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seanfalco · 3 years

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Common Stupid Thieves

Sean Falco x Reader // Platonic!Derek & Reader

Prompt: I would like to request a Sean fic where the reader is a fellow criminal who’s in on the valet scam (or another scam of your invention). I think it would be hot to drive around in fast cars doing mischief with him. Hehe 😎 💕 Please and thank you! You’re the best! Requested by: @badsext Warning(s): Language, Recreational Drug Use, Criminal activities, Infidelity Word Count: 3.5k

a/n: Aaaaaa, I was so excited when I got this prompt because I’ve been wanting to write something with a fellow criminal reader for a while now, but just didn’t know what I wanted to do, but this gave me the perfect excuse to think about it more. There will be two parts.

01. |

“Hey dog!” Derek greeted, joining Sean at the valet podium, a wide grin on his face as he sidled up next to his friend.

“Hey, man,” Sean replied, rubbing his hands together against the cold, his breath misting in the brisk night air. Autumn had already descended on Portland and the nights were swiftly growing colder as the leaves turned colour.

“What?” Sean asked, recognizing the pensive look on his friend’s face as if he had something to say and Derek held his hands up in innocence.

“Nothin’ bro,” he exclaimed, chuckling slightly, but Sean merely arched a thick brow at him until Derek finally cracked. “Okay, okay. Actually, I have somethin’ I wanted to run by you.”

“See, I knew it,” Sean laughed, his head falling back in amusement, his gaze taking in the starts overhead for a brief moment before refocusing on his friend and business partner.

“Yeah, yeah, you know me too well,” Derek muttered before jumping into his story. “Look, I got this friend, okay, and she needs a job…” he began, Sean cutting him off.

“No. No fuckin’ way.”

“What, no man, c’mon—” Derek argued.

“No, you come on!” We’d have t’start splittin’ th’tips three ways when business is already slow. Besides, what about our little side venture? How are we gunna keep that a secret?” he exclaimed, his voice dropping to a rushed whisper. “How do we know we can trust this person? I don’t like it, man,” he said, shaking his head.

“Aw no, man, she can be trusted,” Derek insisted, pulling Sean aside, away from the valet stand. “I’ve known [y/n] since we were kids. She’s good people and she ain’t no snitch. She could be a real asset, dog.”

Sean heaved a breath, deliberating. He trusted Derek, and if Derek trusted this [y/n] enough to vouch for her, then Sean would give her the benefit of the doubt. He just hoped it wouldn’t bite them in the arse later.

“...Alright,” he sighed, turning his face toward his friend.

“What, really?” Derek asked excitedly, his grin returning, brightening his face. “Oh man, you are not gunna regret this! Just think of how many more places we can hit a night with a three man crew! It’s gunna be great.”

“Yeah, so you keep tellin’ me,” Sean laughed, rolling his eyes as a car pulled up to the curb.

“Hey Sean, can you take this one? I wanna call [y/n] and tell her the good news,” Derek exclaimed, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

“Yeah, alright,” Sean called over his shoulder.

“You’re gunna love her, man!”

——

It was your first night valeting at Nino’s, Derek really having come through for you on the job thing, your last one didn’t really pan out, but at least this one seemed like it’d be easy enough, from what he’d told you.

Shoving your hands in your coat pockets against the cold, you approached the valet podium at the curb, your friend nowhere to be seen. Instead, a tall slender man with a mop of unruly dark curls stood guard out front, shifting from foot to foot as he looked down at his phone, a small smile lingering on his lips.

Sensing your presence, he gave a start, quickly pocketing his phone and flashing you a proper smile. “Hello, welcome t’Nin-ohh,” he cut off, realizing you weren’t a customer, taking in your identical white dress shirt and green jacket.

“Hey,” you greeted, offering him a sheepish grin.

“You must be [y/n],” he guessed, taking your hand to shake firmly.

“That’s me,” you replied, gripping his hand just as firmly, meeting his moss green eyes. “And you must be Sean.”

“[y/n]! Hey, you’re here!” Derek called as he approached, cutting Sean off before he could respond. “Looks like you two already got acquainted.”

“Yep, we uhm, we met,” you murmured, feeling Sean’s eyes on you as you turned to Derek.

“Awesome,” Derek exclaimed, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “This is gunna be great!”

It wasn’t long before your first customer drove up and Derek had Sean show you where the valet lot was around the block.

“See? Easy peasy,” Sean exclaimed as you parked the car.

“Easy peasy,” you agreed, wondering if you should bring up the questions you had about the other part of the job.

“The next local customer we get, we’ll go together and I’ll show you th’ropes,” he said, sensing your unvoiced questions.

“Alright,” you nodded, following suit as he got out of the car.

Walking back to the front of the restaurant, you buzzed with excitement, and instead, a different question sprung to your lips.

“So, how long have you known Derek?”

Sean’s brows furrowed in thought. “Since my family moved to th’area, about seven years ago.”

“Where were you from originally?” you asked, unable to quite keep your eyes from returning to his distractingly handsome face.

“Originally, Dublin,” he chuckled — that explained the accent — “but when my dad split, my mum and I moved to th’states. Then when she married my stepdad he decided to move us all across th’country t’start a construction company out here that went belly up in less than a year,” he scoffed, glancing over at you.

“What about you? How long have you known Derek?” he countered.

“Since middle school,” you answered, grinning as you remembered all the shenanigans the pair of you had gotten into — it seemed you were soon to continue that legacy, though this time you really didn’t wanna get caught.

“There you guys are, took you long enough!” Derek exclaimed.

“Oh ha ha,” you muttered, shoving his shoulder lightly as you joined him behind the valet stand, standing near the tall glass encased heater to banish the chill that had taken hold as you walked back from the parking lot.

“Sean has a girlfriend, by the way, so no funny business, [y/n],” he whispered, noticing the way your gaze kept seeking the handsome Irishman out.

“Yeah, so?” you snorted softly, so Sean wouldn’t overhear, only for Derek to jab you in the ribs with his elbow.

“I mean it, [y/n], don’t meddle,” he hissed, all traces of levity gone from his face.

Rolling your eyes, you huffed an indignant sigh. “Yeah, yeah. But if he makes a move on me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist,” you teased, only half serious. Anyone who turned that down, girlfriend or no, would be a bloody fool.

“Yeah, like that would happen,” Derek snorted and your mouth fell open.

“Gee thanks,” you scoffed indignantly, a little hurt that your friend didn’t think you had a chance.

“[y/n], don’t be like that,” he laughed, nudging you again, this time playfully. “Riley’s a good girl and Sean’s head over heels for her.”

“Good for her,” you muttered, turning away to check your phone, trying not to sound too jealous.

To pass the time between customers, you recounted stories to Sean of yours and Derek’s teenage years, Derek cutting in every now and then to correct you, or deny his involvement; joking around. Every time you managed to make Sean laugh, you counted it as a win.

Before long, a flashy SUV pulled up and Sean climbed into the driver’s seat as the couple handed him the keys before heading into the restaurant, leaving their vehicle in your capable hands.

“Looks like their place is only a couple blocks away,” Sean announced, poking through their built-in GPS and you shared a grin, quickly jumping into the passenger seat.

“We’ll be right back,” he exclaimed, winking at Derek.

“Uh huh, don’t have too much fun now,” Derek teased back, flashing a wide grin at the pair of you.

For a moment, as he accelerated, the motor revving to life, you were reminded of the scene in Ferris Bueller when the two valets flew over the hill in his friend’s dad’s car to the Star Wars theme, taking it for a little joy ride.

“Okay, so, some ground rules so we don’t get caught,” Sean began, pulling you from your thoughts and you turned to give him your full attention. “One, no stealin’ anything from the vehicles themselves, pretty self explanatory. They notice anythin’ missin’ from here, it’s the easiest thing t’tie back to us,” he explained.

“Got it. What’s two?” you asked with a nod.

“Two, we only go t’houses that are in th’neighborhood. We can’t afford a long drive if we wanna make it back before their meal’s done. Get in, get out, quickly.”

“Simple enough, you agreed.

“And three,” Sean said as he pulled into the couple’s driveway, using their garage door opener as your way in— “only take things they won’t notice, or at least not right away.”

“Okay, like jewelry, small electronics, cash… gotcha,” you murmured, unbuckling. “What if they have an alarm system?”

“Then we turn around and go back. The goal is t’not get caught. There’ll be other houses, other opportunities. Don’t get greedy.”

Nodding, you got out and tried the door to the house, finding it unlocked, though you weren’t all that surprised, most people didn’t usually lock the door inside their garage — what’s the point when your garage door’s shut tight?

“I’m in,” you announced as the door swung open, managing to pull an amused snort from your curly haired partner.

“C’mon, let’s see what goodies are waitin’ for us,” he said, bobbing his eyebrows at you before rushing up the stairs ahead of you and into the house.

“Damn, these people are loaded,” you murmured in awe, trailing behind Sean and letting your gaze travel their living room. The flat screen hanging over the mantle would’ve completely dwarfed your tiny apartment.

“Yeah, most of th’people that come t’Nino’s are,” Sean murmured, setting to work, sweeping the place for valuables.

Sneaking into their bedroom, you hit the jackpot as you threw open the door to their walk in closet. ”What d’you think?” you asked, turning to Sean as you pulled a skimpy black negligee from the rack and held it in front of your body.

For a moment Sean’s mouth worked silently, his face turning pink before your eyes and you couldn’t help the pleased grin that stole across your lips, wondering if he was imagining you in it.

“Lady’s got good taste,” he said, clearing his throat before awkwardly pointing toward the vanity. “Let’s, uh, look in there,” he suggested and you snorted, hanging the outfit back up and following him over.

“Did I fluster you?” you asked, smirking at him out of the corner of your eye as you picked through the jewelry that looked least worn.

“No,” Sean exclaimed quickly, avoiding your gaze, though it seemed like his face flushed deeper, even in the dim light. “I’m gunna go check out the bathroom,” he announced suddenly, hurrying off and you fought back a laugh, though you wished he’d flirt back a little.

Getting back to work, you snagged a pair of expensive designer shoes and a large handbag — it would fetch a pretty good price on ebay. Stuffing the heels and the necklaces into the purse, you met back up with Sean in the kitchen.

“You find anything?” you asked and Sean held up a sliver watch as well as a handful of loose change. “Pocket change?” you exclaimed, fighting back a laugh. “And here I thought you were a hardened criminal, Sean Falco.”

Sean rolled his eyes, slipping the change into his pocket. “I wouldn’t say hardened, I just wanna make things a little easier on my bank account. Bein’ a starvin’ artist ain’t as glamorous as it seems,” he snorted sarcastically, heading back toward the garage as he checked his phone, Derek texting to let you know you were in the clear yet.

“You’re an artist?” you asked curiously, climbing back into the borrowed SUV and Sean opened the garage door, backing out into the street.

“Photographer,” he clarified, his eyes flicking over to you.

“Really? What do you take pictures of?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything,” he replied, smiling to himself. “People, places, anything that catches my eye. I like things with personality,” he explained.

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” you mused.

“Yeah, course,” Sean exclaimed, clearing his throat quickly and returning his eyes to the road, though you could have sworn a dusting of pink had returned to his cheeks as the light from a streetlamp lit up his face.

“Bet your girlfriend likes being your model,” you ventured quietly after a long moment, wanting to see how he reacted.

“No, actually—” Sean began before frowning. “How did you know I have a girlfriend?”

“Derek told me.”

“Oh, right,” he said, shaking his head slightly, his lips twitching downward.

“What does she do?” you asked, unable to curb your curiosity.

“She’s a business major.”

“Ah,” you replied shortly and Sean glanced at you curiously.

“What’s that s’posed t’mean?” he asked, amusement tinging his voice.

“Nothin’,” you teased, grinning over at him. “Just sounds boring to me,” you answered honestly. How much do you even have in common? you wondered, not voicing that query.

“Honestly… kinda,” Sean chuckled, rolling his shoulders.

“Doesn’t she know about… this?” you asked hesitantly, gesturing to the stolen items at your feet.

“This?” Sean yelped incredulously, turning back into the valet lot. “No, she doesn’t know about this,” he answered tensely.

“So… what now?” you asked, sensing Sean’s discomfort at your question and quickly changing the subject.

“Now… now we stow the stuff in our cars and go meet back up with Derek.”

“So, how did baby’s first run go?” your friend asked cheekily when you returned, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement, wearing a shit eating grin as he dodged your punch aimed at his bicep.

“She did good,” Sean answered before you could, and the compliment took you by surprise, filling your face with warmth.

“See, what I tell you?” Derek exclaimed.

——

Before you knew it a couple months had flown by and you were making runs by yourself now; you, Sean, and Derek doing fairly well for yourselves with your little side business. Sure, there were nights when you came back nearly empty handed, but it beat not working at all, and the money from the valet stand was enough to get by on. Besides, the best part was getting to hang out with your friends every night. During that time, you’d grown rather close to Sean, the two of you beginning to spend more time together outside of work.

“You really need to find a new place,” you laughed as you plopped down at one of the plastic chairs flanking Sean’s tiny table.

“Wha—? What’s wrong with it?” Sean exclaimed, feigning offense as he took the chair across from you and passing you the lit joint between his fingers, his lips twitching into a bemused grin as he watched you.

“What’s wrong with it?” you cried, teasingly, gesturing with your arm toward the wall nearest you. “There’s fuckin’ holes in your walls!”

“Hey, I patched… most of ‘em!” he countered. “You’ve gotta admit, it’s got character!”

“Is that what you call it?” you cackled, breaking into laughter as you waved the smoke from your face. “I suppose it does suit your starving artist aesthetic,” you teased, glancing at him coyly, feeling your cheeks warm as he shared your grin, his long fingers brushing yours as he stole the joint back.

Unable to look away as he brought the joint to his lips and inhaled deeply, your thoughts spiraled, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him as silence fell over the cramped flat.

“So… I have somethin’ I need to confess,” Sean spoke up, jolting you from your thoughts and you quickly tore your eyes from his mouth. “I was a little worried when Derek suggested bringin’ you onto th’team,” he admitted, not quite meeting your eyes. “But honestly, it’s been one of th’best things we’ve done,” he said, flicking the line of ash from the end of the dwindling joint.

“Oh yeah?” you asked, arching a curious brow at him. “Why were you worried? Thought I’d be a liability?” you half teased.

“Yeah, kinda,” Sean answered sheepishly, causing you to snort, laughter bubbling from your lips to lighten the room.

“Can’t say I blame you,” you admitted, taking another hit as he offered it to you. “Did Derek ever tell you why he trusts me so much?” you asked, glancing over to catch Sean’s eye.

“He didn’t, but I figured there had t’be a reason for his unwavering confidence though,” he said, his words making you smile.

“When we were in middle school,” you begin, settling in to recount your story, leaning back against the wall behind you. “Derek and I weren’t bad kids, per se, I mean, not like his brothers, but we did get into trouble from time to time. There was one day, we were graffiting the side of a rail car down by the tracks, y’know, just a little harmless vandalism,” you said, your lips curling wryly.

“Well, apparently there was a cop nearby and he caught sight of us. So we threw our spray cans down and made a break for it. We probably would’ve gotten away but I tripped over one of the tracks, and busted my knee open,” you explained, shaking your head. “I told Derek to go on without me cause we had some stolen shit in our pockets from earlier and I didn’t want him t’get in trouble for it too.”

“What happened?” Sean asked.

“He didn’t like it, but Derek took off like I told him to and I let the cop catch up to me so he’d have a chance to get away.”

“But he’d seen Derek?”

“Yeah, from a distance, but I just kept denying there was anyone else with me, so there wasn’t really anything they could do about it,” you shrugged.

“You took th’fall and kept him outta juvie?”

“Mhmm.”

“No wonder Derek trusts you,” he murmured, awe in his voice.

“I don’t rat on my friends,” you said simply, crushing the rest of the blunt out in the ashtray between you.

Sean nodded before you heard his stomach growl loudly. “Oh shit, I’m starvin’,” he groaned, holding his belly as you descended into laughter, holding your own gut. “You want somethin’? I think I have some frozen chicken strips or somethin’ in here,” he mused, getting up to check the icebox.

Following him over to the tiny kitchen, you peered in the freezer with him. “Chicken strips sound bomb.”

“Grand,” Sean chuckled, pulling the bag out and dumping the contents onto an oven sheet while you turned on the oven and leaned against the counter next to him.

“So… where’s Riley?” you asked, reluctant to bring her up, but it hadn’t escaped your attention that she hadn’t been around much lately.

“Oh, she’s busy with classwork,” he replied, turning to lean against the counter next to you. “I think she has some big midterm project she’s workin’ on. Why?”

