#though technically that brilliant red is ink
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OKAY WAIT
late night talks with college!joel - how reader and him came to date. they were studying they got distracted talking about something and stayed up all night taking. now joel can get her off his mind. 😉
thank you harry styles <3
I’ll kiss you on the mouth dude I love this idea
UPDATE: I DIDNT KNOW HOW TO END IT AND IF IT WASNT FOR MY MELATONIN KICKING IN I WOULDVE CONTINUED IT
She’s got a book for every situation
Pairing: college!joel x fem!reader
Summary: this ask
Author’s note: typed in tumblr and not proofread so god speed slayers 🫡
Warnings: mentions of alcohol, Joel being The Biggest Flirt, June your BA in English is showing, I think that’s it??
Working at the writing center on campus has its perks. You get unlimited printing, editing experience, and free coffee. Granted, it’s from a pot that had been simmering for several days but it’s free nevertheless. You’ve even managed to get in good with a few professors who would recommend their students come to you if they need help. Normally, they don’t take the advice until finals week and they all scramble into your office all at once. So, when a tall guy with curly dark hair walks into your desolate lobby, you’re a little surprised. He looks lost with a stack of papers piled in his hands and visibly relaxes when he sees you peek your head out.
“Hey there. Can I help you?” You ask, approaching him.
“Maybe. ‘M from Dr. Phillips class and she said to come to the writing center and ask for…” He trails off as he glances down at his paper before saying your name. “Said she might be able to help me with my paper.”
“Yeah, I think she can help you with your paper.” You say and hold out your hand to grab the red inked paper. It’s a paper on Kerouac who’s never been your favorite. In fact, you wrote an entire paper about how pretentious and privileged Jack Kerouac actually was but that’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that you know how to write a paper professors are looking for. You feel his eyes scanning your face as you read his thesis and try to ignore the blush creeping over your cheeks.
“I take it you’re the brilliant writer Dr. Phillips likes so much.” He says. You smile but don’t take your eyes off his words so you don’t get distracted by his presence.
“Dr. Phillips doesn’t like anyone.”
“She seemed to like you. Told me all about how smart you are,” he says. “Never mentioned the pretty part, though.” Finally, you look up and meet his gaze.
“Technically Dr. Phillips isn’t allowed to recommend one student editor over another. It’s against our policy and makes things a little fairer for everyone. So, can we keep this little secret between us…” you let your sentence end, realizing you never asked his name, and he holds out his free hand.
“Joel.” He says and you shake his hand.
“Well, Joel, I’ll tell you what. I’ll agree to help you get your paper in order if you agree to not get me fired. Fair deal?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He says politely.
You spend the rest of the day walking Joel through essay structures, grammar mistakes, and thesis issues. His argument is strong but it needs to be more concise and punchier. When you try to explain it to him in those terms, he looks at you like you’re from Mars. Eventually, after a little too much flirty small talk, he tells you about his dad’s construction company and you learn to put flowery, over dramatic writing advice into clean, neat boxes that he understands completely. Unfortunately, you don’t end up finishing the actual essay before the center closes.
“You’re free to come back tomorrow morning so we can finish this.” You say as you gather your things and stuff them in your backpack. Joel stretches in his chair, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a gorgeous sliver of tan skin and you have to force your eyes away from the sight.
“D’you live far from here?” He asks, standing and throwing his own backpack over one shoulder. You waffle for a moment, unsure if you want to tell this almost perfect stranger where you live.
“Maybe a ten minute walk. It’s not bad for Austin.”
“Can I walk you home? Since I kept you so late,” he asks. Once again, you hesitate. Joel doesn’t seem like the typical frat guy you’ve come to fear since your time at school. He actually seems gentle and genuine. You turn the thought over a few more times before he throws his hands up. “‘S just an offer to make sure you get home safe. I’ll even carry your backpack for you if you want.” He offers and you smile. You take another second before handing him your heavy backpack. He slings it over his free shoulder and walks to the door to open it for you, keys jingling in your hand as you lock up the writing center for the night. The humid Texas night suffocates you the second you step out into the fading daylight.
“You always carry girls’ backpacks home?” You ask as you start walking in the direction of your apartment. Campus is mostly empty this time of night, everyone crawling home after class to pregame or cry or both. Squirrels patrol the sidewalks for any students who may want to hand them a piece from their bagel or sandwich. Someone honks their horn in distant standstill Austin traffic, and the sun slowly slides behind the Capitol. It’s peaceful.
“Only when I make ‘em read my shitty writing.” He says and you laugh.
“Your writing’s not bad, Joel. It’s actually very good. Essays are just the worst to write.”
“You like ‘em enough to work at the writing center.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean it’s what I actually care about,” you shrug. “At this point, I’m a warm body with a clicky pen.”
“Woah there, Kafka. I think you’re a little more than that,” Joel laughs and you have to laugh too. Not only for the perfectly on brand joke but for the tone in his voice. The playful lilt makes your head feel fuzzy. “Alright then, if you don’t like essays and you don’t like Kerouac, what do you like? What do you wanna write?” He asks and you take a deep breath. It’s a question you’ve fielded more than enough times in your college career to know that not many people like your answer.
“I’m not sure yet. I like a little bit of everything.”
“Have you written anythin’ I would’ve read?”
“No,” you laugh. “Probably not.”
“Why’s that funny?” He asks and you shake your head.
“Because nobody wants to publish my work. It’s too… rough.”
“Rough?” He raises his eyebrows at you.
“Yeah. Publishers either want the next Great American Novel or nothing at all, and I am not next Great American Novel material.”
“How do you know?”
“Because nobody’s publishing me.”
“Maybe, you’re not lookin’ in the right places,” he says. “‘M just sayin’ someone as smart as you has to have somethin’ someone will wanna take.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go holdin’ your breath on me, cowboy.”
“Why do you do that?” He asks suddenly and you stop to look at him.
“Do what?” You ask.
“Try and play it off whenever someone compliments you.” He says with glaring honesty. It sets you back in your heels but you quickly recover.
“You’ve only known me for a few hours. How do you know I’m not just incredibly humble?”
“I guess I don’t,” he says. “Could I buy you a drink and figure it out?” It could be the way he, somehow, sees right through you already or the way his brown eyes look in the sunlight but you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach. You purse your lips together and dare a step closer to him.
“Tell you what, if you get an A on this paper, I’ll let you buy me a drink.” You say.
“And if I fail?” He asks and you shake your head.
“You won’t fail.”
“But what if I do?”
“If you do, you have to…” you search your brain. “Carry my backpack home for me for a week.”
“You drive a hard bargain, ma’am.”
“But I take it Joel Miller’s a bettin’ man.”
“See, smarter than you think.” He quips and you roll your eyes.
“One thing at a time, lover boy.”
Joel ends up getting the highest grade on his essay out of anyone in his class. Dr. Phillips commends his dedication to bettering his first draft and tells him to keep up the good work. “Whatever you did to change this, keep it up.” She says when she places his graded essay on his desk. When he presents the A to you at the writing center, all you can do is applaud him and smile.
“I told you you’d pass.” You say, poking at his firm chest.
“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes. “Maybe I just needed a little motivation.”
“Oh, yeah? What was that?”
“I think I was promised a date.” He says cheekily and you nod.
“You were, and my mama raised me to be a woman of my word,” you smile. “Jenny, do you mind closing up for me tonight?” You ask the receptionist and she shakes her head.
“Not at all, darlin’. Have a good night.” She winks at you when Joel turns his back and you stick your tongue out at her.
Say what you will about the writing center but you think a date with a broad, tall, handsome cowboy is the best thing that could’ve come out of that hell hole.
#college!joel au#college!joel#Joel Miller au#the last of us au#the last of us fluff#joel miller fluff#tlou fluff#joel miller x reader#joel miller one shot#joel miller the last of us#joel miller fic#joel miller drabble
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★ ⸻ GENERAL
name: ansel stellanson of north.
alias(es): alpha.
gender: cis male.
age: permanently around 61, physically looks early - forties due to a slow ( and now non - existent ) ageing process, technically over a thousand years old though he did spend a lot of that time being dead on the other side.
birthday: spring of 929.
place of birth: kingdom of england.
spoken languages: english, latin & old norse.
sexual preference: pansexual / panromantic.
occupation(s): alpha / chief of the north east atlantic pack, craftsman & welder.
★ ⸻ APPEARANCE
eye color: cerulean blue.
hair color: light brunet with red tones.
height: 6 " 5
major scars: despite fully recovering / healing, niklaus’ blade still managed to leave behind a mark in the form of a scar across his chest.
★ ⸻ FAVORITE
color: that clash of brilliant reds, purple, orange & pink as the sun begins to set / the deep green of fresh summer leaves / the neutral browns of fresh wood.
song: ansel isn’t particularly up to date with modern music, nor does he care to be because it all sounds like noise to him, but he is partial to a bit of live jazz & i do believe his guilty pleasure is hungry like the wolf by duran duran.
food: ansel comes from a time when you would hunt, catch and prepare your own food, and he’s still heavily in this mindset. you won’t catch him embracing fast food or fine dining restaurants anytime soon. he much prefers to roast around a camp, stew a rich combination of meat, vegetables & wild greens in a cauldron over water, bake breads on a flat stone over the fire. if you don’t break a sweat cooking your meal, you haven’t earned it.
drink: water, freshly - squeezed juice from fruits he’s collected / grown himself, bourbon, spiced rum.
★ ⸻ HAVE THEY . . .
passed university: no, but i am toying with the idea of making him an english literature & history professor in some verses.
had sex: yes.
had sex in public: yes.
gotten pregnant/someone else pregnant: literally helped create the original hybrid actually, as well as a line of powerful wolves.
kissed a boy: yes.
kissed a girl: yes.
gotten tattoos: no, but he does have the magically - inked mark of his pack, as do all north east atlantic pack members, be it through birthright or choice.
gotten piercings: no.
been in love: yes.
stayed up for more than 24 hours: yes.
★ ⸻ ARE THEY . . .
a virgin: no.
a cuddler: to an extent. ansel can be a very affectionate person if he trusts you, including cuddling, but it definitely requires a level of mutual respect to persuade him to lower that guard.
a kisser: yes, fucking passionately so in fact.
scared easily: no.
jealous easily: yes. wolves can be very territorial & possessive animals, and that absolutely extends to ansel’s personality.
trustworthy: it honestly depends on a case by case basis. ansel is a very honest man, but being honest doesn’t always necessarily mean trusting. he can just as easily be deceitful if required, and never forget that the pack will take priority every time.
dominant: yes.
submissive: no.
in love: no, and very cautious to allow himself to be given his track record.
single: yes.
★ ⸻ RANDOM QUESTIONS
have they harmed themselves: yes, unintentionally and only by the consequences of his own actions.
thought of suicide: no.
attempted suicide: no.
wanted to kill someone: yes, and will without hesitation.
have/had a job: not recently.
have any fears: yes, mostly around failing the pack and / or his children again.
★ ⸻ FAMILY
siblings: none.
parent(s): stellan gudrunson and hilda ulfdottir.
children: merewina anseldottir, daughter. klaus mikaelson, firstborn son (with esther mikaelson.) cadman anselson & godiva anseldottir, twins. ricmann anselson, son. hildegyth anseldottir, daughter. beowulf anselson, son. cary anselson in some verses.
significant other: esther mikaelson, former lover. sif, former wife.
pets: none.
TAGGED BY: @elenaes ( ily! )
TAGGING: @sybvl, @tricursed, @were-jer, @cahroline, @unbearablyindifferent & you!
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gouache painting of the uss discovery, because i love her dearly
#star trek#discovery#star trek discovery#star trek: discovery#art#fan art#my art#i LOVE painting in gouache this was so fun i feel like i’m learning a lot#gouache was truly meant to be used to paint stuff like this#though technically that brilliant red is ink#i never thought i’d enjoy painting something like a space ship but it’s so calming#i have an overdue painting for school and i did this instead lmao
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I'm going on a long plane ride soon, and I really need long Tomarry fics (that are completed preferably.) I like time travel stories, serial killers, basically anything that I can totally escape into please please please please :D
Fuck yeah, I’ve got you.
Sky Full Of Glass by SofiaBane
The Horcruxes have become unstuck in time, and it’s the responsibility of the Master of Death to figure out why. And since Voldemort needs to be punished for transgressing into the realm of Death anyway, he might as well come along.
A quite delightful take on the Master of Death Harry, who has complete dominion over space and time, too. 20k.
Nose to the Wind by Batsutousai
While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?
Now, I have no doubt that you already know this one, but how could I leave it off a rec list? The prequel is also fantastic. 211k.
The Ouroboros by WyrmLivvy
Once upon a time, a woman wished to have a child with the man she loved, that would have his porcelain skin as white as snow, his rosy cheeks red as blood, and his dark hair black as ebony.
…
The child was not born with red cheeks but red eyes.
(Tomarry vampire/fairy tale/Snow White AU)
Now, this is not quite time travel or serial killers, but it’s absolutely fantastic all the same, and absolutely worth the read. Fantasy, dark-ish, and a happy ending. 20k.
The Eyes in the Bramblebush by relic_crown
For a long time, Tom was just another violinist, perfect and beautiful and boring. Then Harry truly saw him, and knew he was anything but boring - he was the edge of a pocketknife, the red of nightshade berries, a lie in a crisp black coat.
Harry had never fallen in love so quickly.
Once again, technically neither time travel nor serial killers, but it is most certainly something to sink your teeth into. 12k.
Darling, do you remember what you did? by Baryshnikov
Tom had been waiting to do this.
Waiting for a very, very long time.
Oh, this is gloriously dark, with knifeplay and power games galore. 13k, technically a WIP, but you’d be missing out if you didn’t read it.
Mania by Angel_Of_Mysteries
Harry and Tom have been together for two years, and Harry’s finally ready to take their relationship to the next level. Little does he know, so is Tom.
I can’t say much on this without spoiling it, but it’s wonderfully painful. 9k.
No Body, No Crime by duplicity
Harry works as a car mechanic in a small town. He and Ginny are best friends, their close bond the product of a traumatic event that scarred them both as children.
Now that they are adults with separate lives, it seems inevitable that they will drift apart. That is, until Ginny confides in Harry that she thinks her husband—the charming, enigmatic Tom Riddle—is cheating on her.
A day later, Ginny goes missing. Harry is convinced that Tom is behind her disappearance, and becomes determined to exact justice by any means necessary.
This one was so goddamn painful, but so brilliant. 20k.
God of Nothing by machiavelli
The other orphans avoid Tom Riddle like the plague. He lounges on his broken throne, watches the whispers fade around him with sharp, dark eyes. Nobody can quite work out why he seems so fascinated with the new boy, who walks in smelling of smoke and hasn't said a word in three days.
I remember following this one as each of the chapters came out, and by the gods it was glorious. In a much darker universe, half tinged with madness, Harry and Tom meet, and it’s perfect. 83k.
dust in your pocket by relic_crown
Two hundred years ago, the world died.
All that remains is a technicolor wasteland, swirling with ash and populated by radiation-warped humans. Tom, immortal and bloodthirsty, crowns herself queen of this ruined world and wanders it namelessly, building and burning empires at will.
Then there's Harry: eyes like chips of sea glass, hopeful in the face of the apocalypse -- and by far the most dangerous person Tom's ever met.
Holy shit. An almost steampunk AU, femslash, and completely incredible in every single way. 24k.
