, his hand pushes between her legs, trying to cup her heat through the tight dress, yet it cages her legs too tightly.

“I want you out of this fucking dress.” August growls, breaking the passionate kiss to breath hot and heavy in her ear.

“Then take me back to the hotel.” she retorts breathlessly, grinding her pelvis into the growing hardness in his groin.

“We can’t, the mission.”

Lacey emits a frustrated huff, sounding as if she’s meaning to beg as her body constantly pushes into his in a snakelike dance. “Forget about him, he’s not here, we’ll do it the Walker way.”

There is nothing in this world strong enough to convince him otherwise as those big doe eyes peer at him with admiration and a sense of need he never received from any woman before. It wasn’t like the women who begged him to fuck them as he tormented and delayed their release.

For the first time in his life, he felt purely wanted.

~*~

The ride back to the hotel is the most dreadful experience he had to endure in his life. Both Lacey and he sit at each side of the car, avoiding eye contact whilst their organs throb with aching need. She keeps her fingers laced together while the driver listens to some old Italian love song and sings along the tunes on the radio. August attempts to avoid drowning into his thoughts but the idea of having her tonight makes the blood pool hot in his loins.

They hardly make it into her room. Exploiting every moment left in solitude to make out like horny teenagers. Whenever a hotel staff member or a guest passes by, they break away from one another in the most obvious manner.

As they finally arrive at the suite, August kicks the door shut with his foot and preys at her, his talons reaching for her face, his thumb wiping off whatever remains of her lipstick before kissing her again.

“I don’t like this, it isn’t you.” he states in between invigorated kisses while Lacey battles to take off his clothes, pushing the blazer off his shoulders and then working the buttons of his vest and shirt with lust guiding her fingers. She ignores his remark, answering with another breathless kiss instead while moving to fumble with his belt.

Their feet kick at one another as August leads them toward the king-size bed, fondling the curves of her body through the terrible prison that is her dress. His long legs nearly lose their balance as she successfully unzips his trousers and finds him fully erect and pulsating in her small hand.

Logic turns to steam at the manipulation of her hands. His gasps resonate through the length of his throat, giving in to the whispers of his heart. How long yearned for her, wanting to keep her in the birdcage of his vision.

Lacey, so bold yet so sweet.

With the swiftness of his hands, he turns her around, tugging at the zipper of her dress while dotting her collarbone with possessive nibbles. Her naked figure unveils to him as a flower opens to the sunlight of spring.

Left in nothing but her baby-blue lace underwear, she steps out of her dress and moves to face the large naked man, pacing back as he sneaks toward her like a direwolf. The look on her face is admirable. Drenched of fear and desire at once, feeding his natural dominance.

“August…” she whispers his name. Her lips quiver at the sight of his broad form, appreciating every sinew, every muscle. August reaches to hold his cock as the blood stirs into it with rage, wanting to be inside this angel, to taint her and mark every piece of skin.

“I don’t have a condom.” he warns, licking his lips as she slides her underwear down her long, creamy legs. Her mound is completely waxed, just the way he wants it. Pure.

“I’m clean and protected.”

Inviting him into her mysteries, Lacey offers him a devoted stare and reaches her delicate hand toward him. No clarity is left in his mind; desire clouds every rational thought, every self-preservation instinct. He ignores her hand and lunges at her like a predator.

They fall into a sea of silken sheets together, August covering her body with his, giving no care of how his weight crushes her. His hands hold her wrists pinned to the mattress as he pushes her smooth thighs apart with his knees.

Lacey’s moans are mesmerizing as he sinks himself into her wonders. Singing her pleasure at him like a true siren. An overwhelmed groan breaks from his own lips as the wetness of her flesh encloses around his cock, sucking him from within with an embrace of lust. Soft and delicate, she writhes against his crude, rugged body and he thrusts inside her with teetering grunts, taking her with sheer, primal dominance.

She feels different, like no other woman he ever had before. Completely submissive to his darkest desires. Her body opens to him, like a precious, heavenly nymph and he takes what he wants. Deeper and deeper, drowning into her womb, never wanting to stop, invigorated by the way her hands clutch at his body with the same desperation that is in his chest.

For three days, they never leave the suite. Lost in a carnal euphoria that makes both of them forget the existence of the outer world.

~*~

Oh, hell indeed exists, it’s on the earth you walked your entire life.

~*~

The delicious aroma of crispy, caramelized bacon and fluffy pancakes tickles his senses to wake up. Salty and sweet, the scent draws him to sit upon the bed that’s slightly too small for his wide frame. A drowsy smirk crawls onto his face. This scent is his second favourite thing to wake up to.

Locating his cobalt trunks on the floor, he hauls himself out of her bed, pulls them on and tries to tame the messy bundle of curls on his head while he walks to find her in the kitchen. The bacon sizzles on the pan as Lacey stands next to the stove in his buttoned-up shirt. She is flipping an impossible quantity of pancakes and frying strips of bacon in another pan.

Her rounded ass peeks at him with every shift her body makes.

August sneaks behind her with the skill of a CIA agent, looming closer and wrapping his arms around her torso, his chin resting on the top of her head, while his hungry eyes feast on the pancakes and amber bacon.

Lacey flinches in his grip, he can feel her heart jump for a moment before she relaxes into his embrace, lips melting into a wide smirk as August rocks her from side to side.

“Morning,” she hums delightfully. “Go sit, there is freshly brewed coffee waiting for you.”

August drops a kiss on the top of her head, a low growl of serenity climbing up his throat. “You’re a dream, princess.”

And you’re all mine.

With a wisp of unwillingness, he detaches from her and walks to the table, where Lacey’s favourite mug of coffee awaits him with steam rising from within. His eyes are a calm sea sparkling at the sunrise as he looks at her with admiration.

Everything about her tips him across the edges of sanity; the way she smiles at his horrible dark jokes, the way she listens to everything he says with devotion and appeal, the way she speaks about her ideals and sees him like no person ever did before.

Lacey turns her head and sneaks a small glance at him, giving a smile and a wink before returning to the stove.

It took 5 months to admit to himself that he likes this, that he enjoyed being here, with her and her stupid cat, or in every distant location in the world. It didn’t matter if they were in Afghanistan or Paris, as long as he got to listen to her breathing in her slumber. That night in Sicily wasn’t just mindless sex. It was a union of two souls. They spent the night talking and while he was reluctant to open up-as he still is-he was stunned to find out just how much this woman shared similar points of views.

Though she never says it specifically, Lacey wants to watch the world burn.

He hasn't even told her about his idea, not yet. It’s probably too soon anyway as he only started formulating his intention a couple of months ago. A part of him still fears how she may react if she finds out he’s been selling CIA secrets and dealing weapons right beneath Sloane’s nose.

“I hope you’re hungry,”

Lacey calls out as she places two large plates of pancakes and bacon on the table and walks quickly to get the maple syrup from the counter. Sir Podrick jumps on the table as she puts the syrup next to the plates. Aggravated, August shoos the cat away and reaches to grab the woman's forearm, forcing her into his lap possessively.

“You know I am, princess.” he murmurs as he kisses her shoulder and then her lips, before grabbing a piece of pancake and some bacon with his fork and nibbling it deliciously. Lacey remains on his lap, grabbing a stripe of bacon from his plate and chewing on it with a pleasant moan before directing her gaze to August.

“How long do you think we can keep this a secret?” she asks, slight concern appearing on her face. August swallows the remaining pancake in his mouth and sips some coffee to clear his throat. His fingers thread through the gold of her hair, combing the large waves repeatedly.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me.”

His voice is nearly that of a child.

The agency’s protocol won’t allow partners to be in a relationship due to an incredible conflict of interest. “Sloane would lose her shit if she’d find out this entire time we’ve been doing this.” He chuckles dryly and shoves another piece of pancake into his mouth while still looking at Lacey. The first morning rays shine through the wide-open window, basking her face with a shimmering summer glow.

“We can run away,” she teases. “Buy a yacht, tell Erica to go fuck herself and sail the sea.”

August smirks, his hand descending to the small of her back as images of embarking to the great unknown with her fill his chest with euphoric bliss.

A daydream, perhaps in the future, after mankind is free.

“I think she’s beginning to warm up to me though.”

“Well, she did start calling you The Hammer after the last mission.” Lacey answers and grabs the mug from August’s side, stealing a mischievous sip. “If only they knew it has a different meaning to some of us.”

August crooks his eyebrow up at Lacey and wipes his moustache clean. His hands reach to tickle the sides of her belly, causing her to let go of the mug before he snatches it back. Her giggles make his heart feel at ease, something he’ll never dare to tell or show her.

Asserting his dominance by only giving as much.

“Why did you join the agency in the first place? You never told me.” she wraps her arms around his shoulders, the green of her eyes appearing yellow at the ray of sunlight that beams on her face.

His gaze falls upon the table, staring at the remnants of the pancakes while licking his teeth. Thoughts of his past begin to echo in the chasm of his mind.

The day his mom fell to her knees and let out a banshee-like howl of agony at the empty ceiling as two agents came into their house.

He was 13, and from that moment on, he was all alone in a cold, ravenous world.

“I wanted to die for the government, just like my father.” he spits out, thinking of how his life turned over one autumn morning. A tall, lanky boy who couldn’t even comfort his mother as she tore off tufts of her hair.

August didn’t even cry, not since then.

The curious look on Lacey’s face fades into sadness, compassion welling on her now golden-green irises. “You never told me how he died.”

A muscle twitches in his cheek, his eyebrows knitting together as anger begins to slightly boil his blood. “Like all heroes, forgotten. I don’t know how, it was during a mission in Moscow. Nothing in his files but a mention on an accident, no details other than that.”

“Is that why you have such small faith in the government?” Lacey asks innocently, referring to their pillow-talk. The ones they have while she presses her soft cheek to his chest and draws invisible circles onto his chest.

The lump in his throat dries as he remembers the weeks that followed after his father was gone. They were thrown to the dogs to be gnawed at. No compensation, no financial support, and no one to comfort young August.

His mother couldn’t even look at him anymore. Those blue soulful eyes, the cleft of his chin, and even the shape of his nose were inherited from his father.

The most pain August has ever endured was when someone he loved was unable to look at him anymore.

Madeleine was a loyal housewife from the midwest who never took a real job. Arthur provided for them. While he wasn’t the warmest father, he kept his family close, taking them with him on his trips, unless they were too dangerous.

By the time August was seven, he’s already been to all continents.

After his father’s death, both the money and his mother withered away. Having no experience in anything but waiting tables, Madeleine couldn't support her own child and perhaps she didn’t want to. The boy was a painful memory of what she lost.

The last he remembers of her, she dragged him with her to church and went on her knees as August sat on the bench. She prayed and cried out to God until her knees bled and her eyes rimmed red from the tears she wept.

But God never answered.

That week, social services arrived at their door. He never saw her since that day and needless to say, no one wanted a hostile 13-year-old boy.

August turns his face to stare at Lacey, examining her round, freckled face and her plump, pink lips. They make her look like a renaissance painting of an angel. At times, he’s afraid that his rage will tarnish her, swallow the light of her spirit. Yet he can never hold back, fucking her so roughly, she hurts for days. His instincts drive him to spill all his fury into her cavities. To offer all the spite and hurt that poisoned his soul, as if it will cleanse him.

And for a few seconds, he is sanctified. Coming inside her makes him feel complete in every sense of the word.

The soft purring of Lacey’s cat grounds him to reality. The chubby ginger cat rubs around his leg affectionately, his yellow diamond eyes staring at August.

“Let’s not talk about it, anymore,” he replies in a somewhat final tone.

Lacey nods at him, giving him a look full of understanding. Her fingers reach behind his ear, stroking the soft chocolate curls and tucking them back. “Okay, Aug. But we really need to talk about that!”

Her fingers move to point at his thick moustache, her eyes narrowing with disdain.

August strokes his moustache with his thumb and index finger and lets them slide down the stubble of his square chin. “You don’t like it?”

Lacey shakes her head with protest, trying her best to appear irritated. “No.”

Princess is so cute when she pretends to be angry.

August offers her a smug smirk in return, grabbing the last remaining piece of bacon from his plate and sliding it whole into his mouth. “Too bad, it stays.” he answers with his mouth full, grease smearing on the corners of his lips. “It makes me look dangerous and you love it.”

“No, you look like pornstar.”

“I’d fuck you like one.” he answers with a dark glint in his eyes. In a sudden movement, he places both hands on Lacey’s waist and stands up with her in his grip. The woman squeals with surprise as he flings her over his shoulder with little to no effort and stings her ass with a sharp slap.

“Do you want it here, sweetheart, or in the bedroom?” he asks and bites the fat of her behind. Lacey cries out in pain, her legs kicking the air.

He loves to hear her laugh, just as much as he loves to hear her scream.

*~*

If hell is on earth, then what does it make you?

*~*

Like a creature dwelling in the darkness, he sits in the bleak hours of the night, fingers stroking the keys as if he’s a composer, conducting his symphony of destruction. The flesh of his lips chafe at the lack of sleep and insufficient fluids, yet he gives no care.

This will be his legacy, his gift to the world, his gift to her.

The pale teal light of the screen flickers lightly on his weary corneas. It’s nothing but pixels, black on white, five blocks of paragraphs for now, but the raw power in words proceeds beyond any other weapon known to mankind. So pure, so cataclysmic.

Just like an atomic reaction.

She will see through his eyes soon. The potential, the greater good. All her words of breaking the system, about dreaming of a better world. A sweet, naive girl with a mind fed with agenda. It was as if they were threaded into one another’s life, destined to be.

The paving of a new world has already begun. They call themselves the apostles, a group of no more than 12 people, men and women of science and power. Their identities are unknown among one another. It matters very little, the seeds have been sown into the earth. Small acts of terror, biological and chemical incidents around selected locations around the globe, just enough to test the waters.

Greatness from small beginnings.

It will take time, yet he is patient, and his little angel of destruction will be by his side once the time is right. All mankind will be reunited in peace after the earth will shudder beneath their feet.

~*~

Does it make you a monster?

~*~

Something sharp prods his mind to wake up. A nightmare, whispering toxic words in the darkness. He hears a vague ruffle in the webbed darkness of the night and he blindly reaches his palm to stroke her and finds himself abandoned. There is a knot in his gut and a storm brewing in his mind. Carefully and silently, he reaches for the loaded gun in his nightstand and slips out of bed.

Pale blue and humming, a soft light invites him to follow to the office next to his bedroom. His heart drums heavily in his chest, his face falling as his vision becomes clear. Bright pink winks through the molten mixture of shadow and light. She hovers over his open computer, spreading files and paper plans over the surface of his desk, all the while holding her digital camera, violating his secrets.

Whatever is in his chest shrieks and bleeds with misery.

“Would be more efficient if you’d switch the light on.”

The woman jumps as she hears his voice and a heavy flood of bright light showers her crimes as August flicks the switch on. She straightens up, as stiff as a frozen tree. Unable to face him right away, her face remains hidden from him. August can see the spasm of her legs beneath her nightdress.

“What are you doing?” August asks, his voice low and menacing, eyes travelling from the Nikon camera that hangs from her hand to his secret scribbles as they lay on his desk, right next to his open manifest.

“Look at me.” he demands, stern and composed as he can.

Lacey turns slowly to peer at him, her lips aquiver, eyes shining with guilt. The only sound from her is the shudder of her breath that rushes through her heaving chest.