“I just thought it was weird you hadn’t been hanging out much,” you explained, carefully, realizing how close you were. “But I’m not complainin’,” you murmured, your hand inching closer to touch his. “I like spending time with you…”

“I like spendin’ time with you too, [y/n],” Sean mused, slowly leaning closer, as if a spell had fallen over the pair of you, til his breath fanned across your lips moments before they pressed chastely to yours.

Not fighting it, you tangled your fingers in his jumper, pulling him closer as you kissed him back and to your delight his lips moved against yours with a soft moan and you felt the edge of the counter bite into your back. It was as if all the tension between you had finally come to a head—every coy little glance and furtive touch, all the inside jokes and nights spent texting late into the morning hours were finally leading where you’d hoped.

Moaning in turn as your tongue sought his, Sean suddenly tensed, the bubble bursting as he pulled away. “What are we doin’?” he exclaimed breathlessly, running his hands through his hair. “I can’t do this—“

“Why not?” you asked desperately, though you already knew the answer. “Sean, I-I really like you, and I think you feel the same way, that kiss obviously proved that—“

“I—” Sean hesitated, his face clearly conflicted. “—but Riley,” he exclaimed, shaking his head, his curls shivering. “I love her, I can’t do this t’her.”

“You can’t even be honest with her!” you cried, the words bursting from you, unable to hold them back any longer. “You’re afraid to tell her about what you do because you know she’d judge you for it!”

For a moment Sean blinked at you, his mouth hanging open as if unable to come up with an argument. “You… you don’t know anything about it,” he snapped finally, setting his face. “I think you should probably leave, [y/n].”

His words felt like a slap to the face and you staggered backward. “Y-yeah… I’ll—” The hushed words died on your tongue and you stumbled toward the door, looking back at him as you stepped out into the blinding daylight outside. Sean wouldn’t even look at you.

Had you just fucked up beyond repair?

------------------

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#sean falco #sean falco x reader #bad samaritan #bad samaritan fic #derek sandoval #robert sheehan character fic #robert sheehan #my writing #prompt request #badsext

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lokiondisneyplus · 3 years

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Every Marvel Cinematic Universe TV series to date has had its own distinct look and feel, from the sitcom-derived pastiche episodes of WandaVision all the way back to the grim-and-gritty, dimly lit street narratives of Jessica Jones and Daredevil. Marvel’s Loki has been one of the MCU’s more distinctive-looking series, though, from the dimly lit, industrial-brown corridors of Time Variance Authority HQ to the vivid neon city of Sharoo on the doomed moon Lamentis-1.

Series director Kate Herron confirms that some of these designs were directly inspired by classic science fiction, while others were more personal experimentation. We sat down with Loki’s cinematographer, Autumn Durald Arkapaw, to break down what went into designing some of the most striking and memorable sequences from the series’ first three episodes.

This interview has been edited for concision and clarity.

EPISODE 1: TIME THEATER INTERROGATIONS

Autumn Durald Arkapaw: Kate [Herron]’s sensibilities led me to get the job in the first place. We shared those sensibilities, around noir films and more moody thrillers, so we were already on the same page as far as lighting and tone. So when it came to the Time Theater, Kasra [Farahani], the production designer, did a fantastic job of creating a space that had a lot of opportunity to feel textural and moody, and create symmetry. I’m big on symmetry. I like to frame center-punched, keeping in mind the architecture of the room, and framing for the architecture and the people at the same time. Stanley Kubrick does that very well. A Clockwork Orange obviously came up in our discussions. Some of our main references were David Fincher’s Zodiac and Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, and the original Blade Runner, in terms of creating spaces that feel strong and weighted, with the people in them placed in a way where the conversation feels very heavy, so you’re paying a lot of attention to the lines, and where your eyes are drawn.

We did some lighting changes above, in the Brutalist ceiling. The lights move, so when we’re cutting back and forth, you see the lights change on the actors. We’re trying to time those movements to the dialogue. The editing was fantastic with that scene. We shot a good amount of coverage, and [series stars Tom Hiddleston as Loki and Owen Wilson as Mobius] play in that space a lot. So we’re trying to always keep it interesting, every time they go back there, changing up the lighting and the projections. That’s probably one of my favorite spaces in the show.

And then the acting, obviously — they’re riffing off each other, and you’re in the room with them and feeling the energy. It was very exciting. That scene was up front in our schedule, so Owen and Tom were getting to know each other in general. We got to watch that happen before our eyes, and it was very comical.

One of the most noticable things about that space is the harsh, rectangular overhead spotlights — Tom Hiddleston starts his interrogation under a spotlight, and when he gets angry, he moves himself back under it. How did you discuss that kind of blocking and framing?

The thing with Tom is, he’s a genius. He’s just a fantastic actor, The amount of things I could say about how amazing he is on set, and character-wise, the list goes on and on. You can introduce marks and let actors know where you’d like them to be for a shot, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that’s where they’ll go. Some actors like to be more freeform. But with Tom, I wouldn’t have to say “Stand under that light.” He just knows, and he’ll play off that because of the space. He walks in, sees how it’s lit, knows our agenda, and uses that in the character.

So there were certain moments where he asked, “Is this what you’re thinking?” or we would have a discussion. But mostly, he uses the environment around him to tell the story as well, and he took in that lighting as part of the character. Actors know how they look in certain types of light. He’s very good at that. So he played with that in that space, for sure.

When we pull back and take in the whole room, the lighting feels punitive — the striped shadows are noir-movie standards, like light coming through blinds, but they also feel like prison bars. Is that something you discussed?

We never talked about prison bars, but in designing that space, Kasra was thinking about what that space was — being arrested, and being judged. It’s a claustrophobic space. Loki is slightly free to communicate and move around, but the walls and ceiling are concrete, there’s this fake light coming in, because obviously, in the TVA, there’s no day or night. You can see the light moving above, but there’s no sun there. It’s just moving at certain moments.

I had an idea, after seeing the latest Blade Runner, where Roger Deakins moves the lights around: Why don’t we have the lights move? It’s not easy to have big tungsten light sources above a ceiling set move like that, because it takes heavy motors. But my gaffer and key grip are amazing, and they figured out a way we could move the lights without causing shadows between each of the sections of lighting. It looks all like it’s moving at the same time. That took a lot of thought, getting those lights to move, and not just creating shafts of light that fade in and out. I think it helped a lot, because it’s very subtle. You’re only going to see it as they’re sitting. You’ll see sometimes the light moves from Owen’s shoulders into his eyes at the right moment, when you get lucky in the edit, and catch it at the right moment. It was great to have the resources to actually do stuff like that.

EPISODE 2: THE ROXXCART VARIANT PURSUIT

I’m a fan of green. If we’re designing a clinical environment, or a shopping mall, and we’ve got overhead fluorescents, I like to use cool white fluorescents that have kind of a green kick. I’m a big David Fincher fan, and there’s an undertone of green in his setups that I appreciate. So Roxxcart is a bigger shop that is now closed down, and Kasra outfitted it like a big-box Costco-type place? That wasn’t a full set — we went to this big warehouse, and he made it feel like that kind of store.

Above the space where we shot in, there were a bunch of fixtures. We completely removed those and put in our own tubes. They were RGB, and we could fade them and turn them off and on to our liking, flicker them, make them red when we wanted. When they’re cool white, I appreciate that green kick. I did a lookup-table color correction as well, to give it that tone. It’s meant to be clinical, but make you feel like you don’t know what’s at every turn. And we’re keeping lights on or off depending on which way we’re looking. Kate was a big fan of that space being very dark, with pockets of light. Our antagonist is supposed to come out of the darkness as people change identities.

We’re also trying to make that space look bigger than it actually was. We’re creating depth with light. That was a bitch to shoot — we had so much rigging. My team was amazing. If you go into a space like that, a Target or something, you’d think “The lighting here is not that big of a deal. It’s just overheads.” But being able to control all those overheads and make them different colors and flicker them takes a lot of rigging, with a dimmer board and the programming. In the editing afterward, it really does feel like a space that’s a lot bigger than it actually was. The red sequence is one of my favorites, for sure.

The camera is below waist level a lot in that sequence. What are you communicating there?

I always like to shoot low! It’s just how I see things. Some of my favorite films are detective thrillers from the past, Zodiac being one of those. I’ve always just loved shooting below the eyeline. Obviously there are moments in features I’ve shot where I want to be higher, because it’s more emotional or romantic or something. But in this kind of story, where you have these amazing spaces, and you have multiple characters you’re trying to frame, all facing off and being strong, I’m just a bigger fan of seeing a ceiling than a floor. It’s an appreciation I have, as far as it feeling more mysterious. When a character is looking more mysterious, and you’re not trusting them, you’re trying to figure them out, I love that kind of framing. It’s amazing.

EPISODE 3: FIGHTING TO REACH THE LAMENTIS-1 ARK

That sequence has a great backstory. I did a lot of prep with Kate. We started prep in Los Angeles before we ended up in Atlanta. We knew that sequence was coming up. but in the script, it just says “Okay, so they end up at Sharoo, and then go on.” The description of that sequence went through an evolution, with the filmmakers discussing things, building the set, and collaborating, so early on, we spitballed about what we thought that could be. Having the support of Marvel and being able to build, and being able to do great stunts, we went bigger.

With the sequence as it evolved, Children of Men was a big reference for us. Kate was really interested in that feeling. She wanted to be with the characters the whole way. We tried to figure out, should the camera be handheld? Should it be Steadicam? We ended up with Steadicam. We looked at some previous oners, because we wanted this sequence to feel like a oner to the audience. Obviously, there are cuts in there, but we seamed certain shots together so the audience wouldn’t feel as though we cut. The intention was to feel like you’re on the run with Loki and Sylvie, racing to the ark, building up tension. You’re there with them as they’re fighting.

My husband’s a DP, and he shot True Detective season 1. That oner in True Detective was something we looked at as well, because it’s just one of those great oners that feels real and has those kinds of textural elements. We did pre-viz, we did rehearsals in the space, prior to shooting there. We went there a couple times and did camera rehearsals. We had an amazing Steadicam operator who I’ve worked with on my last four projects and features. He’s very in tune with my eye, and he’s great with those kind of moves. Kasra understood that we needed certain paths to go down, to help us get from point A to point B, so it feels like a run, it doesn’t feel like people keep entering the same space. Obviously, it’s hard to build really big sets where you can go very far. So he did a great job of knowing what we needed, and then adding stunts, and figuring out how we could feel like we were turning corners whenever we’re moving into different spaces.

How big was the physical space? How much of what we’re seeing there is digital?

Shiroo was very different from Roxxcart. At Roxxcart, we had blue at the end of the aisles, so they look like they’re going on a lot longer than they are. But we traveled to that space. It wasn’t built. Shiroo was built on a backlot. That was a set we had full control over, to build to our liking. Above a certain point, as you’re looking up at the buildings, that’s VFX. But we built the actual buildings up to a certain height, and then beyond that is a digital extension. As far as the depth as well, beyond a certain part of the street, it’s a digital extension. Obviously, the ark is an extension, and we’re using the explosions as cues to do a lot of lighting cues. But it was a very big set, a gorgeous set. It has a lot of texture.

Kasra had the idea of painting a lot of the set in black-light paint, which I’d never seen before, and putting black lights everywhere. Also, we had a bunch of units on top that lit the set for the moon color and those sources, and we had VFX helping us stitch it all together. We had to shoot the sequences and look at the overlays on set to make sure we were creating matchups that would work in the final edit.

For me, that’s a very successful collaboration of in-camera elements — that whole set was real — and having explosions on set along with lighting cues, and then the effects to seam it together and do the extension above and the depth. So everyone really had to play like a good chunk of that. But they’d be effects overall, I think taking what we shot and making it feel like something that big, you know, the buildings are falling. Obviously, we didn’t drop buildings on people. There’s some foam stuff. That was really fun. We shot all that stuff at night.

The camera work in that sequence is some of the most dynamic movement in the series. What was the most difficult part about coordinating that sequence for you?

Rehashing it now, it was the prep. When we were actually there in the space with Tom and Sylvie, running through all of this stuff, it really made sense by that time. We’d been pre-vizing it and reworking it and massaging it for so long that ultimately, once we got on the set and had to follow them with the camera, and the energy was going, and we had the extras there, it all fell together. I think one day, we even wrapped a little early, because we’d just nailed it. When you’re prepping those types of shots, in your mind, you’re always like, “This is gonna be hard, it’s going to be difficult to seam these together, I like perfect headroom.” And you also want it to feel real, and people have to jump and fly and tumble into the frame. But on the day, our execution ended up being pretty good. So that was the most surprising thing to me, because it was kind of a pain in the ass prepping, because there are so many elements. And we’re doing six episodes, so we’re always working, trying to chase the next prep. But it really fell into place nicely.

#Loki #Autumn Durald Arkapaw #DoP

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ultimatetrashyfanfic · 3 years

Text

Wooow, first time writing a fic for this fandom. I’m stupidly nervous. Also I only just finished SDR2 so I’m just gonna make this a Non-Despair AU in case there’s any big events in the next canon games I don’t know about yet. Plus i want everybody to be alive and well (chapter four hurt). This is also the first time in years I’ve written any fanfiction, so forgive me if I’m rusty. I do love this pairing. Can be taken romantically or platonic in this one (as this isn’t my only ship for Hajime so I tried to keep it ambiguous). - Circle

Also posted to AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33332596

Warning: sickfic, descriptions of vomiting (I don’t go into much detail), nightmares/general anxiety.

Kazuichi was the only person Hajime knew with a worse sleep schedule than his own. For months he hadn’t realised - everybody had their own space on the island and Hajime was occupied enough with his own fatigue - but as Fuyuhiko saw how much Kazuichi grew to trust and confide in Hajime, he reported the issue.

“He’s like a fucking baby,” Fuyuhiko muttered bitterly. “If he gets tinkering on something he’ll be at it for days without sleeping. You gotta make sure he doesn’t overdo it. I can’t babysit that dumbass by myself.”

Hajime nodded, letting the insults sail over his head. Fuyuhiko may swear and yell and tell everyone over and over that Kazuichi and Hajime and Akane were the bane of his existence, but he was really the closest thing their group had to a mum friend.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Hajime promised. It was an easy enough job. At least it gave him something to do. Whenever Hajime found himself unable to sleep now, he’d go hunting for Kazuichi. More often than not he’d be at the airport, dismantling or building things as the mood struck him, and all Hajime had to do was hook his collar and ignore the whining as he dragged his friend away to bed.

But that night was different. Hajime could sense it the second he walked into the airport. Since the other students rarely went in there, Kazuichi had taken over the space, scattering bits of parts and machines in various stages of completion. But he wasn’t hunched over with a fiddly screwdriver or hidden underneath some big contraption with only his legs visible. He was sitting against a large machine, resting his head against the cool metal, his thumb rubbing at the motor oil embedded under his bitten fingernails.

That was concerning. Kazuichi was never still. He was forever biting his fingernails or twirling his wrench idly in his hands or messing with the pockets on his jumpsuit, dragging the zips up and down over and over. It used to drive Hajime mad, but after knowing Kazuichi for so long Hajime could recognise it as a nervous response and he knew not to complain about it.

Because kazuichi was fragile. Not physically - he could easily haul heavy engine parts around and didn’t buckle when Akane jumped on his back - but it was pretty easy to upset him. When Fuyuhiko had started mocking Kazuichi over his obsession with Sonia - “you gotta bully the shitty behaviours out of people, Hajime.” - it had led to Kazuichi knocking at Hajime’s cottage in the middle of the night, tearfully asking him why Fuyuhiko hated him.

Sometimes Hajime really wished they had an Ultimate Therapist on the island.

So now, looking across the abandoned airport to Kazuichi behaving in a very not-Kazuichi way, Hajime proceeded with caution. He made sure to step purposefully, his footsteps loud on the linoleum floor; he’d once surprised Kazuichi from behind and almost received a wrench to his temple… as well as a burst eardrum from the screaming.

Kazuichi looked up, hastily fumbling with his glasses and shoving them into his pocket. He hated anyone seeing him wear them, so Hajime knew not to comment.

Usually Kazuichi’s face brightened when he saw any of his friends, but now his smile was wary, reserved. “Hey, Hajime,” he said, his voice thick with fatigue.

“When was the last time you slept?” Hajime asked bluntly. “Or ate?”

Kazuichi turned back to face the hunk of metal beside him (unidentifiable to Hajime), though he still didn’t start tinkering. “Not hungry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“I slept yesterday. I think… It’s Monday, right?”

Hajime sighed heavily and hooked the collar of Kazuichi’s jumpsuit with his fingers. “Come on, get up. Bedtime. You’re not even doing anything.”

“Mmn. Can’t seem to focus tonight.”

“That’s because you’re exhausted. Go to bed.”

“Okay! Jeez, man, you’re acting like my mother,” Kazuichi whined, sounding more like himself.

The pair walked out into the cool night air together, Hajime taking hold of Kazuichi’s sleeve when he stumbled. Just how long had he been awake? He was acting like a zombie.