Dreams and Darkness Collide by Epic Solemnity (Dark_Cyan_Star)
Though he was raised without the expectation of saving the world, Harry still possesses a savior complex. Only, it's so dark and twistedly immoral, he created an alter ego to practice vigilantism. His second identity makes a name for himself and immediately ensnares Minister Riddle's complete and obsessive attention. A game of cat and mouse begins and morals are questioned.
One of my favourites, although I’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. Vigilante!Serial killer!Harry and Minister!Riddle, who still runs the Death Eaters, and makes for one dangerous, tantalising romance. 209k.
Footsteps On Empty Floorboards by AgonisedDaily
After a recent screw-up on the job whilst hunting a serial killer, Harry needs a break from being an Auror. His new Victorian house promises just that, but living with the restless spirit of a former Dark Lord isn't quite part of the peace and quiet he was hoping for.
Okay, okay, okay, I know you said completed works only, but I’m incapable of leaving this beauty off my rec list. Maybe I’m just a sucker for darker things, but I think this is beautiful. 125k.
Break and Burn and End by duplicity
Harry Potter has died over and over again: in a cradle, in a graveyard, in a courtyard. If Harry Potter has ever lived, if he was the accumulation of years filled with burdens and grief, he has long since warped into someone else.
So let Harry Potter die, let his legacy run like ink through the pages of history until it dries for evermore. The world is better off without Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort both, so Harry will kill the one of them that he can and hope it will be enough.
OR: Past and present, Harry and Voldemort are connected. A tale of two immortals and the question of what it means to have an adversary when forever is in the cards.
Immortals AU of letting go and healing. I love it. 17k.
I hope this is enough, and, as always, I had fun making it! I will do the customary my fics are great please read them at the end, but considering most of them are WIPs or oneshots, I won’t include them as serious fic recs. You’ve been spared.
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The Christmas Baker
A Hyunlix Hallmark Fic
Chapter 5/5
wc: 4.9k
Hwang Hyunjin is a rich, cocky, famous dancer that prefers to keep to himself during the holidays. When his roommate drags him along to visit his hometown, however, Hyunjin meets a boy who helps him believe in the spirit of the season. Primarily Hyunjin’s pov with Felix’s pov added in occasionally.
series warnings: Extremely cliche. You will probably cringe at some points but its okay.
chapter warnings: None, just super cheesy :)
note: This fic is not meant to accurately reflect or portray the members of SKZ. This is just for fun.
Read the last chapter here
|--------------------Felix--------------------|
“Do we have to go?” Felix couldn’t help the whine in his throat as he let Chan push his body into his coat. He winced slightly at the pulling on his wrist when the sleeve passed over it, the pain of the fresh injury having caught up with him over the last 24 hours.
“Yes we have to go. You know you’re going to regret it if you don’t.” Chan paused as he held up Lix’s gloves, realizing he wasn’t going to be able to get them on over the cast. He stuffed them into his hoodie’s pouch after a moment and pulled a beanie onto his little brother’s head instead, “Besides, don’t you want to be there for Hyunjin’s first time at the party?”
Felix let out a small huff as he let his brother dress him like a child; it was easier to have help, even if a little embarrassing. He was right too, Felix DID want to be there with Hyunjin. He knew Hyunjin didn’t care much for the holiday, but the little school-boy crush in him wanted desperately to show him a good time, even if he was hurt.
"Yeah, I guess… I just know everyones gonna be disappointed about the cookies…"
"No, don't think that Lix. Even if Seungmin got only one batch done everyone will be happy to see that you're okay."
The door behind them opened as Chan finished speaking, a tightly bundled Hyunjin rushing in and almost knocking into them,
"Ah! You guys are almost ready!"
Felix looked at the taller boy curiously; since he'd got home from the clinic, Hyunjin had been in and out constantly all day and night. He'd return home for a quick meal or a nap, or to watch Felix as he slept himself, but he was gone again within a few hours, leaving Felix very little time to talk to him. Felix missed him when he was gone, a dangerous thing to feel given Hyunjin was still thinking about his own feelings, but he couldn't help it. When he saw Hyunjin's face light up as their gazes met, he hoped Hyunjin missed him too.
"Chan-hyung," Hyunjin turned his eyes to Chan, who immediately perked up. Felix blinked in surprise, looking between them; since arriving Hyunjin hadn't used such casual, affectionate language before. It was new… but Felix liked hearing him happy and comfortable nonetheless, "Um, some people want you at the town hall immediately. I can bring Felix in a little bit, but you should go meet them as soon as possible."
"Who?" Felix interjected. They were up to something; he could see the twitching at the corner of Chan's mouth that he gets when trying not to smile.
"I'm sure it's just last minute changes, Lixie. I'll go now, thank you Hyunjin."
"Hyung…" Chan gave his forehead a quick goodbye kiss and managed to escape Felix's grasp as he reached for his brother's coat. Hyunjin didn't help, draping a long arm across Felix's shoulders to guide him into the dining room, "Why can't we all just go together?"
Hyunjin paused, clearly not having thought about that before in whatever he was planning,
"Uh, I have something I wanna do first. Here, put your arm on the table."
Felix let out another sigh but obeyed, taking a seat and stretching out his arm as much as he could with the cast, "Like this?"
"Yeah. Now let me just fi- Ah!" Hyunjin shuffled through the many pockets on his thick coat until he produced a thick, black sharpie marker.
With great care not to twist too much, Hyunjin took Felix's arm in his hand and turned it over until his inner wrist was face-up. A hot blush bloomed across Lix's cheeks when Hyunjin popped the marker cap off with his teeth, using the black ink to write something he couldn't yet see on his cast. He felt as though he were back in middle school, having the popular boy sign his cast to sport the signature in front of everyone.
One proud grin later, Hyunjin pulled away to show Felix his message. Though the thick marker smeared a bit over the rough surface of the cast, his forearm read:
Felix,
Get well soon so we can dance together.
Merry Christmas
Hyunjin.
Accompanying the words was a heart drawn directly over his broken wrist. Felix felt as though his own heart may burst,
"What's this?"
"Just a little motivation to get better." Hyunjin snapped the cap back on the marker, avoiding his gaze. His ears were red and he rocked nervously on his heels. He was so incredibly…. cute. Felix wanted nothing more than to kiss him.
Not now. Not today. He reminded himself Hyunjin was still sorting out his feelings.
"Is this an official signature?" He teased instead, eliciting a giggle from Hyunjin,
"Technically yeah, I dunno how much it'll sell for-" His words cut off with a surprised gasp as Felix stood up and pulled him into a tight hug.
"Thank you, Hyunjin."
Hyunjin hesitated; Felix knew he understood the deeper meaning, he didn't need to hear anything in return. After a few rapid heartbeats, Hyunjin wound his arms around Felix in return, crushing him into the thick, squishy coat he still wore. Felix buried his face into the warmth of his chest for a moment, savouring the slip of affection more than he knew he should.
"So uhh…" Hyunjin stuttered, visibly flustered as he broke the embrace, "Are you ready to go?"
Felix nodded, letting Hyunjin lead him outside and down to the driveway. It was dark outside, long past evening and the moon and stars covered in a thick blanket of dark clouds. Despite the black sky above, the town was brightly lit with millions of little glowing bulbs lining the streets. Felix grinned at the sight, feeling lighter and more excited about the party than he had inside.
The only problem was the bitter cold.
As they walked, a breeze stirred in the air, not strong but deeply cold. It bit and stung Felix's cheeks and exposed skin,
"Ah shit…" He groaned as his fingers ached, fumbling the zipper of one of his jacket pockets, "Channie took my gloves with him…"
"Here…" Hyunjin's eyebrows knit together in concern as he plucked off one of his mittens. Felix opened his mouth to reject the mitten, not wanting Hyunjin to have to suffer the cold too, only to have his words halted when Hyunjin's hand slipped into his.
The taller boy winced as Felix's cold flesh pressed against his own, but continued to lace their fingers together. His large hand enveloped Felix's palm, warming his skin. Ears turning red with the sudden intimacy, Felix ducked his head, biting back a smile.
"Is this okay?" Hyunjin asked, his voice timid.
"This is perfect."
They continued to walk in shy silence, Felix's heartbeat roaring so loudly in his ears he was convinced Hyunjin could hear it too. Occasionally they would dare to spare a look at each other, catching the other's eye just to look away. Each time the grip on each other's hand grew tighter, more afraid to let go.
Is this his way of telling me he made up his mind? Felix wondered to himself. He didn't want to voice the thought aloud in case it wasn't true. He had to wait for Hyunjin to be ready to say it. No matter how painful the wait was.
They made their way to the center of town where the town hall stood among the maze of shoveled paths. The windows were all lit up orange and red and warm white, lights and ribbon strung around every tree and hedge and post, drawing them in with the promise of fun and warmth.
Except the sight of the building so close caused the anxiety to gnaw at Felix’s gut again.
“What’s wrong?” They paused at the bottom of the stairs, Hyunjin sensing his hesitation as his steps slowed and his grip grew weaker.
“I’m… really worried people are going to be disappointed to see me. Since I didn’t get to finish setting up everything.” He admitted with a sigh, his breath swirling around him in the cold, “I don’t like letting people down.”
“Hey…” Hyunjin frowned, slipping his hand out of Felix’s to pull him into a side-hug. Felix’s ears grew white-hot at the sudden affection, his hand clutching onto Hyunjin’s coat, “Do you trust me?”
Felix blinked at the question. It felt odd, like he should suspect something was wrong. Yet as he looked up into Hyunjin’s warm, smiling eyes, he knew he did, unquestionably.
“Yes, I trust you.”
“Then trust I wouldn’t bring you here if I thought it would upset you.”
Before Felix could ask what he meant by that, Hyunjin grabbed his hand again and pulled him up the steps to the grand entrance to the old building. The doors were closed, which he found odd, and they both had to push to get them open. Blinking against the assault of brilliant decorations lighting the entire entry hall, Felix stood in the doorway for a moment, dumbfounded at the sight before him.
“Merry Christmas, Felix!” Everyone who had gathered for the event was crowded in the room, dressed up in their santa hats and cheesy sweaters, and all looking at him with the happiest smiles. His neighbours, his employees, his friends, everyone was there and greeted him with a chorus of cheers. Above them hung the typical “Happy Holidays” banner that was used every year, though with a new addition. A second crudely-yet-endearingly-made banner hung from the bottom of the thick fabric:
Get Well Soon Felix
At the center of the entryway, sitting under the standard tree, was a board with papers and notes of various colours pinned up under a sign reading “Dear Felix Lee:” He walked into the crowd, accepting the hugs and high-fives and head rubs from the people he loved so dearly as he passed, until he got to the board.
Just from glancing over them, most of the letters echoed the sentiment of wanting him to get well and recover. Some letters thanked him for running the bakery, or for being so kind. Some called him an essential part of the community. All of them conveyed unconditional love.
Tears welled in his eyes, a wave of relief and overwhelming love crashing over him, lifting the burden of anxiety from his shoulders. No one was disappointed in him… they were worried. The whole town, worried about him.
Seungmin broke away from the crowd and bounced up to Felix excitedly, the bells hanging from his reindeer antler headband jingling over the music playing deeper in the hall.
“What do you think? Were you surprised?”
“Seungminnie... how- how did you do all this?”
“Actually… it was his idea.” Seungmin grinned, pointing behind Felix to where Hyunjin still stood awkwardly in the doorway.
“Hyunjin? Did this?” Felix blinked several times, his brain unable to process that statement.
“Ah… I have to admit, he also did most of those.” Draping an arm across Felix’s shoulders, Seungmin turned him to face the wall lined with tables of food and drink. At the center of it all was a familiar long table and display case both piled high with hundreds of cookies of various shapes and sizes. Several kids crowded around the table armed with plastic bags of brightly coloured frosting as they decorated their treats. Just like any other year. Like nothing happened.
The tears in his eyes spilled over, and Felix started to cry.
|--------------------Hyunjin--------------------|
Hyunjin lingered in the doorway, watching as Felix took in the surprise everyone had worked so hard to make for him. He was cold and tired, but it still felt odd walking into such a personal celebration. He was still an outsider.
“Hyunjinnie? What are you doing?” Hyunjin didn’t notice Chan escape the crowd until his hand rested on his shoulder, startling him.
“Oh… uh, I’m not sure.” Chan followed his gaze to where Felix and Seungmin were speaking excitedly,
“Go to him.”
“What?”
“Come on, Hyunjin. You did all this for him. You need to tell him.”
Hyunjin didn’t need to be asked twice when Felix turned to look at him, tears glittering under the glowing lights illuminating the hall. He was at Seungmin’s side in an instant, pushing his way through the crowd with his heart racing.
“What’s wrong?” Felix rubbed the tears from his eyes with his sleeve as he saw Hyunjin approach, Seungmin’s face lighting up,
“Um… I’ll go find Minho and give you two a minute.” He gave Hyunjin a reassuring pat on the shoulder before slipping into the crowd, a friendly gesture that still felt so surreal. He’d spent so much time with Felix’s best friend over the last two days, they felt like friends themselves.
“What the matter?” Hyunjin repeated to Felix this time, his heart aching as he watched the small boy try in vain to wipe his tears away.
“I- I can’t believe you did all this… For me?” Hyunjin dropped his eyes, ears burning with embarrassment under his beanie,
“I felt really bad that you couldn’t finish something you were looking forward to so badly. Especially because I feel like it was partially my fault. Seungmin, Minho, and Chan helped a lot.”
“Thank you so much.” Felix tugged him into a tight hug, burying his face into Hyunjin’s chest. He was sure it was to hide his tears, yet he couldn’t complain. He embraced Felix tightly, resting his chin atop his head.
“Thank you for always being so kind to me.”
Felix giggled shyly as he pulled away, his cheeks red now from rubbing his tears off them. Hyunjin took the smaller boy’s face in his hands and used his thumbs to gently do so instead. Not even two days ago, he would’ve considered the action a mistake. It would’ve made him panic at the way his heart pounds and his tummy flutters. The way a dizzy warmness spreads through his veins.
But today… today when he saw the look of pure affection in Felix’s chocolate brown eyes, it brought Hyunjin nothing but joy.
"How are we all doing?" Chan’s voice boomed over a mic and speakers at the back of the hall, startling them both. They giggled shyly to themselves as the crowd cheered, everyone’s attention turning to the platform where Chan stood, set up with his laptop and DJ equipment, which Hyunjin had come to find took up most of his obnoxious amount of luggage,
“Good! Good. It’s really great to be home again to see everyone, especially at this time of year. Um, as you all know, we’re not just here to celebrate Christmas Eve tonight, we’re gathered to celebrate someone very special to my heart. Someone that’s very special to all of us.”
The crowd cheered again, making Felix’s ear turn red and his fingers fumble bashfully with the hem of his jacket. Hyunjin’s heart swelled at the love flooding the room for this boy he cared for so deeply. He wanted to make sure Felix never stopped feeling that love.
Feeling HIS love.
Hyunjin couldn’t deny it anymore. He loved Felix. Relief washed over him like a warm bath, comforting and healing. If only he could make it through tonight… through this party with all these people around… Hyunjin made up his mind to tell Felix when they returned home.
“If you don’t mind, I’ve had a request to play one of his favourite songs. I’d like to play it now, before people start getting tired. You’re welcome to come dance along if you would like. Please enjoy yourselves.”