The hurt must have blinded his thoughts. He doesn’t remember aiming his gun at her head, it’s only when he sees the woman’s surrendering gesture does he register his actions.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers his gun and places it carefully on the floor. His hands splay in the air, disarmed, offering a truce as he stretches to stand straight.

“Was I…” he swallows the dryness in his throat and licks his lips.

It would take a real fool to be so blind to see what was in front of him the whole time.

“I was your mission?”

Lacey remains quiet, her eyes refusing to meet his. Tears glide down the apples of her rosy cheeks.

“Tell me the truth Lacey, please. I just want to understand.” The threat in his voice turns soft, becoming nearly a plea as he takes one step forward, watching the woman flinch and step back, her behind colliding with the desk.

The woman weeping in front of him is a trained CIA agent, yet the despair in her eyes shows no signs of panning struggle. The only way out of this room is through him, a man who is nearly twice her size and knows her every move.

“Erica suspected you’re the one who is leaking secrets, so she sent me…”

That’s why she inquired so much, wanted to hear his thoughts, to sleep at his home despite his reluctance. He agreed for the first time tonight, unaware of her insidious intentions.

Did you really think you deserve this?

August scoffs, his heart clenching painfully in his battered lungs.

He was wrong. There is something more painful than having someone you love never look back at you.

“Did she tell you to sleep with me?”

Lacey’s gaze drops to the floor in silence; her answer is nothing but a pathetic sniffle as she pinches her nose.

Bile rises in his throat as he sees shame on her face, so obvious, so obscene. Her purity was false.

There was nothing sweet or innocent about her, she was nothing but a whore.

“Answer me!!!” he rumbles, more beast than man.

Lacey jumps and sobs with panic, nodding her head at him with her confession. “Ye..Yes… any means possible.”

Running his palm through his face and groaning with frustration, the young CIA agent exhales hoarsely. He takes another small step towards her, gradually closing the distance between them, watching his shadow loom on her porcelain skin.

Lacey’s eyes widen with panic. Her ankles kick back the wooden legs of the desk, her hands scattering August’s belongings. White sheets of paper fly down to the floor, ink smudged by tears.

“Stay away,” she warns.

“Does she know? Did you tell her or anyone else at the agency?” he ignores her pathetic threats, taking another step closer. Her floral scent fills his nostrils, nearly triggering his instinct to claim her lips. His gaze softens with an ocean of mercy as she shakes in front of him so violently, breaking into tears of grief.

Delicate fingers cup her jaw, sliding across the slick moistness of her tears as he tilts her chin up. “Please, tell me the truth.”

Lacey lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes puffy and red, her plump lips swollen. She wipes her nose with the back of her palm. “I had nothing to report, until now.”

His grasp tightens around her chin, forcing her head back to look at the text flickering on the monitor. “All this talk about a better world, I thought this is what you wanted.”

She snaps her head back to glare at him, eyes narrowing with disgust and anxiety. “You thought I’d like this?! This is sick!”

August’s nostrils flare yet he gives a gentle nod of understanding and hushes her sudden surge of stress. His hand caresses her round, damp face. The thick pads of his thumbs wipe the salty tears away from her skin and his body presses into hers.

Even a tremoring mess, she is still so soft and warm.

“Did you ever love me?”

His lips are merely an inch from her temples as he whispers. His large hand slides down her cheek, stroking down her jaw and descending further below her chin.

Unable to muster another lie, she remains silent, aware of the fact that the sand in the hourglass has all but diminished, along with her chances of survival.

Words are unnecessary. The truth speaks loudly in her eyes, the poisonous infidelity was always there all along. Struck by her angelic beauty he was too blind to see, leeching onto false heaven, a childish fantasy of love that never existed.

Small spots of blood begin to form in her wide-open eyes as his long fingers lock around her thin neck, squeezing with intensifying force. Tighter, harder. His name remains caged in her throat as she fights for the air she thinks she deserves.

“No, you didn’t.” August whispers, his vision beginning to blur. “You never did.”

Strangled yips of pain wheeze through her mouth. Struggling frantically while August hardly even bats an eyelid, staring at her with no emotion on his face. Desperate arms reach out to both heaven and hell, her body squirms and her eyes plead for August to let go.

Begging for her life.

Something breaks inside her throat. Her last breath follows, a short gasp, frozen in her body for eternity as both her heart and her eyes become still.

August glances at her pale skin, her gaping lips stained violet, her bloodied eyes glassy, returning his broken reflection.

Sorrowful tears roll down the lines of his face as his heart pumps with pain black as tar. A loud gasp of agony rips from him, shuddering across his entire existence as the very base of his soul chars in his chest. Broken, he falls to his knees with Lacey cradled in his arms, his hand stroking her dull hair and her blue cheeks while husky cries of anguish come through his throat.

All emotions end. An empty abyss claims the spot where his soul once laid. The only thing left to him now is pure, undistilled hatred.

~*~

I am the one who reigns in hell.

~*~

Black cold liquid seeps into weary lungs. Skeletal hands caress his face unkindly, the thin bones, so hard and frozen as they travel down his grey cheeks. No grace is given to him, no redemption. This was nothing but a dream of a life.

As tar oozes from his throat, her voice continues to call for him.

His last memories are of Erica, sitting on her throne of lies, swallowing his accusations while peering at him through her dark eyes. Face filled with guilt, oh, she didn't have a clue. Everyone believed Lacey Hartmann was the double agent this entire time. Angelic eyes hiding dark secrets. He planted the evidence in her house, in her computer, sparing his manifest of course. Just enough to tarnish her name forever.

A painful wheeze splits his throat. Iron tinged his tongue.

The promotion was won right after the body was cremated. A fine medal given for having his life put at risk.

Glory and fame won over the woman you loved.

I never loved her. She was a lying whore, she betrayed me.

But you did love me, August.

Blood spills through his mouth as he coughs. His blue eyes shoot open, peering at a great hole in the ceiling and the dust that floats calmly in the chill air of night. The pain sears his shoulder, throbbing furiously to remind him there is still blood running through his veins. He grunts as he clutches at the gaping wound, trying to hold onto the blood that still remains in his wretched heart.

Run and hide, little Ingvild

I am no one but Lucifer himself.

I will have my vengeance.

__________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise or August Walker

#August Walker #Henry Cavill #The Way to Hell #August Walker Fanfiction #Mission Impossible Fallout #Henry cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x OFC #henry cavill x ofc #Mission Impossible Fanfiction

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sketch-rambles · 4 years

Text

The Rat Bastard Character

I have discovered my new favorite character archetype and it is the Rat Bastard Character, henceforth referred to as the RBC. To qualify as an RBC, a character must:

Be either blatantly ugly or at least not conventionally attractive

Contain the ability to go absolutely feral

Be othered by society and/or fall outside of traditional expectations

Be insecure about this othering to some degree

Not be the main character of the source material (there are expections to this but overall they’re usually a side character)

Not be actually evil

Look okay just, something about a good "STUPID RAT BOI LIVES IN THE WALLS AND HUNTS FOR CHEEEESE" character design? Oof, I like that shit. And part of what makes it so fun is the creative liberties that it allows content creators to take. You don’t have to worry about your character being attractive because they’re not supposed to be attractive, so you’re not afraid to give them weird skin textures or exaggerated shapes in their design or bad facial hair or objectively dumb clothes. What attracts an audience to the RBC isn’t that they’re attractive; it’s that they represent a part of ourselves that it can be deeply scary to explore.

The Rat Bastard Character does not act like they care about being liked, because on some level, they already believe they are not. They get to say and do things that fall well outside the bounds of what is considered "normal" or "comfortable" because the writers do not care if they come across as attractive; they aren't meant to. But for this exact reason, the RBC will make the dark humor jokes and say the dumb shit that a good portion of the audience experiences in their day-to-day life. They become more real because, like our current generation, they are tired and don't know how to care as much anymore.

The RBC represents everything this generation is coming to recognize: that beauty standards are arbitrary and fuck people over, that uniqueness is valuable but only in context of the person (rather than just as LOL RANDOM XD), that societal ideas of morality should often be questioned with a genuine intent to reach our own conclusions, that dark humor is - as far as coping mechanisms go - pretty damn good compared to the alternatives, and that ultimately we are all scared and insecure and lashing out at a confusing world.

The RBC is lovable because they rebel where we will not let ourselves, and they fall so unquestionably outside of the standards to which we so desperately cling. And loving the RBC is fundamentally different from loving the edgy "society doesn't control me" character because THE RBC IS NOT COOL. The RBC is not painted in the light of "I'm not like other people, they're all sheep and I'm the only individual." NO! Even with their apparent flippancy toward society, the RBC will often desperately crave a semblance of normalcy. The point of loving the RBC is understanding that rejection of standards should not come from a standpoint of being edgy or special or different, but rather from a fundamental understanding that these standards alienate and vilify people, and that learning to think outside of them can be the greatest act of self love.

By loving the RBC, you inherently have to confront parts of yourself you’ve been trained not to love. It’s the same mood as learning to say “it’s ugly, I hate it” about a piece of clothing. They aren’t attractive, and that doesn’t make them any less worthy of love and affection. Do they maybe need to bathe more? Probably, yeah, but they’re usually stinky because they’re just too dumb to understand how hygiene works and that’s far better than having wildly misguided ideas about “musk” and “societal expectations to be clean.” They can and will go feral! They don’t have to be docile and palatable all the time, just like real people! They get to fall outside of what society expects without having to pretend that that means they don’t care what society expects; the RBC knows they don’t fit in, and even if they accept that about themselves, the disconnect is still and always will be present. And because they’re not the main character, they are not forced to contort into a shape that will please a larger audience; we can see ourselves in them because they are allowed to be deeply flawed without having to go on a wild journey to become “perfect.” Because at the end of the day, their flaws do not make them truly evil, even if they are branded as the villain.

I have a lot of feelings and I’m not explaining this super well even though I could go on for literal hours about this but anyway here’s an incredibly short and by no means comprehensive list of RBCs and also we need more non-male RBCs:

Todd Tolansky from X-Men: Evolution

Grantaire from Les Mis

Remus from Sanders Sides

Diogenes but like the Tumblr idea of him

#I have feelings about a lot of green bois #remus sanders #grantaire #diogenes #todd tolansky #toad #x men evolution #les mis #sketch rambles #original post #sanders sides #character analysis #rat bastard #rbc

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autumnslance · 3 years

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((Shadowbringers 5.3-5.4. I wanted to have this done by the 15th of January but didn’t quite manage it because these two idiots are wordy as heck, and I initially started in the wrong place and POV. I wrote roughly 8000 words total and only ended up using half of them. There are letters and pining and admitting things happening here.

Below the cut as usual for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3, but the formatting may work better on that site.))

Aeryn stepped through the mirror and into the familiar space of the Ocular, taking a moment to reorient herself after the rush of journeying between worlds. Once the vertigo had passed she left the Tower, the Crystarium guards greeting her as she crossed the Exedra. It took some questioning before she was finally pointed to where Ryne was currently; training with Captain Lyna just outside the city gates.

She simply watched for a time as Lyna tried to keep her distance while Ryne tried to close in. Aeryn did not announce herself, simply noting how Ryne’s bladework had improved, at least one new trick learned since the last time Aeryn had watched her fight.

“That is enough for now,” Lyna said as they reached a breakpoint in their dance. “And the Warrior of Darkness has waited long enough,” she continued with a wry smile in Aeryn’s direction.

Ryne started, then turned with a grin, hurrying over to give Aeryn a hug. “It’s good to see you! Oh sorry, I’m all sweaty…”

Aeryn laughed, brushing damp strands of hair from Ryne’s reddened face. It was still winter in Eorzea, but in Norvrandt spring was on the horizon and the morning was warm. “Not to worry. Hope you don’t mind the interruption.”

Lyna waved them off. “Go on; we can catch up later.”

Aeryn nodded, knowing the captain wanted word of her grandfather, and G’raha had given Aeryn a small package to deliver, but that would wait until Lyna was off duty and had readied herself. There was an order to such things with the stoic woman.

Instead, Aeryn turned back to Ryne and smiled. Had she gotten taller? “I have a question, if you’ll indulge me.”

“Of course!” Ryne answered as they walked across the bridge into the city. “What is it you need?”

“I have a note from Thancred; he and Urianger are currently on a mission, but he left me instructions for tod--well. The day it is back on the Source.”

“I see. What are the instructions?”

“I’m to ask you about the black willow box he kept in his room here.”

Ryne paused, a little sharp breath escaping. “Ryne?” Aeryn asked.

“Sorry! It’s just I was under strict instruction never to open the box, though I have the key now, of course; I still didn’t dare. It’s where he kept,” she hesitated.

“Kept what?”

“I’ll show you; it’s a good thing--I think--that he wants you to see. Come on!” Ryne dashed toward her apartment as if she hadn’t just completed a long practice session with the captain of the guard. Aeryn picked up her own pace to follow along after.

It did not take long for them to reach the apartment Ryne used to share with Thancred. As the girl opened the door, Aeryn realized it was the first time she had returned to these rooms since the Scions’ departure from the First. It was much as she remembered, though lacking Thancred’s continued presence. Evidence of Gaia’s frequent visits were visible instead, from lipstick-stained coffee mugs at the sink to dark ribbons left on an end table to a book that did not seem to be to Ryne’s taste on a sofa cushion.

Ryne paused in front of the door that had led to Thancred’s small room. “I haven’t been in here since,” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Gaia and Taynor sorted most of it, actually, so only a few personal things remain. I should probably move to a smaller suite to let someone else use the space…”

“Maybe you need a roommate,” Aeryn suggested. “Perhaps Gaia could stay with you.”

Ryne reddened. “We’ve considered it, but I’m just…” She gave a helpless little laugh as she shrugged, looking up at Aeryn apologetically. “I’m just not quite ready, I think. It’s silly, but there’s a part of me that keeps hoping they’ll find a way--a safe way--to return. Even just for a little while.”

Aeryn squeezed Ryne’s shoulder. “It’s not silly,” she said quietly. “And I keep hoping that, too. Fairly certain Y’shtola has it at the top of her projects list.”

Ryne laughed, truly this time. “She would!” She looked at the door again. “The box should be on the shelf above the writing desk,” she offered Aeryn a small key. “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

Aeryn nodded, taking the little key and entering the room.

It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. Always small, it had kept from being cramped mainly by virtue of Thancred’s own minimalist tendencies with his added reluctance of accumulating things on the First that he would have to leave behind in the end. Even so, the room felt barren, many necessities and items missing, given away to be used by others in need among the Crystarium’s residents; naught went to waste while still usable.

The bed was neatly made; her eyes lingered for a moment, recalling a handful of pleasant times curled up together in it. They had often met in her own chambers for privacy, especially when feeling the need for more than simple closeness. There was a bench under the shuttered window; he used to clean his gunblade there, storing materials and parts in a chest beneath the bench. Nothing remained but the seat.

The writing desk was really a tall square table, a stool for the chair, in a corner of the room. Two simple shelves hung on the wall above it, some of Thancred’s personal effects that remained neatly placed upon them. The black willow box was a simple but lovely piece of old Nabaath make. It was familiar only in that it was a part of the room, always upon the shelf above the desk, a background decoration.

She had to stretch a little to pull the small box down. She unlocked it, pondering what it could contain for one last moment before opening the lid to find out.