“Fuyuhiko said you weren’t sleeping,” Hajime grumbled. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Fuyuhiko said it? So why did he make you come get me? Are you sure he doesn’t hate me?” Souda pressed.

“Yes, I’m sure. I told you, he was only harsh because he wanted you to leave poor Sonia alone.”

“Well. I have been, haven’t I?” he muttered.

Hajime assumed that was meant to be a rhetorical question, but it came out like Kazuichi was looking for reassurance. It hadn’t occurred to him how often Souda seemed to do that, as if he was worried anything he said would elicit a bad reaction.

“I’ve even been nice to Gundham,” Kazuichi said, much more irritably. “Though that’s a damn uphill battle, Hajime, I’m telling you. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about half the time.”

Hajime snorted. Watching Souda trying to interact with Gundham was becoming a running joke between the other students now. There was always a five second pause when Gundham finished talking before Kazuichi could reply, his face contorted as he hastily tried to translate.

“You’ll get used to Gundham. I didn’t understand him much at first either.” Hajime frowned as Kazuichi wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. “Are you cold?”

“I’m freezing. Maybe I do need to sleep better. I’m not feeling so good…” He stumbled again as they went across the uneven boardwalk to the cabins, bumping Hajime’s shoulder.

Hajime caught hold of him instinctively - then paused for a second. He quickly cupped both hands over Kazuichi’s cheeks.

“H-Hajime?!” Souda reeled back so fast he almost toppled right off the platform. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You have a fever, Kazuichi,” Hajime groaned. “You’re burning up. That’s why you don’t feel good.”

“I do?” Souda cupped his own cheeks contemplatively. “Huh. That makes sense. I couldn’t focus properly all evening.”

Hajime sighed heavily. Souda could be so oblivious at times it was hard to believe he was so talented with his machines. He seemed so much more confident when he spoke about that stuff. When he’d started getting closer to Kazuichi, Hajime once asked about some little mechanical toy Souda was making - and Souda’s face had just lit up. He talked Hajime’s ear off for a good fifteen minutes about every little piece of the toy and how it worked. Hajime didn’t understand the majority of it, but he always made sure to ask Kazuichi about his various projects after that. Souda was delighted every time, his words tripping over each other with excitement and his eyes shining like beacons. For a second Hajime wondered if that was how it felt to be Sonia.

“Well, you’d better come with me for now,” Hajime said. “I know you don’t have any first aid supplies in your cabin, and we don’t need Mikan to tell us you have some standard virus. I’ve got painkillers and fever reducers.” Hajime held onto Kazuichi by the elbow, guiding him along to the correct cabin. He seemed beyond argument. He flopped onto Hajime’s bed as soon as they went inside, curling onto his side and closing his eyes.

Hajime hovered over him, feeling a pang of anxiety. He wasn’t used to caring for any sick people except Nagito, and caring for Nagito was a wholly bizarre experience all around. Hajime had never seen anybody swing so wildly between self-deprecating, passive aggressive and strangely clingy when he was forced to babysit a sick Nagito. Hajime figured Kazuichi might fall into the clingy category.

Hajime grabbed fever reducers from the bathroom cabinet and went to crouch beside his bed, shaking Kazuichi’s shoulder. Maybe it was the fever or the several days without sleep, but Kazuichi already seemed to be breathing deeper. There was a red flush across both his cheekbones, garishly bright against his pink hair. Hajime checked his forehead again; it was burning.

“Hey, dude, wake up. You’ve gotta take some medicine and go back to your own cabin,” Hajime said, shaking Kazuichi’s shoulder harder. Kazuichi whined irritably, reaching out a clumsy hand without opening his eyes. He managed to find Hajime’s face and tried to shove him away weakly.

“Kazuichi!” Hajime caught hold of his wrist, sighing. “You have motor oil on your hands. Look, I don’t care if you don’t want to take medicine, but go sleep in your own cabin. This happens to be my bed.”

Kazuichi didn’t move, breathing deeply. Hajime wasn’t sure if he was actually sleeping or just ignoring him.

“I kissed Sonia,” Hajime lied.

No response. Hm. Maybe Kazuichi really was asleep.

Well, what was Hajime meant to do now? He didn’t feel mean enough to boot his sick friend off the bed. He supposed he could go stay in Souda’s room, but he didn’t know where his key was, and he didn’t want to go rifling through Kazuichi’s pockets for it while he was sleeping - and maybe Souda needed somebody with him in case his fever got worse. Fevers could turn nasty, right? Not that Hajime would be any use, but he could go get Mikan.

Sighing resignedly, Hajime went to the unoccupied side of his bed, lying back to back with Kazuichi. Most of the bedsheets were trapped under his sick companion no matter now Hajime yanked them, but Souda was so hot Hajime was soon uncomfortably warm. The sleeping boy was taking up a lot of the bed too; he had Kazuichi’s hair in his face and elbows jabbing his ribs no matter what sleeping position Hajime tried. He sighed again. “You’re an utter pain to deal with, Kazuichi,” he mumbled into his pillow. “You need to take care of yourself before you get really sick.”

Hajime, though sure he’d never be able to even doze in this situation, must have slept at some point, because he woke with a start to find the bed shaking so violently he almost toppled off it. In his drowsy state Hajime wondered for a second if the island had any seismic activity, but the earthquake seemed confined to the bed alone. He sat up and fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned to his sleeping friend.

Kazuichi was shaking violently, curled into a foetal position. His face had bleached several shades whiter and his fists were clenched tight, crumpling the bedsheets. His brow was furrowed and he made intermittent whines in the back of his throat, barely audible. Whatever dream was playing in his feverish head, it clearly wasn’t a pleasant one.

“Kazuichi,” Hajime called, shaking the sleeping man’s shoulder. Hajime could feel the heat radiating through Kazuichi’s clothes. “Come on, man, wake up.”

When he received no response, he shook harder, momentarily panicked. It was a mistake. Kazuichi jolted awake with a scream, the momentum sending him tumbling right off the bed onto the floor. He banged his head hard on the skirting board.

“Shit! Fuck, Souda, are you okay?” Hajime cried, hurrying over to Kazuichi. Souda scrambled backwards in a panic, clonking his head all over again when he hit the wall. His eyes hadn’t focused yet and he was breathing far too quickly. Hajime was starting to think he really should fetch Mikan.

“Kazuichi, it’s just me. Hajime. You know, your…” He paused, cringing. Only Kazuichi ever called them by that dumb name. “Your soul friend.”

Kazuichi looked up, locking eyes with Hajime. He didn’t stop shaking, but his breathing calmed slightly. For what felt like several minutes, both boys stared helplessly at each, unsure what to do or say. Souda swallowed thickly and finally whispered in a hoarse, rasping voice, “I’m gonna puke.”

“What?” That certainly broke Hajime out of the awkward staring contest. He grabbed hold of Souda by the wrist and yanked him across the bedroom to the bathroom, shoving him firmly towards the toilet. He turned to leave - he didn’t want to witness any of that - when something snagged onto the back of his shirt.

“Are you serious?” Hajime groaned. Souda felt too nauseated to dare opening his mouth, but he tugged insistently at Hajime’s shirt.

Hajime paused. Part of him - maybe even most of him - really wanted to brush Kazuichi’s hand away and flee the room before anything gross started happening. But Souda looked so… pathetic, sitting there trying not to vomit, still shaky and tearful from the nightmare, his hair tangled across his sweaty face.

Damn it. Hajime shouldn’t have looked at him.

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, kneeling beside Souda on the bathroom floor. He hastily gathered Kazuichi’s messy hair away from his face as the sick boy leaned further over the toilet. “You owe me big time for this. Especially when I end up catching this from you.”

Grumbling aside, Hajime stayed, managing not to complain or pull too many faces when Kazuichi was vomiting. He focused on holding Souda’s hair out of the way, glad he had one job he could manage. This comforting thing was way out of his depth. Souda kept one hand reaching backwards to clasp Hajime’s shirt, as if he didn’t quite trust him not to run away.

When the retching finally tapered off, Hajime released Souda’s hair and reached up to flush the toilet, grimacing. “Better?”

Kazuichi made a noise between a whine and a sob, head resting on the toilet seat.

“Well, at least it’s over. I’m gonna go grab you some water, okay?”

He stood up, but Kazuichi hastily lifted his head, looking outraged. “You’re leaving me? I could be dying here!”

“You’re not dying, Souda. Honestly, sometimes I think you should’ve been Ultimate Drama Queen.”

“Stay with me.” Kazuichi shuffled away from the toilet and latched onto Hajime leg.

“Souda, it will take me literally thirty seconds to grab a bottle of water. Now get off.” Hajime tried to yank his leg free, but Souda had a strong grip, even when ill.

“Nope. Don’t leave.”

Hajime sighed heavily. “Then get up and come back to the bed.”

Souda slumped down onto the cool linoleum floor, making sure to keep his arms around Hajime’s ankle. “Don’t wanna move. Everything hurts.”

“Oh, for fuck sake!” Hajime tried to pull Souda up himself, but Souda let his body go limp, sprawling across the bathroom floor, and Hajime couldn’t lift him up when he was dead weight like that.

“You know that’s exactly what toddlers do when they don’t want you picking them up,” Hajime snapped. Honestly, this was almost as bad as Nagito. Why did everybody mess with him when they were sick?

“I can see why. It’s very effective,” Kazuichi muttered.

“I could just leave, you know. Just say fuck it and let you lie there on your own.”

“Don’t.” The jesting tone had disappeared from Souda’s voice. He looked close to tears again, flat on his back and staring up at Hajime pleadingly.

Hajime tried to hold onto his frustration, but he couldn’t. Not with Kazuichi looking at him like that. He sighed and sat on the floor beside Souda, putting a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Keep your hand there,” Kazuichi mumbled. “It’s cold.”

“Fine. But if you let me leave I could get you a cold cloth for your head.”

“Noooo…”

“Okay, okay.” Hajime paused. Souda’s eyelids were drooping again. If he wanted to ask, Hajime had to do it quickly. “Hey, Kazuichi..?”

“Mn?”

“What happened? Earlier, I mean.”

“I puked.”

“No, you dope. Earlier than that. When you woke up. You seemed really terrified. Were you dreaming?” Hajime was already regretting asking. Kazuichi was sick and over-emotional. They were sitting on the bathroom floor, for God’s sake. Nothing good could come of emotional conversations on a bathroom floor.

There was another silence, so long Hajime checked to see if Kazuichi had dozed off. His eyes were wide open now, staring at the ceiling. “It was just a dream. That’s all.”

“Do you remember what it was about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kazuichi mumbled.

Hajime sighed. “Look, it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. But it clearly freaked you out really bad. If there’s something you’re worried about or something that’s scaring you, I can-“ Hajime stopped as Kazuichi sat up abruptly. He kept his face turned to the wall, but Hajime heard the sniffles, saw his shoulders start shaking.

“Fuck,” Hajime muttered helplessly. “Kazuichi, I’m sorry. I’ll just be quiet. You don’t have to tell me anything. I’m messing this all up, I’m such a fucking idiot sometimes.”

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Kazuichi sobbed. “So stupid I still dream about him! Why can’t he just go away!” He went on talking, but he was howling too hard for Hajime to understand. He’d seen Souda cry countless times before, but this was different somehow. This wasn’t just wailing because some girl he liked had turned him down. This was raw, painful terror.

“Hey hey, calm down! You’re gonna make yourself sick again,” Hajime said, trying hard to keep the panic out of his own voice. He took hold of Kazuichi’s wrists, pulling him gently away from the wall. He’d meant to lay Souda down in the same position as before, but Souda instantly fell against Hajime’s chest, practically knocking him over.

“Right. Um. You’re okay. You’re safe here,” Hajime mumbled, patting his sobbing friend awkwardly. He wasn’t used to embracing people. It felt strange and unnatural but not unpleasant - and Souda clearly needed a hug more than anything else right now. “Souda, breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe. The fever is probably making it worse. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked about the nightmare.”

“Home,” Kazuichi gasped.

“Huh?”

“I was dreaming about being back at home.”

Oh God. Where was that Ultimate Therapist again? Hajime didn’t know how to handle this. He couldn’t sort his own problems, let alone anyone else’s. “Oooh. Okay. Shit. Your dad..? You mentioned him once before.”

“Don’t. Don’t talk about it.”

“Okay. Sorry. So your dream was a memory? When he… hurt you?” Hajime guessed.

The sobbing, which had been gradually calming, quickly returned to near-hyperventilating.

“Sorry, sorry. Breathe, okay?” Hajime’s own heart was thumping hard. This was way more than he could handle. “Look… You’re away from there. He’s literally across an ocean. It’s just me and you here. Because you usurped my bed tonight.”

Kazuichi gave a snort that could’ve been a laugh. “It’s not… not usually this bad,” he said, his voice still jerky with sobs. “I-I can handle it on my own. The nightmares.”

“Fevers make nightmares worse. I think. I’d have to check with Mikan,” Hajime said. “But at least you were here this time.” He was surprised to find he really meant that. He couldn’t bear to think of Souda dealing with all that on his own.

They sat in silence for a long time, until Souda’s sobs died down to sniffles, his head still resting on Hajime’s chest. The front of Hajime’s shirt was now damp with tears and snot, and Souda’s feverish body was like a furnace, but he didn’t suggest they move. After a long time he found he’d wound his arms around Kazuichi’s shoulders.

“Are you still awake?” Hajime whispered eventually.

“Mn. Barely…”

“Listen, this is important. If you have dreams like that any other night, you can come over here. If you want. Just knock hard so I wake up.”

Kazuichi shifted in his arms to look at Hajime’s face. “You don’t have to do that. Don’t feel like you’re stuck with me.”

“Maybe I don’t mind being stuck with you,” Hajime retorted.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Kazuichi’s face, though he was still red and tear-stained. “Then you’re fucking crazy.”

“It’s not crazy to want to be your friend, Souda. So will you ask me for help next time you dream something like that? Please?”

Kazuichi wound his arms around Hajime’s middle and squeezed so hard it made Hajime gasp. “Okay. I’ll come get you.” He paused. “Thanks, Hajime.”

Kazuichi fell asleep soon after, still pinning Hajime to the bathroom floor with his weight. And though Hajime would moan about how sore and stiff he was the next morning, he was still glad Souda came to him for help. Just about.

#danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #my writing #kazuichi soda #hajime hinata #dr emeto #emeto tw #emeto #dr sickfic #sickfic #fever #writing #our writing #mod circle

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flatstarcarcosa · 3 years

Text

favors and heists

notes: i gave myself brain worms while roping @dadbodsandbots into my mass effect insert shenanigans by using her mans so I had to shake some of them loose. this turned out to be kinda fun, actually, for a change :3

also tags @jackals-ships while making pspspsps noises

summary: what's the point of your best friend dating a galaxy-renown mercenary if not for the favors you can squeeze out of the deal?

zaeed takes a charity case.

ship(s): stubborn goddamn jackasses, cat/digs (boomcat? harcat?)

******

The door alarm has been chiming for four minutes. Pressing the override button on his omni-tool shuts it off for a few scarce seconds, only for whoever is outside to activate it again. Finally, Zaeed gives up on ignoring it and wrenches the damn thing open manually. The metal squeals in protest before the hydraulics correct themselves.

"The hell do you want?" he asks, frowning. Cat stands in the door way with barely contained tears in her eyes.

"My final thesis is due next week and the whole argument hinges on this 18th century painting and-"

"Dooooon't care," Zaeed drawls as he goes to manually pull the door shut again. She lunges forward, getting a shoulder and half a leg across before the safety catch feels an obstruction and stops.

"-and it got stolen and if I have to report it to my boss I'm not only gonna fail the program but I'll never work in this industry again!" she blurts. Zaeed has already turned his back towards her and is cussing at his omni-tool's refusal to force the door shut.

"Don't caaaaaaaaare," he says.

"You gotta help me get it back!" she cries, "That fucking asshole Harkness stole it and if he gets too far I'll never see it again!"

Zaeed stops, shoulders sagging. He holds up a finger and turns.

"When you say Harkness-"

"Yeah, Digger," Cat sniffs. "You know, Captain Boom-"

"Will willingly shoot my other eye out before I call him that, thanks," says Zaeed. He goes silent for a moment, and then lets out a frustrated growl and runs a hand over his face. "All right, fine. But only because I've still got a grudge against that jackass I've been meaning to settle."

She looks up, elation flashing across her face.

"Really?! I mean, I can hire you, too, so-"

Zaeed snorts.

"You don't make near enough to hire me," he says. "Especially not if you want him alive, although honestly, that part isn't up to you." He steps out of sight into the other room, and Cat wanders into the kitchen to blow her nose on a wad of paper towels.

"Where was he last?" Zaeed asks.