Claps of excitement rose from the crowd as they parted around the two of them, giving Felix a path to the empty space in front of Chan used as a small dance floor. A smile touched Hyunjin’s lips as the track began to play; the last time he’d heard it he was sat on a couch in Felix’s bakery, watching snow flutter in the wind and waiting for the sweetest boy to bring him something to eat. Felix’s eyes also lit up as he recognized the song, though a frown quickly replaced the smile forming on his lips,
“Ah man… I wish I could dance to this.”
“Why can’t you?” Felix lifted his hand that was trapped inside the pink cast, cocking his head,
“It’s not exactly going to feel good if I try.” Hyunjin smiled gently at him in response, taking his uninjured hand and giving it a gentle squeeze,
“Trust me?”
“I told you I do.”
“Then come dance with me.” Felix nodded cautiously, letting Hyunjin lead him out onto the dance floor. Other couples and kids had already ventured out, swaying or bouncing along to the music in their own little worlds, only acknowledging them enough to not bump into them.
Hyunjin felt more confident like this; he liked the way people in the crowd turned to watch them curiously, and the way the music felt coursing through his muscles. It buzzed in him as if he were preparing to go on stage. The adrenaline before a performance was like anything else in the world. At least he’d thought so until he’d fallen in love. Now both mixed in his chest as he guided Felix’s hands to his shoulders and wrapped his own arms around the small boy’s waist, creating a cocktail of joy and comfort and safety in his body that he’d never thought he’d ever feel.
“Is this okay?” He mumbled, swaying their bodys slightly to the slow pace of the song. He was sure they looked like school kids at their first dance together, but he didn’t care. He felt just as giddy as he would’ve if they were kids.
“Mmm… yeah. This is good.” Felix tucked his head under Hyunjin’s chin, leaning against his chest. Hyunjin didn’t mind the pressure, he relished in Felix’s body heat pressing into him, the way their breathing slowly fell into sync with each other as they enjoyed the moment in silence. As they swayed to the music, Hyunjin caught Chan’s eye from his little stage setup; he was watching them with the biggest smile Hyunjin had ever seen him make. His best friend lifted a thumbs-up, and Hyunjin returned it, the fluttering in his stomach spreading throughout his entire body.
“This is really nice.” Felix murmured against Hyunjin’s chest, breaking the comfortable silence between them.
“Yeah, it is.”
“I wish we could do this forever…” Hyunjin could tell by Felix’s tone that he was testing him, poking the waters to see if he would confess his feelings. With a sigh, Hyunjin slipped one hand up Felix’s back to cradle the back of his head, fingers massaging his scalp gently to prompt him to look up.
Their eyes met, and Hyunjin couldn’t help but notice how close their faces were… how easy it would be to lean in and kiss him…
No… that would be unfair to such a sensitive, sweet boy like Felix. Hyunjin knew he had to wait.
“Listen… Can we talk later? When we’re alone… I don’t want to have this conversation in front of all these people, okay?” Felix’s face started to fall so he quickly added, “It’s not bad, I promise. I just… would rather it be private.”
A spark of hope flickered in Felix’s smile as he nodded, sliding his arms from Hyunjin’s shoulder to his neck, dragging him down into a tight hug. Hyunjin buried his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, taking in his sweet, sugary scent and his warmth. He felt peaceful like this, like he was home for the first time.
“Do you mind if I steal him for a minute?” A voice interrupted their embrace as the song ended, Seungmin having walked up to them while they were lost in each other. His puppy face was lit up with an approving smile, stifling a little of the embarrassment that was heating Hyunjin’s face, “There’s some friends who want to see Lixie.”
“Oh yeah… of course. Um… I’ll be over with the cookies if you need me.”
“I’ll find you.” Felix promised, his eyes lingering on Hyunjin as Seungmin led him away until the crowd swallowed them both.
Sparks lingered on Hyunjin’s skin where their bodies were touching for so long, making him giddy as he skipped over to his post. For the first time in his life the christmas tunes that Chan played didn't seem so grating. He understood the joy and the warmth. Though he didn't have nostalgia about the holiday, Hyunjin found himself looking forward to making new memories.
He hoped they would be with Felix.
Hyunjin didn't know how much time had passed that he sat in one of the chairs behind the table stacked high with frosting and cookies. It must've been awhile because he didn't realize he'd dozed off until the metal legs of another chair scraped across the floor next to him. He nearly jumped out of his skin, and seeing it was Minho who'd come to join him definitely didn't settle his unease.
They didn't spend much time together over the last couple days, Minho being focused helping Chan set up the hall while Hyunjin stayed in the bakery with Seungmin. The little time they did spend together, Hyunjin saw a soft side to him when he spoke to his boyfriend and when he was thinking about Felix. He wasn't so intimidatingly cold, but he clearly did not trust outsiders. Hyunjin couldn't blame him for that, he respected it.
Minho spoke, dragging Hyunjin further out of his sleepy daze. He tried to push the drowsiness away as the days of work and little rest rapidly caught up to him,
"Hm?"
"I said, he really likes you. Felix. I don't know if you know, but I've never seen him look at someone like he looks at you." Hyunjin swallowed, meeting Minho’s intense gaze as he spoke.
“Um… I think I like him too to be honest…”
A heavy palm slapped onto Hyunjin’s shoulder, startling him before he could even begin to feel the embarrassment of admitting his feelings aloud to someone else. Minho’s hands were only slightly larger than Felix’s, but his grip was strong enough to make Hyunjin quiver,
“Felix is more than just Channie’s little brother. He’s family. I love that little boy and if you hurt him you’re going to regret it.”
Hyunjin fought the instinct to turtle into his coat and hide from the intense gaze pinning him to the chair, swallowing as he managed to hold eye contact. He knew Minho was testing him, trying to see if he’d crumble and run. But he didn’t want to, he never wanted to.
“I know. If I hurt him I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.” Minho silently held his gaze for a moment before his eyes softened, a smile entertaining his lips,
“Correct answer. Welcome to the family. I better be able to trust you.”
Hyunjin blinked rapidly in shock at the sudden shift. Minho had been nothing but closed off with him since they first met, yet now he was extending a timid warmth to him. He looked friendly even. Hyunjin felt incredibly privileged,
“I uh… yes. Yes, you can trust me.”
“Minho-hyung!” Felix’s voice cut through the music as he bounced up to them, his face alight with his brilliant grin but his eyes wary as he glanced between them, “You’re not scaring Hyunjin, are you?”
“No, he’s alright.” Minho smiled as he pulled Felix into his lap, holding him by the waist as the younger boy wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady himself, “Are you having a good time?”
Felix nodded, grinning at the both of them. Hyunjin’s heart fluttered watching him be so cuddly with his close friend, he looked so small, vulnerable, and unbelievably cute. Though he couldn’t deny the small pang of jealousy in his belly.
“I haven’t tried the cookies yet!” Lix complained, prompting Minho to scoot a little closer to the table. Hyunjin joined them as Felix reached for the nearest tray of star-shaped cookies. Seungmin had pre-decorated these ones with gold and silver frosting, and tiny glittering sprinkles in matching colours. He picked out three and passed them out between each of them, making a happy little noise as he bit into the treat.
Hyunjin held his breath as Felix took a moment to chew slowly, savoring and analyzing the flavors. He swallowed and a warm smile broke across his face,
“Hyunjin, these taste so good!” Lix looked up at him as if in awe, taking another bite like he couldn’t believe it. Hyunjin squirmed with embarrassment, biting into his own cookie,
“I guess I had a good teacher…”
Felix beamed at him, finishing his cookie with large, hungry bites. When he finished, he used the parchment lining the tray to wrap up the remaining cookies and stick them in his pocket for later.
“I’m starting to feel tired though. It’s close to midnight.” he whined, resting his head against Minho’s to punctuate his point.
“That’s funny, I caught Hyunjin sleeping just a few minutes ago.” Minho teased. Hyunjin opened his mouth to protest, but Felix let out a loud yawn that cut him off,
“Maybe we should head home a little early?”
“If you want to leave now, I’ll walk you home.” Hyunjin offered, making Felix perk up with a smile,
"Okay, I'd like that." Minho helped Felix off his lap, giving him a playful swat on the butt,
"Be careful, no more accidents." Felix squeaked and giggled, giving his friend a quick hug,
"I'll be okay Hyung, Hyunjin is with me."
Their fingers naturally locking together, Hyunjin let Felix lead him through the crowd and out into the night. The breeze had died while they were in the party, taking the edge of bitterness out of the cold air. Still, the boys huddled together as they walked, both for warmth and the comfort of each other's proximity.
Felix talked about the letters he'd read and the signatures from friends that he'd accumulated on his cast through the night. Hyunjin really did desperately try to listen, yet with every step he took closer to the house, the more his brain melted into pudding as he realized he was getting closer and closer to having to confess his feelings.
Why am I so anxious? He asked himself, I already know how he'll react. I've already admitted how I feel.
The driveway came into view. Hyunjin thought he might throw up.
"Thank you again for everything you did." Felix said as they shuffled up toward the house, "You really didn't have to do all of that."
Hyunjin paused, stopping Felix and making him look up, confused at his sudden hesitation.
"Yes, I did." He sighed, building the courage to look Felix in the eye. The boy cocked his head, sensing the seriousness in Hyunjin's tone, "I already told you this but I do like you… a lot. In an overwhelming sort of way. It really scared me to know you were hurt. I realized that no matter how hard I tried to push my feelings away, they were just going to keep growing. I- I think I'm falling in love with you, Felix. And I want to be with you. It's the only thing I want."
“Hyunjin…” Felix’s voice was gentle, warm, his eyes welling with tears much like Hyunjin’s own, “I’m falling in love with you too.”
“Do you- Do you think we can try to work this out?” He hated the way his voice broke with the nerves and overwhelming sense of joy pulsing through him.
“I would really like that.”
Floodgates opened somewhere inside Hyunjin and all the love and desire he’d been holding back crashed through his system, washing away his doubts and fears. The crushing tide brought back the need to hold Felix, to kiss him and never let go. He didn’t need to stop himself anymore. One hand lifted to rest against the smaller boy’s cheek, pulling him in like gravity until their lips touched for the first time. Felix’s arms wrapped around Hyunjin’s neck, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss with a content sigh.
All Hyunjin could think about was how his lips tasted like sugar, how when their tongues found each other, he tasted like vanilla and butter. His lips were so soft, his happy little moans and gasps the sweetest music Hyunjin had ever heard. He wanted to stay in this moment for the rest of his life.
They finally broke away when something cold and wet settled on Hyunjin’s cheek, then again on his nose, and his knuckles. Chest heaving, he looked up as snowflakes drifted down from the dark clouds above, swirling around them gently. Felix let out an excited laugh, the flakes settling on his freckles and long eyelashes. He was so beautiful.
I can’t believe he’s mine.
“Felix? Merry Christmas.” The small boy beamed at him with a grin that rivaled all the lights in the town,
“Merry Christmas, Hyunjin.”
#stray kids#skz#skz fanfic#skz au#lee felix#hyunjin#hyunlix#hyunlix fic#mine#my fic#the christmas baker#its finally done#three months late and out of season fdhdjfh#im such a slow writer im so sorry#thank you to everyone that stuck with me to read this#i hope the ending is satisfying enough#ngl i needed to stick that hyunholix scene in there because it felt weird shipping minho with someone else now that i ship them all jdhfkjd
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It's different this time. That's what Jack had said. The Empty took his body, Dean, removing his essence from this world. I can't bring him back like last time, and interfering in The Empty's realm would be dangerous.
It made a detached sort of sense; Jack didn't want to end up like Chuck. Could be a slippery slope, that hands-on approach. But if there was anything worth an exception, it was this. Cas deserves to be saved. And if Jack won't fight then it's up to Dean.
Which is how he came to be standing in an old familiar barn in Pontiac, Illinois, under a blue moon at midnight. It had taken months to gather all the spell components - the incantations and instructions in various ancient texts, smoke of a Crossroads Demon, and a piece of someone who had returned from The Empty; Jack couldn't bring Cas back but that doesn't mean he wasn't willing to help. He gave Dean one of his Nephilim feathers - not that he's technically a Nephilim anymore, but he kept his wings. Dean has no idea what they look like though because they're invisible to the human eye.
Now he has everything.
He actually had most of what he needed already: Cas' blood (from the handprint he left on Dean's jacket the night he..); something of Angelic origin for a baseline element (an Angel blade); an object imbued with personal significance (the mixtape Dean had made him years ago, that he found while searching Cas' room for anything); and Dean.
Dean is the key piece of the puzzle here, because Cas lives within him. Kind of. Cas' Grace not only rebuilt Dean's body after Hell, it was gifted to him over the years, healing him time and time again. And from what's he's learned the Grace never fully left him after doing it's job. It hung around, orbiting Dean's soul (not unlike Cas, Dean thought, and it was a bittersweet thing). Maybe it's the source of their 'profound bond' but Dean knows what they share isn't just some side effect.
What they have is real, Cas was right about that.
In short: Cas' body may be in The Empty but his essence still exists outside of it, and Dean's going to use his connection with Cas to find him.
He speaks the incantation to open the portal - a language so old it has no name - as sigils flare to life around him. The red smoke swims in the brass bowl, covering the patch of Dean's bloodied jacket and other items. The feather begins to pulse with golden light, illuminating its shape.
As he finishes reciting the spell, a wet black flame erupts from the bowl, engulfing everything and snuffing out the warm brilliant light of Jack's feather. The sight alone fills Dean with dread, hurling his mind back to the night that thing stole Cas away. But he soldiers on, reaching out to touch the temperature-less globular flames growing tall in front of him, and a feeling of emptiness pervades him.
If this is what it feels like just being near The Empty, then being in that place isn't gonna be some cake walk.
Taking a deep breath to try and steady himself, Dean hesitates as his shoulder starts to burn. It's an odd sensation, growing stronger but not painful. He moves to shift aside his flannel—but the long-gone handprint shines through his layers of clothing, glowing pale blue.
It's the bolster of courage he needs, and with a smile playing on his lips and in his heart, Dean reaches out, knowing for certain that he's not alone in this, and soon Cas won't be either.
The world inks out to nothing, and he's falling.. but who's to say he's not flying? It worked, and he's going to find Cas and bring him home where he belongs.
#destiel ficlet#spn 15x19#fixit#profoundnet#spn 15x20 rewrite#i wrote a similar thing in my 15x19 coda but.. i wanted to write more :3#myficlets
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Can you write anything with the Harry/Ron bromance? Thank you, you are helping me survive quarantine!
Thanks to @floreatcastellumposts for all her help! For once, this is only mildly inappropriate! ;)
On AO3.
Rain patters on the window of the attic, sounding angrier by the minute. For once, the exterior of the house is louder. This is quite a feat for the Burrow ever, but on an afternoon in June, it’s almost unheard of.
Harry lets out a deep breath, running his hand across his eyes. Over the past month, he’s adapted to the silence. He’s started to crave it, to consider it reassurance that everything’s on the mend. There aren’t explosions or calls for help or sobs emerging through the rubble and darkness. There’s simply quiet. Solitude. Even—
“HEY!” The door bursts open, slamming against the wall, as Ron pierces through the aforementioned solitude.
Harry just sighs and gets his glasses from the bedside table. No hope of an afternoon nap, it seems.
“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Ron deadpans, not sounding the least bit apologetic.