Neatly folded pages, Thancred’s familiar handwriting covering them, five different bundles marked by Vrandtic dates in Eorzean lettering. The earliest one was dated five--no, six years ago now, in the midst of Thancred’s first year in this world, just after the Vrandtic new year. The second bundle was dated a year later. Then the third, then a fourth. The final bundle broke the date pattern, written...She shivered. The dates would have been the time after they assaulted Mt Gulg and before seeking Emet-Selch and the Exarch in the Tempest, when she had lain in a Light-induced fever for days in between.

All of the letters, long and detailed, were addressed to her.

Aeryn carried the box to the window and opened the shutters, letting in the natural light of day. She sat at the bench, picked up the first letter, and began to read, brows already rising at the first line.

My Dear Aeryn,

It’s been roughly half a year, to me, since I arrived in this world. We search for a means to send me back, but given the dangers, it’s difficult to say if we shall ever be successful. I hold onto hope, given we have made the impossible happen more than once—particularly when you are involved.

I know so much less time is passing for you, even as time is difficult to track beneath the eternal Light, but the people still mark the hours and days as best they can--perhaps better than we do in the Source, reliant as we are upon the sun and stars. So as the calendar year turns to a new page, I find myself confronted by reminders of you at every turn, my own mind noting the dates, as if counting down to your nameday in truth.

Violas grown in the Hortorium call to mind your favored hair decoration and your scents carried with it. The heather meadows and clear mountain springs of Il Mheg make me think of the taste of your magic. Treasure hunters in Mord Souq unearth duelist rapiers reminiscent of your combat style. The grey waters of a lake, shifting in color and tone under the burning sky, remind me of your eyes and ever-shifting moods.

I think of our new situation, how fragile it all still seems, our duties as Scions, the distance between Ala Mhigo and Doma keeping us apart more often than I liked. Especially after already having denied my own interests for far longer than I care to admit.

I fear now, not knowing when I may return to your side--in whatever capacity--that I am forgetting important things, and I very much do not want to. So indulge me as I list your various qualities that I admire, to remind myself why I allowed myself to maintain my impossible infatuation for so long, even as you became one of my dearest friends...

Aeryn eyes widened as she turned to the next page, then quickly checked the several pages following; Thancred had indulged his bardic habits, writing in verse and engaging in wordplay. Even the most innocent descriptions and memories of moments together, professional and extremely personal, were laden with puns and innuendo--not entirely unexpected from him.

She was mostly through the verses, trying to parse every dedicated line, when a knock at the door startled her.

“Aeryn?” Gaia called. “Everything all right?”

She cleared her throat. “Fine; I’ve quite a bit of reading to do, though; I may need some water.”

The door opened, Gaia appearing with a tray already in hand. “Ryne thought you might--are you all right? You’re redder than I have ever seen, and that’s saying something.”

Aeryn pressed a hand to her warm cheeks. “I’m fine. Just...wasn’t expecting some of what I found so far.”

“Is that good or bad?” The girl asked, setting the tray on the nearby side table in easy reach. There was a small tea service and also ice water, bless them.

“It’s...Better than good,” Aeryn replied. “I may be awhile, though.”

Gaia shrugged in her nonchalant, pretending-not-to-care way. “Doesn't matter to me, but I was going to drag Ryne out for a while, just so you know. You’ll be fine here by yourself--won’t you?” A little genuine care came through in the last two words, despite her attempts to seem otherwise.

Aeryn nodded.

“All right. Enjoy your reading, and we’ll see you later.” Gaia gave a little wave before leaving, quietly closing the door behind her.

Aeryn cleared her throat again, sipping the cup of minty green tea--bless those girls again--and set the first letter aside for now. She would get back to that later; alone in her own room, where she could bury her face in a pillow and shriek like a schoolgirl when overwhelmed by his words, godsdamn him. For now, the second bundle had her curious.

My Dearest Aeryn,

I almost let the date slip by, I am ashamed to say. So much has happened in recent weeks...

She read through two pages of his recounting Minfilia’s story and the reincarnations that had followed, offering a small hope to Norvrandt; of Urianger and Y’shtola’s arrival, his anger at the spell’s failure and yet relief at seeing Urianger again; and their shift in focus upon learning of the Eighth Umbral Calamity.

...Urianger’s vision of the Calamity, of our deaths, is a sobering thought. The idea of you fallen especially freezes my blood. I cannot bear the thought.

So I redoubled my efforts to rescue the girl bearing Minfilia’s name and appearance. She sleeps now on a cot in this Mord town as I write. She can’t be more than twelve or thirteen summers; a frail little thing with no skills aside from reading books thicker than she is, and asking innumerable questions. They taught her nothing, simply locked her in a windowless cell under the waterline. For at least ten years, that is all the child’s known. If the fate Urianger saw for us makes my blood freeze, her situation makes it boil again. Should I chance to meet Eulmore’s General--the man responsible for her “care”--I will let him know exactly what I think.

Tomorrow Minfilia and I shall attempt to reach Nabaath Areng, the site of the Flood’s halting; the girl says she must go there, as if pulled. I have a hope I dare not voice yet. The Blessing of Light does work in such interesting ways.

But that is on the morrow; tonight, though a day late, I wished to write to you as I did last year. With the date in mind you have also been in my thoughts--when I’ve had a moment to think, at least--and I find myself recalling more and more often the little things. Simple things. Things I fear I may forget, having been here for years now, years without the way you tilt your head when you have a question. It initially annoyed me actually, you were so quiet but now, gods I would give much to be in your silence again, to see that quizzical look. Anything to see the little furrow between your brows when you’re thinking. When you prop your chin on your hands as you stare out a window, tea forgotten in your hand. How you unconsciously wriggle and make faces as you read, reacting to the pages, lips silently moving as you devour each word...

“Oh I do not,” Aeryn muttered--realizing in the same moment that she was doing that now. She sipped her tea and kept reading, noting how he wrote, as much as what; the moments where he had scratched out words, or underlined others. The splots where the pen had sat on the page a moment longer than normal as he thought of what he wanted to admit to. The way the letters slanted in places where he was eager. There was no poetry this time, fewer puns and word play. He had written when tired and possibly injured, given the shakiness of some lettering.

There were places where he couldn’t remember clearly--what perfume had she worn on the day of a particular memory? Was she wearing her red coat, or a blue dress in another? He wasn’t certain.

The letter wrapped up several pages later.

...I must get some sleep, given the long trek across the Amber Hills awaiting. I don’t know what will happen when we arrive, but whatever it is, I’ll keep the girl safe. Taking care of her is the only thing I can do, lacking the skills of the Exarch and our colleagues. Particularly now that we have abandoned the idea of going home--yet. I still don’t know how I feel about that, having struggled to find a way back for so long now, but there must be a home to return to. To save ourselves, we must save this realm. Forgive me; as much as I yearn to see you again, I wish for you to live far more. Despite everything, I still remain

Yours, Thancred.

Aeryn drew in a sharp breath; the previous letter’s signature had been much simpler, after all the floweriness of the verses. This simpler, newsy, reminiscent letter had such a different feel to it, so much changing for him in that year. Her eyes kept drifting to that closing.

It took a few moments before she was able to refold that bundle and open the next.

His next year in the First; this one another detailed description of events he survived, and quite a lot about Ryne, still only known as Minfilia at the time.

...I actually began this letter yesterday, as we rested in a small inn at the edge of the Greatwood. I thought of seeking out Y’shtola, but am unfamiliar with those dark and twisting paths, and was low on ammunition. Minfilia was exhausted, unable to fight or imbue cartridges, and I won’t risk her more than our constant travels already do.

It was she who reminded me that I had been writing, before she made me take my rest as well. I’ve never told her about these letters, but she’s a bright girl and I have told her of you. Sometimes it’s simply because she is curious about you, and the hope that you’ll come here and save yourself, as well as the rest of us. Many times though I don’t mean to say anything, but the stories simply come, like a slumbering spring awoken by new rains, bubbling up and overflowing the riverbanks.

It’s something about her, I suppose, that makes me remember, and so I must speak before the memories fade back into the dustier corridors of my mind. Perhaps an effect of her unique Blessing? Or perhaps simply her childish curiosity drawing it out of me.

There’s a selfish part of me that wants you to meet her. It would mean that you’re here, for one, but also I think you two would get along. She’s a good girl--with her moments of petulance and stubbornness, as many youths are wont, but she’s come such a long way already, has learned so quickly.

I fear influencing her. The choice she must make is so important, and it must be hers. You would be a much better role model; you inspire others to do what’s best simply by your presence. I’ve felt the lack of you more keenly this last year than ever before...

Aeryn read through, noting he wrote it more like a conversation she had yet to answer. Memories of their adventures and companionship were woven through the words more naturally as he spoke to her. She smiled as he spent a good chunk of the letter not even realizing how he had gushed about Ryne and all she had learned and how she had grown in that first year they spent together, as if he were trying to ensure Aeryn would love the child as much as he so obviously did--even if the foolish man hadn’t been able to tell the girl so until it had almost been too late.

But then, that was Thancred; locking his thoughts and feelings behind stoicism, snark, and literally in a box on a shelf.

She traced her nail along the letters of his name--again signed “Yours”--before tucking that bundle away and picking up the fourth.

By this time the twins were somewhere in Norvrandt, though Thancred had no opportunity to see them as Eulmore’s hunters were ever close. He wrote to Aeryn of his frustration with how many Scions had come to the First but she was still so far away and still in so much danger, alongside the rest of the Source and this shard itself. If she couldn’t come to Norvrandt to break the Light’s hold over the realm then the girl would have to make her choice sooner rather than later--and perhaps face the same fate as all of her predecessors.

He admitted that he feared both of those outcomes. He seemed to have begun to cross out that line, but had stopped himself.

...A nasty part of me believes you will never receive these nameday letters. That these are simply my way of remembering yet another important woman in my life I will never see again. I try not to dwell on such thoughts, try to keep busy, but you know me. Perhaps better than anyone since our Minfilia. How I wish I could speak with you again; patrolling through Mor Dhona, lunch at Rowena’s cafe, stargazing on the roofs of Ala Mhigo, reading in the Waking Sands’ dusty library. Simply holding you until we fall asleep, those few, rare moments we had. You always made me say more than I ever meant to; you’ve a way of drawing me out despite myself—and failing that, of simply being there as a brilliant, warm presence.

There are places here I want to show you, things I want to share. Yet I fear your coming, what it will mean. What changes I’ve experienced. What we had was...comfortable, and felt right, after so long, and yet it was still so new and fragile. I used to be confident in my ability to be delicate, but these last few years with this girl have made me feel boorish and clumsy. And I know I have changed, not just because of her, but everything in this hard world. Will you recognize me when we meet? Will you still want me, when you were already so uncertain before?

I suppose I shan’t know until you’re here, or we find a way home. Given the Exarch’s record, the former seems more likely. And it still worries me, much as I know it’s the better course to preserve all we hold dear...

Aeryn stared out the window for a long moment; she had known of his doubts, his fears; when she had arrived and finally found him again, it had been difficult. Yet despite everything, they had gotten past it.

She eyed the final bundle, slimmer than the rest, those dates seeming so heavy though she had no conscious recollection of them, given her state at the time. Having finished the tea, she poured a glass of water and began to read.

Aeryn,

Ryne assures us you will still be Aeryn when you wake; her wards hold for now. I pray long enough to find a cure for what those bastards did to you. What we did to you, unknowing. Will you be pleased to know I have not struck Urianger for his part? I was too tired and injured as we returned, and occupied with carrying you besides. Now I simply am too weary in heart and mind to conjure that initial anger, and he has had time to explain how the Exarch coerced him into his confidence.

I am still not happy about it.

For five years I waited to see you again, thought about you through many days and most nights--such as they are, here. It’s funny what one can become accustomed to in time. Finally seeing you again was a jolt to every one of my senses as the missing you had long since become more real to me, much as I longed for your presence.

And as I feared, you hesitated. I don’t blame you; I know this place changed me. What we had back home was still so new, despite the prior years we had known each other. So I tried to be content to merely be in your company once more. We had rebuilt our friendship once, we could do it again. I had been a fool to think I deserved more.

Then you sought me out in Rak’tika. Do I need to tell you how you intoxicated me that day? I hope I was a comfort, both in words and in the release you needed. The distance still felt too great, but this much, at least, I could give. I thought it would be enough, to simply be what you needed in the moment.

I know now that I was once again fooling myself.

These last few months traveling and fighting and just being together have been a strange mix of stress and relief; our mission had been dangerous and difficult in so many ways, and yet working together, it was hard not to get caught up in the optimism, in the feeling that things would turn out, that we would find a way.

And you were here; your quizzical headtilts, your faces when you read, the white flowers in your hair. Your silences, your laughter, your strength in combat and your helping with every common chore in the vicinity. I thought I could simply be happy to bask in your steady light.

But now, seeing it tear you apart, it is not enough; it never was, and never will be. I can live with it, should that be your wish. My wish, however, is to continue what we had once begun. To hold you close not only occasionally but always.

Aeryn felt a hard lump in her throat; there was a decent space between the lines, the ink thick where he had hesitated, the initial letters shaky. Still he had written them:

I am in love with you, Aeryn.

It’s taken me time to collect myself after rereading what I just wrote and fighting the urge to burn the whole page. A part of me fears that you will scoff, though the greater part of me knows--hopes--better of you.

And the gods know you deserve better than me, but if you’ll have me, I certainly won’t complain.

I know after everything with Ryne I ought to say it to you aloud. That it may already be too late to do so. I pray that isn’t the case. I pray I find the courage and the words both to say what you deserve to hear. Even should you never reciprocate; if that should be the case, you shall never hear another whisper from me on the matter.

But I hold out a small hope, that you will, that you do. That we will have the chance to discuss the matter further. That you survive.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. I only know I’ll be at your side until the end; there’s nowhere else I can be.

Ryne is calling; hold on just a little while longer, darling.

Yours always, Thancred.

She covered her face with her hands, emotions and memories flooding over her. There were words before finally confronting Emet-Selch in his memory of Amaurot. More than words on returning to the Crystarium, bodies twined together in relief and comfort.

Then she had returned to the Source to report their success. She came back to the First as quickly as she could, though; not only was there still much work to do, but he was here, and things were...not exactly different, but not quite the same, either.

As she reread the last page, she noticed a swiftly written addendum on the back. She turned it over.

I carried these letters all the way to the Tempest, thinking if I failed to say anything I might at least give them to you--they are yours, after all. But of course no time seemed right, and with a screwing of my courage (and pointed prodding from Urianger), at the last I was able to say what I wished. Miraculously, you said it too.

And now here we are, you peacefully asleep while the night sky wheels overhead and I still hear the celebrations outside despite the ungodly hour. I’ll rejoin you in a moment, but I needed some time to attempt to process the last few days. What happened in the Tempest. The fact you’re alive, and healthy, and claim to love me in return.

I’m not entirely certain why, but I won’t complain, either.

Rereading these letters, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to hand them over yet. They’ll return to their box for now, and perhaps in a few days I’ll be ready to show you.

Aeryn laughed lightly; of course he had hesitated to share them. The letters showed all his vulnerabilities behind the serious, confident facade he had developed. And with everything in the Empty, and then Elidibus, it was no wonder the letters had fallen to the wayside.