"I mean, my office," she calls back. He steps back around the corner, the top half of his armor undersuit hanging around his waist.

"I meant where was he before he stole the painting?"

"Oh!" she pauses. "I...dunno, some hotel down on Silversun."

Zaeed hums, and pulls his arm through the sleeve on his suit. He drags a footlocker over to the sofa and plops down, bending over to unlock the lid.

"How'd Harkness get into your office, anyway?" he asks. "It's not exactly publicly accessible."

"Uh- I...I don't know," she stammers, "he's a thief, that's what he does!"

Zaeed quirks an eyebrow at her as he laces his boots.

"Uh-huh," he says. "And he just happened to have decided to specifically case your office for one painting..."

"Yeah."

"Your office, which is in a moderately secured area in the Citadel Tower," he continues. He raises an eyebrow at her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Yeah," she says again, voice tight. "Why?"

"No reason," he says. Motorized armor joints lock into place with mechanical whirring, and she watches him strap a pistol and a sniper rifle in place. "Here's the thing, if he's already jumped ship and left the Citadel, I'm not chasing him all over. This lasts until I decide the amusement isn't worth the lack of money. Matter of fact, you knowing Reese is the only reason I didn't tell you to fuck off and throw you out."

"A fact which I am heavily aware of," says Cat.

"Long as we're on the same page," says Zaeed. "Might as well wait here, I doubt this is gonna take too long."

"Hey," says Cat, "wait a second. How do you know him, anyway?"

Zaeed clicks his tongue.

"Got unlucky enough to be on a job with him once," he says. "Stupid little fuck nearly got me killed. Spent four weeks healing from that."

"Oh," she says.

"Granted, wasn't the same as getting half my face blown off," he adds, "but it was still enough that I've had it in for him ever since."

"You're not actually going to kill him, are you?" she asks. Zaeed shrugs as the door slides open.

"That depends on him, love," he says.

"Oh," she says. Before she can get another word out, Zaeed steps into the hall and leaves her alone. She sighs and sits down on the sofa. "Well, that's just fucking great."

******

It takes less than five hours to track Harkness down. After checking out of his hotel earlier that morning, he'd stuck around the Silversun Strip rather than booking a flight off the Citadel.

For some reason that Zaeed can only chock up to the man being an absolute fucking idiot, he didn't consider that wandering around with a medium sized painting under his arm was going to make him stick out to the residents.

Only on the Silversun Strip would one get away with that without C-Sec getting called and dropping down on your ass. Try it up on the Presidium and every rich asshole with a penthouse would be ringing the emergency numbers for 'suspicious activity' while triple locking their doors.

Tucked away in a back alley and away from the main attractions of the Strip is a little pawn shop run by, who Zaeed assumes, are the only Batarians to have a permanent residence on the Citadel. There's an old fashioned bell hanging above the door and it jingles when he walks through. It catches his attention for a moment, and he glances up at it, wondering where the aliens picked up that detail about human stores.

Behind the sales counter, a bored looking Batarian is standing with his arms crossed over his chest and glowering with all four eyes at the man in front of him.

"Come on mate," says the Australian. He's leaning over the painting, so focused on his attempts at hocking it that he either didn't hear the door bell, or isn't interested enough to turn around. Zaeed catches the gaze of the sales clerk, and holds a finger to his lips.

"I said no," the Batarian growls, looking back at the would-be customer.

"All right, fine, screw giving me what it's worth," the man continues, "we'll settle for 60% and then I can be on me way."

"You think I'm so stupid or naive I don't know stolen merch when I see it?" asks the Batarian. "I know enough about you humans and your squabbles to know there's no amount of credits worth getting involved in this kinda shit.

"Harkness, why don't you do something useful and stop pestering this poor Batarian?" Zaeed asks, interjecting only when he's close enough to Digger Harkness that the sound of his voice makes the man jump. "Bad enough the poor bastard has to walk around looking like that every day of his life, he doesn't need you coming in here and cocking everything up for him."

The Batarian sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Is it asshole human day today and no one told me?" he asks. "Oh wait, I suppose that's every day, isn't it?"

"Goddamn right it is," Zaeed says. Harkness turns around, nervousness clear on his face.

"Zaeed," he says, slowly, "well, I'll be...funny running into you out here, eh?" He reaches behind himself, fumbling his hand across the counter as he searches blindly for the painting. Zaeed is faster, and snatches it out from under him.

"Lets go," he says, gesturing towards the door. "You know why I'm here."

"Aw, c'mon-" Harkness' protest is cut short by Zaeed grabbing his wrists and slapping a pair of electrified cuffs on them. He shoves the man forward, and then tosses a credit chit down onto the counter.

"You see a couple of human males today?" he asks the Batarian. The alien grunts, considering him for a moment before reaching down and snapping up the chit.

"Been a slow day, I haven't seen anybody," he says, shrugging. Zaeed nods.

"Good man," he says. He shoves Harkness towards the door again. "Get moving."

The bell above the door rings as the two leave, and Harkness turns, walking backwards with his arms locked in front of him as he addresses Zaeed.

"Well, I'm simply stumped," he says, "can't for the life o' me figure who I pissed off enough to hire you." Zaeed says nothing, and simply motions with his pistol for him to keep walking.

Harkness faces foward and catches sight of the skycar parked at the end of the alley. It's not the best area to try and make a mad dash for freedom, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna give it a go.

"How'd you even get into the Citadel Tower to get a hold of something like this, anyway?" Zaeed asks, holding the painting up to get a good look at it. He's never understood fuck all about art and it's not one of those especially famous pieces that he'd even recognize anyway, so he doesn't bother theorizing on why it's so important to Cat's thesis.

"Oh, you know," says Harkness, "made a friend."

"Find that hard to believe," Zaeed drawls as he tucks the painting back under his arm.

"Oi, I'm quite suave when I want to be!" Harkness stops walking again, turning with a shit-eating grin on his face. "Though, some people are just easier to woo."

"Yeah, that sounds more like you, doesn't it?" Zaeed narrows his eyes. "Making a mark out of some poor girl that always sees the best in people."

Harkness blinks.

"Hang on," he breathes, "how do you know that? Don't tell me she's the one that hired you!"

"Course not," Zaeed snorts, "like I told her, she can't afford to hire me. This is a favor for a friend."

"Well shit mate! In that case, why don't you an' I work out a deal, yeah?" The grin is back, and Zaeed makes a point of ignoring him as he opens the skycar door and lays the painting in the back seat. "You ain't on an official contract, I see no reason why you an' I as two consummate professionals can't come to some sort of arrangement that benefits us both!"

"There's an exhaustive list of reasons why that won't be happening," Zaeed says, crossing his arms. "At the top of which is simply the fact that I can't goddamn stand you."

"Fair enough," says Harkness, "But Zaeed, come on, mate! As it happens right now, you're not making any money on this! That's a problem for you, and I can fix that real easy. You just slip these bracelets off me, let me be on my merry way, and recoup credits for your time. Anyone asks, I was too slippery to get a hold of, we all move on."

"No," Zaeed says. "Get in the goddamn car before I knock you out and shove you in the trunk."

Harkness groans, and bounces on the balls of his feet in frustration.

"Come on," he says again, "we both know at the end of the day lining your pockets is the only thing you really care about, so why don't you-"

Zaeed lunges faster than a half blind old merc has any right to move, and Harkness lets out a strangled yell as he punches him in the kidney with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He's wheezing as Zaeed shoves him into the alley wall, hanging onto him by the collar of his coat and lifting him off the ground.

"Listen to me, you stupid fucking jackass," Zaeed growls, "I'm not remotely young enough or stupid enough to not know exactly how you got access to Cat's office. That girl is the only person Reese knows that isn't a killer or a junkie or some fucked up combination of both, and the last thing she needs is to be caught up with likes of you and I."

Harkness says nothing as he gasps again, and waits on his lungs to remember how to take in air.

"I care about her well-being for my own selfish reasons because of her proximity to Reese, and I recognize that doesn't put me in a position of dictating to her who she spends her time with," Zaeed continues, "but so help me, you cause so much as a minor inconvenience for her and I will carve out your goddamn eyes, sew your mouth shut and sell you to Batarians as discounted slave labor, are we goddamn clear?"

Harkness manages half of a choked, garbled word and gets his head bounced off the wall for his effort.

"That didn't sound like a yes to me," Zaeed growls.

"Y-yes," he says. Zaeed slams him against the wall once more for good measure before dropping him.

"Get in the goddamn car."

******

The rental apartment Reese and Zaeed have been staying in isn't much to come home to. Far from the worst place they've ever holed up, sure, but that's never been a very high bar to begin with.

Regardless, as he pushes Harkness through the doorway and pauses long enough to set the painting down on an end table, he does reflect on the warm lightning in the corners and the smell of a beef roast being pulled out of the oven.

It's temporary and it's barely big enough for the two of them to move without tripping over each other, but it is home.

"You found it!" Cat appears in the archway to the kitchen, and Reese looks up over the counter. Their eyes glance between Zaeed and Harkness and the painting, and they quirk an eyebrow in his direction. Zaeed responds with a subtle shake of his head.

Later, he mouths, reaching up to undo the clasps on his armor.

"Wasn't too much trouble," he says aloud. "Helps when you're being sent after a goddamn moron. I should take more offers like this, actually."

"Caaaaaat," Harkness purrs. He goes to hold out his arms, and stops when he meets the resistance from the cuffs. She bypasses him entirely to scoop up the painting and make sure it hasn't been damaged.

"You know, on a hunch I looked into something on the way to the Strip," Zaeed says casually. "C-Sec has multiple active bounties on him at the moment. Cashing in on just one of them would likely pay more than, well...whatever it is you even do currently."

Harkness lets out a nervous laugh and looks between Zaeed and Cat. She sets the painting down and regards him for a moment.

"Right now I'm more worried with getting this back before anyone notices it was gone," she says, causing Harkness to puff up slightly. He winks at Zaeed, only to stop at the look the other man sends his way. "It's unlucky for me the building is locked down for the day, though..."

"Sounds to me like you could use someone who knows his way 'round security systems," Harkness offers. Zaeed snorts, and Cat frowns. Silence stretches out for a moment, broken only by the sound of Reese turning on an electric carving knife.

"Okay, fine," Cat says when they've turned the knife back off. "But know that if we get caught, I'm telling them you kidnapped me and I can cry on command."

"Well now you're just talkin' dirty to me," Harkness says.

"Really?" Reese barks from the kitchen. "Some of us still gotta eat tonight."

Zaeed remains silent and utterly unreadable as he taps at his omni-tool. The handcuffs beep a few times before popping open and falling off. Harkness massages at one of his wrists, and manages to ignore the bait when Zaeed shoves into him on the way to the kitchen.

"If we leave now we should make it in and out without too much trouble," Cat says. Reese offers a wave.

"Call me when you get in," they say, "mostly so I know if anyone's gotta kill him later."

"Sure!" says Cat. She tucks the painting safely under an arm, and drags Harkness out into the hall by the collar of his coat. The door beeps as the automatic lock powers on, and Reese turns to lean against the kitchen counter.

"What?" Zaeed asks, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not."

Reese rolls their eyes and turns their attention back to the roast. "I leave for 20 minutes to get fucking dinner, and I swear to Christ..." they say, trailing off when Zaeed reaches around and snags a slice of beef.

"You do realize she's got absolutely horrid taste in men, right?" he asks. The top of the beer bottle pops with a resounding hssss, and he flicks it across the kitchen into the garbage can.

"Yeah, well, that's just something we got in common, I guess," Reese says.

"Oi," Zaeed protests. He takes a swallow of beer and reaches for another slice of meat, then stops. "Hang on, she can cry on command?"

"Yeah, fucking wild actually," says Reese. They frown. "Why?"

Zaeed is silent for a moment as he takes another sip of beer before answering.

"Goddammit."

#reese.fic #ship: stubborn goddamn jackasses #others: boomcat

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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

Kazuichi & Yasuke

Summary: Souda Kazuichi’s FTEs in the SDR2 Protagonist Matsuda Yasuke AU. It’s also half and half but for more unfortunate reasons.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Language and references to violence.

Notes: For REASONS, I ended up writing Souda’s FTEs when I initially intended to write Sonia’s. I’m disappointed in myself too, but...hm. I enjoyed writing these. I think it’s fun (?) to write social events where the two parties just don’t get along and that doesn’t change by the end. It’s played seriously, and I’m curious how people will take it. But I wrote these close to the heart!

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

Commission? Donate?

“Blue skies! Beautiful beaches! Babes! By all accounts, this should be a dream come true! So, why—why, why, why, why, WHY does a guy like YOU gotta be here?!”

“That’s fucking rude,” Matsuda scoffed. “All I’m doing is reading.”

“You keep staring!” Souda accused, shaking his fist in frustration. “And I can feel ya judging, too!! Are you EVER in a good mood?!”

In reality, Souda had been the one to constantly steal glances instead of looking at his own damn magazine. Matsuda, subsequently, had gotten annoyed by it. He really had thought if he focused on his own manga, it’d be fine even with the dipshit mechanic present, but he was a fool. He was a real fucking fool.

Although not as much an idiot as this guy...

“You’re judging!” Souda screeched. “I know you are! Why do you have it out for me?!”

“I don’t,” Matsuda grumbled. “I barely consider you at all.”

“T-That’s hurtful, man! Real hurtful!” Souda even sniffled, he was so hurt by it. “This is why you don’t have any friends!”

...I could leave. I could just...leave. He’s not going to follow me. I could just leave and go someplace quiet.

But, because there wouldn’t be any events if he just left, he was stuck.

Great...

Souda was still glaring at him. He was glaring pretty hard, but also pretty...desperately.

“Even if your face freezes like that, it won’t make you more intimidating,” Matsuda muttered. “Actually no matter what you do, you can’t change that.”

Souda froze immediately. Matsuda gives him a look, but before he can say anything more, the guy flees the scene.

Had the line being broken?

Guess I hit a nerve.

Souda had even abandoned his magazine. Matsuda doubted the guy had the brain capacity to retrieve it later, although he himself hesitates before plucking it off the ground. Thankfully, while it was a little crumbled, it wasn’t sticky. Or oily.

Hm.

He should probably return it.

The first thing Souda did upon opening the door was let out a shriek. The second thing he did was slam it in Matsuda’s face.

This fucking guy...

Matsuda took a deep breath and knocked once more on the door.

“Nobody’s here!” Souda’s voice came through muffled. “A-And even if there were somebody—you’re not welcome!”

“For fuck’s sake—I’m just here to give you back your magazine, not because I...” Matsuda bit his tongue, kneeling down. “You know what, I’ll just shove it under...”

“Wait-wait-wait!”

The door was almost flung open, Souda now looking frantic.

“Don’t do that!” he exclaims. “You’ll wrinkle it! You’ll mess with the illustrations! Hasn’t anyone taught you how to treat a magazine?!”

Matsuda straightened up, handing it over without much more fanfare. Souda does take it, but he continues to grumble.

“Seriously, you’re such a slob. That’s like, super unsexy to women. H-Haven’t you heard?”

Matsuda wordlessly glances past into the mechanic’s cottage. There are some miscellaneous gears and gizmos scattered across the floor. Some bottles of what looked to be motor oil. It certainly stank of motor oil.

“Oh, this old thing?” Souda asked, mistaking his staring for interest. He grins suddenly and it might’ve been the first time he’s smile like that at Matsuda. “It’s a lil vroom-vroom I’m working on! Pretty spiffy, huh?”

...spiffy? That’s...something only elderlies would use... Not to mention that’s not even the correct usage?

“I guess you mean it’s neat,” Matsuda muttered.

“I know right?!” Souda exclaimed excitedly. “It’s real neat! It’s gonna be a real wham bam when I’m finished!”

“Right...”

“Right, right!” Souda agreed, nodding frantically now. “You get it, you get it! I guess even a jackass like you still has a right eye for this kinda thing, Matsuda. Just this once, I’ll let you have a closer look! Come in! Don’t be a priss!”

He worked himself up as usual, but I guess this time he at least did so positively.

Mortifyingly curious as to how far this could go, Matsuda does step inside. Souda eagerly gestures to the lump of metal on the ground. Matsuda looks at it closely and—yet.

It’s a lump...of metal. Incredible.

“This baby is gonna go places when it’s done,” Souda sighs happily. “I won’t be able to test it—but I’m sure of it. It’s gonna go far, kid!”

Show him how to lie. You’re getting better all the time.

“I’m sure it will,” Matsuda replied, doing his best to give a decent nod of approval. Souda does preen, but just like that—Souda realizes himself. And he realizes Matsuda.

Specifically, he re-realizes that he and Matsuda don’t have the best relationship.

“You’re not just saying that to make fun of me, right?! You almost got me going, too!”

Although he still seems confused about the intricacies of said relationship.