Harry rolls his eyes; since he and Ginny got back together, Ron and George have greatly enjoyed taking the mickey anywhere they can find it. Just yesterday, George had interrupted a perfectly good garden snog with a series of nonsensical, thinly-veiled questions (“Have you dipped your nib in ink, Harry? How was it? Please, I’m desperately curious for feedback on all nib-dipping experiences; this could be vital information for restocking a line of magical quills at the shop!”)
Now, though, the girls are off shopping; the Burrow is empty, save for the two of them. To Harry, this seems like much of the same.
“Interrupting a kip is the least of your worries, mate,” he mutters darkly, sitting up in bed. He hopes the meaning isn’t lost there. If Ron’s going to be a cock-block, he’s going to hear about it.
Ron doesn’t respond, though. Which is odd. So Harry slides on his glasses and takes in his appearance. Ron’s looming frame stands near the door, his freckles and red hair more distinctive than usual. It could be the lighting, Harry thinks; after all, it is quite gray and dim up here. Ah but no... that wouldn’t explain why he’s now awkwardly shifting in place, rubbing his palms against his jeans.
Then, Ron clears his throat — and suddenly, his face turns red instead of white. “Erm. Listen,” he starts uneasily, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “I’ve erm... I’ve got something to discuss!”
He ends with a sort of jubilant bounce on the balls of his feet, wearing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Harry peers back warily. If Ginny were here, she’d suss this weirdness out straight away. She’d know, just from his posturing, what Ron’s getting at. A moment later, he opens his mouth to speak again — but just as quickly, he seems to decide something or other is a bad idea, because he waves his hand and strides toward his bed with an anxious huff. As if that explains anything.
“Right,” Ron says, settling down across from Harry. “Right.”
“Right,” Harry echoes, arching an eyebrow. “You… feeling all right?”
“Mm.” Ron hunches over, his elbows on his knees, and stares at the floor.
As the seconds pass, Harry peers at Ron with a growing sense of dread. It’s rare he’s this quiet around him — and Harry doesn’t like it. It’s too reminiscent of darkness, of the times they’ve been at each other’s throats. Has Harry done anything to make him angry this time? He doesn’t think so. Ron’s been supportive, even, of his renewed relationship with Ginny. Apart from giving him shit for it.
This silence isn’t doing his head any favors, though. So Harry decides to break it.
“Listen,” Harry says uneasily. “I don’t want to pry, but—”
“—So you know Hermione and I are properly together, yeah?” Ron blurts, his words stringing together so fast they sound like a single syllable.
Harry clears his throat and tries to respond as delicately as he can. “Mate, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think most of the castle knows you’re properly together.”
But Ron’s not on the same page. “No,” he says over a humorless chuckle, his eyes still locked on the floor. “That’s erm. That’s not what I’m getting at.”
Then what…?
Oh.
Oh no.
Harry’s stomach clenches with fear, head filling with memories that seem far more distant than a year old. He remembers Lupin’s drawn, tired eyes when he approached them in Grimmauld Place. He remembers the unflinching expression of horror and shock, the way he distanced himself from Tonks’ baby. He remembers the resigned tone in his voice, like a man marching to his own execution.
Then, of course, Harry remembers tiny little Teddy. The baby who’d charged in and changed everything. Tiny little Teddy, who is undeniably adorable… but also fuck-loads of work.
Shit. Harry desperately blinks up at Ron, pleading with the universe that he’s wrong, that he’s made a mistake in this leap of logic. But there’s nothing reassuring about what he finds. Ron’s still staring at the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing, his back hunched.
This couldn’t be... no.
Hermione’s smarter than that, isn’t she? Hell, Ron — with his six siblings — must also be smarter than that! They’d never let... something… happen.
Right?
But even as Harry tries to deny it, he knows there’s a chance — mostly because Hermione’s a right moron when her feelings get involved. Fuck. Harry’s stomach churns as the memories shift. He sees birds pecking at Ron’s hands in that abandoned classroom. He sees Hermione’s face when Ron returned to the tent last year, her eyes flaring with something unbridled and terrifying.
Best to get it over with, though. Like ripping off a plaster. If he’s going to be an uncle (the word lands like a sour rock in his stomach), he reckons he’d rather know as soon as possible.
With that, Harry clears his throat. “Erm. Ron, I’m not going to push you, but—”
“—Hermione wants to know if you want to arrange something where Ginny comes here at night and I go down there and we sleep there ok.”
Somehow, this string of words comes out even more quickly than the first, leaving Ron in a red-faced, mortified silence; Harry only understands any of it at all because he knows Ron so well, but he gives both of them time to process the exacting wording of the declaration.
After a few seconds, though, Harry’s still not sure what to make of it — and not because he didn’t understand the literal words. No… the real fear is that he’s ignored what Ron actually said and supplanted what he wanted to hear.
So Harry draws a deep breath, guarding his heart as he does. “Ok ok ok,” he says, raising his hand. “I… I need to make sure I’ve understood you correctly. You’ve only come in here to tell me that Hermione’s cooked up a shagging arrangement. Is… is that right?”
There’s another pause.
For his part, Ron only looks impressed. “Yeah mate,” he says fairly. “Sums it up.”
Oh for the love of —
Harry releases a half-laugh, half-sigh as he collapses back on the bed. Shagging! That’s all Ron was after! For fuck’s sake! Harry’s chest feels lighter, his head happier, his future brighter.
“You… seem surprised, though ” Ron notes, peering over. “What did you think—?”
Harry laughs again, cutting him off. “I thought you’d got her pregnant! I was terrified for you! Can you even imagine—”
“Nooo!” Ron says sharply. He shudders, the color draining from his face. “No,” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “No, I cannot, so please don’t even joke about—”
“Oi, who’s joking?” Harry counters. “You’re the two who ran off to Australia and spent nights in hotels! Your mum was scandalized, by the way. It was brilliant.”
He ends with a grin, but it seems that the word Australia was a bit of a trigger; Ron’s face is now blank and happy, his mouth spread into a gormless smile as he stares at the wall above Harry’s head.
Ugh. Harry looks away. He’s glad he hasn’t volunteered his (rather unfortunate) knowledge that those two shagged before they even left the castle. Harry still can’t decide if Ginny’s ability to wheedle information out of people is a blessing or a curse, but he reckons it’s best to push the subject of Ron and Hermione’s sex life from his mind.
As if on cue, Ron sighs from his bed. Harry’s pleased to find he’s not making that weird Hermione face anymore, but he doesn’t look entirely… settled either. His expression is pensive, his arms crossed over his chest, and it takes a few more seconds for Harry to understand why — but when he does, it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his brain.
Oh.
Harry releases a deep breath of his own. Ron hasn’t said a word, but he’s certain they’re both filled with this sort of… shuddering awareness of the situation at hand. Because this is the first time they’ve broached this, isn’t it? The fact that they’re intimate now, with each other’s sisters. Harry can’t decide if that’s more comforting or repulsive — but more than anything else, he reckons it’s just... different. Nothing more, nothing less.
After all, it wasn’t long ago Harry was terrified they’d get together and leave him. But when they got together — right in front of him — Harry hadn’t been jealous or scornful; he’d been happy for them. He reckons he would’ve been chuffed, even, had they not been in the middle of a battle, but that hadn’t stopped them for long.
Then again, it also wasn’t long ago that Ron yelled at Ginny for snogging Dean. A year ago, Ron had yelled at him for snogging Ginny — mostly because he’d been concerned about his sister’s feelings. Harry hadn’t blamed him for that, not really, but he nonetheless reckons it should’ve foreshadowed Ron’s cock-block tendencies.
Another vacant smile crosses Harry’s lips. They’ve all changed, haven’t they? War changed them, to the core. Age changed them, to the core….
“Erm. But please, don’t give me details,” Ron blurts, apropos of nothing. He shivers again despite the warm afternoon. “I think I’d rather remove my fingernails with a blunt needle than hear about how much you love shagging my sister, thanks.”
Harry raises a brow. Technically speaking, Ron’s wrong in his conclusion. They haven’t… done that. Not properly, even if they’d hedged around it more times than he can count. They’ve done basically everything but shag, actually, but Harry reckons that would be more mortifying to admit than just letting it go.
Not that they aren’t ready; Harry knows they’re both ready. But through either sheer practicality (his reasoning) or misguided chivalry (Ginny’s), Harry couldn’t bear to live with himself if he took her virginity in their usual haunts of the garden or Mr Weasley’s shed.
Now, though, they’ve got… options. That Ron — of all people — has delivered on a silver platter.
Harry feels his pulse quicken at the thought as his jeans start to tighten. Aaand lovely, this is now thoroughly embarrassing. He needs a distraction, now.
So Harry loudly clears his throat and picks up the threads of their conversation. “Yeah, and I’ll trust you to do the same when it comes to Hermione. I’ve no desire to hear about—”
Ron interrupts with a wave of his hand, but when he speaks again, he’s not taking the mickey like before. “Noted,” he says firmly. “Just erm... I guess I also wanted to make sure...” He trails off, biting his lip, but seems to think better of whatever he’d started. “Nevermind, it’s stupid. Do you want to play chess?”
Harry’s not letting him off the hook that easily. “Whatever it is, mate, I’m sure it’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
Ron laughs. “Yeah, and that was kind of my point, actually.” He rubs his hand on the back of his neck. When he looks at Harry again, there’s a telltale spark of reassurance shining behind his eyes. “You… erm. You know we’re still us, yeah?”
Oh.
Harry hadn’t realized he’d been that… transparent. He gnaws at the inside of his cheek. They’re together now — all four of them, which is the best possible situation. But he can’t deny there’s a lingering fear that romantic relationships, real ones, will change them forever. That he’ll lose the first friend he ever had. That they’ll finally have found the one thing they can’t talk about, even as the topic voraciously consumes both of their thoughts.
Has any of that happened, though? asks a voice in the back of his head. It sounds suspiciously like Ginny.
Harry’s lips curl into another smile as the answer comes to him.
No. No, it hasn’t.
Because at the end of the day, they’re still Harry and Ron. They’re the two prats from Gryffindor who became best friends on the Hogwarts Express and got detentions together and shared a mutual loathing of Malfoy, all as their voices cracked. They’re still Harry and Ron, who fought bitterly and pretended to hate each other and nearly vomited on each other and discussed wanking techniques.
No matter what, they’ll always be Harry and Ron. Their relationship survived Voldemort. How could Harry have thought it wouldn’t survive sex?
“Yeah, we are,” he agrees. “Just, you know...” He makes a vague hand gesture. “Taller. Wiser.”
Ron smirks, rising to stand. “Actually, I was gonna go with shagging each other’s sisters — but if you’d like to pretend you’re wiser...”
Harry chokes out a laugh. “I reckon Hermione’s still the wisest of us all, seeing how she arranged this. What time were you thinking, by the way?”
“Eleven minutes past ten,” Ron says promptly. “We reckon it’s less suspicious if it’s a bit off the hour.”
“Eleven minutes is highly specific, mate.” Harry raises his eyebrows. “Please tell me that number wasn’t in your head because of some… personal record. Or something.” He makes a face and moves to stand, too.
Ron just jerks his chin towards the door. “Do you want to play wizard’s chess? And I’m not going to dignify that with a response, by the way — but just know, you’re definitely, definitely incorrect.” His lips twitch. “As well as a total wanker.”
Ha! He’s left himself wide open!
Harry laughs and strides into the hallway, too. “Only when I think about—”
“UGH!” Ron groans dramatically as they walk downstairs, but Harry can hear the grin in his voice. “I thought we agreed never to discuss that!”
Harry spreads his palms in surrender, but doesn’t push it; Ron’s been more than understanding today, so he reckons he’ll let it slide — at least until the next time he tries to give him shit.
Then they march into the living room wearing stupid, contended grins, just as they’ve done a thousand times, for one reason or another. Then they play wizard’s chess, just as they’ve done a thousand times. Then Ron kicks Harry’s arse, just as he’s done a thousand times.
Ron pumps his fist in triumph and lets out a jubilant yelp as he resets the board — and although Harry would never admit it aloud, he’s nonetheless reached a comfortable, contented conclusion.
He’s fine with losing at wizard’s chess for the rest of his life… as long as he loses to him.
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Worst Impressions are the First (ch 6)
Main Characters: Logan, Patton, Roman, Virgil (Human AU)
Pairings: Romantic LAMP
Words: 5518
Author’s Note: *Shuffles in, hijab haphazardly wrapped, wearing a fleece hoodie over rumpled pajamas, carrying a mug that reads “I write, what’s your superpower” and wearing one slipper.*
Hey folks. So um. Yeah. I know it’s been, well, a LONG while. Apologies. I have no excuse other than this last semester of grad school and my part time gig kicked my ass, stole most of my free time, and possibly my left shoe. But I haven’t forgotten this fic or all of you incredibly wonderful and patient readers. And trust me when I say that I have made the wait worth it. Plus I’m on break now and already plotting out the next chapter, and I know exactly how I plan to progress with it, right down to the number of chapters left. Can I get a wahoo?
*Yawns and takes a long drink of strongly brewed black tea* Once again, thank you SO much for your patience and love, and enjoy the lovelorn chaos from our favorite gays. ^_^ (also, if for some reason the tag link isn’t working for you, please let me know)
AO3
<=PREV
Chapter 6 - (POV Patton)
The fire in your eyes
Like a grave digger’s lantern
Your passion revives…me
“Gosh dang it, one syllable too many,” Patton muttered to himself over the notepad.
He felt a staccato of taps on his arm; a signal for when the world was silenced by Patton’s big headphones and Roman wanted to talk to him. He took them off, giving his soulmate his full attention. That was still so nice to say and put an actual face to. My soulmate.
“Problem, dear heart?” Roman asked from the seat next to him. The new term of endearment made Patton blush, but he loved it.
“Nah, just tweaking a new haiku,” he said. “I want it to be perfect for my muse.”
Now Roman was the one blushing. “Well I’m sure when it’s done it will be as wonderful as everything else that’s made by your hands.”
It had been barely two days since he and Roman discovered they were each other’s soulmates (or at least one of them), but since then they had spent every spare moment getting to know each other. From walking to classes together to spending free periods together, and Patton’s mother had even insisted on inviting Roman over for dinner just last night. When Roman had complimented the pasta Patton helped cook, saying he could taste the love poured into each noodle, his heart felt near to bursting. It was such a short amount of time getting to know each other, yet Patton felt as though he’d known Roman for eons all throughout past lives.
Who knew being with your soulmate could make you feel so alight inside?
“Thank you for sneaking me your Tupperware of leftovers, Patton,” said Roman, covertly twirling his plastic fork into the spaghetti under their table.
“No problem, kiddo,” said Patton.
Technically they weren’t allowed food in the library during study hall except for water. Unless you had a blood sugar problem or something. Still, Patton was willing to break a tiny rule if it was for his soulmate’s well being. And maybe myself, he thought, sneaking bites from the napkin cookies on his lap.What? He’d had an Algebra test that morning. He earned a treat or two.
“Mom’s right, I do need to pack fuller lunches. I don’t know what’s up with my appetite lately. Least I’ve still got my figure.
“Maybe it s a puberty thiiiiiohmygosh it’s him.”
“Him who?”
“Look, but don’t look, over your shoulder.”