Until her actual nameday on the Source had come around, his note delivered with her breakfast by Tataru per Thancred’s instructions while he was on his latest reconnaissance. It wasn’t as if he could have brought the letters with him, after all--nor given them to her in front of the rest of the Scions in the Ocular, nevermind how public their relationship was now.

She rubbed her face--she had cried more than a few times while reading--and replaced the letters in the box. She locked it, and pocketed the key.

The girls were still out so it was no trouble to take the tea service to the sink and clean it, along with the other dishes, giving her time and activity to settle. She finished by washing her own face, removing some evidence of her emotion.

Since the first year she had joined the Scions, they had given each other gifts; she had discovered his nameday from Minfilia, gifting him the orchestrion roll of a song she knew he liked from a favorite minstrel. Her own first nameday as a Scion had been missed due to Lahabrea and Baelsar’s schemes, but Thancred was certain to make up for it. Sometimes they were late, or even early, but they always managed a little something, even as friends.

Aeryn took the box with her as she left Ryne’s apartment. She still had a few people to see while here on the First--starting with Lyna and the messages from G’raha--but then she would retire to her own suite in the Pendants and do a bit of rereading.

And maybe a bit more once she returned home, too; after all, if she timed it right, it would still be her nameday, and the best time to reread her present.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Lyn Writing #Shadowbringers #Thancred Waters #Thancred x WoL #Shippy Nonsense #Aeryn Striker #Pining

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ka-za-ri · 4 years

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Descent Pt. 3

Oh hai. I finally managed to get this chapter out and I hate every word of it. I’m so so sorry if it’s not great or what you’re looking for. Feel free to let me know if you liked it or if it’s as garbage as I think it is. Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

Pairing: Simeon x Reader Genre: Smut Wordcount: 6,300 ish Tags: Sex toys, smut, awkward conversations about sex Summary: Simeon is running out of ways to ask you over. In a last ditch attempt, he puts his pride on the line to have the conversation he's been dreading.

Slip

Simeon was running out of excuses to call you over for help. The first time was a serendipitous discovery. The second happened out of necessity. But now that he had the video recording, he was convinced that you would think he didn’t need your help anymore. At least, that was what he told himself. Still, he kept coming up with reasons why he might need you to help him again. If his book was to be successful, he needed all the inspiration he could get.

He couldn’t sleep, he stopped eating proper meals in his mad search for the right materials to work off of. It was all a distraction from the truth. He was willingly falling into your trap of temptation and was doing nothing about it. No matter how many times he wrote it off what he was doing as research or investigation for the sake of his book; there was no denying the fact that he was slipping down into a darkness that he couldn’t save himself from.

The first time he had a taste of you was all it took for him to spiral down a rabbit hole of finding more ways to get you to moan in his presence. He wanted to feel your heat again, he wanted to see you come undone; but he needed to hide behind some reason. He needed more time with you; and he wracked his brain on the daily to figure out how. Of course, seeing you wasn’t the hard part, the most difficult issue was convincing you to keep ‘helping’ his cause. That step would come soon enough; but first, he had to find reason to see you again.

Luckily for him, he kept track of the most arbitrary reasons to celebrate and called for you once more. Perhaps this time, he could persuade you to make it a regular thing. An author was always in need of a muse; and no one else was more suited to the job than you were.

[SMS: COME SPEND THE WEEKEND HERE???! WE CAN CELEBRATE YOUR WORK ANNIVERSARY!!!??]

You laughed when you received the message in the morning. With how busy he kept you with all his drafts and proposals, it was rather shocking just how much time had passed since he was assigned to you. Years had passed and you figured he would have forgotten about the first day you sat down with him to discuss the direction of his work. However, he always made it a big deal about celebrating your tenure with him. It was endearing and you could never pass up the chance to spend some time with him that didn’t involve work.

[SMS: Okay! Let me pack an overnight bag!]

You contemplated what to bring. Part of you eyed the cutest sets of lingerie you owned. Oh come on, like he’d think about you like that. You chided yourself while stuffing some pajamas into your bag. However, the subject matter of his new book came to your mind and you ended up carefully tucking them into the corner of your overnight bag. Just in case… it’ll be good for research.

Even if it was just for a weekend getaway, your overnight bag ended up being crammed full of all sorts of things you thought would be good ‘just in case.’ Why you thought it would be necessary to bring an extra pair of shoes was beyond you. The two of you were most likely going to just spend the whole weekend indoors watching terrible movies and tearing apart the scripts and critiquing the dialog.

A small part of you hoped he would use the weekend for ‘research’ purposes. Just thinking about how intense his eyes were when he ‘helped’ you out the last time you were over had you feeling uncomfortably warm from head to toe. On the off chance that he requested something else from you, you needed to at least be prepared to oblige. Even if his intentions for the weekend were innocent, you needed to be ready for a change of plans. He had been throwing you off guard quite a bit; first with his new book ideas, and now his research methods, he was as unpredictable as the first day you met him all those years ago.

Throwing caution to the wind, you crammed in the tallest pair of platform heels you owned into the bag. At least they were black and would match with anything, especially the lingerie you had chosen. Double checking to make sure you had gotten all the essentials, you threw the bag over your shoulder and made your way over to Simeon’s place.

If there was one thing Simeon couldn’t stand was not being able to convey what he imagined in his head onto a page. With all the literary experience he had; it shouldn’t have been so hard to write something salacious and naughty. He knew the importance of proper research and threw himself head first into finding out all he could. He lost track of the number of times he watched the video of you on his phone. At this point, he practically had it memorized; he knew the exact moment in the recording that you came, calling his name. Every time he thought about it, it sent shivers down his spine. Any other videos he sought didn’t have the same effect as your pretty voice lilting and echoing in his room. No other sources worked in helping him write outside of what you provided him.

If he was going to be truthful to himself, he knew there was no return from the dark path he was going down. But he deluded himself into thinking he was safe. As long as he could upkeep his promise to keep you unsullied, he would come out of this trial unscathed. As it was so far, things progressed easily enough but, he knew he would need your help again. There was an intimacy that was missing in his words. Something just didn’t flow properly and he wouldn’t be able to figure it out what it was until he got to experience things first hand. The only problem was saving himself from falling in the process.

He could only ask for forgiveness if he went too far.

Though the tone of his message had been innocent, he had plans to turn the weekend into a productive one. The only problem was trying to figure out how to tell you what he needed out of you. He felt filthy no matter how many times he showered, his mind marred by the image of your shuddering body. His fingers could still feel your walls clenching around him and the warmth of your body surrounding him. He wanted it. He wanted to experience it all for himself; but to keep both you and him safe, he had to find a way around the most sinful act according to the Celestial doctrines.

The knock at his door brought him out of his reverie and he was faced with reality. For the time being, it was easy to play the host and let you relax. “Rush hour wasn’t too bad?” He asked as you took off your shoes and stepped into the guest slippers at the front door.

“It’s a Friday and everyone is eager to go home after a work week, you tell me how crowded the trains were.” You teased.

He took your bag from you to stow away and he was surprised at how heavy it was. “I said it was just for the weekend, it feels like you packed for a month here.”

You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up a bit. “Well, I just wanted to make sure I was prepared for anything that might happen.” You shrugged, leaving the interpretation of your words up in the air.

Simeon distracted himself from the lewd thoughts your words brought on while he put your bag to the side. “I already ordered some pizza for dinner. It should be here in a little bit so make yourself comfortable.”

You lost no time in making your way over to his living room, flopping on the spacious couch there and sprawling out. “Comfort achieved.” You announced, which earned you a soft chuckle from Simeon. Even though the basis of your relationship with him was work; it didn’t stop the two of you from becoming friends. He simply had such a soothing aura around him, it was easy to let your guard down and be yourself. Without having to worry about work for the weekend, it was even easier for you to just pretend it was a sleepover with a friend.

He came over and joined you on the couch, a mug of tea in his hand and part of his manuscript in another hand. You perked up when you saw the pages with your notes on them. “Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a weekend to celebrate a work anniversary. I didn’t plan on partying by watching you rewrite the first half of your book for the seventh time.”

He chuckled, putting down the stack of papers on the coffee table in front and leaned back to regard you. “So, what do you suggest we do to celebrate then?”

“Anything but work.” You determined. “I don’t know, board games? Movie? Arts and crafts?”

Simeon laughed; it was a sound you could never get enough of. It was so melodic and soothing, you wanted to keep him entertained for the rest of your life. But you had to remember to remain professional. There was no way he thought of you as anything more than a friend or a close co-worker. You were in charge of caring for him and making sure his work got to the publishing house on time; outside of that, things needed to remain casual.

“Well, dinner comes first.” He said, getting up as the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of food. He disappeared briefly before returning with a small stack of pizza boxes. It was way more than two people could eat in one sitting; but that was par for the course on how Simeon tended to order whenever you were asked to stay over.

While dining upon the finest pizza the city had to offer and sipping on soda, you thought over the years you had spent with Simeon and how much he had grown on you. At first, he was exactly what you expected a high profile author to be like. He was cool, aloof and distant. His work was impeccable, but even the best in the field made mistakes and you made sure he knew about them prior to publication. He always held you at arms length, with respect and appreciation, but made sure to never step past the boundaries of professionalism.

Over time, he warmed up to you more, inviting you over to work on editing while he continued to write his manuscripts. Something about having real-time feedback seemed to help get his creative juices flowing. You also ended up benefiting from it as you were able to edit and get changes back faster than waiting for replies to your email. With how technologically challenged Simeon could be, you often had to wait days, if not weeks, to get a small update. Still, the barrier of professionalism never changed. The two of you simply worked well together and created a sturdy friendship based on work.

Despite that, you couldn’t help but slowly fall for him. It was easy to do so, he was handsome, gentle, considerate; everything you could have asked for in a partner. Being so intimately involved in his career meant you likely knew a lot more about him than many people did. A few years passed and you struggled to hide the feelings you had for him. Every time he asked something of you, it was easy to jump on the chance to see him smile, hear his laugh and maybe receive a bit of praise outside of something related to writing. You managed pretty well, considering how dense Simeon could be; it didn’t seem like he had any idea of what you were hiding from him and the polite respect you gave each other was maintained.

The distinct civility you two had only changed with his new book. After the first time, you had convinced yourself that it was all a fluke. A one time occurrence, never to be repeated. The second time, you prayed that your heart wouldn’t guide your actions and do something you would regret. You could still vividly remember just how bright his eyes were when he was knuckle deep in you and making you cum with no effort at all.

“Are… you alright?” Simeon’s voice cut through your thoughts and you were quickly wrenched back into reality with a half eaten slice of pizza drooping and getting cold in your hand.

“Oh? Yeah. Just thinking about how long I’ve been working for you.” You explained with a bit of a shrug.

“It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it?” He concurred, regarding you over his mug of tea, sipping it carefully and trying to parse out your odd mannerisms. It wasn’t the first time he had asked you to spend the weekend over to celebrate a mundane weekend which held no meaning to anyone but himself and you. It was the first time he had ever hidden his true intentions from you and he wondered if you could feel his guilt from where you sat. When you went back to eating, commenting about the quality of the toppings on the pizza, he relaxed a bit. “I wouldn’t be where I am without your help. So, I really should thank you for the time you’ve been with you.”

There was unfortunately nowhere to hide your face from the blush you felt creeping up your neck from your neck. “Well, I’m always happy to help, back then, now, and in the future.” You reassured him. “Gotta make sure we keep your reputation intact, right?”

There it was, the opening he was hoping for. He took the sliver of a chance you had given him and ran with it. Mulling over his words before he spoke, Simeon took a sip of his tea and let the silence settle between you. “You’d help me? Even with this… project of mine being as unreasonable as it has been?”

You understood his reservations in regards to being helped. He was so cute fumbling over his words and his requests. If he just wants me to come over every week to watch me fuck myself, he can say so. You smiled and sipped your soda, waiting for him to push the issue at hand again. When he didn’t go any further, you decided to step up and bring up the topic for yourself. “I’m serious about helping you in any way I can. You’re working on something you’ve never done before, it only makes sense that you get as much uhm… research in as you can…” Your words trailed off at the end and you wondered if you had said too much.

“Really?” Simeon tried to hide his excitement. “So you wouldn’t mind if I asked you to… You know...” He couldn’t bring himself to finish what he was saying. It was too embarrassing to admit he needed help as it was; to tell you out loud that he required more source material for his work seemed to be too much for his poor brain to handle.

You decided to voice his desires for him. “You need me to come over and give you some scene ideas?” You asked sweetly, batting your eyelashes as if it was the most innocent thing in the world.

“I… Yes. That.” He sighed in resignation. “I already have the scenes planned, it’s just the details I don’t have a feel for, so I need some more, you know, that stuff to get an idea of how it’s supposed to be written.”

You couldn’t help but let out a coo of endearment. He was just so cute being all fidgety in his seat and twiddling his fingers together, it was impossible for you to deny him. “Well, if we want to keep our jobs, then helping you with some scenes should be the easy part. You’re the one who has to write them out.”

“You’re really sure?” He breathed, his eyes wide in shock that it had been so easy to convince you. “I might need you more than once. Maybe… We can make this weekend thing a thing?” He suggested shyly.

“Anything you want.” You confirmed.

It was as if a switch had been turned on him, the excitement and the relief that he had gotten permission to research as much as he wanted changed him into a completely different man. You barely had time to move out of the way before he shoved the coffee table in the middle of the room to the side and pulled out a trunk he had hidden in a corner.

“So, I got a couple of things in the last week that I think might help. You said it would be easier if you used toys, so I looked a few of them up and picked out some things that either seemed interesting or if they’d help you. I don’t know what you like, but hopefully you’ll find something in here that will suit your needs.” He babbled happily, explaining everything he had done since the last time you had been at his home and you were rather taken aback at the sheer amount of things he had acquired in such a short time.

“Oh God,” you breathed, when you looked at the veritable collection he had amassed so quickly. It was rather mind blowing just how invested he had become in such a short time. Then again, you should have expected him to give whatever he was writing his all. This though, was a bit much, even for the lengths you were used to seeing him go through.

He could almost laugh at the irony of the phrase. He was sure God had long left his home with how dangerously close he was to falling away from grace. After you agreed to his request, he couldn’t care any less about the free fall straight to Hell. He was getting what he wanted.

“I need to know how these work.” He said, reaching over to put on a pair of glasses and picked up a notebook. “If you could be so kind to allow me to ah… experiment.”

“Are you sure this is all for your novel?” You raised an eyebrow, suspicious that it was all truly for scientific purposes and it wasn’t for personal use.

Simeon faltered a bit before he nodded, his lips set in a thin line of determination and his gaze bounce back and forth between you and the pile of toys. “If I’m going to have enough variety in the scenes to span a whole book, I’m going to need to as much information as possible.” He flipped to a blank page of his notebook, titling it with the date and looked at you expectantly. It was frightening just how clinical he was being with the whole situation.

“You know, you have to go through some of it too...” You countered, you weren’t about to go through a series of sexual tests without conducting a few of your own on him. “You were having problems with the partner last time, right? We can’t have those kinds of issues pop up again.”