“It’s nothing like that,” Matsuda waved his hand, shaking his head for good measure. Souda seemed unconvinced, much to his annoyance. “I was just curious.”

Except he really wasn’t. He was the kind of guy who had about as much interest in cars as he did in answering surveys. Souda’s eyes narrowed sharply in suspicion and, seriously, where did this guy get off on presuming so much shit about him?

Matsuda sighed.

Whatever. I delivered the magazine back.

“If I’m not welcome here, I’ll leave.”

He’s not sure what he expected when he turned on his heel. He might not have expected anything, and indeed nothing really happened. He walked out of the cottage, shutting the door behind him, and walked the rest of the way back in silence.

Pretty uneventful overall, but it was still something.

“H-H-Hey! Matsuda!”

He supposed he wasn’t really expecting to be called out. When he turned, however, he was already prepared.

“What is it? You better clarify because you’re on a different frequency than I am.”

“Eh? Come on, dude, it’s not like we’re speaking different languages here!” Souda huffed, shoving his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. “I’m just...trying to get yer attention. It’s...like...”

He’s slurring his words a bit.

“You made me feel bad, y’know,” Souda grumbled. “With the way you left. I’m just checking because the last thing I need is you having another reason to...”

“You really are convinced I have something against you, huh,” Matsuda droned, unimpressed. “Would you believe me if I told you that I really don’t care?”

Souda groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Of course you don’t care. You’re a jackass.”

He’s not wrong...but he’s also not right. Not caring goes both ways.

“Hm.” They’d just go in circles at this rate, so it was best to change tactics. “You’re...”

Aah, what to say? Not my type? Not really understanding? This guy...

“You’re here because you say you felt bad.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius or something,” Souda huffed. “Like...a brain guy, right?”

“Right.” That doesn’t mean I understand every irrational, idiotic choice a person makes. “I understand the physical sciences. Psychology, however, is its own thing.”

“I mean, I know that,” Souda said, sounding completely unconvincing. “It’s like—the difference between fixing and programming. I can fix a computer, but when it comes to all the typing, clicking, and trouble...finding... I don’t get that stuff.”

“Troubleshooting,” Matsuda corrected.

“Computers aren’t my thing anyway,” Souda went on, unbothered. “I’m more of a vehicle guy!” He lit up so easily. “Like! Vroom, vroom! Wham bam!”

He made other engine noises for that matter.

Matsuda would lie if he said he didn’t find it mildly amusing.

Any moment the two could have had was quickly ruined, however.

“Anyway! There! I spoke to ya!” Souda twisted away. “We’re good, then!”

...it’s not like I’m expecting an apology, but what a shitty fucking thing to just say. And to say loudly, at that.

“Argh! Not good?!” Souda flinched, cowering. “You’re giving me that awful judge-y look again! What is your PROBLEM?!”

For once, the glare was intentional and only intensified, making Souda crumble and whimper.

“C-Cut it out, seriously...! You’re going to make me cry!”

“Is that really my problem?” Matsuda asked coolly. “This is just how my face looks a lot of the time. I can’t control that but you could be less of a fucking coward.”

“I’m not...a coward,” Souda muttered, pulling down his beanie. “I-I’m not! You’re just... You’re such an ass! Seriously! Seriously! How the hell is someone like you—?!”

“Someone like me?” he prodded, eyes half-lidded. Souda recoils whenever he makes any attempt at coming closer. Sure, this dipshit is easily spooked and intimidated, but...

Is there more to it?

“Q-Quit it,” Souda squeaked. “S-Stooooop...”

It’s not...my appearance, is it?

Matsuda backed off anyway, playing with his hair to stave off the irritation. Fidgeting could only do so much.

“I really don’t get it,” Souda said, then, and it sounded almost morose. “It pisses me off so much that you’re the kind of guy that’s just...popular with girls.”

Matsuda pinched a lock of hair hard enough to dig his thumbnail into his finger pad. The pinch did little to soothe his nerves.

I’m more or less hopeless when it comes to tech. A wrench in my hand would only ever be used as a weapon. But, this guy...

“That’s definitely not my problem.”

He’s incredibly basic.

“Maybe you should just take more showers?”

“LIKE YOU’RE ONE TO TALK?!”

A basic bitch for sure.

“Hmm.”

“NO COMEBACK?!”

Matsuda stuck his tongue out, Souda screamed in frustration.

The rest went about as well as anyone could expect.

“This really is just the wooooorst,” Souda laments, sounding dangerously close to a sob. “For my first field trip ever, to have it be such a bust is just the woooorst.”

“First time?” Matsuda asked, only feigning curiosity as he flipped the page. He didn’t care, but any conversation was better than listening to more whining. All Matsuda did was sit down to read and he was too spiteful and stubborn to leave when he hadn’t done anything. “Skipped the one in middle school?”

The reason I didn’t go was to study, but for a guy like this...

“Huh? Oh, yeah...” Souda shrugged. “I uh, faked being sick and stayed home instead. Not like I could go with how poor my folks were—not like I wanted to go with how shitty my boring asshole classmates were. My old man was pissed though. Beat the shit out of me.”

“I guess overcompensation ran in the family,” Matsuda muttered, but Souda hadn’t heard him.

“He knew we couldn’t afford it, too,” he just went on. “We had this bike shop but like—not super, uh...”

“Profitable?” Matsuda guessed, to which he nodded along.

“Yeah, people just wanted to fix tires and pump air. We barely sold anything.” Souda sighed loudly before grinning and pointing to himself with a jerk of his thumb. “But! Yours truly still turned out to be a genius mechanic! From bikes to cars! Toys to appliances! You got it, I fix it!”

“You’d make a lot more money as a mechanic than a bike salesman,” Matsuda noted. “It’s a well-paying and sought-after service.”

“I’ve been taking apart and reconstructing things since I could walk,” Souda said proudly. “Even though my old man is just—hopeless!”

“Hopeless,” Matsuda echoed disinterestedly.

“That said, I was still looking forward to this trip,” Souda sighed again. “It sounds nice to go on a trip with friends and stuff, but...you and I are like...the furthest thing from friends.” He does perk up when he remembers, “I guess Hinata’s alright. He’s kinda cool. A real soul bro. Soul pal? Soul friend!”

In that case, why aren’t you seeking his company?

Matsuda’s not quite that petty. Not to mention how childish it’d make him sound while asking that aloud. It’s not like he has a problem with Souda and Hinata getting along.

Although...

Hinata has a thing for Komaeda. That might end up complicating that soul bromance or whatever down the line.

Not that it had anything to do with him.

“I have an unlikeable personality,” he just reminded Souda sardonically. “I didn’t come to Hope’s Peak expecting or wanting to make friends.”

The idea is just...absurd. I haven’t been able to connect with peers in over a decade, why the hell would that change now?

“I know!” Souda groused. “Which is why! A guy like you just shouldn’t be LIKED by girls! Who knows how you’d treat them! If you don’t watch yourself, your alarm clock’s gonna get modified into a ticking time bomb!”

“Try it, coward,” Matsuda snapped, making him falter back. “I fucking dare you.”

“E-Eep...! W-Why do you have to make such a scary face, Matsuda...?!”

“...it’s just how I look.”

Haaaah. This is exhausting. So...exhausting.

“Bad looks and a bad personality, but even you can admit I’m a genius, yeah?” Matsuda turned away. “When you’re smart, people flock to you either as a crutch or a springboard. Especially when you’re young.”

“I mean, I’m a genius too,” Souda grumbled. “I actually could just...modify clocks into bombs if I...really wanted to...”

“I want to change the very scope of neurology,” Matsuda went on, ignoring him this time. “I’m going to make it so that no person will ever be lost to us again.”

“Wait...you’re gonna like...cure death?” Souda asked, gawking. “T-That’s...dude...!”

Matsuda couldn’t help but smirk, all too aware of the growing alarm in the mechanic’s eyes.

“If you could just upload a person’s consciousness to a computer like a program... That’d change more than just our understanding of the brain. It’d challenge our understanding of humanity itself.”

Souda went pale.

“T-That’s, uh...”

“Of course it’s pretty unlikely,” Matsuda said, shaking his head. “And so absurdly sci-fi to the point of fantasy.”

But... It could have been possible at Hope’s Peak. Not on this stupid fucking island though.

“It was a joke. You’re supposed to laugh.”

Souda was left in stunned silence.

“I guess it was a bad joke,” Matsuda admits grumpily.

“Y-You know, I, uh... I just wanted to make a rocket ship someday,” Souda says, slowly and stupidly unsure. “But, you, uh... Your ambitions are fucking scary. Count me out.”

Just like that, Souda stood up and left. Without another word.

That was more or less what Matsuda learned to expect.

I really do just have a bad personality.

He knows this already, obviously. But it’s a fact that gets hammered in sometimes. Especially right now, when he sees Souda chatting amicably with Hinata. Souda’s wearing a smile that’s only been directed at Matsuda a couple of times. Even when Souda falters, Hinata ends up saying something that makes him perk right back up.

Hinata’s not that social of a guy in the first place.

The two of them banter with ease even when it’s clear that Hinata still gets exasperated by the other’s antics. Then—something is said. Souda’s expression changes into one of frustration and unease. Hinata’s worried, but when Souda excuses himself, Hinata makes no move to follow him. Likely to give the other space. Be respectful. All that.

Matsuda does trail after Souda, however. He’s not a considerate or patient guy. It’s why he doesn’t have any friends.

“Urgh, hate this, hate this, hate this,” Souda’s muttering under his breath through gritted teeth. “Seriously, why did this have to happen? There’s no escape...the ships and planes are useless...no engines... What the hell can I even do...?!”

“Boo.” Matsuda blew into the mechanic’s ear. “Gimme your lunch money.”

Souda screamed loud enough to blow off mountaintops. Matsuda thankfully had the foresight to cover his ears.

“M-M-M-MATSUDA?!” Souda yelped. “What the actual FUCK was that?!”

“A prank,” is his droning response. “You can laugh now.”

“THAT SHIT WASN’T FUNNY!” Souda screeched back. “Y-You, you, you—! Fucking watch it! I’m not in any mood to be messed with!”

Matsuda waved his hands.

“Alright, alright.”

Souda gave him a withering look. After a while, he backed up even more.

“...why are you here? A-Are you here to...?”

Matsuda waved his hands again, shaking his head for good measure.

“If I were, I wouldn’t have gotten your attention.”

“T-That could just be part of the trap!” Souda sputters. “Y-You... You’re not playing with me, are you?!”

...I was, but not because I wanted to murder you. Jeez. I like to think I’d be more pragmatic.

“You’re free to scream, then,” he said simply. “Scream as loud as you can. It can even be my name if you want.”

Souda shuddered.

“U-Urgh...dude, seriously... You’re just messed up,” he groans, burying his face into his hands. “What I’d give for a vehicle to get as far from you as possible. Even if I get sick afterward, it’d be worth it.”

“Haha,” Matsuda droned without a hint of mirth. “Sure.”

“Come to think of it, if anyone would be tempted to be the one to escape at the expense of everyone else...” Souda does raise his head to give him a look.

Matsuda stared back.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I-I don’t know,” Souda huffed, feigning assurance. “I think I’ve been around ya long enough to get a good idea of your character. And you’ve got like—scary ambitions.”

I’m not a considerate person, nor am I patient. I know I should be. It would ultimately make my life a lot easier.

“By that logic, I must know you pretty well in return,” he said.

Souda scoffed.

“Yeah, right. You’re just trying to psyche...”

“Dyed hair. Contacts.” Matsuda gestures to the entirety of him. “The way a person chooses to look says a lot about them.”

Souda’s mouth immediately shut, all blood draining from his face. It was easy. Too easy.

“Wonder what happened? Was it just bullying? Or a betrayal?” Matsuda went on. “People who change their natural appearance like that usually have something deeper to throw away.”

“Don’t—talk about shit you have no idea about...!” Souda growled. “It’s none of your damn business!”

He’s so basic.

It’s true I don’t know what I’m talking about, but you’re still falling for it, aren’t you?

“I’m not the traitor,” he says simply. “If I were, I’d manipulate you to like me. You’re about as easy to play as a cheap kazoo.”

Being a little cruel, aren’t you?

His head’s starting to hurt. For some reason—he himself feels sick. And Souda, well...

Souda’s already sniffling. In tears. Whatever he tries to say just comes out as blubbering. It’s pitiful. So much so that Matsuda pulls back with a groan.

His head really, really hurt. He rifles through his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and a pill bottle. He lays the former on top of Souda’s quivering head before prying open the bottle. As he turns on his heel, he pops a couple into his mouth and swallows them dry with a groan.

He needed a nap after all that, thus he’s on his way.

“Hey. You.” Souda jerked his thumb off to the distance. “We’re going. We need to have a talk.”

“Huh. Kay.”

Once they got to the beach, Souda took several deep breathes. Psyching himself up for what was to come.

There really were only a number of ways things would culminate. A simple exchange of words was not going to be it.

“Y-You—!”

At the same time, when Souda spun on his heel—

“OOF! L-Let go! Let go!”

Matsuda was a bit surprised that Souda had the gall to throw a punch first. Not so surprised that he lacked the reflexes to dodge, to seize the mechanic by the arm. He threw the mechanic down, pinning him down front-first into the sand with Matsuda sitting on his back. Souda yelped when his arm was twisted in Matsuda’s grip.

“L-Let go,” he choked out, slapping the sand. “U-Urgh... Urgh...!”

His eyes were screwed shut, likely to keep the sand out.

“S-Seriously?! You couldn’t let me throw one punch for what an asshole you’ve been?!”

“I mean, if you want to upset the princess, that’s your prerogative,” Matsuda hummed before pulling back. “Unfortunately, I don’t like getting punched if I can avoid it.”

“T-Then what about—?!” Souda ended up coughing. The idiot must have inhaled some sand. Feeling bad for him, Matsuda helped him to his feet. Souda’s still coughing pitifully. “Urgh... You’re suuuuch a piece of wooooork.”

“I carry scalpels around,” Matsuda reminded him, making him freeze. A look of fear and then—that fright melted into exasperation.

“Alright,” Souda sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Alright, I get it. You really like flaunting, don’t ya? You’re the worst.”

Matsuda hummed, but Souda went on.

“Y’know...you’re scarily good at reading people, too. You were right about me. I changed my appearance to throw my old self away,” he admits. “I used to be a cowardly loser who thought highly of anyone who bothered to give me the time of day. Even if they lied to me...even if they betrayed me. I was just too much of a wimp to admit that I was being taken advantage of.”

I was just guessing, Matsuda internally admitted. And I still think you’re a coward and a loser. But for different reasons.

“Accepting vulnerability is the first step,” he ended up saying. “You can’t just say you’ll change even if you’re dramatic about it.”

“W-Well, a lot did change when I...changed...” Souda trails off.

“But not the kind of positive change you were hoping for,” Matsuda guessed again. “Were you uncomfortable?”

Souda blanched.

“God, I hate to admit it, but...you’re too sharp for your own good.”

Matsuda said nothing.

“You’re smart. You’re really fucking smart.” Souda gritted his teeth and met his gaze head-on. “That’s why—I’m gonna keep my guard up around ya.”

“That’s fine,” Matsuda replied, shrugging. “There are people you can relax around, and people you can’t. I don’t blame you at all.”

“You’re fine with it,” Souda reiterated as if he wasn’t sure. “Even if...I never trust you...or believe in you... You’re just...fine with it?”

“I’m fine,” Matsuda repeated. “Are you?”

Souda flinched.

“I... Geez! Playing those sick head games with me again!” He shook his head furiously, covering it with his hands as if that’d be a good defense. “W-Well! I won’t let ya! Better fucking watch yourself, Matsuda! Don’t even THINK of trying anything funny!”

“Got it,” Matsuda droned with disinterest. “Would you like to shake on it?”

“K-Keep away from me,” Souda yelped, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Just—just stay the hell away from me! I’m gonna keep an eye on you, but... I don’t want to have to deal with you if I don’t have to!”

“Alright. Fine.”

Souda gave him a suspicious look. He got flustered and quickly turned away. Without looking at Matsuda, he blindly threw back the handkerchief. It only fluttered to the ground, landing in the sand.

“Save your pity,” Souda muttered darkly. “Goodbye.”

When Souda left, it was with an air of finality. Matsuda decided to just leave things like that between them.

Kneeling down to retrieve his handkerchief, Matsuda did pause for a moment. He shook the sand off the fabric.

“...I don’t plan on betraying anyone, not even you,” he spoke slowly and stupidly. “I do in fact...care about lives and I don’t want to see them lost.”

Would that have really been so hard to say?

He really did have such an awful personality. Even if it wouldn’t have worked out for him, it wouldn’t have hurt to have tried.

There are people you can relax around and people that you can’t. There are people you can be friends with and people you that can’t. People you should trust and people that you shouldn’t. You can’t always control which one you’ll be, because it all depends on how others feel. You can’t control that. Even if that’s technically true...