Roman sneakily looked over his shoulder and saw what Patton meant. It was Logan Berry, in all his brilliant glory, pulling out a book from the chemistry section. He looked lovely as always in a cream colored blouse, mint green skirt, and cherry blossom patterned neckerchief. The yellow gems of his bumblebee hair clip glittered under the ceiling light as it kept the ebony bangs out of his eyes.
Yet there was something off about Logan today. His face was neutral as always, but Patton noticed there was something slightly somber in his posture.
“Isn’t that supposed to be the school genius or something?” Roman asked.
“Debate club president,” Patton said wistfully.
“I’ve heard about his through tech club. He is really pretty! In a nerdy way.”
“Yeah, he sure is a lovely creature of nature.” Patton said with a sigh.
They must have been whispering louder than he realized, because suddenly Logan’s head was turned, and he was looking curiously at Patton. Oohhh gosh golly. He half hid behind his copy of Wuthering Heights.
“Patton my dear, you sound positively smitten.” Roman said, turning back around. “Not that I blame you really.”
Patton chuckled, unable to stop staring at his crush. “Guilty. Have been for awhile.”
“Say, you don’t suppose Logan could be one of our mysterious shared soulmates, maybe the one from yesterday, do you?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think we have the same lunch time as—Ohhh Lemony Snickett, he’s coming this way!”
“What? Here? Now? Does my hair look good?”
Patton considered himself to be pretty good at reading people on an emotional level, but Logan was usually like a tightly bound journal, difficult to look into. Except this time it was clear he did not look too happy with them. Before he could gage deeper as to why, Logan was at their table. Patton had never been this close to Logan before, never had the chance to make real mutual eye contact.
Logan’s stoic gaze went back and forth between them. His brave little Prince was mumbling Disney lyrics under his breath and clearly trying so hard not to clam up. Guess it’s up to me. Patton grasped for some sort of ice-breaker good enough for Logan. Something friendly, intelligent and totally not off-putting like he normally was.
“Umm…cookie?” Patton asked, holding up his cookie napkin in peacemaker offering.
“I don’t appreciate being stared at and spoken about behind my back.” Logan said sharply, staring pointedly at him.
“So that’s a no on the cookie.” Patton said, shrinking back.
“If you have something to say, you can express your mockeries to my face, because frankly I am in no mood for ignoring judgmental comments today.”
Ouch! Logan had never come across as the friendliest person ever, but Patton was definitely not expecting him to speak so coldly upon their fist meeting. And it hurt. Or it would have more so if Patton couldn’t tell from the look in Logan’s eyes that he was actually upset about something more than just people whispering.
“H-hey, don’t talk to my soulmate like that!” Roman said, voice cracking. He was loud enough to be shushed from another table. Yet for once, Roman didn’t duck his head down in shyness. “I-in fact, you shouldn’t talk to anymore like that, or make such harsh assumptions yourself, Mister Sub-Astute-Teacher.”
Logan turned to Roman. “I beg your pardon?”
“We weren’t gossiping about you, or whatever it is you think we were doing. If anything we were complimenting you. I mean- well yeah-yes! We were. But that was before you came at us so rudely with your negative assumptions. Just because you’re the debate club president or whatever doesn’t give you the right to talk to people like that.”
Wow. Patton had never had someone stand up for him like that before. And he’d never seen Roman be so, well, unabashedly vocal, even when people were watching. I am so proud!
Logan looked taken aback, ashamed even. “I-I apologize.”
“Yeah, you should, Blaise Pastel. And another...thing?” Roman cut himself off suddenly.
Patton was about to ask Roman what was wrong when he felt the tell tale tingle on his arm. He pulled up his sleeve and sure enough, another new soulthought was there, tattooed in navy blue ink: ‘Hm. Brontë. Excellent taste.’
“Patton,” Romans said, tapping him excitedly. “Look!”
On Roman’s arm in the same navy blue read: ‘Interesting sweater choice.’ They beamed at each other. There was no doubt about it.
Then Logan coughed, and when they turned to look at him, he too was holding out his arm on display. Beneath two purple and sky blue soulmarks, the latter of which Patton recognized as his own, were letters in bright red: ‘Nerd—Pretty—Pretty nerd.’
“Well. It would appear that we have much to discuss. May I?” Logan asked, gesturing to an empty chair at their table.
Patton checked wordlessly with Roman if he was okay with it. The drama techie nodded. “Please.”
Logan pulled out the chair across from them and smoothed out his skirt as he sat. “So. It seems that we are all ineffably bonded to one another, judging from the matching color palettes in our soul thoughts. And you both are...”
“We’re together,” said Roman, reaching for Patton’s hand on the table and lacing their fingers. “We found each other just two days ago.”
Something flashes across Logan’s face, but it was gone before Patton could read more into it. “That is...quite fortuitous.”
“And we’d love for you to be apart of this too.” Patton said. “That is, if you’d be comfortable with that. We wouldn’t dare bind your heart to ours, regardless of being soulmates, if it wasn’t something you also wanted.”
“Or if you ended up being a jerk.”
“Roman!”
“Well he—
“It’s quite alright, um, Patton was it?” Logan asked. Patton nodded yes. “Roman is within his right to feel how he does. I did not exactly make the best first impression.”
“You can say that again.” Roman muttered.
“Now Roman, you and I didn’t exactly get off on the right foot either. In fact it left a lot to be desired.” Pattona said.
“But he—
“Deserves just as much a chance as we did. He is our soulmate after all. Alright?”
“Yes, dear.”
A low chuckle from Logan caught them both off guard. The beautiful brainy boy was covering his mouth demurely. The sight of Logan, who’d always been so sharp and alabaster cold, so softened by just his laughter alone was breathtaking. It set moths fluttering about in Patton’s tummy.
“What’s so funny?” Roman asked, brows furrowed.
Logan cleared his throat and adjusted his Warby Parkers. Hey, we have the same glasses!
“Apologizes, I am not laughing at you,” Logan said. “It is merely that, well, for a moment there your bickering reminded me of my mothers. Which is quite remarkable given how, as you’ve said, you two have only known each other for two days.”
“Aw gee, it’s sweet of you to say that we remind you of your moms, Logan.” Patton said.
To think he and Roman already sounded like an old married couple. Sure it was all fast and new to him still, but he couldn’t help delighting at it. Would he get to share this same sort of bond with Logan? With his fourth unknown soulmate? He sure hoped so.
Still, he was so different from Roman. Even though Patton had been crushing on Logan fort ages, he seemed to have a much thicker wall. Could Patton ever be good enough to be invited in?
“So I take it from your reaction that you are not among the school’s percentage of ignoramuses that take offense to LGBT folk, such as myself and my mothers?” Logan asked.
“Pshh, puh-lease! I’m about as straight as this spaghetti,” said Roman, holding up a limp noodle hanging off his fork.
“You do know food is prohibited in the library.”
“And my brother Remus is a regular Ace of spades.” Roman continued, ignoring Logan. “Not that you’d ever guess it, with all the crude jokes he makes on his podcast.”
“Brother?” Patton and Logan asked.
“Trust me, the less you know about that internet troll the better.”
“As for me, said Patton, “well, just fry an egg on my head and call me pan.”
Roman nearly choked on his bite of food, cough laughing. Patton offered his bottle of water to him. Logan tilted his head to the side.
“Fry an—what? That isn’t—pan?” If there was a lightbulb over Logan’s head, it would have just clicked. “Oh good lord, was a that a pun comparing pansexuality to cookware?”
“Heh, guilty,” said Patton. “I’ve got ‘em by the dozens.”
Roman seemed to like Patton’s jokes, but Logan not so much. Patton had been trying real hard to make his jokes less dry and dark. Did Logan just not like puns, or did he not like him? Patton so wanted Logan to like him.
“Tawdry wordplay aside, I’m please to find that at least some of my soulmates are not ashamed to be themselves, unlike...”
Patton turns to Logan concerned, but he merely opened his book to a random page and pretended to read it. He was clearly holding something back, but Patton didn’t want to push him into talking. He already felt like on thin ice.
“Unlike who?” Roman asked. “Does it have to do with your soulmate?”
“You’ll have to be more specific,” said Logan, not looking up.
Roman rolled his eyes. “The one with the purple writing. Don’t think I didn’t notice that. Patton and I both have thought tattoos in the same color, and if you know who are third soulmate is, then don’t you think we have a right to know who they are as well?”
Logan closed the book. He looked at them for a moment, then sighed. “That is more than fair. Alright. It’s...”
He leaned in close to them, and in a low voice whispered a name that Patton was surprised to hear.
“VIRGIL!?” Roman shouted. Logan palmed his forehead.
A neighboring table shushed them and at least two students milling about the stacks gave them odd looks. Patton tugged his hat down and Roman slunk down bashfully. Baby steps, Roman. Baby steps. They probably would’ve gotten more than odd looks if not for Logan giving the more nosy students a steely glare.
“Would you kindly think before you open your infinitesimally loud mouth next time?” Logan asked.
He knows that word actually means really small, right? Patton thought.
“Well excuse me for being shocked that the Stormcloud of South Bay High is our mysterious soulmate.” Roman said, using his backstage voice. “I mean, look at us and look at him.”
“I have,” Logan said.
“And you’re still in one piece? After being alone with an unnerving ruffian like him?”
“FALSEHOOD!”
The sudden outburst startled Patton nearly out of his skin, and Roman actually fell out of his seat, spaghetti almost flying. The school librarian shushed Logan pointedly, and he apologized to her profusely, being luck enough to to get off with just a warning as her model library goer.
“He is not like that.” Logan said. “Yes, he is among the athletic clique but he is by no means a brute. He is intelligent and sweet and...gentle.”
“It’s true Roman,” said Patton. “I haven’t talked to him much myself, but I sit behind him in English Lit., and he’s never been mean to anyone in class.”
Patton pictured the anxious kiddo in his mind. How fidgety he got, the way his back tensed when being called on even if he knew the answer, and especially the lost lonely look in his eyes.
“Actually, when he’s not huddled in with his buddies, Virgil’s even more awkward than you can be.”
“Augh!” Roman gasped offendedly. “Patton, you wound my pride. Wait, was that a compliment or?”
“Does that mean you’ve talked with Virgil then?” Patton asked Logan.
“Indeed. We officially met—coincidentally—on Wednesday, realized we are soulmates, and spent Study Hall yesterday getting to know one another. It was quite...enjoyable.”
Then something happened that Patton would’ve gone so far as to call a little miracle: he saw Logan smiling. It was small but softened his angular face oh so nicely. Seeing Logan’s smile was like watching a sunrise. If Patton hadn’t been in puppy love with Logan before he definitely was now.
Then the overcast came, and stone faced Logan was back. “That is until some of his neanderthal brethren in lettermen’s happened upon us, and Virgil revealed the coward he truly is; ashamed of himself and ashamed of me.”
The three of them went quiet, their snacks and studies long forgotten. The library clock ticked away, turning pages crinkled like autumn leaves, and somewhere somebody was not so sneakily smoking a joint. Of course his brave little Prince would be the first to break the silence.
“Sooo I take it that Virgil is deeper in the closet than Narnia,” said Roman.
“Precisely. And I refuse to belittle my self-worth by wasting my time on anyone who does not have the courage to be themselves, let alone be associated with me simply because I am not of the same socially constructed high school status. I told him as much before leaving with my dignity intact.”
Patton tried to process this new information. It hurt his heart to hear the bitterness in Logan’s words, especially when he was so obviously trying to hide how hurt he really was. Yet even so...
“I understand where you’re coming from Logan, and I’m sorry that happened to you. But,” Patton bit his bottom lip, “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on Virgil?”
Logan raise a sharp eyebrow at him. “In what way am I being harsh?”
“Because, well, it’s not really your place to say when or how ‘out’ somebody should be. Even if he is your—our—soulmate.” Patton sat up straighter, blowing the curly bangs out of his eyes. “I mean, you probably came to this school already out of the closet, right? You’re used to to knowing how to handle yourself and others when they might talk bad about you. So it’s probably easier to feel like you’ve got the Pride high ground.”
“I...suppose I hadn’t considered it in that light.” said Logan. “Astute.”
“Yeah, top notch analysis there, Patton-cake,” said Roman.
“And yeah, we’ve got a modest little LGBT club and a small portion of the school has not so nice views of queer people,” Patton continued. “Which makes sense, I mean, this isn’t exactly New York. But you’ve gotta understand that Virgil is smack dab in the middle of that crowd. He probably feels like it might not be as safe for him to be out as it would be for someone like you; the debate club champ and smartest kid in school who’s also in good standing with the teachers. ...Or someone like me; the creepy emo kid that everyone treats like a ghost or is too scared of to bother with anyways.”
Lonely as it was, being invisible did have its advantages. Patton felt Roman wrap a deceptively strong arm around him, nothing but tenderness in his eyes. Well, not so invisible anymore. Patton smiled and leaned his head on Roman’s broad shoulder.
“Honestly, I see Patton’s point. Sure, I get teased by those guys all the time for being perceived as gay—not that they’re wrong—but people have picked on me for plenty of other reasons over the years.”
Roman paused for moment, using one hand to wipe his large glasses on his swirly patterned sweater vest.
“Look at me. I’m a scrawny, shy, Disney obsessed theater nerd, and not even one of the leading actor elites. I knew going in that I was bound for the bottom of the social food chain no matter what I did, so I figured, why not at least allow myself to be my full rainbow self, albeit quietly? Sure, I haven’t officially come out yet, but it’s not like I’d have much more to lose when I do. But Virgil? He has everything to lose.”
Logan sat back in his chair, mulling over their imput. Pattons was worried that he might have offended Logan somehow. He wasn’t storming away from their table, so that was a good sign. Maybe Patton should apologize anyways.
BRIIIING
Study hall was officially at an end. Students packed up their bags, and returned or checked out books. Meanwhile the librarian ushered any stragglers out so she could prepare the space for any Friday electives that would be taking place there.
“I have to get to class,” said Logan, gathering his things. “It was good meeting you both. You’ve given me much to think about. Perhaps we might converse again sometime?”
“No problem Specs. Where are you off to next?” Roman asked, closing up the Tupperware and hanging it back to Patton.
“Um, U.S. History,” said Logan, adjusting his glasses.
“With Mr. Terrence? Me too.” Roman grabbed his classic Mickey backpack. “Maybe we can, um, walk over there together? I mean, since we’re headed the same direction.”
“I have no objections with that.”
“Onward then. Farewell, Patton dear.”
“Bye Roman. Uh, Logan, I—“
Before Patton could say anything more, his two soulmates were on their way out. With a sigh he grabbed his writing journal, book, and backpack before heading out himself in the opposite direction for his last two classes of the day. He had English Lit with Miss Valerie next. And Virgil, he thought, pulling his headphones over his ears. It was high time he and Virgil spoke for real.
* * * * *
Patton watched the clock on the wall tick tock away the last few minutes of class He gripped his stretched sleeve end into a black and grey paw with one hand, and doodled furiously in his notebook margins with the other. Did I overstep my boundaries? Patton wondered for the hundredth time since the middle of class. In front of him, Virgil nervously bounced his knee and kept chewing on his cuticles, sending a twinge of guilt through Patton’s chest.
Halfway through class while Miss Valerie was writing out notes on the board, he had carefully tossed a folded note onto Virgil’s desk. Luckily he’d always been more of a thrower than a catcher. The anxious athlete saw the slip of paper, unfolded its contents, and went rigid. He’d cast a quick wide eyed glance over his shoulder at Patton before turning back to the front. Virgil hadn’t looked at him again since.