He blinked several times, processing what you had to say. You could see his will falter a bit before he went right back into the zone he was in just moments ago. He nodded, mumbling to himself and concurring to your points. “This is true… I’ll have to make sure that the scenario balance is equal. I need to manage that somehow. Perhaps if I recorded like I did last time…”

You giggled, surprised at how straightforward he was being and stepped closer to him, pushing his hair away from his face; an action that broke his concentration and he had to look at you face-to-face. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.” You purred. “You just have to remember what happens.” Taking the notebook and pen from him, you pushed him back onto the couch and straddled him, keeping him in place. “You can keep the glasses though, they’re a nice touch.”

Despite your confidence, your heart was hammering in your chest. Your ears rang and you could barely believe this was happening. You had only ever fantasized about being this sort of intimate with Simeon. When he had pushed you away the last time, you were sure he didn’t see you as desirable. And it was about to happen again. He kept you at arms length, pushing you back when you moved to kiss him. “I… No. I can’t like this with you. Anything but you know...”

You sighed, peeling yourself off his thighs and sat next to him. “Okay, I don’t know. And you’re sending me mixed signals; so let’s get these things out of the way so we don’t get things mixed up in the future.” You declared, putting your foot down. You weren’t about to have him bait and switch on you again. “I’m assuming sticking your dick in me isn’t something you’re really into doing.”

You watched Simeon fidget while he pointedly avoided your gaze. He nodded, unable to speak. It would be the closest thing you would get out of him as confirmation. Still, it did leave a few things up in the air which you needed to clarify. “So, you know I’ve got three perfectly serviceable holes. Is it all three or just one?”

He was in the middle of sipping his tea and nearly choked when you asked him. Fumbling to regain his composure he cleared his throat before answering you. You could tell he never expected to have a conversation like this; but it was necessary to know just how far he would go. “Just… I cannot defile you...”

You laughed at how innocent his words were. Even if you knew what he meant, his words still had multiple meanings and without clarity, you weren’t about to continue. Reaching out and patting his hair softly, you tried a different method. “Okay, how about this. Am I allowed to blow you?”

A pause, he still refused to speak up, but at least he gave you a nod to let you know that was alright. Good, we’re getting somewhere. “Okay, are you okay with putting your dick in my ass?”

You could tell how differently he felt when it came to discussing his own sex life outside of the one he was writing. He covered the lower part of his face with his hand, rubbing his chin as he seemed to have an internal war with himself. The silence between the two of you dragged on before he finally gave you his nod of approval. “Got it… So, I know what your answer is probably going to be, but I still need to ask. Are you willing to put your dick in my pussy?”

Something broke in him at the question. He vehemently shook his head, shutting his eyes and refusing to look at you, or anything else for that matter. “No. No. No. Anything but that. I can’t. I can’t do that.”

You put your hand on his shoulder, rubbing him gently to bring him back to reality. “Okay, okay, we won’t go that far. At least I know now.” You murmured, keeping your voice low to not startle him into a further panic. “I promise we won’t do that.”

At your reassurance, he heaved a sigh of relief, as if he had been saved from something terrifying. You kept your hand on his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles there until he came back to reality. “I’ll tell you if we go too far… we can have a code word.” He suggested. “I read about it, people call it a safe word.”

You nodded, agreeing with what he said. At least he knows the basics. It’s just a matter of figuring out the rest for him. “So, what do you want to use?”

“Christopher Peugeot.” He deadpanned.

You laughed, using his pen name wasn’t something you expected, but you knew how he detested you calling him that; so it would definitely work in the event things went too far. You hoped you didn’t ever have to use it, but it was a necessary step. “Okay, now that we have all that settled, what did you want to try out on me today?” You gestured over to the trunk full of toys. “I’m sure you’ve got a few things you’re dying to try out.”

The boyish enthusiasm he had before when explaining his collection came back and he got up, rustling around, pulling out a full assortment of toys. You gulped, blinking at some of them and wondered just where he had gotten them. “So… care to tell me how this is all going to fit into a story about a spy?” You asked.

“Well, the main character has to pretend to be married; but she also has feelings for someone else that she works for… and she might also have escapades with her boss… And so she’s with several people and each one of them is different so you know, I have to make sure I get their personalities correct.”

You nodded, trying to put your mind into the main character he wrote. Pretending to work a high risk job while having a wild sex life definitely was quite the departure from the high fantasy setting he was so used to. It really was no wonder he was floundering so hard. It truly was a good thing he was such a talented author; you weren’t sure anyone else could have pulled off the switch like he had.

While he prepared everything he wanted to use for the evening, you eyed what he had chosen and was rather intrigued by the array of toys in his possession. It was only natural that you got rather excited with his experiment, even if it was a rather clinical approach. You would need to change that later.

Simeon laid everything out neatly, taking notes and mumbling to himself. There was something that was so innately sexy about his focus that made made you more wet than the prospect of how many toys he was going to try on you. You waited patiently while he took all the notes he needed. Even if it was going to be a wild night, it was truly supposed to be ‘research’ in the end. “Okay. I think I’m ready.” He announced after arranging and rearranging the order of the toys he set aside.

“Good, I thought I was going to fall asleep with how long you were taking. Where would you like me? I’m all yours.” You gave him a wink and a sly grin, making him stutter a bit. He gestured to the floor space he had cleared up. Hastily, he grabbed a nearby throw to make it a bit more comfortable than the decorative rug he had there.

“Here is fine.” He mumbled and waited for you to get comfortable. You grabbed a few of the pillows from the couches to join the pile of soft things and awaited his next commands.

He stumbled like a newborn fawn, trying to calculate and recalculate the scene he had in his mind to figure out where it was going. Eventually, you got tired of his anxious mumbling and pulled him by the collar to join you on the floor. As soon as he was close enough, you took control of the situation and kissed him. Simeon let out a surprised squeak, at first struggling against the sudden break away from his plans; however, you could almost hear the gears of his mind whirring and clicking as he melted into your arms and started kissing you back.

“So, if we’re going to do this, can you at least pretend to like me a little?” You asked after breaking the kiss. “Helps with the whole getting into the role thing.”

Truthfully, you wanted to have an excuse to kiss him. Simeon at least didn’t seem to have any objections to your demands. He swooped in for another kiss, his hands lacing behind your head and into your hair. His lips were just as soft as you had always imagined them to be. His body heat so close to yours was just as comforting as you had dreamed of. The way he kissed you took your breath away and left you confused as to whether or not he was as innocent as he made himself out to be. Not like you really had time to parse those thoughts out when his lips and hands were all over you, making you dizzy with need.

He smelled like fresh laundry and lemon dish soap. He was everything soft and good in the world wrapped into one sinful package that you had the privilege to unwrap one layer at a time. You could have spent hours kissing him if you could. Eventually, he found himself on top of you, helping you out of your clothes and marveling at how much of a different experience it was when he was properly involved. The irises of his bright blue eyes were blown wide open as he took in every detail of your body. He was awestruck, removing layer after layer of clothing until you were in nothing but your lacy underthings.

It was entirely unfair. One moment you were fully clothed, the next, you were in your unspeakables and Simeon still hadn’t shed a single piece of clothing yet. He was so focused on you and how you reacted, he had completely forgotten about himself. He paused to look at you all sprawled out underneath him on his floor in his home. It was quite a sight and it was the perfect opportunity for you to slip your hand under the over-sized sweater he wore and peel it off of him with one swift motion.

Finally, you were blessed with the image of him shirtless. It was everything you had hoped it would be. His lean body was surprisingly toned for someone who spent his life writing books for a living. There wasn’t a single blemish on his skin and you lost no time in running your hands across his smooth skin. “Beautiful...” you breathed, smiling softly at him.

Simeon quickly found out that the fastest way to get you to stop making him so flustered was to kiss you senseless. His hands did work in taking off the last pieces of clothing you had on. By the time he finally broke away from another heated make out session, you were completely nude and ready for whatever he wanted to test out on you. He kept his lips on you, peppering your jaw and your neck with kisses and soft nibbles when he reached to the side and grabbed the first toy in the line of many.

His hand slipped between the two of you and you felt the cool tip of the toy slide up and down your wet slit. In those moments, he was so focused on your reactions, you got lost in the intensity of his stare. A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin. Even if it wasn’t too warm in the room, the heat between the two of you was absolutely sweltering. You were light headed from the kisses and the chance to finally be with Simeon in such a way. Even if it was all a farce, you were going to take whatever he gave you. At least you would have plenty of material to keep you company on the nights you didn’t get to spend with him.

It was so much better to have Simeon involved. There seemed to be so much more than you doing a favor for the man you worked with. There was a tension, a charge as he held something back from you. You couldn’t place your finger on what it was; but it didn’t matter. All you had to do was accept the toy he was pushing into you. You expected something bigger than his fingers the last time, but you weren’t prepared to be stretched open so suddenly by a larger than average toy. You gasped, arching your back to adjust around it a bit better.

“Are you okay, little lamb?” He asked softly, concern in his eyes as he searched your face for any signs of discomfort. With his glasses slipping down his nose, it was the most endearing sight you had ever seen before.

Little lamb. He had never used pet names with you before. Just that little bit of affection was all you needed to get over the uncomfortable feeling of having the intrusion of the toy being pushed into you with little warning. “I’m fine… You can keep going.” You reassured, rolling your hips towards him.

Looking down, you could see strained his pants had become and you felt rather guilty for being the only one on the receiving end of the whole exchange. However, the moment he started to move the toy in and out of you, your mind went blank and you could only focus on yourself. You knew he could see just how stretched out you were around the phallic device. He could see just how wet you were from making out with him and just how undone you could become when you were around him.

The wet sounds of the toy entering you over and over filled the room and your breathy sighs turned into moans. You clutched at the throw beneath you as you let him use your body for his gain. You’d deal with making sure he got his own just desserts later; for now, all you cared about was pretending the toy inside of you was actually Simeon’s cock.

He was relentless, having calculated just what he needed to do days before you had come over. He knew what he wanted out of your body and he was going to coax it all out of you. The sound of your moans mingling with the lewd wet noises that came from your pussy was an absolutely intoxicating combination and he had a growing problem in his pants that he would need to take care of soon. But, that could wait; the most important part of his research was right in front of him and that needed his utmost attention.

He tucked way the image of your writhing body for later. The scent of your arousal was filed away for later and the feel of your soft skin brushing against his hands as he worked the toy in and out of you was etched into his memory. He didn’t need to record anything this time around, not when the image was so vivid and he was participating so directly with it. It was all he ever dreamed about. There was nothing better than feeling and seeing the scene for himself.

Even if his cock ached for release and his body screamed for him to do something about his own growing arousal, he was only ever focused on how close you were to cumming. The pitch of your moans changed and the way your body squirmed changed when you were getting close to that moment when the dams of pleasure broke. “Eyes on me, Little Lamb. I want to see your face when you cum...” He commanded.

You were powerless to deny him. Your eyes had been screwed shut since he started to vigorously thrust the toy into you cracked open only to see his free hand holding yet another toy. You heard it hum to life and as you started to comprehend what he was about to do, your whole body was set aflame in an onslaught of sensations as he pressed the vibrator against your sensitive clit.

You screamed, your whole body convulsing as he simultaneously shoved the toy as far as it would go into you, filling your hole. You wanted to look away, ashamed at how wantonly your body was reacting under his ministrations. But his command remained firm in your mind and you forced yourself to look at him as you came undone, screaming his name and shuddering at the force of your orgasm.

There was a hunger in his eyes you never saw before. A primal energy that made you terrified of what he was capable of. Yet, the part that craved him and the company he gave overpowered that and you were thrown into a high of pleasure you hadn’t ever experienced. You couldn’t catch your breath as he was relentless in his trials. As soon as the brunt of your orgasm was over, he tossed the vibrator to the side, pulled the toy out of you and bent down to kiss your deeply.

“You did so well, Little Lamb...” he purred, once again assuming the image of a sex god you saw briefly before. “But I’m far from satisfied with just one trial.”

You mind went blank as you realized the night had only begun. You saw the array of ‘tests’ he had lined up and you knew you weren’t going to get much sleep at all. “Well, don’t let me get in the way of your experiments.”

The way the light caught his glasses when he pulled away made him look a hint maniacal. There was the barest trace of a smirk that played at the corner of his lips when he wrote a few quick notes in his little notebook. Once he was done, he picked up another pair of toys and assessed your still trembling body.

“I hope you’re ready, Little lamb… I’ve only just begun.”

Somehow, you had unknowingly unleashed a demon from within him.

#Obey me #obey me simeon #Obey me fanfiction #Obey Me AU #Simeon x Reader #My Writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #I absolutely hated writing this and I'm pretty sure it shows #Hopefully it's not as bad as I think it is

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

The Ice General Part 3

{masterlist}

Words: 3270

Warnings: Rex continues to be a dumbass but y’know, this is necessary for progress. Rex might seem kind of OOC but I would like to defend it by saying, this is early-war “Regs” Rex and that I’ve got a plan

Taglist: @tararuthven // @questforgalas // @000ayfh // @pinkiemme

<- Previous

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“I can’t believe you punched him.” A muffled voice filtered into Rex’s foggy mind, cutting through the haze the cool bite of a wintery breeze.

“What? You were about to yourself!” A different voice lower and less controlled answered back. The owner sounded incredibly offended.

“Yes but I stopped!” The first voice hissed back. “You can’t just go about bashing peoples’ skulls in whenever you feel like it! What if one of his men saw?”

A scoff followed the question and Rex fought to peel his eyes open. He was on a cot, that much was for certain. Above him was the ‘ceiling’ of a tent and to his left was a roll-away cart that looked to be stocked with all sorts of medical equipment. He was in the med tent. Great. But how the hell had he gotten there? “I will bash in whoever’s skull whenever I feel necessary. He made you uncomfortable, kih’vod, he got what he deserved.” A clone. The second voice belonged to a clone.

A low sigh barely filtered through the heavy tarp material of the tent. Stifling a groan, Rex propped himself up on his elbows. Backlit by firelight and lamps were the outlines of two figures outside the entrance of the tent. The shorter of the two looked a bit strange so Rex had to wager a guess that they had their head in their hands. “Rex didn’t know, vod. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve having his lights knocked out for that!” There was so much frustration encapsulated in the first speaker’s voice that it took Rex a while to piece together that the one speaking was Y/n. When had he made her uncomfortable?

As if attempting to answer for him, Rex’s attention was brought to the dull pain in the side of his head. Slowly, he touched his fingers to the epicenter only to find a small piece of fabric had been stuck to it. All at once, everything came back to him and the captain was confronted with a swirling mix of anger, confusion, and guilt. He should’ve known better than to grab at her like that. But, that didn’t quite match up with how violent her reaction had been. And why had Hyde punched him? Jjannex 1. He brought up Jjannex 1...Ice’s face appeared in his mind’s eye. Her e/c eyes were clouded and distant, shimmering with some long-suppressed memory that threatened to overwhelm her. Her mouth had twitched downward in a fraction of a second, a slight wobble of her bottom lip had accompanied it. Her eyebrows creased, her posture stiffened. She had looked devastated...he hated that the first emotion he got her to show was such a destructive one.

“I still think he deserved it, if not for that then for sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong. Nosey ol’ captain, ain’t he?” Hyde’s tone was abrasive and ignited something within Rex’s chest.

“Watch it.” Ice barked back, her silhouette adjusting to accommodate the finger she jabbed into Hyde’s chest. “He still outranks you.” The duo lapsed into silence for a moment though it was tense and unpleasant even from Rex’s position inside the tent. While Rex was left to stew on his earlier actions that led him to this predicament, two more figures emerged outside the tent.