He feels like he’s making excuses. It feels bad.

His head hurting doesn’t help. As he gripped that handkerchief, he took notice of a crab burying itself in the sand down below.

I should do better. I should be better. Maybe if I tell myself enough times, it’ll happen.

#yasuke matsuda #matsuda yasuke #kazuichi souda #souda kazuichi #dr0 #sdr2 #Protag Matsun #Magi fics #SouMatsu #except not really #There's a lot I want to say but I want to know people's own raw thoughts #Unfiltered?

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skellebonez · 3 years

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Smoke, Flasks, And Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 3

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!

Chapter 2 Link!

Summary: MK starts to realize things are a bit too familiar right now, an unspoken event is revealed, and someone else realizes other things. There is a lot to unpack.

Warnings: Mild violence and smoking at the tail end.

Chapter 3: Big Words Traveler, But Can You Back Them Up

Something felt... off. That's the only way MK could describe it. Off.

It reminded him of the Calabash when he thought about it, but was it even possible? When Jin and Yin had trapped him in that weird mechanical gourd thing they had tried to make everything perfect, barring those odd earthquakes and the glitches that his mind made excuses for ignoring at the time. Really, they were actually pretty bad at their scheme and he should have picked up on it a lot sooner. This time nothing felt perfect, however, everything felt... mostly normal.

The Monkey King kicked his butt in scheduled training and then lost matches in Monkey Mech and refused to stop until he had best out of 15. Mei and Red Son seemed to be acting like normal. No earthquakes. No glitches.

But his time in the Calabash had made him more observant of his surroundings and his mistake with Macaque had made him less trusting. The fact the weather station called for rain and it had not rained? That was just odd enough to catch his attention when the weather station hadn't messed up a forecast without someone attacking it or really messing something up, something that always got local news alerts sent to their phones and would have had Mei making fun of the poor sap who messed up by now, in the entire time he had a phone.

Something didn’t just feel off. Something was off. And just in case he was right he needed to play his cards carefully. Do something that wouldn’t raise suspicion.

“Hey, Monkey King?” He smiled, knowing that his expression was just fake enough that if the other were real he would call it in an instant. He would raise his eyebrow or ask him what was up or ask him what the look was for. “We have any snacks?”

“Yeah, bud, coming right up!” He just... smiled. Stood. Walked into the kitchen.

This was not The Great Sage Equal To Heaven.

This was not his mentor.

Well... Shit.

----------

“Wait, back up,” Mei turned from where she sat at the boat wheel. “What does that even mean?”

MK had gotten her to stop before they were nearly back to the City, feeling bad they stopped in such a poor spot for Red Son but determined to talk when they were seemingly alone. He’d played along and only grown more certain in his deduction that the person they were with was not the Monkey King. The more he paid attention the more certain he was that they weren’t on Flower Fruit Mountain either.

The mountain always smelled of four things. Flowers, peaches, dirt, and the slightest undertone of molten rock and ash from close by the Flaming Mountains. The more he tried to pick up the normal scents that would hit him they just seemed... muted, somehow. Like smelling them through a mask or like they were artificial. The rock and ash was nowhere to be found at all.

And there was more. He tried so hard to remember how he got to the mountain. Logically he knew they took a boat, they had to do that. There was a boat on the shore. But that was the first thing he remembered seeing. He could not remember the boat ride over, could not remember the walk to where they docked the boat at all, could barely remember anything past leaving Pigsy’s Noodles at all. Gaps in his memory were not an every day occurrence for him (despite Pigsy teasing him about forgetting to do his job, that was not the same thing).

The only things he knew for certain were real were Mei and Red Son. He’d almost let his anxiety get the better of him, memories of summoning monster trees with his stress being the thing that made him focus long enough to test the waters.

He knew that burying his face in their hair and smelling them was weird as hell, even given their close relationship that was pushing it way too far in comfort, but given scent was the most telling sense giving him pause he had to try once Monkey King was distracted. If it had been any other situation Mei and Red Son’s disturbed and confused faces (and the muffled “what the fuck dude” from Mei) would have been hilarious, but when he could clearly smell Mei’s tea tree shampoo mixed in with the ever present scent her bike’s motor oil he was certain she was real. He was almost certain when Red tensed up and flushed when he repeated the action, but the scent of slight burning and his overly expensive coconut oil and jasmine shampoo cemented the fact he was real as well.

He’d make up for making them uncomfortable after all this was over.

“Exactly what I said, that wasn’t Monkey King,” MK repeated, looking over the horizon at the city-scape. Still no rain. No clouds. It was half an hour until sundown. “I don’t... this is going to sound crazy... but I don’t think this is real.”

His companions looked at each other in clear concern and MK knew he would finally have to come clean. “MK, wh-”

“There’s something I never told any of you. Not even Monkey King. Just... promise you’ll listen to me?”

----------

When he finished recounting the long ago misadventure he had in Jin and Yin’s Calabash he couldn’t look Mei and Red Son in their eyes. Despite knowing he probably shouldn’t he felt guilty for keeping something that important a secret.

“Oh MK... That’s why you were so preoccupied with us not being perfect,” Mei said softly, standing to envelop her friend in a sudden hug that barely shook the boat. “I’m sorry for losing my cool with you back then.I should have known something was weird when you said that.”

A shaky breathe MK didn’t know he was holding escaped, grateful that they seemed to believe him immediately.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” MK pulled away, giving Mei an awkward smile. Red Son had moved closer, and he shot him a smile as well when he placed a hand on his shoulder. “I should have told everyone when it happened, I just... I felt..” He trailed off, looking at the rainless city again. “We can unpack that later, right now we need to see if we’re really in another Calabash or if it’s something similar. If it is Jin and Yin again they’ve really stepped up their game.”

“I don’t think so...” Red Son said thoughtfully. He bit the end of his thumb nail, pacing the boat slowly in thought. “They seemed more preoccupied with just... having fun almost, last time. They didn’t seem to have an endgame past ‘capture the Monkie Kid’. What’s the end game? Why capture all three of us?”

“Yeah...” MK sighed, looking around carefully. “I dunno.. come to think of it, it all just feels different. This time it’s a lot closer and that is really scary if I’m being honest,” MK shuddered, not comfortable with how much better it was if he was really correct. “But it isn’t 100% accurate. Everything smells dull and Monkey King wasn’t picking up on things he normally would have.”

“Is that why you smelled o-”

“Unpacking later!”

“Why don’t we do what you did to get out last time?” Red Son interrupted, looking hopeful that he had solved the problem already. “We just have to find your staff.”

“Yeah that... that’s another problem...” MK bit his lip and held his hand up to his ear. The glow that lit from it illuminated the dawning horror on his friend’s faces as the staff materialized in his hand. They both seemed to regret not watching MK train that day when they realized what this meant. “That... may not work this time.”

----------

“You’re bleedin’ delusional!” The demon couldn’t help but groan out, pacing wildly in growing frustration. Before them both was a set of screens, watching the display of the trio’s conversation. The entire room looked like something right out of one of those American spy thrillers they’d seen, computers and monitors hooked up and showing a multitude of views. “I told you, you can’t just throw that many people in at once! It doesn’t matter how improved it is, it messes up, confuses the simulation! And-and you let ‘im keep the bloody staff! He’s-”

“Not getting out any time soon,” the other demon, seated comfortably in the only chair in the room, soothed. Their words were like poisoned honey and the first demon grimaced. How they let themselves be taken in by these words... they would never forgive themselves now, not after all of this. Not after what happened to- “Patience is what you and your brother lacked the first time. They don’t need to believe it, they just need to stay in it. Come now, you need to... relax.”

The first demon, the smaller demon, backed a step away as the seated one sat up straighter. They weren’t fast enough to get away from the clawed hand that gripped their throat, cutting off their air supply and pulling them far too close to the other’s face. No fight was given, they knew what would happen if they tried, and watched anxiously as the seated demon raised their forearm long smoking pipe to their lips to take a long drag on whatever foul concoction they had in it.

“Just rest Yin.” Their open mouth revealed colored smoke, sickeningly sweet and fruity smelling, swirling around inside before they loosened the grip on his throat to blow it directly into his face as he took a hasty breath of oxygen. "Perhaps you'll be more patient after a nice long nap."

The blue demon coughed when the other finally let him go, breathing deeply in the hopes he didn’t inhale as much smoke as he feared he did. As he tipped backward onto the ground he knew that was a fruitless thought. Now he laid on the ground with his head fuzzy and gaze filled with the equally unconscious visage of his elder brother.

The Gold and Silver demons... had really messed up...

#some of you guessed the where #can you guess the who now?#well the other who anyway #smoking is bad kids don't do it #mk #Qi Xiaotian #mei #long xiaojiao #red son #mystery character #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #jin and yin #fanfic #fanfiction #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #sfaut #side note: mei 100% should not be driving that boat

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jawira707 · 4 years

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Miraculous Ladybug New York Special fanfic - On the Plane

Info: I read yesterday that some people wanted a sweet Adrinette fic, where they fall asleep next to each other on the plane like they did in the Startrain episode. So I hoped someone would write that. Then I thought, maybe I should write that. This is my first fanfic in nearly one year I think, but why not, why not...I hope you like it! (Spoilers (even though no major spoilers) from the NY special!)

Word Count: 1462

Summary: Adrien had never fallen asleep on a plane, Plagg was on the Titanic and Mari had no earplugs with her...but luckily, they had each other.

Pairing: Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Warning: None

(Disclaimer: this fanfic is not sponsered by Air France, but I want them to know despite my critique they’re still 100 times better than American Airlines. Merci)

Title: On the plane

Adrien had never fallen asleep on a plane. No matter on how many trips he had gone, to the US, to Italy, even to Australia and China - mostly business related traveling in first class because his father insisted on that-, he just couldn’t get used to the dry air and the constant noise of the machine. He vividly remembered being scolded for not trying to rest and being too tired for shootings after they had landed, but luckily Gorilla didn’t care, absorbed in his own little word, listening to his meditation podcast, while Adrien kept moving around in his seat trying to find a more comfortable position. He was tired of scrolling through the entertainment program on his screen and additionally, he started to feel cold.

Looking around in the dark, he tried to find anyone that was not asleep, another classmate to talk to, but all the lights were out and he could hear snoring all around. I should have stayed in Paris, he thought guiltily, I should have convinced my father to let me stay. But how? Another voice in his hand, that suspiciously sounded like Plagg, replied. If Ladybug ever finds out, she would be so mad at him. Putting his head in his hands Adrien felt terribly alone, wishing once again his partner knew his real identity so he could explain to her why everything was so complicated at times.

„You’re here for Marinette and your friends too, remember“ The little whisper in his pocket really came from Plagg this time.

„Sorry, did I wake you up?“

„Sleeping with you is like being on the Titanic. And trust me I would know, because I was there! Do you ever sit still?“

„My leg has fallen asleep“

„I have never heard that human body parts sleep separately…“

„It’s just a saying Plagg“

„Well, then here’s another one. Stop worrying so much! Your friends are happy you came“

„You just want cheese and you know it“

„Sure. I live in France to go for cheese to the United States…“

„But you said-…“

„I want you to have some fun, kid, just relax!“

„I can’t“ Adrien gave back, tiredly. Finally giving up on trying, he stood up and started walking back and forth between the rows. The sun hadn’t risen yet and there were still hours to fly. Yay.

Suddenly he saw someone getting up a few rows in front of him. The person was stretching and didn’t seem to be headed to the bathroom or elsewhere. As he approached, he could already tell who it was. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, already not feeling that abandoned as he had a minute before. Maybe he could talk to her? He just had to be careful not to startle her.

„Hey, Marinette“ he called out quietly.

„Hi? Oh…WOAH…I mean, hi Adrien!“ Marinette nearly stumbled as she turned around quickly, her elbow accidentally making contact with her seat neighbor. Her face had turned the color of deep red, but luckily in the dark, no one noticed. „What are you doing here? I mean, it’s nice that you came, it’s not that I don’t want you here, I just-„

„I couldn’t sleep“ Adrien gently interrupted her nervous rambling. „Why are you up? You’re not feeling air sick, do you?“ He remembered her mentioning this earlier, but Marinette seemed confused.

„Me? Oh…no, it’s a…calm flight“

„I’m glad to hear that“

For a moment there just stood next to each other in silence and Adrien wondered if she wanted to sit down again and didn’t do so out of courtesy. „Well, if you would like to sleep some more…“, he started, but didn’t finish because she shook her head.

„No, at least not here, our principal is snoring like a champion.“

Adrien chuckled at this.

„Oh..Adrien?“ He nodded, wondering why she suddenly sounded concerned. „Sorry, but are you feeling air sick?“ She felt stupid for not asking – he always was so caring, complimenting her and asking how she was doing. Maybe he had walked here not to chat, but to consult one of their teachers which were sitting next to her. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Next, she almost flinched away before she realized he had put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

„Ah non. Thank you for asking. I’m used to flying, I just don’t like it. It’s loud and stuffed…I know, I sound like a spoiled child“ He chuckled again,making her heart flutter. „Normally, I fly in first class. I’m more chatty when I get tired.“

„Do you want me to come with you? I mean …sit next to you?“ Wait, did she really just asked him that?!

„That would be great.“

„Let’s go“ Wow, Marinette congratulated herself, maybe it was because she couldn’t really see Adrien’s face and his beautiful, wonderful green eyes in the dark or because she also was exhausted, but she was sure that these were the first coherent sentences she had spoken to him recently. And now he was holding…her hand!

„I will lead you, be careful, there’s a lot of backpacks and jackets lying around“ he told her and she couldn’t disagree with that logic. Nope, it made perfect sense...

As they reached the seats, Adrien sat down first and this time she joined him without any hesitation. „I still can’t believe you convinced my dad to let me come“ Adien started, making her blush.

„Yeah, me neither. But I guess, he realized how important it was to us“

„Oui“ He sounded happier now. „Do you want to play a game?“

„Huh?“

Adrien turned on his screen again. „There’s not a huge selection but there are some quiz games on here…alone it’s boring, but maybe it’s more fun playing together“

„Yes“

Marinette had no clue what he was talking about, but a few minutes later they both tried to answer questions of different categories as quickly as possible.

„Wow, I’m dumb“ Adrien said after the first round. „I have only 4/10 correct answers in the geography section“

„Geography is hard“ she reassured him.

„But I selected France, Paris as the main category“ And then she laughed and he laughed too.

„Well, Monsieur Agreste“ she teased him, again surprised about her sudden boldness, „I guess you have no clue where you’re living“

„True, I have not seen so much of Paris after all, haven’t I? If there was a category „My room“ I would win for sure!“ He kept on laughing, but Marinette realized she needed to change the subject.

„Let’s play this word game…it’s in English though“ „Fine, we should practice anyway“

It turned out Marinette excelled in this game and nearly found all the hidden words. „Can you find another one…one is still missing?“ As he didn’t answer, she turned towards him, realizing he was about to fall asleep, his eyes closed and him leaning back into his seat. „Okay... good night, Adrien“

She smiled and thought about getting up but just then the boy unconsciously moved his leg in front of hers. It’s not so bad, being small after all, she thought. All the tall boys had to be much more uncomfortable in the small space than she was. If she got up now, there was a chance she would wake him up. „Mari…?“ Speaking of which…

“Adrien?“ He didn’t seem to be fully awake, murmuring something unintelligibly.

"What?“

„Stay“

Oh…my…

“Please“ he whispered and she felt his weight against her side. He wasn’t heavy and apparently longing for contact, instead of actually falling asleep on her. His little „please“ moved something inside her and she placed his hand on his arm.

„Shh…“

She couldn’t think too much about this, she realized.Therefore she closed her eyes as well, leaning into him as if to hide away from all her fear, her awkwardness and no matter how little sense that made, it worked. Adrien rested his chin on her head, her ear close to his chest, so that she now heard his steady and slow breathing. He felt so much better and warmer with Marinette in his arms.

The motor noises were still just as loud and the air just as dry, but there were by themselves in their little world, blocking out everything around them.

The little timer for the game on the screen showed 0:00 seconds and the score was displayed „You found 9/10 hidden words“ it read. The 10th word is „solace“.” Then after a few moments the screen got dark automatically, because no one had restarted the game.

Adrien shifted in his seat, pulling Marinette closer to him, sighing contently as he felt her wrapping her arms around his waist.

At the same moment, in a different time zone, the sun started rising in Paris.

And Adrien Agreste was finally asleep.