BRIIIING
“Alright class, that’s it for today. Don’t forget, your essays about the symbolic significance of the Moores in Brontë‘s novel are due next week,” said Miss Valerie.
While the rest of the class rushed to leave, he and Virgil lingered behind, packing their backpacks slower till the coast was clear. They stood up at the same time, Patton clutching his journal to his chest, and Virgil hunched awkwardly.
“Hey, is there some place we can’t talk? Privately?” Vigil asked, his voice gravelly.
“Mhm. Just uh, follow me.” Patton said.
They walked out the classroom and through the crowded hallways, Patton in the lead and Virgil following a foot behind. Murmurings of between bells chatter and tinny locker taps filled his ears. Two hallways later, Patton pulled Virgil round a courier and into the Nurses Office.
Flickering fluorescent ceiling lights cast shadows around the off-white walls. The only decorations were an anatomy poster, a poster of a cute bat dressed in a nurse’s cap, and the skeleton onesie clad teddy bear Nurse Talyn kept for students in emotional distress. Patton called him Mr Fluffybones. There were chairs, a sickbed, and a filing cabinet next to the supply closet. The office always smelled of rubbing alcohol, but it was clean, quiet, and most of all private. Talyn was a colleague of Emile’s so they let him stay in here on his bad days for as long as he needed to.
“Patton, it’s ten minutes till classtime.” Nurse Talyn said from their desk, their horn-rimmed glasses sliding down their nose. “Do you have a pass for another breather? Or is there something your friend needs help with?”
“No, nothing like that Talyn,” Patton said, smiling at the word ‘friend.’ “Virgil and I just needed someplace private to talk for a bit.”
“You know I’m not supposed to let students be in here unless they’re feeling unwell.”
“Pleeeese? We’ll head right to class afterwards. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
Then, Patton unleashed his most secret of secret weapons, used for emergencies only and rarer than a red moon: the puppy Pat pout. When Talyn saw his pouty bottom lip and big eyes, their mouth went lemon tight. They only resisted for a few seconds before an audible groan told Patton he’d one this round.
“Ugh, fine! You get five minutes while I go restock my bandaid jar.” Talyn took a not even half empty jar with them as they went to the supply closet. “I blame Emile for teaching you that puppy dog pout. It should be illegal.”
“Thanks Nurse Talyn!” Works every time.
Patton turned around to where Virgil stood behind him, hands in the oversized letterman jacket and a crooked smirk on his face. If Patton didn’t know better, he would think Virgil looked almost impressed.
“We can talk privately now, don’t worry.” Patton said.
“Worry’s my middle name but, okay. So uh, about this.”
Virgil took a deep breath and pulled from one pocket a crumpled note. He unfurled is, words facing up: ‘I know you’re my soulmate. We all do. Can we talk?’
Standing in front of him now, seeing the dark bags under his wide eyes, Patton thought that Virgil looked so small and vulnerable. All shelled up in his too big jacked, clutching that paper between his shaking skinny fingers. He just wanted to hold the poor thing close and protect him from every nasty thing in this world. Instead he settled for smiling as warmly as possible, hoping to help Virgil feel more at ease.
“Just tell me first,” Virgil’s hands fidgeted. “By ‘we’ you mean my other soulmates and not, y’know, the whole school? I hope? Not that I think you’d out me or anything; you’re not like that. Not that I’d assume what you’re like, I jus—
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, kiddo.” Patton said, making his voice gentle. “I do mean our soulmates, and of course your secret is still safe with us.”
Upon hearing this though, Virgil’s whole body relaxed. “Heh, you really do say ‘kiddo.’ So how’d you find out?”
“Logan ran into Roman and me in the library earlier. We got to chatting and figured out the four of us are all soulmates.”
Virgil gave a low whistle. “I knew you guys were my soulmates but geez. All four of us? Fate must have a weird sense of humor.”
“Our gossamer spider-silk threads of fate are interwoven into one intricate home for our four hearts to feast upon entangled love.”
Patton mentally winced. Way to get weird and dark again Patton. Wait, he’s...smiling. Oh gosh, I really have a thing for nice smiles, don’t I?
“Wow Pat, that was...really lovely. And just the right amount of creepy. I dig it.”
Lovely? Me? Patton smiled, his freckled cheeks feeling warm all of a sudden. I knew you would be kind.
“I meant what I thought, by the way,” said Virgil. “You really do have gorgeous eyes.”
“And you really need to stop calling yourself an idiot,” said Patton.
Virgil chuckled, then looked down at his purple sneakers. “Did um...did Logan tell you about what happened?”
Patton rubbed his arm. “Yeah, he did.”
“So then you probably hate me, right? Argh, stupid question. Of course you do. Or at least Logan does. He probably thinks I’m just another stupid jerk athlete. Roman too. Not that I blame him after the number of times I’ve just stood by like an idiot and—
“I will physically fight you if you keep talking bad about yourself, Mister!”
The sharp outburst startled Virgil into shutting up. Patton didn’t often use his papa bear voice (as him mom called it) outside of the house or with anyone besides his younger cousin Elliot. But he couldn’t stand hearing Virgil talk that way about himself for another second. There was only room for one self deprecating soulmate in their group, and that was him.
“Logan doesn’t hate you Virgil. None of us do.” Patton said. “He’s upset still, sure, but never hate. And I told him that what he said to you was probably a little too harsh.”
Virgil’s head shot up. “You did?”
“Mhm. Of course his feelings were valid, but that couldn’t have been an easy situation for you either. Being in the closet is a pretty scary time, and the anxiety probably doesn’t help with it either.”
“H-how did you?”
“My godfather’s a therapist. Got pretty good at picking up on the signs from talking with him. Besides, you’re not the only one with a monster living between their ears.”
Patton rolled up his left sleeve, showing the tally marks of all the times he’d managed to come back out of the darkness and stand in the sunlight again. Virgil gave a quiet gasp, but Patton refused to turn away in shame from his soulmate, even if he did look at him with pity. When he met Virgil’s eyes however, they were filled with understanding.
In a bittersweet sort of way, it made Patton feel happy.
“I’m not saying you have to come out for us. Or go public, or do anything you’re not ready for yet. I just want you to know that we’re here for you when you are ready. And,” Patton held out his hand in offering, “you don’t have to go through this alone.”
He expected Virgil to take his handshake, maybe say thanks and offer to talk outside of school sometime. Maybe.
He did not expect Virgil to take his wrist in a gentle calloused grasp, turn his arm upward, bend down, and place a soft kiss on his scars.
It was sudden. It was impulsive. It was an act of pure reverence that set Patton’s pulse point thrumming faster than a hummingbirds heartbeat.
And judging from the look on his face, it shocked the hell out of Virgil just as much. He snatched his hand back as though his touch might burn Patton.
“I’m sorry! That was—I should’ve asked—-out of line. I—NGK!”
“Virgil, wait!”
Too late. Just as someone else was coming in, Virgil was running out the door, nearly knocking the other person over.
“WOah! Where’s the fire babe?” they asked.
Virgil paid him no mind. Didn’t even seem to hear him. Once again, Patton’s soulmate was gone before he could even try to make things right.
“Guess he’s got the runs or something. Ngh-ow. Forget it. Head hurts too much to care right now.”
The student who’d just come in was also wearing a letterman jacket, and their fingers hovered over a mean looking bruise near their temple. It took a second for Patton to recognize from the sunglasses who he was.
“You’re one of Virgil’s friends, Remy, right?” Patton asked.
Remy jumped, not realizing Patton was there. “His best friend, thank you very much. And who wants to knoOOHhhh I see. You’re one of his secret soulmates he won’t tell me about!”
Patton followed Remy’s eye line leading to his still uncovered arm. He quickly pulled his sleeve back down, blushing scarlet hot and hid behind his bangs. Remy chuckled.
“You know I gotta say, not at all what I pictured, but you are a cute little black kitten,” Remy said with a grin.
“Do you know where Virgil might’ve run off to? I want to go after him, but I need to get to class soon. Oh, it was all going so well, but maybe he thought he crossed a line and I’d be upset, but I’m not! He looked just short of a panic attack and I just...is he going to be okay?” Patton could’ve cried he was so worried.
Remy gave him a long unreadable once over, then sighed. “Look, if I know Virgil—and I do—then he’s either gone to the gym to blow off some steam, or holed himself up somewhere private where he can calm down. He doesn’t like people seeing his anxiety get the better of him if he can help it. Say it makes people uncomfortable.”
“Mental health isn’t anything to be embarrassed by, or of.”
Patton must have passed some sort of test, because Remy finally gave him a genuine smile of approval and lifted his sunglasses atop his head.
“Totes babe. Look, right now I gotta see a nurse about this goose egg hatching on my head, but I’ll try to look for him after. Kay? Ow!”
Patton signed. “Thank you Remy.”
“You still here, Patton?” Nurse Talyn called, coming out from the supply closet with an armload of bandaid boxes, a bad of cotton swabs, and a now full jar. “The second bell is about to ring. You need to get—“
They looked around the room, spotted Remy, and dropped their arms. Their face fell flat, along with the rest of the things they’d been carrying. Good thing that jar was plastic.
“Remy Dormier, did you fall asleep and hit your head in the hallway again?” Nurse Talyn asked, looking just about done with everything.
“Nope. Track field. Bottom bleacher,” said Remy, wincing and he touched the spot.
“That is the FOURTH time this week! That’s it.” They pulled out a crushable ice pack from their desk drawer and handed it to Remy. “You, on the bed while I call your parents. We have GOT to get a script from your Doctor for this obvious narcolepsy problem of yours. Patton, get to class. Go on, shoo!”
Not wanting to endure the tiny wrath of Talyn in full nurse mode, Patton left. Not before getting a wink from Remy that did little to lift his spirits. He speed walked to his last class of the day, but home economics was the last thing on his mind. He could still feel the kiss from before like a memory on his skin.
I hope he’ll be okay.
General Tag: @quoth-the-sparrow @altruistic-skittles @em-be-lievable @justisaisfine @broadwaytheanimatedseries @thekeytohappiness-is-you @jynxlovesluck @queer-human-being @phlying-squirrel @ab-artist @grey-lysander @a-valorous-choice @xx-fandom-potato-xx @impatentpending @book-of-charlie @randomslasher @tinkslittlebelle @insanelycoolish @ironwoman359 @icecoldparadise @bluebloodstains @purpleshipper @patchworkofstars @axyzel @hissesssss @beautifully-terribly @pink-and-purple-flowers @thatsanswitch @6tick6tock6 @hanramz-the-fander @azlinne @helplesscreator @thestoryofme13 @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @accidental-sanders @moonstone-fox @smokeyrutilequartz @madly-handsome @puns-and-patton @notveryglittery @eequalsmcscared @safesandersides @lizziepopanime @anxiously-unsatisfied-world @unikornavenger @fuck-my-life-i-want-food @backatthebein @mephonic @paperghastly @ravenclawangst @iamtrashcans @loganberrysanders @ierindoodles @a-new-witch-in-learning @punsterterry @goldteethandacurseforthistown @dragonsight9 @your-average-pangirl
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#KDsWriting#First Impressions AU#romantic lamp#sanders sides#sanders sides fic#LAMP#Patton Sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#virgil sanders#remy sanders#polysanders#Soulmate au#soulmark au#soulmate tattoo#tw scars#no pasta was harmed in the making of this fic
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Idk but I really thought Rara would be the one to spoil the reveal because Narrative Purpose, maybe. So like this fic assumes Lex was actually playing the Long Game and not just jumping off the lowest branch in the crazy tree. Less angst, maybe, ultimately, but I think Rara deserves A Point To Her Existence.
Also let's pretend Rara knows she didn't kill Kara mostly because I forgot until after I wrote this HAHAha...
Also also this got long and idk how to do cuts in mobile so WELP
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Lena can't say that she's surprised.
An embossed letter from Lex Luthor himself could only ever result in a Darth Vader invitation to join the evil family business. What surprises Lena is that Lex thought she would agree, like she'd really stand there in the Oval Office and declare, "Yes, despite all I've done to this point, why not give world domination a try." Why not throw her morals to the wayside and become a supervillian, and perhaps get in a good cackle along the way.
Lena rolls her eyes to think of it. Absurdity.
But what really surprises her is the presence of Red Daughter. The Haran-El copy looks exactly like Supergirl, down to the little notch scar on her forehead (which Lena has always imagined came from before, during a childhood mishap on Krypton, when the hero was human and allowed to bleed). She can't know for certain, because the topic has never come up between her and Supergirl, but. Well.
It's awkward to discuss halcyon days when the world's ending, and Lena mostly sees Supergirl in times of great peril. She wishes sometimes-- more recently nowadays-- that she could have a heart-to-heart with the hero, peel back some of that invulnerable skin. They've patched things up. They might as well become friends.
(Not Kara Danvers level of friendship, but still, more than acquaintances. More than... Lena snickers at the thought: co-workers.)
So when Red Daughter flies through the open South Lawn window in a familiar blur with familiar windswept hair and that same little scar, it takes Lena a second to be scared. Reflexively, she's reassured.
But Lex flaps a dismissive hand. "Take her away. Don't let her out of your sight."
Heavily accented, Red Daughter agrees, "Yes, Alex."
Red Daughter's eyes, blue as Supergirl's suit, shift to Lena. And it surprises Lena, too, to see them soften, just around the edges. It's a flicker, and when she blinks, it's gone, but it was an unmistakable glimpse.
Of warmth, of heart, of goodness. Of fondness, even. It stokes embers of ideas in Lena's mind, and her fear ebbs once more.
She doesn't struggle when she's gathered up in strong arms that could bear her weight for a century without tiring. It's a familiar embrace, too-- she's been held like this before. Supergirl's arms have never failed to make her feel safe, and Red Daughter's elicit the same support.
Whatever else Red Daughter may be, she's Supergirl at heart, and Lena's pretty sure she has a knack for reaching that.
She doesn't struggle. She just closes her eyes against the sudden rush of wind.
.
They end up in a holding cell not far away from the White House. It's benign as cells go, and Red Daughter doesn't even bother locking the door. She just stands on the threshold, arms crossed on her chest, face determinedly set like steel.
Her eyes betray her, though. They flick over Lena a little too often, like she can't quite believe Lena's here or solid or even real. It's hungry, almost.
For what, Lena can't say. But she'd be damned if she didn't take advantage of the opportunity.
"What Lex is doing is wrong, you know." She'd also be damned if she minced words.
Red Daughter scoffs.
"He's using you," Lena presses. "He already pretended to kill you, for god's sake. All he wants is power in the end. Do you see Kasnia in control here? No. Lex is in control here. Lex only ever fights for Lex. When he's done with you, he'll kill you for real without batting an eye."
Red Daughter's lips twist. "Alex vill do no such t'ing," she replies. Her gaze studiously shifts elsewhere, fixating on the plain gray wall.
Lena tries a different tack. "Why do you call him that? 'Alex'?"
"Because zat is 'is name," Red Daughter says, audibly doubtful of Lena's intelligence.
"Technically, I suppose," Lena concedes. She shakes her head of that. "Never mind. You've seen the choice he gave me, right? And how he treated me for disagreeing to his madness? I'm his sister, Red Daughter. He's willing to cast aside and imprison family. What makes you think you'll be any different?"
Red Daughter shakes her head, too, blonde waves rustling. "No, no, zis vill not vork. I am not ze same as 'er, you know. I am not your Kara Danvers."