Ice’s tone lightened considerably as she spoke though there was still the undercurrent of bitter frustration. “Ah, good, Bolt…”

“What’s the damage?” The voice of Bolt was not what Rex was expecting. There was the twinge of an accent hiding within the low timbre of every clone’s voice. But his lilted on certain words, making him sound like he was singing.

“Minimal. I did what I could for him.” Rex’s brow quirked at Ice’s words. She had done what she could? Rex’s fingertips danced over the bandage once more. “The skin was broken where Hyde made contact on his temple, that’s what knocked him out. His bottom lip’s split where he macked off Hyde’s cuirass and he’s got some bruising under his eyes from the impact as well, his nose took most of the weight.” Ice explained briskly and Rex had two seconds to fall back and pretend to be asleep upon realizing the general was on the move. “His temple wasn’t bad enough to warrant a patch,” The woman’s voice continued, unwavering, as she flicked the flap of the tent out of the way and began to approach. Three sets of footsteps followed her own. “So, I stuck with a classic plaster. I applied some ointment to his lip but wasn’t sure what to do for the bruises. Checked his nose, didn’t seem broken.” Her voice grew louder and louder as she drew closer. The Ice General was standing at the head of his cot, just out of reach. There was the familiar sound of plastoid shifting and Rex felt a hovering presence over his face like he was being analyzed.

“Huh,” the presence backed off. “See what you mean. Well, he’s been mildly concussed and his bone is bruised but other than that, he should be fine. I’ll give him a bactashot when he wakes up, general, and he’ll be good as new come mornin’.” It was Bolt who had hovered over him, the field medic. “How long’s he been out?”

“We just passed the eight-minute mark.” Her reply was immediate. He’d been passed out for eight minutes? Maybe he should let them know he’s awake...But, then Ice would fall back into her emotionless drawl and hearing her like this-so emotionally free?-it was surreal. Rex wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want her to stop.

A low whistle came from somewhere farther in the tent. “Damn, you sure did a number on him, Hyde.” The specific cadence in the man’s voice alerted Rex that Fritz was the fifth person in the tent.

“He touched her!”

A dead silence followed his reply.

“He grabbed my arm.” Till Ice jumped in to rectify it. The captain heard a soft ‘oh’ fall from Bolt.

A rustling came from the roll away and Rex would wager a guess that Bolt was digging for the aforementioned bactashot.

“Y’know, I can’t say I blame you, Hyde. Pretty sure I would have done the same.” Fritz piped up, sounding as though he was deep in thought.

A snort came from Bolt. “You almost did! When Skywalker clapped her on the back-thought we’d be finishing our mission alone.”

“Lay a hand on my wife and I’ll end your life, that’s all I’m saying.”

Rex’s heart plummeted as a chill seemed to creep through him. Wife? Rex thought. That, that would make sense. Fritz and Ice were awfully close. But Ice was a Jedi. They couldn’t…

“Awee, Fritzy!” Ice cooed in a high voice, “You’re an idiot!”

Fritz chuckled, loud and boisterous.“Your idiot.”

Someone retched close to his feet. “Gross. Take your grossness elsewhere please.”

“Why? You jealous that I’m the only one that can get away with flirting with the general, Hyde?”

“No, I don’t want your abhorrent flirting throwing me off my game when I see Kacrobe again.”

“’Abhorrent’, that’s a big word for you, Hyde.”

“Sadly, it still dwarfs when compared to your ego, Fritz.”

“Can it, you two.” Ice cut in. “Did you ask him out yet?” Silence met her question till it was broken with a high pitched squeal that made Rex flinch. “Hyde! Ner ori’vod is all grown up!”

“Hey, vod, you woke him up.” Bolt’s lilting voice commented dully. Rex stifled a defeated sigh and fluttered his eyes open as if he had been asleep so he had just enough time to see Ice retracting from the hug she had wrapped Hyde in.

“Ah,” her voice had returned to the emotionless drawl as she folded her hands in front of her and smoothed her face out till no emotion was present. “Good evening, Captain.” And Rex had never felt more defeated.

…………………………………………………..

Ice had been avoiding him ever since and Captain Rex was more upset by that then he thought he’d be. It was odd because it wasn’t like he and the General had interacted frequently before but at least if she had a matter to discuss with him, she would do it in person but now she’d just send someone to tell him. This also didn’t prove helpful in his quest to understand what had happened to the Veterans as now he had to understand her. The story of the Battle of Jjannex 1 was apparently as intricately intertwined with the Ice general as it was with her men.

There was also another issue that had arisen-the commander and the general’s...relationship. Rex hoped that it was just some elaborate joke he was misinterpreting but the alternate reality had to be examined as well because it was treasonous. It was so against both regulations and codes that Rex was almost flabbergasted that he had to consider it. What made it worse? If it was true, he had to be the one to call them out on it. He had to go against the Ice general and her commander and her devoted men. If he got this wrong, he’d never hear the end of it, if he got this right-the grand army was out a general and his vod would be court-martialed, and if he did nothing? It was unlikely anyone would find out given the perpetual stoic general and the rather fun commander. Most people would just assume that it was a joke. But he had heard him call the general his wife. He had heard it straight from the source. But who would believe him?

“Hey, vod, you haven’t touched your food.” Fives’s voice was accompanied by a rough nudge of his arm that caused it to slide off his thigh. The captain scrambled to right himself as he turned to look at his newest recruit.

“Sorry, got something on my mind.” The captain hurriedly coughed out and resumed aimlessly poking at his food to get Fives off his back. It didn’t work.

“Yeah, I could tell. Wanna talk about it?” Fives asked, evidently not willing to drop the conversation.

Rex sighed through his nose. “No, Fives, I don’t.”

“Really? Does it have to do with the fight you got into yesterday?”

Rex couldn’t help but roll his eyes. After he had woken up, he had been engulfed in a largely one-sided conversation between himself in Hyde that basically boiled down to they would tell the truth about what happened to his men and then they would never bring it up again. “The truth” they had decided to tell them though was boiled down to he had brought up a sensitive issue and things had escalated. True? Yes. The truth? Not to him. The truth was that the Ice general and her men were hiding something and he was trying to get to the bottom of it. “I said I don’t want to talk about it, Fives.” Rex was trying to keep his voice under control, he had no right to yell at the private when his foul mood was in no way Fives’s fault.

“Does it have to do with Ice? You haven’t been able to take your eyes off of her since yesterday.” He persisted and Rex let out a disappointed sigh. He liked Fives but his stubbornness that proved helpful in battle could easily turn annoying.

“Would you please not phrase it like that?” The captain groaned, finally setting his ignored meal to the side. “I’ve been trying to keep an eye on her because I need to talk to her. She’s hiding something-her and the Veterans.”

“Ah, yes, because that makes it any less creepy, alor’ad.” The younger man huffed. “Sir, with all due respect, maybe you should let it go? I’m sure that whatever it is, the Vets took care of it and it’s just a sore topic now.”

Rex’s eyes grew wide as he was struck speechless. “I...I’m surprised to hear you say that, Fives.” The captain fought to keep his face from going slack as he struggled to articulate what he was thinking. “Normally, you’re the first to question stuff like this.”

The private shrugged and finished up his meal before setting it to the side. “‘Been talkin’ to her men an’ they all love her. They trust her, captain, why can’t you?” Fives turned away when one of the younger 205th boys called his name and asked if he’d lend him a hand with something which left the captain time to mull over his question. Why didn’t he trust her? Part of him wanted to say that it was because she was possibly committing treason with one of her men. But Rex knew deep down that he hadn’t trusted her from the beginning. Why though? Because she was mysterious? Because he didn’t know why she acted the way she did? Because he didn’t understand why her men all had the same tattoo? Because he couldn’t figure out what made her so different from the other Jedi?

That had to be it. He hadn’t worked with many Jedi but he had seen how they interacted with their troops and generally, it was always the same. They were respectfully distant-it was clear that most of them were concerned for their well-being but none of them were really close. None of them were named vod (except maybe Plo Koon). But Y/n L/n was. She adored her men and had even been called kih’vod. That was a big deal. That showed that their loyalty was to her. That showed that they trusted her: so why couldn’t he?

“Captain Rex.” a clone cleared his throat to his left and Rex finally looked away from where Fives had disappeared off to. Hyde, of all people, was standing at attention beside him.

“Uh, at ease…” Rex ordered out of habit though his heart wasn’t in it. “What did you need?”

Hyde took a low breath as though he was preparing to do something he’d regret for the rest of his life. “General L/n was wondering if you would like to join us for a sparring match.”

The captain’s eyebrows shot up. She was…? Why? Hadn’t he horribly offended her not even 24 hours ago? “Um, sure. I guess.” He agreed hesitantly, not entirely sure that this was real. Hyde dipped his head and beckoned for him to follow. Hyde led him farther and farther away from where he had stopped to have his breakfast until he found himself in a makeshift enclosure made from a cliff and several tents. It was still early morning so it was relatively dark and cool, making it the perfect time for a quick match but what Rex didn’t understand was why only he had been invited.

“Hyde,” So, he decided to ask, “Why just me?”

“Sparring is...personal for the general. And, since she knows you don’t trust her, she was hoping to make up for last night.” Hyde explained almost solemnly, as he came to a stop on the edge of the ring. What did that mean? ‘Sparring is personal’. Why? Once again, the captain found his already innumerable questions perpetually multiplying. “Wait here, I’ll go get her.” Before Rex could stop him, Hyde had swept away and disappeared into a tent the captain had come to recognize as L/n’s.

As Rex waited in the blissful coolness of morning on the desert planet, he found himself distracted by the Ice general once again. She was looking to make up for last night, that much he could wrap his head around but what he didn’t understand was what possessed her to want to. Did she know he had overheard Fritz call her his riduur? Was this her way of keeping him quiet? Or was this her way of distracting him from Jjannex 1? By offering to let him in on a personal tradition, was she hoping to stop him from further investigating the matching tattoos? If it was, then she would be disappointed to learn that she would fail. If anything, it made Rex want to keep digging.

“Ah, Captain Rex, it is good to hear that you decided to join us.” The blond man was pulled from his ponderings by the voice of the woman he was so troubled by. Her voice was still, as ever, betraying neither elation nor distaste for his agreement. She came around his left, clad in her light tan tunic that seemed to be the uniform of the Jedi. Her cloak had been done away with, presumably, so it wouldn’t get in the way while she fought and that left the captain with a clear view of the two lightsabers that hung on her belt. “I hope you were not busy when Hyde found you?”

It took the captain a moment to realize that it was a question. “Oh, uh, no, no. I wasn’t.” Rex’s eyes fell away from hers, cold, calculating, frozen, and to the lightsabers once more. “Are you gonna keep those on ya?” He nodded to the weapons.

Y/n’s head tilted to the side as she processed his question. She looked like a curious loth-cat. “They are my defenses, aren’t they?”

“Your defenses?” Rex didn’t like the sound of that. Why would she need her lightsabers to defend her during a sparring match with a clone?

“Indeed…” She dragged out before turning to Hyde who was busily fidgeting with one of his vambraces. “Did you not explain what sparring for us entails?”

The red-head looked up for a moment, disinterested. “No, was I supposed to?”

Ice took a moment to sigh, her face was still unfaltering. “Yes, Hyde, you were supposed to.” She shook her head before turning her unimpassioned gaze back to Rex. “I suppose you will just have to learn through observation, Captain.” Y/n moved on swiftly, spotting something behind the captain that had her enraptured in a moment. “Fritz! Who have you got?” She projected as she moved past the blond who turned to see what she was talking about. Commander Fritz was quickly approaching with Jekyll, Bolt, Empio, Codex, Boom, and two others the captain didn’t recognize. “Ah, Codex, I see you’ve returned. And we have Boom, Phantom, and Nexus as our three other newcomers? Welcome, boys.” The three men who were apparently new to sparring just like him quickly saluted Ice till she made a gesture for them to relax. “Alright, Phantom, Nexus you two take that corner. Jekyll, Empio, Codex, over there. Hyde, Fritz, beside the tent and finally, Bolt and-”

“Sorry to interrupt, Ice, but I’m gonna sit this one out-prefer not to get my ass whooped today.” Bolt chirped from the seat he had taken atop three crates off to Rex’s left.

...what? Rex couldn’t help but think. Ice blinked at the medic before shrugging. “Alright then, hand Rex your blaster.” ...what? He thought again as the dark haired man pressed his blaster into his hand. “And your helmet since he didn’t bring his.” ...WHAT? “Captain, I suggest you take up a position there.” Ice ordered softly and pointed to where she meant. Still perplexed beyond all measure, the captain complied. A few seconds passed as Ice observed the gathered men and how she had placed them and Rex couldn’t help but shift on his feet, his nerves getting the better of him. With a nod, Ice grabbed her lightsabers and moved to be equidistant from each man. “Gentlemen, set your blasters to stun.” ...W H A T?

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#clone wars #tcw #star wars #star wars: the clone wars #the clone wars #captain rex

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academiaipromise · 4 years

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Hello!

This is a series that was inspired by some stressed-filled Zoom calls that I’ve been having with some underclassmen for both my extracurricular organizations and peer mentoring programs. If you’re still reading this, chances are, you’re either going back to college soon or starting college for the first time in the year that is 2020. While we all are probably focusing on the safety of ourselves and our loved ones (as we arguably should), many incoming freshmen I’ve been talking to are also stressed about college things: emailing professors, study tips, how to balance virtual classes. So, in case you feel like reading a series of tips written by a 4th year undergrad who at least pretends to know what she’s doing, click below to read the first entry.

Tip 1: How to Email Your Professor

Your professor does not know you are. This might sound like I mean it harshly, but I really don’t. This is important to remember because it affects every part of your email etiquette, especially when many of us are returning to virtual classes this fall. This means you need to a) subject your email accordingly and b) introduce yourself in the first line. This is really simple, but so, so critical when it comes to saving your professor a hassle and hopefully creating a relationship with them.

So what goes into introducing yourself? Anything relevant! This is most typically your name and course (+section). Your professor is usually teaching at least two classes, or at least two sections of the same course, and if we’re talking about class sizes upwards of 100+…hopefully you can see why this would be helpful.

Look up your professor’s title. This one can be a tad more difficult, but unfortunately this is also something that can lead to a less than great first impression. I would like to think professors would be more forgiving about most things this semester, but having been a college student in the spring of 2020…yeah. Some really are Like That all the time.

How do you find titles? Check their university bio. A PhD is pretty clear-cut, but sometimes titles like “lecturers” or “associate professor” are a little more difficult to navigate. If they’ve sent an email, check their email signature. If they introduce themselves (in person or over Zoom), write down how they introduce themselves! Most of the time, “Dr.” is a safe bet, and sometimes “Professor”, but it depends on the program of study you’re in, so it’s always good to check.

Maybe most importantly, just remember that your professors are people, who honestly might be just as or even more anxious than you going into this semester. The usual grace period for email replies is 1-2 business days (if it’s time sensitive), but maybe consider your tone in sending a follow-up email. You should always be cognizant of this, but especially in our current situation. The good professors will always want to help you in any way they can, but this does not mean that we’re constantly entitled to their time or energy.