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Thank you for reading! I’m always happy about reviews, here some little things that didn’t make it into the story:

- Marinette sitting on Adrien’s chocolate bar he placed on the seat next to him instead of eating it

- Plagg nearly getting stuck in the ventilation (a drama, really)

- Adrien and Mari sharing headphones to listen to music on the plane (classic to fall asleep or Jagged Stone to have themselves their own little party, your choice)

I hope you like this little story =)

#miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrinette #miraculous new york special #new york special #miraculous spoilers #miraculous fanfic #adrinette fanfic #adrinette fluff #ML spoilers

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years

Text

Chapter 18. Three’s a Party

‘Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined.' Ovean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

I don’t know how long we stayed in the bathtub, but it felt quick. Harry held me until I stopped crying, his hand caressing my hair, his smell bringing me peace – it was almost easy to allow my breath to slow. When it did, while he still held me to his chest, I told him everything.

I told him that there were days I barely said anything to anyone that wasn’t ‘good morning’ or ‘good night’. I told him about feeling bursts of anger towards everyone and everything. I told him about the many attempts to clarify with multiple people what I was supposed to be doing and receiving condescending dismissals. I told him about my mother’s general apathy, about my sister having swollen, bloodshot eyes so constantly I stopped thinking it was unusual, about her sudden parting with her lifelong dream. I told him things I hadn’t even realized I felt before I said it aloud.

Like the guilt of being alive when Louis was gone, like the guilt of sometimes forgetting he was, or feeling boredom, or even the slightest joy, when he wasn’t around anymore for any of it. Like feeling so guilty about inheriting his title that sometimes I googled myself to see the negative stories in the press as punishment.

Afterwards, I had a shower and when I stepped outside, there was a fresh glass of water in the nightstand on the side I had slept in the night before.

I had a few sips, feeling my eyes heavy – they were swollen from crying. It was early at night, but I had no desire for dinner or doing anything at all. So I just laid in bed, on my side, feeling the kind of tired sleep doesn’t cure, but still I closed my eyes, letting his smell in the pillow lull me to sleep.

I woke up – God only knows how long after – with his hand on my shoulder, warm and firm, slowly running down my arm almost until my elbow and back up, delicately.

I took in a deep breath and let it go, then I turned around in bed, to face him. His other arm was under his pillow. I didn’t look at his face, just laid my head on his pillow, over his shoulder, eyes closed to go back to sleep. A little thrown, it took him a second or two, but eventually he let his arm relax as it embraced me, before starting to caress my back.

I didn’t let the guilt in. I refused to. I was just… broken, an open wound, and he made me feel at peace. That was all that mattered.

In the night, I woke up to use the bathroom and when I returned, Harry, still in deep sleep, was facing the other side of the room. I laid next to him, and tentatively dropped my arm down his waist. When I raised up my knees, my legs fit into his, and I let it. I touched my nose to his back, letting his smell calm me again, and brought my hand across his chest to his heart. Feeling it beat, I was so close to sleep I didn’t hear or feel when he moved his hand until it was over mine. He interlaced our fingers together and sighed, content. With his fingers caressing mine, I fell asleep easily.

— ---- —

We slept in the following day. By the time I gave up trying to go back to sleep, it was almost noon. I turned in bed to find Harry scrolling through his phone, his face still slightly swollen from sleep.

“Morning.” I said, my voice lower than usual.

He smiled at me, letting his phone fall to the mattress and hugging his pillow to look at me upclose.

“Good morning.” He reached out with a hand to brush my hair out of my face. “Or should I say good afternoon.”

“Afternoon?!”

“It’s almost two.”

“What?!” I asked, slightly exasperated. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!”

“What for?” He asked, shrugging. It was a good point. “Sometimes it’s good to sleep the day away… healthy.”

“I… I have been sleeping the day away a lot.” I confessed.

“I know.” He replied. I did tell him that the previous night. “It’s okay. Emotionally tired is still tired.”

I smiled, feeling less embarrassed than a second ago.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go back to…” I gestured vaguely with my eyes to his phone.

“I was just making some decisions for work. Nothing more for the rest of the day, though. Free to binge Orange is the New Black if you want.”

I let out a small, excited gasp. “Yay.” He laughed.

“Should we get something to eat first?” He asked. “I had breakfast earlier, but I was waiting for you for lunch.”

Faster than I could try to stop it, I felt my heart fill with affection for him.

Sighing, I smiled. “Sure. How about that indian place you mentioned?”

“Nice!” He smiled, picking up his phone.

He pulled up the menu and we chose our favorite kind of naan and chicken, so he sent a request to his security, who would then, apparently, order it themselves and receive it at the gate.

We stayed in bed for a while longer, talking about a lot of nothings, before he got a notification that the delivery guy had exited the restaurant. I then got up and went to the bathroom as he went downstairs to set the table.

When I got down, he was gone, though I quickly realized he was just outside picking up our food from one of his protection officers. He’d set up the coffee table in the TV room with plates, cutlery and cups over a white linen tablecloth with a small glass bottle in the center filled with colorful wildflowers I guessed he must have gotten from the garden outside.

I sat down on the floor with a smile on my face, biting my lip as my cheeks reddened.

We ate while Orange is the New Black played on the TV in front; the chicken was good, but the garlic naan was the best part of the meal. When we were done, I felt so satisfied I just stretched across the floor with one of the couch cushions as a pillow to watch the rest of the episode. Harry pushed the table to the side, pulled another cushion down and laid by my side, one arm under his head, closer to me than strictly necessary. I had issues paying attention to the plot.

Two, three, four episodes later we were still laying on the floor when I got up and told him I had to pee, so we decided to continue watching it upstairs. He took the dishes to the sink while I went to the bathroom. When I came back, I realized he’d brought the blanket and pillows from his bed so we could be more comfortable.

“Do you not have to work today?” I asked, just as he happily jumped into place.

“Nope!” He smiled. “I cleared my schedule to do nothing else today.”

“Nice.”

“Though I do have an engagement tomorrow.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“It’s something for the Endeavor Fund.” He explained. “I’m going to the tracks, in Sussex. Goodwood Motor Circuit. Some other servicemen and women will be there, that’s who the Fund works to help, you know?”

“Veterans?”

“Wounded, sick, injured…” He nodded. “So we’re having a bit of the day in the tracks and I think,” He grinned, “they’ll let me drive a jaguar.”

“Exciting.” I laughed.

“It is!” He nodded, enthusiastically.

“…that’s what you like to do more, isn’t it?” I asked. “Helping military personel… you look… energized when you talk about them.”

He sighed, smiling. “I guess I– I guess I feel I am one of them. Even if in a very different, much smaller way.”

“We’ve talked about this.” I corrected. “You were there, you’re one of them. Stop downplaying it.”

He smiled at me, before looking down, biting his lower lip. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

“What?”

“…I’ve been working on something. Something cool, that I’m excited about… It’s… It’s not ready yet… but we’re so close to announcing it…”

“God, you sound so excited.” I noticed, chuckling. “What is it?!”

He seemed to consider me for a few seconds before getting up, quickly, and jumping over me to go to the kitchen, where he picked up his laptop from the table and brought it back, along with a thick, black, plastic folder.

“So, have you ever heard of the Warrior Games?!” He started. “It’s this military sports event in America, for injured military personnel… I was there last year and it just… it was amazing!”

“Okay?”

“So I kept thinking about it, and about how it should really be for everybody, not just the Americans, you know? It should be like the Olympics, global. I mean, it just makes sense, the benefits that it brings to them… it puts them back in a mindspace of self-worth, you know? And at the same time it inspires other people, too, civilians, I mean. It teaches them how impressive they are.”

“Sure.” I nodded.

“Well,” he opened his laptop and put in my lap, opening a slideshow with a couple of clicks of his finger. “So I… I am doing it. Well, we are. Me and my team. We’re creating a global military sports event for injured personnel.”

He clicked through the slides in his presentation summarizing his main idea – essentially, a military paralympics –, and the contacts he had made to get the event to happen in London. His connections involved everyone from the Mayor to the Obamas, as well as millions in investment from Jaguar Land Rover.

He smiled as he spoke with pride about every decision, showing me rejected design ideas for the logo, to the newest t-shirt mockup, which he had a printed version of in a chart on his folder. Eventually, his cheeks reddened as he realized he spoke for so long Netflix was asking if we were still watching Orange is the New Black.

“Sorry.” He chuckled. “I’ve just been so anxious about announcing it next month… And then they want us to plan it for September, which seems so close!”

“Well, it is. But it’s okay! You can totally pull it off.”

“You think?”

“Of course!” I smiled. “The secret is finding passionate, competent people and delegating so you don’t lose your mind, because, Harry… the idea is really good. You can totally pull it off.”

He smiled, sheepishly. “…I’m actually really excited.”

“You should be.” I told him, honest. “It’s a great idea, and you’ve clearly done your homework. I like everything about it.”

He looked at me. “Thanks, Mary.”

“…who knows? Maybe we’ll get some Savoy veterans in here, too.”

“That’d be cool!” He nodded. “You’d have to come support them, though. I mean,” he fixed his features into a serious expression, leaning in to me, conspiratorially, “as the Crown Princess, you would have to. Right?”

I smiled. “Makes sense. Duty is duty.” I shrugged.

“That’s right…” He agreed, closer still.

“Are you scared?”

“Of what?” His playful smile disappeared.

I shrugged. “All of it.”

He sighed. “I’m terrified. I mean, the amount of people I’ve managed to convince… the amount of people this would impact… the amount of money we need… Sometimes I’m—Well, most of the time I’m just so confused as to how no one has stopped me yet?!”

I giggled. “Because you’re good at this. You… care. You have talent and passion and you care. People see it.”

His cheeks were reddening again.

“Honestly?” I asked, with a sigh, “I wish I had this type of… connection to the work. Maybe I would feel less lost about giving up the only career I’ve ever wanted to be Crown Princess.”

We were silent for a while, as my words echoed in our minds.

“You know…” he started, carefully, his tone soft. “It wasn’t that easy… Getting to this... point. This… Place where I’m actually kind of okay at it.”

“We’ve established you are brilliant at it.” I corrected, making him blush as he tried to bite down a smile.

He closed the laptop and put it behind us, on the couch, before pulling his pillow closer to me.

“I spent most of my life feeling out of place.” He started slowly. “I mean, you know what is like. Being born into this, but not really having a place in it. I felt… useless and used. Being a soldier is the only thing I ever felt I earned and was actually good at… and even that I couldn’t do.”

“Too risky, right?”

He nodded. “It’s just… not a risk to my life, but I become a risk to others… I felt… robbed of the only thing I liked doing.”

I nodded. “I know what that’s like.”

“Yes, but you see, that’s not your case anymore.” He sat up, looking at me intently.

I scoffed, humorlessly laughing at the thought. “It doesn’t feel that different.” Harry sighed. “Would you rather go back to Litchfield?”

I smiled. “Yes.”

While Piper struggled with her soap business and navigating her own newfound identity, I laid closer to him until it was his shoulder and not the pillow I was resting my head on. The moment felt soft and fragile, but risky all the same. Having him around felt… powerful in ways that were scary and impossible to ignore at the same time. And although I felt moving away would be the smart thing to do, I couldn’t.

I was almost falling asleep when Mr. Healy ignored Pennsatucky threatening Piper, so I had to wake up to yell at the TV. We went from seasons one to two with Harry smiling at my reaction. When Piper was finally back at Litchfield, I started falling asleep again, so he said we should go upstairs, “just in case”.

On his bed, we seemed to drop all pretenses. He stretched his arm over me and I just laid my head inside his embrace with no preamble. It was getting harder to deny or try to rationalize it – that homecoming feeling that threatened to knock me out whenever I touched him.

— ---- —

Harry’s phone rang hours later, waking me up from a nap. He whispered an apology, and picked it up quickly, before telling me it was work and was going to take a while. So he went downstairs and I started paying attention to the show again. When I saw Piper out of prison and the mustache asshole back I replayed the previous episode from the start as it was clear I had missed a lot.

Three episodes later, there was a big storm brewing in Litchfield and I am not saying it was a sign, but it was in the middle of that episode that I decided Harry had been on the phone for a long time, and thought I should check on him.

Downstairs, he was on the kitchen table typing away on his laptop with a focused look over his eyes. Quietly, I watched him for a few seconds, half envious for his passion for the work, half appreciative of the way his jaw locked when he looked pensive.

I was smiling when I heard a knock on the door. Harry rose from his chair, closed the laptop, and made his way to it while I took two steps back into the stairs, to hide.

“Hi.”

There was a moment of shock while the house remained silent before I felt my legs move. I cut the distance through the kitchen and living room until I had one hand on a mouth-agape-Harry’s back, gently pulling him out of the way. He opened the door more as he did and soon both him and my sister were staring at me.

“Lourdes?!” I asked, in shock. “What are you doing here?!”

My sister was standing before him, still in her school uniform. She had no shock in her face, just an obnoxious looking smile. “Hey, Maggie.”

I looked at Harry, who couldn’t seem to decide where to look.

“Hey, would you mind–?” I started, but he didn’t need me to finish.

“Sure, yeah.” He nodded, hurriedly walking inside again.

I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

“Are you sure you don’t want your bodyguard to talk to me first?” Lourdes asked. “Maybe frisk me? I could be hiding a gun. What if I force you to follow me into the car and take you home by force?!”

Beyond her, I saw in the small, brick street of Kensington Palace a black SUV parked with the windows rolled down. The driver was Lourdes’ own security officer, who seemed to be accompanied by mine.

“What are you talking about?! What are you doing here?!”

“Well, from what I hear he’s been watching you like a guard dog.” She said. “Maman made it sound like she wasn’t even sure you were real anymore… ‘No one’s seen Marie-Margueritte in three days! She could have died and we wouldn’t know!’”, she mocked.

“That’s ridiculous.” I shook my head, almost amused. “She’s so dramatic.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Lourdes said, one brow perked up higher than the other. “Did you really run away from your security?”

“I didn’t–!” I started, choking on my words. “…run.”

“Wow, Maggie.” She laughed. “That’s insane.”

“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes. “Lourdes, why are you here?!”

“Why do you think? Mom seems to think I would be better at dragging you home. I guess maybe she thought I would be faster at sneaking upstairs to find you… I don’t think she planned on you coming out of your own will.”

I rolled my eyes. “Look, I’m fine. Go home, and tell mom and dad I’ll be home soon, okay?”

“Oh, no.” She shrugged. “I’m staying.”

Quicker than I was able to follow, she reached behind me, opened the door and walked in. When I followed her, I realized she had a large weekend bag hanging from her shoulder, the one she usually used for weekend trips home.

“Woah, this place is… small.” She remarked, walking around as she took everything in, as if in a museum. “You live here?”

From the couch, Harry got to his feet and shrugged. “I live on my own, don’t need much space.”

“Bet you never thought you’d have to offer sanctuary to poor, runaway princesses, huh?”

“Lourdes, you’re not staying.”

She looked at me, one brow corked up in defiance. “What are you going to do, call your security in here to drag me out? Who’s to say they won’t take you with me?”

Harry interjected. “Okay, why don’t we all take a deep breath and–?”

“You need to relax.” She dropped her bag on the floor and walked by Harry to inspect the living room. “I’m on your side.”

I sighed. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Seriously, Maggie, running away?! Badass. Never thought you had it in you.” She laughed.

“I did not run away!”

“Yeah, she calmly walked off the train.” Harry added, looking slightly more amused than felt appropriate.

“Regardless,” Lourdes shrugged, “amazing.”

“Lourdes, this isn’t–”, I sighed, unsure what to even say anymore. “This isn’t a game.”

“Everything’s a game if you’re having fun.” She returned, not even looking at me. “

As she approached Harry’s bookcase, I looked at him, lost for words. He had a grin on his lips, but his eyes reflected my own confusion.

I walked past him, towards Lourdes as she grabbed one of the picture frames to inspect it closely.

“You can’t stay here.” I told her.

She turned around and looked at Harry, a pitiful, sad expression on her face. “…I can’t?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he looked at me, pure despair in his eyes.

“Oh, please.” I stepped in front of her to block Harry’s view. “Don’t.”

“I mean, I get it, I should have called, I guess.” She told him, leaning around me. “I wouldn’t want to impose. I’m sorry, Harry–”

“Of course you can stay.” Harry said, making me turn to give him a wide-eyed, questioning look. “There’s enough space, it’s not a big deal.”

“She has school!” I argued. “It’s monday! You have to go to school.”

“Actually, I do not.” She said, placing Harry’s picture of himself as a baby on a pony with his mother by his side back on the shelf. “I am all yours.”

“Why–? Of course, mom… Look, Lou, mom thinks there’s something very dramatic happening here, but there isn’t. I’ll be home in no time. Until then, she’ll soon regret taking you away from school to involve you in this.”

“She didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Take me away from school.” She shrugged. “I was suspended.”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal, it was totally unfair.”

“Suspended? As in, the administration sent you away?!”

“Yes, Maggie, relax. It was a mistake.” She removed her navy blue blazer, throwing it on me. “I didn’t do anything. Wrong place, wrong time.”

“That explanation is gonna need a lot more words.”