That strikes several chords in swift succession.
"My Kara Danvers?" Lena echoes. Heat flares up her neck, but it's short-lived and quaffed by the bucket of ice water roaring down her spine. "Wait, why did you bring up Kara? You haven't-- you haven't abducted her again, have you? She isn't here, is she? Kara!" she concludes in worried shout.
Lena lurches to her feet on instinct, makes a run for the door, but Red Daughter is better than a wall. Catches onto Lena's lapel, not with enough force to lift or choke, but enough to keep her in place.
"No, she is not 'ere," Red Daughter says, looking once again like she fears for Lena's sanity. "But do not t'ink you can seduce me wit' your vords, Lena Lut'or. I am not your best friend."
Lena can't be bothered with this hogwash. "Of course you aren't. You're a copy of Supergirl, not--"
Lena stops mid-sentence. She's suddenly aware of a distant flapping, as of a thousand red flags. It unfurls like the ocean's roar as it surges from the depths of her head.
Red Daughter beats that tide to land. "And Supergirl is Kara Danvers, yes. Zat is my point exac'ly."
The wave crests and crashes, crashes, crashes. Lena blinks, delicately, as if even such a tremulous motion will shatter her entirely. "Supergirl is Kara Danvers," she repeats, hoarse.
"Yes?" Red Daughter tilts her head, and oh, god, Lena can see it now-- "As she 'as alvays been." A pause. "Vere you not avare of zis?"
Lena falters backwards across the cell until she can sink, boneless, on the bench. Her throat works several times before she croaks, "No. No, I... I was not."
Red Daughter frowns. At first it's just with her lips, but then it reaches her eyes, and the empathy there is a gut punch for Lena-- another gut punch. She's used to that expression, or used to it framed by glasses.
How was I so blind?
"Ah. Yes," Red Daughter murmurs. "I knew zis. I just forgot I did."
Lena finds enough space in her throat to wonder, "How would you possibly know that?"
Red Daughter looks surprised, briefly, before the concern washes back: another tide. She ventures closer, broad shoulders turned in like a dog tucking its tail in apology. "I 'ad to study 'er, to become 'er. I read 'er journals at length." Another hesitation. She's reached Lena's side. She shuffles her boots before perching on the very edge of the bench.
Lena can't process, her brain's a gnarled mess, but she has enough clarity to be cognizant of the other woman's presence and to be perplexed by it.
Red Daughter skims her hands down her thighs, clears her throat. "Kara Danvers speaks very 'ighly of you-- or writes as such. You are 'er most precious person, like unto 'er own Alex. I vas fascinated by ze passages attributed to you, Lena. The power of ze emotion, it leapt off ze page. I felt it 'ere, in my own chest," she concludes, pressing fingers to her heart.
Lena's jaw creaks, useless. Blood pounds in her ears, her neck. Is she flushing from secondhand embarrassment? Anger? Pleasure?
Red Daughter barrels onward, fingers fisting. "And she wrote for pages, too, about 'ow she couldn't tell you. 'Ow she vanted to tell you, but alvays, she vorried for your safety. Alvays, she vorried for your 'appiness."
"She could've just told me," Lena finally spits, bitter. "If she wanted me safe and happy, she should've told me my best friend was a superhero!"
Red Daughter is quiet at that. She's quiet for a long time. Eventually, she offers, "It agonized 'er. Ze ink, it was smeared at times. From tears, I t'ink."
Lena jolts to her feet, no more stable this time. Worse, even. She's stuttering like her joints have forgotten how to bend. "Don't tell me that! Don't tell me she-- she cried over this! How am I supposed to hate her if she cried over it?"
Red Daughter jumps up, too, and is in front of Lena with superspeed. But not, as it seems, to curtail her escape-- Lena's mind is far from that right now. But just to steady. Her hands rest on Lena's shoulders, and Lena barely feels the pressure. For all that strength and power, this touch is only gentle.
That's familiar, too. But then these hands are Kara's.
Lena shudders. Tears slip free.
Red Daughter's hands flex, careful. A bracing, strengthening squeeze. "You say I should 'ate Alex for vhat 'e 'as done, vhat 'e plans to do. Per'aps you are right about zat, I do not yet know. But if you are right, zen 'e 'as done terrible t'ings and plans to do far vorse. Kara Danvers 'as only tried to protect you ze best she knew 'ow."
Another shiver ripples through Lena's frame, dealing more damage to her foundations. "I wish she would've just told me," she weeps. "Why didn't she just tell me?"
Red Daughter appears at a loss, as agonized as she claimed Kara to be.
It surprises Lena to her core when Red Daughter wraps her in an embrace, cradled in unbreakable arms. Fingers sift, clumsy but comforting, through raven locks of hair.
You're a kind-hearted, brilliant, beautiful soul.
I'm not going anywhere. I will protect you, always.
The words bubble up and burst. "She really was just trying to protect me?"
The press of Red Daughter's head against Lena's temple is the same. The warmth of her body, too. Kara always had inexplicably been a furnace.
Stupid Kryptonians and their solar energy, Lena sneers inwardly without any real bile. She doesn't have the heart to whet the edges sharp enough to cut.
"She 'ad no reason to lie in 'er journal," Red Daughter states. It's matter of fact. But it is a matter of fact. Why would she, indeed.
The turbulence in Lena's chest eases. It's far from calm, it's still blustery and wild, but the storm no longer looms apocalyptic. She dares to venture that maybe, in time, she'll find fair seas again.
Red Daughter loosens her hold, and Lena wishes, viscerally, that she wouldn't. That she'd step back and be a rock again. But the other woman has other plans, and lifts the tears from Lena's cheeks, drop by drop.
"I do not know," Red Daughter admits as she works, "if Alex is evil as you say. I am conflicted about zat. I vill need proof. But I do know zat you are certainly not. You are ze farthest t'ing from it. And it seems to be a veakness of zis body," she adds with a self-deprecating little laugh as her thumb brushes gentle along the angle of Lena's cheek, "to vant to t'row avay life and limb for your sake."
The back of Lena's neck prickles again. She swallows, sniffles, says, "I, uh... does that mean you're going to help me? To help us? Defeat Lex?"
"I told you, I do not know yet." Red Daughter chases down the last tear. "But I vill return you unharmed to your Kara, so you may reconcile. From zere, ve vill see."
Not a lot surprises Lena Luthor. She's too cunning, too clever, too ready with sharp eyes and keen analysis to be caught on the back foot.
But all she's done is stumble today.
"Th-Thank you," she manages.
Red Daughter smiles. It's more than familiar. It's exactly the same, ablaze with a thousand cheerful suns.
Lena can't help but smile back.
.
.
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#supercorp#commiecorp#apparently!#all karas are in love with lena i don't make the rules#fanfiction#my writing#reveal#ish#kara danvers#lena luthor#red daughter#idk hope you enjoy
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Sebciel Drabble - Excerpt from “Circus” AU
So I was feeling really low this weekend and decided I’d try to write some fluff or PWP to cheer me up and ofc this came out instead, which is neither.
It’s a slice from an AU I'm working on (tentatively titled Circus). It's likely to be a dark, complex story. In it, Joker runs an escort agency called Circus. Sebastian, now almost thirty, has been working for him as an escort and fixer for years and knows he’s going to probably have to retire from the former soon. Ciel is in his twenties and the two of them have been dating for some time by the present point of the story. Seb, Finny, and Ciel share an apartment. I don’t know the full details yet, but Finny and probably Ciel also work for Joker in some capacity, though Sebastian has insisted Ciel go to school (since that was always Ciel’s dream). Lau is the big antagonist of the story whom both Seb and Ciel have a personal vendetta against, though I don’t want to go into more detail as that’d be a big spoiler (and isn’t necessary for enjoying this little snippet).
This scene is basically just Sebastian and Ciel talking over dinner. There's some heat and nudity, but no sex, sorry.
I thought about putting this on AO3, but honestly I have no idea if this scene will make it into the final story since it's still in the early stages. But this is probably relatively early in, probably within the first few chapters.
Anyway, enjoy, and if you liked it (and want me to post more of my in-progress stuff on here) please let me know by liking/commenting/reblogging!
_____________
“Seb? I’m home,” Ciel called as he entered the apartment.
“In the kitchen.”
Ciel followed the delicious aroma, dumping his bag on the couch before wandering over to his boyfriend.
Sebastian stood at the stove, using cooking chopsticks to stir something sizzling away in a wok. He had borrowed some of Finny’s bobby-pins to keep his long bangs out of his eyes while he cooked, and they shone when he moved and caught the light just right, the colored metal standing out sharply amidst his ink black hair. He was dressed in old, faded, low-hanging jeans that were fitted but from before the skinny fad, with holes everywhere, including a large one that started at the bottom of his right back pocket and expanded across his lower butt, revealing a muscled, pale cheek. Unsurprisingly, Sebastian was going commando. He was bare from the waist up except for an apron (hot oil on bare nipples was a lesson he’d learned the hard way).
Ciel took a moment to appreciate the line of his boyfriend’s back, the shift and slide of skin and muscles in his shoulders as he moved, the hint of his tattoo peaking above the waistband of his jeans. A stereotypical pronged devil’s tail along his tailbone that curled down and over his currently covered left ass cheek. He took his persona seriously. Sometimes too seriously. “Whatcha cooking?”
Seb paused to lean over and press a kiss to Ciel’s head when he grew closer. “‘Use up all the leftovers in the fridge’ fried rice.”
Ciel snagged a carrot from the cutting board and popped it in his mouth, humming appreciatively. Sebastian knew what it was like to starve, and so he was ruthless in making sure they had almost no food waste. More impressive than that was how delicious his meals could be, no matter the ingredients. Sebastian was such a talented cook, Ciel had tried to convince him more than once to enroll in culinary school with no success. As confident and domineering as Sebastian could seem, the truth was he didn’t see himself as worth much more than being a whore and a thug.
“How was class?”
Ciel gathered the cutlery and bowls as Sebastian added the finishing touches to the rice. “Eh. We have to write a business plan.”
Sebastian accepted the bowls, one at a time, filling them with fried rice.
“Finny isn’t eating with us?”
Sebastian shook his head. He’s training with Bard, and then he has clients so he said not to worry about him; they’d grab something.”
Ciel nodded absently and followed his boyfriend to their small table, where they both began to dig in. “Awesome as always,” Ciel said with a grin as he gathered some more spoonfuls.
Sebastian smiled fondly and picked at his own meal.
That didn’t escape Ciel’s notice, but he said nothing. “Anyway, I was thinking of doing this idea I’ve had for awhile, but it’s probably stupid.”
“You’re brilliant, so I doubt that,” Sebastian assured Ciel, his unusual mahogany eyes showing nothing but pure sincerity. Ciel had fallen in love with Sebastian years before they’d acknowledged it partly because of the taller man’s sometimes brutal honesty. He could be duplicitous and a flatterer while in his Luci persona, but Sebastian himself preferred to lay everything out on the table.
Ciel blushed and took a bite of food to give him time to stall and figure out how to formulate what he wanted to say. “I want to start a toy company that makes toys designed for sick kids. Stuff that’s easy to disinfect and resistant to allergens, that’s compact so they’re easy to bring to a doctor’s appointment or when in the hospital. Stuff that will help comfort and distract kids who are in pain or not feeling well.” Ciel blushed again and ducked his head.
The slate-haired man felt fingers cradle his chin and direct it back up so that he was looking at Sebastian, who was leaning in almost too-close as he was overly fond of doing. “That’s a wonderful idea. I would probably start a knife company or a sex toy company.”
“Or something to do with cats,” Ciel grumbled good naturedly.
Sebastian chuckled. “Maybe a whole line of cat-themed dildos and butt plugs.”
“You and cats and your oversexed brain. No one wants to think of their cat when they’re masturbating.”
Sebastian shrugged with a playful smile. Then he leaned nearer and planted a chaste kiss on Ciel’s lips, but it soon turned heated when the smaller man stuck his tongue out to taste Sebastian’s own lips, soy sauce and ginger making Ciel’s mouth water.
Ciel didn’t have much to compare him to, but in his mind Sebastian had to be the world’s most fantastic kisser. He’d never truly given it a chance, but he was almost certain that—especially if he were backed up—he could come just from kissing.
Sebastian held Ciel’s face in a way that was both possessive and tender, nibbling on Ciel’s tongue in a way that went straight to the smaller man’s cock.
Ciel leaned into the kiss, chasing Sebastian, who always seemed to escape to continue dominating the kiss. Typical, but still frustrating. Knowing how to distract him, the smaller man splayed his hands on the larger’s chest, scraping a fingernail along Sebastian’s bare nipple.
Sebastian growled, but instead of escalating or allowing Ciel to control the kiss, he pulled back, his blown pupils, erect nipples and half chubby tenting his pants the only indication they’d made out at all. His look was distant, and his breathing even when he said, “We should finish eating.”
Ciel nodded absently, reaching down to readjust his own hard-on so he could sit more comfortably, and picked up his spoon again. “You all right?”
Sebastian smiled, but it was forced and fake and it pissed Ciel off. “Fine.”
The slate-haired man grunted. “You know, you could still go. To school.”
Sebastian scoffed as he stabbed a piece of chicken with a chopstick, fisted in one hand like a knife. “It’s too late for me.”
“You always say that. But it’s not. There are people in their thirties and forties in my classes.”
Sebastian looked away, intently focused on his food, although he was mostly stirring the rice around without eating it. “Ciel, I’m not like you. I was born into this life. I don’t belong in the light.”
“Seb—”
“What I did to you and Finny, that’s technically kidnapping, you know.”
“That was years ago. And you didn’t kidnap us, you rescued us!”
Sebastian sighed and set his chopsticks down, clearly having lost whatever little appetite he had. “Not in the eyes of the law. You don’t know what I’ve done. What I do for Joker. I’m not a good person.”
Ciel sputtered, trying to argue, but Sebastian talked over him.
“I have a fifth-grade education.”
“Only officially. But you’re smart and you’ve taught yourself a lot. I bet if you tried you could get your GED—”
“Enough,” Sebastian snarled, eyes flashing. Ciel didn’t see him angry often, but he could be truly terrifying when he was; it was almost as if his irises glowed red.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” the younger man demanded, indicating Sebastian’s bowl with his spoon. The taller man had often insisted Ciel and Finny clear their plates, reminding them they never knew when that meal needed to last them for days. Sebastian always ate, even if he didn’t seem to be hungry.
For a moment, when their eyes met, Ciel thought Sebastian was going to come clean. But instead, he just shook his head and pushed to his feet. “I’m going for a run. I’ll eat something after.”
Ciel jumped up and rushed to meet him on the way to their bedroom. “Don’t do this. Come on.”
Sebastian ignored his boyfriend and unbuttoned his jeans, kicking them off as he pulled on a cutoff shirt. “I just need to clear my head. I told you I’m fine.”
Ciel forced his way between Sebastian and the dresser, not letting the man’s washboard stomach, toned thighs or long, thick cock distract him from his purpose. “I know I’m not the only one with nightmares. I know that you can’t sleep more often than not. I know you stand out on the balcony for hours with that lighter and pack of cigarettes you keep in the top shelf of the closet, thinking about lighting up.” The taller man had quit not long after bringing Finny and Ciel home, after the doctors explained cigarette smoke was triggering to Ciel’s lungs. The smaller man looked up, trying to meet his boyfriend’s eyes, but Sebastian had shut them. “You’re not a robot, Seb. You can talk to me. I’m not a child anymore. You don’t need to protect me.”