So what can you email about? Pretty much anything not already in the syllabus! You have a question about the course? You’re unsure what source would be appropriate for a paper? You just want to introduce yourself? Go for it! Email anxiety is real and I get that (I got stressed emailing my research advisor of three years a week ago. It’s…you get better at dealing with it, but I’m not sure if that ever really goes away), but most professors are more than happy to clarify something for someone who is making an effort!

Sample Email

Dear Dr. SoAndSo,

My name is Your Student, and I am a student in your ENGL1102 course that meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 11:00AM. I was wondering if the first paper due on September 15th could reference outside texts, or if we were supposed to focus only on the course material?

Thank you so much for your time,

Your Student

—————————–

So that’s it for this first entry! If anyone actually reads this, I’d be happy to do one of these for any question you might have about college - keeping in mind that I attend an SEC university in the United States, so my experience will definitely be different than someone outside the States or at an Ivy. However, I have TA'ed multiple freshman seminars, and will be making this series for the freshmen that I know starting at my school this year anyways, so putting them on this blog is no big deal. I hope this helped a little, and hey, congratulations on starting university! It’s definitely not the year you deserve, but I’m hoping there can still be some great moments.

#studyblr #college tips #university tips #study tips #academia #first year of college #first year advice

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toothpastecanyon · 3 years

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Noie’s Friends, Chapter 1

A collection of oneshots about Noie's years at college.

See most updated version on Archive of Our Own.

______________________________________________________________

Finding out your brother’s a demon was both more and less surprising than Noie expected. She didn’t anticipate how quickly everything would settle back into a routine; before she knew it, she was finding herself going to the tea shop with her friends, and hanging out with Dipper in her dorm whenever Val wasn’t home - or outside if she was. It felt just like before, only with Dipper right there with her instead of chatting through a screen.

Just like before. Just like before.

She never saw his eyes flicker. She never saw his wings. Sometimes he’d excuse himself to the bathroom for an hour, or disappear when Val burst through the door, but any hint that he was something more than Dipper Argenta was always tucked away behind a door, behind a nervous laugh and a change of the subject, out of sight, out of mind. It was surprising, how much he still hid from her.

Noie… didn’t know how to tell him it was okay. Part of her was a little relieved he was still keeping it under wraps; with remembering came old memories, old nightmares of a shadowy figure bursting from her brother and lunging for her, reaching in and ripping out… she’d never tell Dipper how many times she woke up sweating from those.

And then, to have that same shadow in her room, putting his wing around her, being her brother?

Look. Noie so badly wanted to say she’d be okay with it. She wanted more than anything in the world to tell Dipper he didn’t have to pretend to go to the bathroom to answer a summons. And maybe if Dipper hadn’t started pretending again, she’d have gotten used to it by now and it wouldn’t be a problem.

But she didn’t want to be wrong. She didn’t want to say it was okay and then see Alcor and not be okay and… hurt him. She didn’t want to hurt him, okay?

So maybe it was better, like this.

No surprises.

______________________________________________________________

“Boo. Hey, Silver.”

Things were winding down. Gus and Mina had already left the tea shop a while back, Jess had gone to the bathroom, and Mako was on his phone in the corner. The fading sun outside lent a warm, sleepy air to the whole scene; until Bea bumped her shoulder, Noie was feeling about ready to nod off.

“Silver.”

“Yeah?” She rubbed her eyes. “What’s, uh, up?”

“Just got a text from my roommate. AC’s busted.”

“What? Oh…” She looked outside. “Well, at least the sun’s gone down.”

“Nah, he just got home, he says it’s a million degrees in there.” With an enterprising grin, Bea slung an arm around her shoulder. “Lucky I got a friend to take me in for the night, eh?”

“Huh? Me?”

“That would be correct!”

“Wait, I just have one bed-”

“I’ll sleep on the floor. Trust me, I spent my childhood sleeping on elven barkrests, I’ll be fine.”

“Barkrests?”

“Have I never told you about those things?” She chuckled. “That’s a story for tonight. When I’m sleeping at your place. It’s happening, right?”

“Uh… I’ve never had someone stay overnight before.” Noie made a face. “I guess it’d be fine? Yeah… yeah, it’d be fun!”

“That’s the spirit! Now c’mon, let’s get it on!”

They walked out of the tea shop together. Noie nervously pointed the way, and flashed a smile at Bea as she followed along. Bea raised an eyebrow.

“What’s up with you, Silver?”

“Wh-what?”

“You look like I’ve put a gun to your head.” She slowed. “You know I can find somewhere else to stay, ri-”

“No! No, it’s okay! It’s good!”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah, no, I’m excited!” Noie barked a laugh. “I just - I don’t know how this works.”

“What’s ‘this’? Walking? Breathing? Existing?” Bea gave a crooked smile. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”

She laughed again at that… and then trailed off. They walked in silence for a little bit, and at some point the streetlamps turned on. Noie wondered if she wanted to say something more, wanted to mention that this was the first time she’d ever had a sleepover - ever had a friend who’d want to sleep over, actually, and wow, that was kind of sad. That’d bring down the mood.

She thought of that, and then cleared her throat. Opened her mouth.

“Jeez, there’s so many crickets out,” Noie said. “I’ve never actually seen a cricket. I’ve only heard them. They’re like ghosts, heh.”

“Man, you’re not missing out. They’re ugly fuckers - one jumped on my face once.”

“Haha, what?”

“Yeah. Let me tell you, everyone thinks it’s so awesome to be an elf and to be all ‘living with nature’ and shit, but this is what they don’t think about: all animals wanna be around you. All animals.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Silver.”

They walked on for a while, chatting as the sun strayed down. Only a dull glow remained as they made their way to the front door; Noie swiped her keycard, and motioned her inside.

“Thank-ye kindly.” Bea glanced around at the stairs branching off from the entrance hall. “Where do we go now? Up, down?”

“Down this one.”

“Ah, they shoved you in the basement.”

Noie snorted. “It’s not too bad. There’s still a little window. My roommate says- Oh shit, Val!”

“Strange thing she says.”

“I should- I hope she’s okay with this, I should’ve asked her, or…”

“Ah, don’t worry too much about it.” Bea slung an arm around her, kept her walking down the halls. “Best lesson you’ll ever learn, Silver: don’t ask permission, ask forgiveness.”

“That’s not- I don’t like that. I don’t think that’s a great lesson, actually.”

“Well sure, you gotta know to use it in the right context. Isn’t your roomie the one who doesn’t clean up her shit and makes you do it?”

Noie was fumbling for her keys. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“Then she’s been asking for a looot of forgivenesses. Let’s say she owes you this one.”

They were approaching Noie’s room. She fished her key out of her bag, and shot Bea a look as she unlocked it.

“Okay… I’m still gonna text her, though.”

“Good, I wasn’t sayin’ you shouldn’t.” Bea strode through the open door as Noie got out her phone. “Aww, look at this place! I didn’t know they made apartments smaller than mine - oh, hey Val. It’s Val, right?”

Val? Noie glanced up from her phone. She was never home this early - was she here? She hurried into the room after Bea, and came across…

Oh.

Dipper was sitting at her computer, an expression of pure shock on his face at the sight of someone other than her. He was going to be a little harder to explain.

“Or, uh, some other name?” Bea asked, and chuckled awkwardly at the ensuing silence. “Any other name?”

“This is Dipper,” Noie cut in. “He’s my brother.”

“Oh, he’s visiting again? Sweet, it’s great to meet you, man. She’s told me a lot about you.”

Bea gave Dipper an easy smile, but Noie noticed how he didn’t return it at all. It wasn’t shock anymore; a different expression had shadowed his features, one that sent a shiver down her spine.

After just a split second too long, he smiled widely, too widely, and rose from his chair. Stuck out his hand.

“Hello,” he said, and narrowed his eyes when she took his hand. “Went right in for the handshake, huh?”

“Yeah? You offered it to me-”

“Beatrice, right?” He kept shaking. “Beatrice Delion. Nice name you’ve got this time round.”

“Do you know me from somewhere?”

“You could say that.”

“I could say that, I could say anything.” Bea bared her smile. “I asked you a question, though.”

“A question you already knew the answer to.”

“A question you could’ve really just answered like a normal fucking pers- augh!”

“Dipper!” Noie yanked Bea’s hand out of his grip. “What was that for?”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t look at her; he stared past her, to Bea cradling her fingers, with a strange gleam in his eyes Noie could only describe as… predatory. Her heart caught in her throat, and she tried to shove him towards the bathroom.

“Hey, why don’t you, uh, take a breather, bro?” She nudged, then elbowed, then pushed, but he wouldn’t move. “Seems like you two got off on the wrong foot.”

“He got off on the wrong foot, you mean.” Bea chuckled; there was an edge to it. “And here I was thinking you’d be a cool guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Means that you’re acting like an asshole, man! Take notes, that’s how you answer a question!”

“How-”

“Dipper.” Noie grabbed his arm, and finally he looked at her. “Go to the bathroom.”

“Fine. Come with me, I have to-”

“No. You go to the bathroom, okay?”

“Naomi-”

“Go.”

Dipper glared at her, and for one terrifying moment, Noie thought he wasn’t going to leave. Finally, he turned around, and with a low but rumbling growl, he stalked out of the room.

A growl. The sound turned her blood to ice, and she stood there frozen until Bea put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, not to push an issue or anything, but he’s not staying here tonight, right?”

“What? Oh…” Noie hesitated. “No, he, uh… he has a hotel room.”

“Sweet, ‘cause I wasn’t gonna stay a night with him. Prick.”

She cringed. “Bea, I, I’m so sorry. That wasn’t okay of him at all, I-I don’t even know what-”

“Don’t even stress it, Silver. Trust me, I don’t care. I know how to handle his type.”

Noie felt something at that. It came down on her like a dark cloud, a watchful eye… a presence. Bea gave her a squeeze, and grinned.

“Now, let’s do something fun together, eh? What does the great Silver like to do on her time off?”

“O-on my time off?”

“I assume you don’t stand there waiting for the sun to rise, but that’s not for me to judge.”

“Oh, heh, no…” Noie glanced behind her, and then cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t do too much, I’m usually on my computer… I dunno, I read, I guess. What about you?”

“Whaddya read?” Bea sifted through the titles on her shelf. “Heh, ‘Rainbow Adventures of Mr McStabberson’? Where’ve I heard that one before?”

“You’ve probably seen the TV show. Did you know it actually started from a book?”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I actually only read the source material pretty recently.” She sat down in her chair. “It’s interesting, actually. I think they’re both kinda good in different ways? Like there’s definitely more about some of the side characters in the book, like Alexy and-” She blinked. “Oh, sorry, I’m rambling. Have you seen the show?”

“Nope.” Bea leaned against the wall, grinning. “I wanna hear about it, though.”

“Really?”

“Hell yeah. Keep going, Silver.”

Noie smiled at that, and launched back into her explanation. For a little while as she talked, the thought of Dipper’s odd behaviour and the presence had entirely slipped her mind.

“-so it was really cool how they expanded on her character in the book. Obviously books aren’t really strapped for time like TV shows are so I get why they dropped some of the smaller character moments, but I think it’s cool to watch the show again with those in mind.” Noie laughed a little. “If you ever wanted to watch it.”

“Hey, seems like some cool new human shit. Wanna watch it right now?”

“Wh- really? I don’t think I can stream it anymore-”

“It’ll be pirated somewhere.” Bea sat down at her computer. “Seriously, I can’t believe you guys’d pay to watch it when there’s a free version floating out there.”

“I dunno, viruses?” She raised an eyebrow at Bea. “You know where to go, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Cool. Well, I guess, if I really wanted something, I’d ask…”

Dipper. Noie made a face at that; it must have been pretty obvious, because Bea looked over at her and gave a wry smile.

“Your brother’s the tech savvy one, eh?”

“Tech savvy? Uh, sure… you could say that.”

“I see you’re a fan of that phrase too.”

“Wha- oh! Oh, sorry-”

“Ah, don’t you worry about it. I’m teasing you! I’m teasing.” Bea sat back in her chair, chuckling a little as her smile faded. Her eyes, fixed on the computer screen, suddenly flitted up to meet hers. “You said he’s got classes up at SASU, right.”

“Dipper?”

“No, a squirrel. Of course I meant Dipper.”

“Oh, heh, sorry.” Noie fiddled with the front of her shirt; this was getting into some dicey territory. “Yeah, he, uh, takes online courses, mostly?”

“I see, I see.”

“Yeah… so he can come up and visit a lot. That’s why. That’s why he can do that, I mean.”

Bea was nodding. “I see. So he’s here a lot of the time with you, huh.”

There was a strange tension to the air, building the more she spoke. Noie found herself shivering a little, though she wasn’t cold.

“Yeah! Yeah, he is.” She leaned forwards with her widest smile. “So, how are we-”

“Does he act like that a lot?”

A sudden spike. The walls felt closer, and the lights felt starker. Bea’s carefully blank expression suddenly had an air of menace, of danger to it, and Noie leaned back.

“L-like what?”

“You know what.” Bea said, and sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to corner you in anything. I’m just wondering how happy you are with a brother who comes around and acts like that around your friends, y’know?”

Noie felt a pit in her stomach. “Wh- oh, oh no, Bea… you have the wrong idea, okay?”

“Okay.”

“He’s not usually like that, I swear. Like, genuinely, he’s not, I’m gonna talk to him about that later, I…”

“Okay. Seriously, it’s okay. You know your brother better than me.” Bea stretched, slowly, deliberately. “Just wanted to say, you better talk to him about this weird eavesdropping enchantment he’s got going on, too.”

Eavesdropping enchantment. It was like the air froze in place, and Bea gave a wry smile at her wince.

“That’s the one. Bet you barkskin he’ll come through that door any moment-”

The door burst open like an explosion; it made her flinch. She hardly recognised the figure who stormed into the room, pointing fingers, yelling, “I am ņot̶ eavesdropping!”

(and was that the hint of an echo to his voice?)

“I mean, I’d love to agree, but you’re really just proving yourself wrong by barging in-”

“I did not!” He planted himself between Bea and Noie, and stabbed a finger in her face. “I’m here to protect my sister. What are you doing here? What are your intentions?”

Bea raised her eyebrows. “My intentions? Getting somewhere to sleep. Sorry if you were expecting me to say murder, I guess I’m not in the mood.”

“You watch what you’re saying. You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“Oh-hoh, is that a threat?” She chuckled. “Look, human, I get you were top of your magic class in highschool or whatever, but you and your - eh, half -decent - eavesdropping charm aren’t gonna do squat against me.”

Noie could practically see the fury emanating off of her brother. She tried to tug at his sleeve, but it was like he’d stopped paying attention. He was wound up tight, and stone cold to the touch.

“Just walk away, man. Your sister doesn’t want your stupid fucking ‘protection’ bullshit.”

Noie shook her head at her. “Bea-”

“Why don’t you try listening to what she wants?” Bea leaned back in her chair. “You know, if you care about her or whatever.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Noie felt it like a physical pain; she recoiled as Dipper stepped forwards.

“I car͜e ab̛o̵u͝t my̢ si̡şt̷er.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why don’t you prove i-”

And in the blink of an eye, Alcor the Dreambender had her by the throat. Noie watched in horror as his shadowy form snarled and slammed her against the wall so hard it cracked; in a millisecond Bea’s face went from shock to anger to eyes-bugged-out terror.