She folded her sleeves up to her elbows. “Sounds like we’re gonna need time. Good thing I’m staying.”

I looked at Harry, exasperated. He sighed, and gave me the quickest and smallest of shrugs.

“Well, that’s decided.” He said. “Lourdes, right? Harry.”

She smiled at him. “Oh, I know who you are.”

“Okay–” I tried.

“We did meet in Savoy. Last October.”

“Yes. And you were the guy sexting my sister after the Royal tour.”

Mortified, I sighed, looking at the ground.

Harry merely stuttered. “I–I don’t think I–Well, I–Would you call that sext–?”

“Louis thought you liked her.” Lourdes added. “Did you?”

“Okay!” I shouted, throwing her blazer over her head. “How about pizza for dinner? Harry, do you know a place?”

His cheeks were red. “I–I do. Yes.”

“Good. Lourdes likes pepperoni. I like marguerita, but I’m open to anything, really.” I grabbed her bag with one hand and her elbow with the other. “I’m going to show her to the guest room and let her have a nice, much needed shower in your bathroom if that’s okay–”

“Are you implying I stink?” She asked, holding her blazer awkwardly above her eyes.

“Towels on the closet in the hall, right?” I asked him, already on the stairs. “No mushrooms, please, I’m allergic!”

Then I marched her into the guest bedroom, the only room in the house I hadn’t yet seen. It was smaller than Harry’s room, and had a stuffy smell, but it was nice enough. I put Lourdes’ bag on the floor trying to look as though I had been there before.

“Why were you suspended?”

“Why are you here?” She returned.

“Why are you here?!”

“To convince you to go home, of course.”

“Well, I’m not going home. Not yet. Now answer my question.”

She seemed to consider the request for a while. Slowly, she dragged the tip of her finger on the surface of the bedside table and stared at it.

“Some kids were smoking.”

I straightened my back, attentive. “...were you?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well, no need to react like that, it’s a fair question. Why were you suspended then?”

She sighed. “I was with them and I guess my word isn’t enough to clear me.”

“Who was it?! When did your friends start smoking?!”

She circled the bed and opened the curtains, looking out the window. “No one you know. And I didn’t ask.”

“New friends? Why are you hanging out with kids who smoke?!”

“They’re nice. They’re fun. And everyone else I know was in class.”

“What—why weren’t you in class, then?”

She let out a long sigh. “Maggie, it doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

“Yes, it matters, Lourdes. Of course it does. Do mom and dad know?”

“Of course they know. They’re the ones who told the pilot to fly me here from school instead of home.”

“Wait. What came first? You getting suspended or them asking to come get me?”

She thought about it a while, turning around to face me. “I’m not sure. From my end it was the suspension.”

We were silent, both too busy with our own thoughts. I grabbed her blazer and folded it, gently. The school emblem on it still made me sad; she attended the same school I only stayed at for one year.

“...they must be very stupid if they thought they could get away with it. Your friends, I mean. Those nuns are everywhere. They see everything.”

She was quiet.

“What class were you cutting?”

“...AP English.”

“What?!” I asked, slightly outraged. “You cut one of the best classes?! Man. What a waste. I always fantasized about cutting physics but never did.”

“I don’t mind physics. There’s so much going on that my mind stays busy. But there’s too much thinking in English.” She sat on the bed to start removing her knee high socks. “And it always reminds me of Lou.”

Feeling my heart tighten, I remembered English was always Louis’ favorite subject.

Lourdes removed her shoes, placed both socks into them — black leather Gucci loafers — and turned around to get her bag.

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many classes did you cut?”

She didn’t look at me. Inside her bag, she found a pair of pajamas, underwear, a toiletries bag, and from inside it, a hair tie she used to put her long blonde hair into a bun.

“They wouldn’t send the King’s daughter home for skipping one class and not smoking.”

“It’s bullshit.” She complained. “My grades are fine! So what if I skipped a couple classes?!”

“A couple?!”

“A few. Whatever. If my grades are fine that means I don’t need the classes. Ergo, why should I be punished for it?!”

“How many is a few?”

“Maggie, that’s not the point. The point is I don’t have skating anymore, so I have time to study by myself.”

“Sounds like something you could have agreed on with your teacher instead of just... doing it.”

“Again. If my grades are fine—“

“What do you consider fine?” I interrupted, “Because your grades were fine before. By that logic, now they should be better.”

She sighed. “Whatever. It’s done.��

She removed her button down white shirt and folded it carefully. The white tank top she was wearing underneath had stains on it.

“How long are you suspended for?”

“Until next week. Which gives me plenty of time to stay here with you.” She finished, with a smile.

I looked at her bag, at the rug, and at the wall in silence

"Lou, you can't stay here."

"Why not? You are."

"Because you're a kid. You are under age. Mom and dad will want you home. They shouldn't even have sent you here in the first place, what were they thinking?"

"That if you wouldn’t talk to them, you might talk to me." She replied.

"I guess they were right, then."

"But you still won't come home or let me stay."

"It's just... complicated."

"You just want to be alone with your lover." She said, accusatory.

"Lover?!" I asked, disgusted.

"Isn't that what you call someone you're having an affair with?"

"I am not having an affair! God, you and mom, I swear to God! I'm allowed to have friends!"

"It's an interesting friendship..."

"Speaking of which, cut it out with that sexting nonsense. And asking him about all that stuff in the tour. It's not okay."

"I didn't make anything up. I'm just asking about things that happened."

"And I am asking you to stop doing that." I said. "Cut it out. We're friends. You're making it weird."

"Oh, I am?" She asked, crossing her arms. "So, if you found out Chris was staying with a female friend in Canada, who was to him what you are to Harry, whatever that is, you would be okay with it?"

"Yes." I lied, on auto-pilot.

"Right." She rolled her eyes and picked up her toiletries bag and her pajamas. "What did you even tell him? Christopher, I mean. When you said you were staying here? That you were having a mental breakdown and Harry offered you a place to do it?"

"...I haven't spoken to Christopher." I told her, rolling my eyes.

"In three days?! What the hell, Maggie? He might think you died."

"I think he would have heard from someone if I died."

"Well, what if he died? What if his plane crashed?! What if he called the police when he couldn't reach you?!"

"He knows better than that." I explained. "Besides, my phone is still off. I didn't want the staff to be able to track me."

"Well, they know you're here now." She reminded me. “Might as well turn it on and start thinking of a good explanation to give your boyfriend.”

There was a knock on the door, so we both looked at it to find Harry standing in the doorway.

“Hey.” He started, awkwardly. “Your… security detail came over to ask when you’re leaving.” I looked at my sister. “They don’t know you’re staying?!”

“Oops.” She shrugged. “In my defense I don’t remember explicitly saying that I had permission to stay.”

“Lourdes-Abigail!” “So, the lawyer gene runs in the family, I see.” Harry said, grinning. I ignored him. “Lourdes, you can’t stay here if you don’t have permission.” “Harry said I could stay.” “Harry isn’t your parent. You need permission from your parents.” She took in a deep breath, and straightened her back. “I am staying, Maggie. And you know why? Because I don’t have school, which means the only place I’m supposed to be is home. With mom and dad who, as you well know, are a nightmare these days. So, if you don’t have to be home, I don’t either. Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to have a shower. I’m assuming it’s the only other door in the hall, right?”

She marched past me and Harry, out of the room, walking confidently into his bedroom and soon I heard the bathroom door close from inside.

I sighed, slumping down into the guest room bed. I risked a look at Harry.

“I’m sorry.” I said. “Now you have two unwanted guests.” “Not unwanted.” He replied. “And I thought we talked about apologies.” I gave him a smile. “She can be a lot.”

“So can you.” He returned. “I like it.”

We exchanged a smile before he turned around to leave.

“Harry?” I called. “If it’s okay, I think it’s best if Lourdes thinks I’ve been sleeping in this room these past couple of nights.”

He gulped, avoiding my eyes. "Sure. Whatever you think is best."

“It’s just…” I started, apologetic. “She wouldn’t… understand.”

He nodded. “I’m not sure I do, either, to be honest.”

Quietly, I tried to think of how to answer that, but I couldn’t think of anything. He smiled, and went back downstairs. In his room, I found my own bag and took it to the guest room. In it, I found my phone. My heart beating rapidly, feeling tight, I turned it on, and while I waited, I tried to think of how to justify to Christopher why I had disappeared off the face of the Earth.

But when my phone finished updating the notifications I had missed, I realized I didn’t have anything to be concerned about. There were a couple texts from my friends, and many missed calls from my parents and Auguste, as well as my protection officers. But Chris had only texted once. A few hours before.

‘Hey babe. Sorry I forgot to text or call! I landed fine, jet lagged though. In and out of a lot of meetings, so I forgot! Bringing you a gift! Talk soon, love you xo’

I tried to think of what to tell him. I tried to look inside my heart and find what I had to say to him. But I was coming up empty. After a few minutes I just turned my phone off again and went back downstairs.

In the kitchen, Harry was gathering plates and cups to set the table in the living room again.

“Hey. I thought we could eat while watching TV again. Probably not Orange, your sister seems too young for it, but it’s your call--”

I approached him, slowly, taking the cups he was holding from his hand and placing them on the table. Without allowing myself to think too much about it, I then wrapped my arms around him and laid my head in his chest, like it had been when I was sleeping earlier that day. His smell was still as comforting and welcoming as before and his touch when he hugged me back, tightly, felt natural and mind bendingly warm.

Thinking of my boyfriend, I was coming up empty. In Harry’s arms, I felt a lot.

---- --- ----

[A/N: Yall. Tell me what you thiiiiiiink! What do you thiiiiiink????? Please let me know! THANK YOU FOR READING YOU’RE THE BEST!]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

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ninzied · 4 years

Text

things you said when you were scared

for @frank-kastle. [ao3]

There are a lot of terrible things in life. Death. Taxes. Dirty cops. The list goes on and on. But right now, hospital coffee probably ranks up there amongst some of the worst.

“I swear this was brewed in the tenth circle of hell,” says Foggy to no one in particular as he pours himself his fifth cup for the night.

He dumps in a generous number of sugar packets, and some of that awful instant creamer stuff for good measure. It clumps at the top as he stirs, and has an unpleasant powdery texture when he takes a sip and almost burns his tongue off.

“God, that’s…not good,” he says with a grimace, and heads back to the room.

The hospital’s quiet this late in the evening. After the bustle around shift change at 7, Foggy hasn’t seen many people around. There’s one guy here now, checking in up by the front desk, but other than that it’s been—

“I’m here to see Karen Page.”

Foggy freezes on the spot. He could pick out that gravelly voice anywhere. Which feels like a pretty weird thing to admit, but it’s true.

“Friend or family?” The nurse behind the counter is asking.

Frank Castle looks intensely at the nurse and says, “She’s the only family I got, ma’am.”

The nurse gives him a sympathetic smile, and hands him a sign-in sheet and a pen.

He scrawls something onto the paper, and exchanges it for a bright red visitor badge that matches the one Foggy is wearing.

The nurse tells him the room number, and points helpfully down the hall where Foggy is standing.

He doesn’t know whether to wave or to run in the other direction, the end result of which is that Frank finds him lurking awkwardly behind a meal cart just outside of the room.

“Hey,” says Frank.

“Uh,” says Foggy. “Hey…y.”

“How is she?”

“She’s asleep,” says Foggy, and Frank’s eyes narrow.

“Asleep in what way?” His voice is dark and low and not to be trifled with.

“Right,” Foggy says hastily. “I see how that could have been misconstrued. She’s fine, she’s just sleeping off the anesthesia. The doctor said everything went pretty smoothly.”

“Good.” But it looks like Frank won’t quite believe it until he’s confirmed it for himself. He scans the small glass pane in the door, visibly relaxing a little when he sees her sleeping on the other side.

“So did Matt call you, or?”

Frank says, with a perfectly straight face, “Left a voice note, actually.”

“He did?”

Frank gives him a flat look. “What do you think.”

“I honestly have no idea,” Foggy tells him. “Not sure anyone does. Well, except for – you know.” He gestures at the window, but Frank’s already turned back to her, brow creased.

“I’m going to get some more coffee,” says Foggy. “Do you want anything?”

Frank is still gazing into the room. He rubs one hand over the other, but doesn’t make a move for the door. “What?” he asks, entirely distracted.

“I’m going to get you some coffee,” Foggy tells him firmly. He turns around and heads toward the little waiting area again, making a point not to look back when he stops by one of the vending machines.

He’s deciding between the red and blue Doritos when he hears the soft click of the door latch closed. He goes for the blue, and then takes a seat in one of the armchairs for a while.

He winds up falling asleep with the bag of chips unopened in his lap. It’s about one in the morning when he comes to, and it takes a moment before he remembers what he’s even doing here.

There’s a hell of a crick in his neck, which he supposes a cup of that truly terrible coffee won’t make any worse. As he waits for it to brew, he wonders if Frank is a cream and sugar kind of guy. Probably not. But Foggy had tried it black at first, and it was not a bad approximation of how he imagines motor oil would taste.

Frank is hunched over by Karen in the half-dark, chin in his hands when Foggy walks in with two cups of coffee. He thinks Frank might have fallen asleep, but as the light from the hallway slivers into the room he looks up, his expression registering genuine surprise as Foggy hands him one of the styrofoam cups.

“It’s not—” Foggy starts to warn him.

Frank downs the stuff without even blinking, and if that’s not a sign of someone who’s capable of murder, then Foggy doesn’t know what it is.

“Thanks,” says Frank quietly, and sounds like he means it.

“Sure.” Foggy hesitates for a fraction of a second before sitting down in the chair next to him. He sniffs at his own coffee and almost chokes on it.

“You not gonna go home to your lady?” Frank’s voice has gone so low that it’s practically inaudible. “It’s getting late.”

“I…” Foggy doesn’t know how to put this delicately, so he just tells him outright: “I don’t want Karen to wake up alone.”

Frank looks hard at him in the dim moonlit glow of the room, but it doesn’t appear to be out of anger.

“She won’t.”

“Okay.” Foggy nods. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” He pauses before getting up. “Do you want the rest of this?”

“Thanks,” Frank says again, and takes the cup from him.

Foggy’s almost at the door when he looks back. Frank’s reaching for a pocket in his jeans, pulling out a tattered old book that Foggy hadn’t noticed before.

He turns to a page that he’d marked, and starts reading quietly to Karen as Foggy slips out and closes the door behind him.

…

He returns the following morning with a trayful of coffees and some get-well-soon flowers that Marci had insisted he buy on the way. The coffees are from a deli down the street from the hospital – nothing fancy, but they have to be better than the crap that’s served here.

He fumbles with the handle a little while trying to juggle everything, but manages to get a foot inside before leaning his weight against the door and—

He thinks he’s hearing things at first.

But then he hears it again – the distinct sound of laughter, and as Foggy brushes some of the lilies out of his eyes he sees Frank and Karen there, both awake, and both smiling at him.

Laughing. Not smiling, Foggy corrects himself. The Punisher is laughing at him, and he has no idea how he’s even supposed to begin responding to that.

“Need some help there, counselor?”

Frank looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. He also looks like he couldn’t care less. Foggy blinks at him, feeling like he’s looking at a completely different person than the one he’d seen just a handful of hours before. Last night, Frank had been his usual tense and taciturn self. Foggy knew he’d been worried. But he’d also thought that that was just how Frank was.

Now, he looks – he looks like any other guy when he smiles. He looks relaxed. Happy. Relieved.

Huh.

Frank stands up to assist him, and Foggy can’t help but notice that he has to let go of Karen’s hand in order to do so.

He goes for the coffee tray and says, utterly deadpan, “Not trying to poison me this time?”

Foggy can only stare at him for a moment. “He’s got jokes.” He looks at Karen, still in some state of disbelief. “He’s got jokes. How are you feeling?”

“Like it hurts to laugh,” says Karen, but she’s beaming at him as he sets the flowers down at the bedside. “Those are beautiful. Thank you.”

Foggy’s momentarily distracted by the book next to her. He catches a single word – Brontë – before she puts it aside out of view and accepts a coffee from Frank with gratitude.

Frank sips at his own cup and then says to Foggy, “Not bad.” He sits down on Karen’s other side and takes her hand without another word.

“Good,” says Foggy. He meets Frank in the eye. “I’m glad,” he tells him, meaning more than just the coffee. Then he clears his throat, and gives Karen a quick peck on the cheek goodbye.

“I should get going.”

Karen gives him a smile. “And I should get my appendix taken out more often.”

“Too soon,” Foggy frowns.

But then he looks at the way they’re looking at each other – Karen with a fondly exasperated expression, and Frank on his part looking dutifully contrite but also like he’s never going to let go of her hand.

They’re also looking at each other like they’re the only two people in the world right now. And so Foggy sneaks out with his coffee, and lets them.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork #kastledaily

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