“M̞͈I̛͕̤̟̹̞Z͎̠A̳̭̪͙͖Ŗ̸̩̮̤͈̭͈ ҉҉̼̺͙̰I̞͔͍͚͕͕͢S̸̞̤͙̜̖͝ ̺̗̘M̥̥͈̬͓͟I͏̤̮N̪͈̺̥̗̘͘͟ͅͅE. M̶̸̦̹͖̜̣̳̤͘ͅI̧̛̼̟͉̞N̴̜͢E. ” He pressed harder, and she struggled for air. “Ḭ̸̺̺̫̟̦̲͇͉ ̥͇̯̣͕S͝͏͓̼E̻̺̲̼E̢̻ ҉̨͚̞̖W̖̘͝Ḩ̢̭̙̰̼̺̮̜A̩͚͓͉͔̤ͅͅT͖͖̩ ̞̗̭̰͓̫̰͍͠Y̳̙͝O̧̨͕͙͕͇͝ͅU̮̺̰͟ͅ'̥̪̣͙R̘̙͇̼ͅE̛͇ ̲͖D͇̖Ǫ͇̮̳̭̫̖͔̼̕I̦͙̫̭̭̯N̶̥̳̖̤̬̱͈͝G̳̳̩̝͠, ̴͇͉͇͖̼͍̰̠̕B̸I̢L̺̰͟Ļ͇͔̺͔̘̝ͅ Ç̬̗̤͕̜I̶̛͖̗̝͙P̸̛̭͔̖͓͎͍͎̦̤͡H̛͚̦̻͉̦͇͝E̲̤̹͓͠R̤̺̬̳̭. I҉̶̲̼ͅ ̝̖͠Ṣ̴̩̩̲͜͞ͅE͏͏̸͓̥͙̲̟̮̤̙͓E̝͠ ҉͈̱Y̧̫̳͖͙͔O̵̩̤̲U͉̬̣̺'̜̼̹͘͟R̘̠̻͡͠E̵̖͇̣̠̦̩̹̹̻̠̫̥͝ͅͅ T͕R͖̩͓̘̪̙͞͞ͅY̡͉̳͖̙͔̺̬̫͟I̴̘̞̮͜͠N̶͓G͙͉̼͎̰͕͘͟ ͞͝͏̖T̷̛͕̞̰̟̥̥͖͍O͚̙̰̞̟̙͡ ̙̫͍̜͓ T̛̻̲̭U̧͇̣̻̭̠ͅR̟̖͠ͅN̞͚̠̝͙͚̠̼ ̵̛̫̗̗͕͜H̴̷̛̱̖̥̤̼̲̤E̩̰͉̪̠͟ͅŖ̻̗̻͔͡ͅ ̱̖A̵̫̻̘̭͕̘̩͢G̤A҉̳͈I̧̤͍̹̰̖̩̩͙͠N̼S̨̘̩̪̜͎̖̭T͙͚ ̷͠͏̩̱̖̳M̸̡̞̻̥͎͓͙E̶̫͕̘!̘̹̘͢”

Noie could barely comprehend what she was seeing. Bea shot her a terrified look and she tried to speak up… but nothing came out. She tried again.

“Di… Dipper…”

Bea was going red in the face. Noie picked up something from the desk - her phone.

“Dipper, stop. Dipper.” She clenched it with a shaking fist, “Dipper, STOP!”

And threw it as hard as she could at the back of his head. It shattered off of his shoulder, and he looked to her with the glowing eyes she saw in her nightmares - oh, stars, oh stars, oh stars…

“Y-you’re killing her, Dipper. You’re killing her!” Noie struggled to look him in the eye. “She didn’t do anything wrong, I-I don’t know why you’re acting this way! Just let her go!”

“Mi̶̛͜za̴r-”

“Please! Please, j-just let her go.”

Alcor the Dreambender stood there for one moment longer, one awful moment longer with the sound of Bea kicking against the wall as she struggled for air. Then he blinked, and stepped back. He let her crumple to the ground, and Noie could feel his eyes on her as she dove to her friend’s side.

“Bea, I-I’m so sorry, are you okay!?”

She tried to rasp out some answer, but it was lost in a coughing fit.

“Oh, my stars. Oh my stars.” Noie felt for her phone. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna call for someone-”

“No…” Bea put her hand out. “I…” she managed, and coughed as she sat up. “I’ll be…”

“No, lie down-”

“Like hell I’m ly-y-ing here.” She pushed Noie aside and staggered to her feet. “Not with…”

She pointed at Alcor as she made for the door. Noie could hardly look at him; he stood still as she followed Bea out of the room.

“Hey, wait! Bea!”

Bea glanced over at her. “You tryin’ to wake up the whole wing, or what?”

“Wh- I…”

“Look, Si- Silv-” She coughed and rubbed her neck. “I don’t know what kinda shit you’re mixed up in, but… we’ll talk later, okay? I gotta find somewhere else to stay tonight.”

“I-”

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not dumb enough to piss off Alcor the Dreambender… more than I already have, apparently. Fuuck.”

“That’s not what I was…” She stepped forwards. “I’m sorry, Bea, I-I didn’t… I… I can explain-”

“We’ll talk later. Just-” Bea held her hands out. “We’ll talk later, okay? Bye.”

And then she turned a corner and was gone, her footsteps thudding in Noie’s mind like the beat of her heart. She stood there for a moment, eyes staring, mind buzzing, every fiber of her being wishing for this to have all been a dream, for this to have turned out any other way.

Her first night over, with her first real friend, and this happened.

She clenched her fists.

Dipper.

His presence was still there, still watching. She wanted to scream right then and there; it took all her effort to take a deep breath, walk back down the hall, and enter her dorm room.

It was empty. And dark - darker than plain darkness. She jabbed the light switch.

“Dipper.” Noie walked forwards. “We have to talk. Now.”

Nothing, for a moment. She opened her mouth to say something else, but-

“I-I’m here,” Dipper came in through the front door. He looked entirely human again - human, and nervous. “So, uh-”

“What the fuck was that.”

“Yeah… That wasn’t, um, great of me-.”

“‘Wasn’t great of you’, that’s all you’re gonna say for that? Jeez, I don’t wanna hear what a bad day is for you if that is just ‘not great.’” She laughed angrily. “I mean, what the fuck, Dipper! You strangled her!”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hear about how you know, I wanna know what on earth possessed you to do that! Is that just a thing you do? Are you gonna kill all my friends, or is Bea just lucky?”

“It’s- I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” Dipper avoided his eyes. “I just… got surprised.”

“Got sup-?!”

“No! No, that’s- that’s a bad way of explaining it! Sorry. Sorry, it’s just…” His voice lowered. “a demon thing, I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to, want to hear about, uh, that kinda stuff…”

Noie felt a cold pit in her stomach as he trailed off. A demon thing… her mind flashed back to all the other times that part of her brother had come into play, had hurt people… had killed . Maybe it wasn’t like she was thinking.

“Just tell me why, Dipper.”

“It… it is your friend. You’re right, she’s special, kinda.” He gave a tense chuckle. “Look, um, it’s hard to explain, but her soul, she came in the door and I recognised it.” His fists clenched. “It… belonged to a bad person, a long time ago.”

She frowned. “Dipper, Bea’s been nothing but nice to me since we met. She’s not a bad person-”

“You’re right, she’s probably not! I overreacted, I just- I wasn’t expecting to come across that soul! Usually I can… prepare, to meet that one.” He stared into the middle distance. “An elf, this time around. Strong control of magic, clearly trained in shielding… no wonder I didn’t notice her.” A grimace. “I really hope she’s a good person this time around, that’s… formidable. Have to keep my eye on her.”

Noie made a face. “Dipper…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m doing it again.” He sighed. “Look, I really am sorry for what I… what I did to your friend. I swear, though, that was a very, very unexpected event. You’re not gonna see me like that again.”

That was a little reassuring… but a sentence jumped out at Noie. She raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, see you like that?”

“Well… you know.” He mimed something coming out of his back. ‘Like that, you know. My, uh, business attire.”

“Your demon form?” She watched him cringe at that. “You think that’s what bothered me about what happened?”

“Well, not the main thing, but I know… I know it does.”

Noie blinked. “It doesn’t.”

“It’s okay if it does-”

“It doesn’t!” She snapped. “We’ve been over this, I get you’re a demon! What kind of sister would I be if I decided that made me uncomfortable?”

He just looked at her.

“Dipper, it doesn’t! It…” Noie swallowed. “I don’t want you to be scared of sharing stuff like this with me! I don’t want you to hide it, I… I think it makes it scarier. When I don’t know things about you.”

He just looked at her, with that ancient expression. A million alarm bells went off at the being who stood before her; she tried to talk past them, tried to talk to Dipper.

“Because there’s so much I don’t know about you. There’s so much you don’t tell me about you, and I get that it’s probably hard, that you think I don’t want to hear it, but then…” She gestured. “Stuff like this happens, and I don’t know how to react! I don’t know why you’re doing it, I don’t know how to help you… I-I don’t know you, all of a sudden! You’re just a demon, doing demon stuff, a-and that’s scary!”

Noie’s shoulders hurt; she forced them down, forced herself to close her eyes, and take a deep breath. She looked at the floor.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be scared of you, Dipper. I’m sorry that I still… kinda am.” She hugged herself. “I just… I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Dipper didn’t say anything, for a long moment. She stood there, staring down, down at the carpet.

“Noie.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, could hardly bring herself to look higher than his shoes.

Dress shoes, she noticed. Black ones, and black pants. She drew in a breath.

“Noie,” Alcor said. “Do you want a hug?”

She hesitated, and then nodded. The shoes moved, and a second later, a pair of arms wrapped around her. They were longer than Dipper’s usually were, attached to a body taller than Dipper usually was… but they were just as gentle, squeezed just as hard.

She pressed her face into his suit, and mumbled, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I mean it.” She gave him a squeeze. “I wanna be better about this demon stuff. I don’t want you to feel like you gotta hide stuff from me, I wanna know my bro. Even if it gets weird at times.”

“I’m not so sure you want to know everything, Noie.”

“Well… I wanna know important stuff. I wanna know if you have any more souls you randomly hate, for one.” She tried for a chuckle. “I guess… I wanna know what you’d tell any other Mizar. I don’t wanna get the kid gloves, you know?”

Dipper didn’t answer that. For a moment, Noie thought he wasn’t going to, but then she felt a pair of something that wasn’t hands wrap around her midsection. It felt like two weirdly warm blankets, it was… wings?

Oh, yeah. His wings. The feeling of them still made her a little jittery, but she gave a little laugh.

“Yeah,” she said. “Stuff like that.”

“Heh, alright.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

Dipper chuckled. “No.”

“You big jerk!” She snorted and smacked his arm. “You did that to make me jump, didn’t you!”

“Maybe a little.”

“Ohhh, my stars.” Noie grinned up at his toothy smile, his twinkling gold-on-black eyes. It was different, but it was Dipper. “I’ll get you back for this. I’m gonna dump glitter on your wings.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll catch you when we’re studying, or - no, I’m not gonna tell you when I do it. You just wait.”

“Hah, I will. I’d like to see you try.” Dipper said, and then: “Hmm, not sure if I can even start having my wings out while we study. I mean, you still have your roommate coming in at random, and-”

“Yo No-ster, I’m home!” Val burst through the door with a pizza box. “Do you know math? I have this stupid thing due at 11:59 and-”

She noticed the demon standing in the centre of the room, and stopped dead. Noie tried for a wave.

“Oh, hi, Val! You’re back, uh, early… have you met Dipper? He’s a, uh, cosplayer. Twin Souls.”

“No, I am not. Noie-”

“Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything else- Uh, haha, anyway, he’s…” She kept grinning at Val’s horrified expression. “It’s, uh… so, what pizza did you get? Pepperoni? Mmm, smells great!”

______________________________________________________________

“So they just let you move in, huh?”

Dipper was hanging suits in what used to be Val’s side of the closet. “Yeah, basically. It was even easier than usual, since Dipper Argenta already exists - only had to forge a few things.”

“Only a few things, huh.” Noie snorted at him from atop her bed. “As you do.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She grinned at him. “Good to share a room with you again, bro. I missed it… or maybe I just missed not living with Val, hah!”

Dipper chuckled at that, and turned back to folding his clothes. His wings swayed a little as he worked, and she found herself staring at them. They were strange things; every time she saw them, they were a little different, and today they were wide and sloping things that framed his head when they were folded up against his back. There was always a tinge of unreality to them - a voidlike, blacker-than-black colour to them that made it impossible to pick out any detail, made looking at them… a little mesmerising.

“Need something?”

Noie blinked. “Uh, no,” she said, and tore her gaze away. “No, you’re good.”

“Alright, then.” Dipper snuck her a grin. “This is kinda, kinda fun, hanging up clothes! I should do this more often!”

Her phone buzzed. She looked down.

“Well, you can do my closet, uh, any time, bro…” She unlocked it. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Bea got back to me!”

“Oh, cool! She’s outside, then?”

“Yeah!” Noie looked at the text. “It says… ‘I’m here, can’t wait to hear how the fuck you got a demon for a brother. PS…”

“P.S. what?”

“She’s saying not to tell you this joke.”

Dipper frowned. “What does it say?”

“Uh… ‘P.S. - make sure your brother clips his nails before he gets down here, would feel much nicer on the neck. P.P.S - That was a joke, please don’t actually tell him that, I don’t want to die.’”

She looked up after that, and sniggered when her brother rolled his eyes.

“I’m not gonna kill her over a bad joke.”

“It’s not a bad joke, she just got you.”

“She did not! She-” He huffed and fluttered his wings. “Whatever, let’s go.”

“Yeah, she got you, bro! Look, you’re blushing!”

“I’m not!”

“iiiiii’m nooooot!”

“I’m not!” He shook his head at her. “Are you ready? She’s waiting outside.”

“I just gotta get my shoes on.” Noie hopped off the bed and… tried to poke his wing; she ended up just gesturing at it. “I dunno why you’re, uh, getting on my case, you’re way less ready.”

“It takes five seconds to put on a human suit. Look,” There was a snap as Noie put on her shoes. “Noie, look. Noie.”

“I’m looking, I’m looking.” She shoved her feet into sneakers and looked over. “You missed a spot.”

“Where?”

“Riiiight abouuuut…” She jabbed his side. “Here!”

“Aaah! St-stop tickling me, hah! Noie!”

“Alright, alright…” She stopped, and took a moment to straighten his suit. He was looking at her with those familiar brown eyes she was seeing less of these days; after a moment, she remembered to smile back. “Alright. You ready to do a lot of explaining?”

“Readier than I usually am with stuff like this.” He snorted to himself. “You, uh, want me to tesser you down there? I can do that, it’ll be faster than taking the stairs.”

Noie hesitated at that. He noticed; quickly, he added:

“We don’t have to. Just, uh, offering.”

“No, that’s good, that’s… my phone’s buzzing.” Noie pulled it out. “Bea says, um, ‘I’m summoning your brother myself if you make me wait. Maybe I’ll die, but I wanna hear the storyyyyy-’, and a lot of y’s.” She looked back at Dipper, and gave a smile. “Maybe we should go the fast way.”

“Alright.” He offered a hand, and she took it, watched as his eyes flickered to that gold-on-black. “Hold on tight.”

And she did. She closed her eyes, squeezed her brother’s hand, and let him work his magic.

#transcendence au #Noie's Brother #naomi argenta #alcor the dreambender #dipper #oneshot #toothwrites

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