Sebastian sighed heavily. He pulled the pins from his hair and shook out his bangs, carding his fingers through the strands to rearrange them. He darted a hand around Ciel and managed to yank open a drawer enough to grab a pair of shorts. He slipped them on before Ciel could complain. He stood for a long moment, hands on his hips, bare stomach expanding and relaxing with each breath.
Ciel held his ground, shifting to stand between Sebastian and the door as a wordless way to indicate he wasn’t letting his boyfriend go without a fight. The smaller man folded his arms on his chest and cocked his hip, daring Sebastian to keep this up.
“I swear to Satan you’re even more headstrong than me.” He crossed and enveloped Ciel in his arms, cradling the small man to his larger frame as if worried he would disappear. He bent his head until his nose brushed Ciel’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered almost inaudibly.
Sebastian didn’t apologize often; it surprised Ciel enough to pull back to try to search the taller man’s face for some clue as to why he was suddenly giving in. It was an expression so complex, no matter how many years they’d known each other, Ciel wasn’t sure he could pry out exactly what his boyfriend was thinking.
“Lau,” Sebastian whispered, his voice hoarse.
“What?” Ciel didn’t understand.
“Lau’s back,” Sebastian repeated, louder, angrier. His fists tightened. “And he’s trafficking kids again.”
####
#kuroshitsuji#black butler#fan fic#fan fiction#drabble#circus au#my writing#sebastian michaelis#ciel phantomhive#kissing#sebciel#first draft#wip#alternate universe#adult ciel#angst#where demons hide story#sebaciel
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The Light of a Pole Star - Part 3
Okay, this part was a lot of fun. The whole birthday scene came out of nowhere as I was writing, it was a complete aside that turned into an actually important plot point XD Also, Maes’s voice will always and forever sound like Opalsong’s reading of The Demon Alchemist series in my head.
“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”
“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”
“Mmhm.”
“He’s fourteen.”
“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”
“He really is.”
“Don’t be so literal, Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”
“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”
“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”
“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a child! I would never-!”
“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”
“You did.”
“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”
“…I know.”
“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”
“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”
“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”
“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”
“Speaking of, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”
“Mother…!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”
“How, exactly?”
“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”
“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say; don’t.”
“Heheh. Only a little salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”
“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”
“Call it a hunch.”
The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking fantastic triple chocolate cake.
Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc and Roy, which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.
It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.
“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”
“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.
“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she always does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s hilarious, and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.
Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she must have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re sick? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.
Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a fascinating obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a swear-jar. Which sends Ed into hysterics.
Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris insisted. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories so much more interesting.”
“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.
Roy looks mortified, though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and approves.
“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.
He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands it to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.
Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.
“The purpose of presents is to unwrap them, FullMetal.” Roy drawls.
“The purpose of giving presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he does tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head spinning, because that- that’s him. Or well, technically, it’s her, when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.
It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.
Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of Stern Disapproval; “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, sir?”
Which, no. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s not. The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they had just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- Lucia had had an idea, and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of science, and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even noticed Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.
At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten more ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.
It’s not inappropriate at all, except for the fact that Roy has no idea what he’s saying with this picture because he doesn’t know. Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who gets it, and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. ‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.
Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination tasteless joke and attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.
“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.
“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.
Teacher snorts.
“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.
“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.
“No. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”
Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find his grins a little unnerving.
“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.
“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a social call.”
Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it looks kind of like stalking.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.
“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.
Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.
Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.
“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he laughs. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.
“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.
Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any more ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that fucker.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “That’s how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking told him, didn’t she? Oh my fucking-!”
“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.
Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.
“As a matter of fact, he did.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.
“She’s Roy’s mum?”
“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.
Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”
“I had a long chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually had with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.
Ed narrows his eyes. “We did too talk about renaissance painters.”
“Yes, but not Vittori.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”
“Well, I was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not my fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s that much like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you actually made.”
Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”
Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a pit of vipers. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s totally a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those interesting things you wanted to interrogate me about?”
“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”
Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”
“No, Ed. This is me asking how the hell you even knew there was a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, worried, and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t meant to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from lifetimes of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.
Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.
Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m dying to know what a border scuffle and a mullah from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”
“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”
“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.
Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”
Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.
Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.
“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my beautiful daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.
This goes on until Ed’s almost finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”
“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.
Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from you that you’re older than you look.”
Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, I think you should jump him now’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his other arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering matchmaker, and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.
Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable looks of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.
When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, staring. “FullMetal?”
“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”
Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”
“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”
Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”
“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.
“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.
Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”
“FullMetal…”
“Food, Bastard.” Ed insists.
Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.
“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.
Another sigh. “What are you doing?”
“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”
“Most of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.
Shit, but Ed loves him.
And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.
“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.
“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”
“You’re half my age.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.
He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”
Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This isn’t you making a move?” He asks dryly.
Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”
“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”
“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”
Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.
“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”
“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”
“Idiot.” Ed huffs.
“I’m serious, Edward-”
“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.
“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.
“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.
“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.
“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his life – their lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look good to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”
“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.
“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and clever. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”
“Oh, is that where this is set?”
“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a valuable contribution to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”
“Savants?” Roy questions.
“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking revolutionised knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda have to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite parallel, but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”
“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.
“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”
“Today’s standards?”
“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, on average.” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. Anyway-” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”
“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a distracting question.
“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”
“Edward…” Roy says slowly.
“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he had when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking revolutionising alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”
“Is it really?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had no idea.”
Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”
“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about them but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that is the point.
“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s so much cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.
“I take it the boy’s cousin did recover, too?” Roy asks gently.
“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And eventually, these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”
Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”
“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching those kids. They were hellraisers, don’t get me wrong, but they were so good, too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, now I’m done.”
They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”
“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My point is… it’ll be better with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing together.”
He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.
#Fullmetal Alchemist#RoyEd#soulmate AU#Edward Elric#Roy Mustang#reincarnation#soulmates#Maes Hughes lives#Nina Tucker lives#have some gratuitous world building#the hairclips from Vanessa and Chris are definitely#because Roy has drunkenly complained about how amazing Ed's hair is#and his family are never going to let him forget it#ALSO#It is my headcanon that Roy can actually use his alchemy in the rain#it's just REALLY difficult#and highly volatile#and also a hidden ace#(it makes that scene where he tries to do alchemy in the rain twice as funny to me)#(if you imagine that he actually could have done it)#(and Hawkeye telling him he's useless in the rain)#(was a reminder not to give his secret ability away like an idiot)
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DRUM ROLL PLEASE: brrrrrrdumdumdum - CALL ME 707 (lol, SEVEN’s cool though). I’m your resident …um, something. Anyway, let’s get to the good stuff. I’m a 28 year woman (she/her), who likes to escape the trials and tribulations of her job by writing about different worlds and fantastical characters. Let’s hope Seojun fits in that category. Kidding. Mostly. Lol.
( KIM TAEHYUNG. CIS MALE. ) Everyone in Vivian’s pack knows of ( SEOJUN HYUN,) one of her loyal Leechers. ( HE ) is/are a ( 25 / 427 ) year old lycan known amongst their packmates for being ( EFFICIENT + DUTIFUL ) but also quite ( STEADFAST - CALCULATING ) They’re known for being the ( SOLDIER ) Though they are technically disbanded, they are still dedicated to their cause.
clickety-click below to read more about this child of mine. plz&thnx, friends.
seojun, the past.
>> Seojun Hyun was born in 1567, during the Joseon Dynasty. His family were cattle herders who tried their best to live a simple life. Although there were many lessons taught to Seojun during this time, a majority of fundamental development went exactly as expected - there were no childhood traumas or events that shook his life into a path he couldn’t get out of. No, that would be saved for when he reached adulthood.
>> When Seojun was in his early twenties, impending war had started to edge into Korea and by the time Seojun turned 25, the Japanese Invasion began. It was the year 1592 when Toyotomi Hideyoshi lead the Japanese troops to invade Korea. Although his family had insisted that he refrain from enlisting, Seojun ultimately chose to enlist in order to protect his father and grandfather from having to do the duty themselves. However, during this time, Seojun had started to learn who he really was: a solider through and through. Seojun excelled in all of the aspects of being a solider - from the physical abilities to the mentality that came with war, he was a brilliant soldier and should have gone further up the ranks …
>> During the first year of his enlistment, everything had gone swimmingly. At least, it seemed to be going swimmingly. During a planned attack, Seojun had been separated from his squad and chose to hide in a nearby forest for safety. Unbeknownst to him, the war in the darkness of the forest was far worse than the war outside. As he wandered, he had been attacked by something - the darkness made it difficult for him to make out the figure. Although, he couldn’t see it, he could feel the blood lust and while he tried to fight, the creature had strength greater than he could even imagine. Seojun couldn’t remember if the darkness had grown too heavy or if he had blacked out, but the metallic scent of his blood clung in the air as he awoke.
>> Despite having been woken up bloodied, Seojun managed to remain calm. However, he saw a figure come near him, he did what any twenty-five year in the middle of a war would do when a stranger dressed in tatters and drenched in blood would do: he screamed and tried to get up. Unfortunately, whatever had attacked him had left far more injured than he expected - he was able to move two steps forward before hitting the ground again. The stranger hadn’t said anything, rather he walked over to Seojun and turned him on his back. The man claimed to be a “doctor” and had said he could save the fallen soldier. Seojun had been skeptical since the man began a blood transfusion on the forest floor. This seemed neither safe nor sanitary, but the soldier had closed his eyes and decided that if he were to die today, he would hope his parents would be honored that he fought for their country.
>> Sometime during this time, Seojun’s memory continues to grow fuzzy. He’s unsure of the events that had unfolded; he kept asking himself: "Are there werewolves in Korea?“
>> When he awoke, the man was no longer present. Seojun woke with confusion - he was suddenly alright, but something felt wrong. He didn’t feel quite himself. Not exactly. The man who had claimed to be a doctor had transfused blood into him …whose blood? Seojun frantically tried to figure this out but by the time he discovered it, it would be impossible turn back. The unknown doctor had been a Lycan taking cover in Korea.
>> Are there Lycans in Korea? Yes.
>> Seojun had quickly grown to accept his newfound identity. He decided that it would be best for his family to believe he died during the war rather than to know that he had become something other human. After his family was delivered the news that he had died during the war, Seojun began a nomad life - he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, not yet.
>> A pack of wolves in Korea had taken Seojun in - their leader being the “doctor” who had completed the blood transfusion that turned Seojun. They trained him in with their abilities and he quickly excelled in understanding himself. To be able to excel in anything, he needed to master himself beforehand. It took years to fully become as comfortable as he is now - the Seojun in the past would never have imagined he could be as skilled and talented as he is now.
>> Although, he had never gotten over leaving his human family, he had grown to love his new pack. Though Seojun tried to avoid any confrontations against the Vampires, when his pack leader and members had been killed during one of the many fights, Seojun could no longer allow himself to play the role of just an observer. He knew he had to step into the battlefield: a soldier can never rest, after all.
>> He quickly earned a reputation for his efficient methods - the work of a soldier needed to be quick, precise and deadly. Killing wasn’t something new to him. Rather, his Lycan abilities assisted in making him better at it. He’d been a soldier before anything else and since they were in a war, it was impossible not to act.
>> Seojun eventually left Korea in search for others to help with this on-going war against the vampires. He briefly met Vivian almost a hundred years ago and joined her pack. His youthful and softer appearance often allows people to underestimate the monster that hides underneath; the element of surprise has always been one of his favorite things in the world, after all.
>> The Peace Treaty makes him skeptical. He doesn’t believe it. He is a solider and has seen the wars that erupt when peace ends. Although, Seojun knows the public image that needs to displayed, there are plenty of things that go bump in the dark.
seojun, the present.
>> Peace and soldiers cannot coexist. At least, not in Seojun’s opinion. Luckily, he knew peace had always just been a mask for the truth - there are monsters in the dark, after all. Publicly, the Leechers had been disbanded but that was never something written in blood. There are people who spend their lives fighting against the nature burned in their blood, but Seojun had inherited the blood and accepted his truth. All he has to do is wait.
>> Seojun has always believe that the pack comes first. He does not care about the lengths he needs to go. It’s been four hundred years, he doesn’t mind if his hands gets a little bit dirtier. Although, he has been feeling antsy lately. Peace is boring to him, after all. Many people may have started to lose their edge due to peace, but if anything, it has made him more alert, more aware and evermore ready to jump as soon as the opportunity arises.
fun facts & other things.
>> Seojun is a connoisseur of steak. His family had been cattle ranchers, so he is very particular about the cuts and cooking methods of steak. He’s very, very specific in how steaks are supposed to be seasoned and cooked. Do not argue with him about either, especially when he’s got that steak knife in his hand.
>> He often changes his hair color as a way to signify that he has aged another year. His appearance has not changed much, but at the very least, he can change his hair color to make it look like time has passed.
>> Seojun likes to run. During his early years as a soldier, the man was talented in running and sprinting; he was the fastest in his squadron. With his lycanthropic abilities, it’s only made him faster. This desire for speed has always made him impatient; whenever his attention trips out, he will start tapping his foot and run off as soon as he is able to.
>> There had been a period of time when Seojun would always carry a sword with him. Despite always having a sword with him, he would always break said sword. It took him a few hundred years to master not breaking a sword.
>> If asked what his family was like, Seojun will say that he was raised by cattle before he ate said cattle. His birth family has never been a topic he liked to discuss. The people he had once loved became ghosts that haunted his memories.
... and I will probs add more but it is nearly midnight. If I keep going, it’s going to get really weird and specific. Like how Seojun always puts his left sock on before he puts his right sock on, but then puts his right shoe on before his left one. Or even how, he can never sleep in a room with an electric fan on - he swears that it could kill him if it’s still on when he closes his eyes. Or even like how when he has decided he will kill someone, he will write their name down in red ink - back in his years, when writing the family registry, a deceased person’s name is written in red ...so, if he has decided you’re going to die, he’ll write your name down with red ink and then burn the paper.
I don’t know. He’s weird enough for me to have a million headcanons.
Anyway, come at me with plots and thangs and headcanons and ideas and ...yes. I’m ready for it.
Thanks for reading down this far. Seojun and I appreciate you very much.
#underworldshqintro#hi there.#this got long.#but i'm excited to meet everyone and their muses.#yeeeeea-yuh.
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Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars (Week 15)
Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars
By Noriko Ogiwara
A Translation
Miss the last piece? Read it here!
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Help me pay for my next translation project on Ko-fi.
It’s February break! I’m flying down to my grandmother tomorrow and will be there for the next few days. I haven’t seen her in about three years, so it’ll be nice to visit again.
Translation note:
Tanabata is celebrated on July 7th. It’s said that it’s the one night of the year when the weaver goddess can cross the Milky Way to visit her husband. Read more about it here.
Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars
By Noriko Ogiwara
Chapter 2: Reexamination
Part 3 (3 of 3)
Izumiko walked up the hill towards the library. As she approached and the open space by the building came into view, she remembered that this was where the chemistry club’s balloon had been moored. Even if there were no more lingering effects from its magic, something about the place still gave her a bad feeling. It wasn’t enough to make her lose her nerve, but then Takayanagi’s voice cut through the air.
“Izumiko, as long as you’ve come all this way, let’s be frank with each other. You don’t know how to access your abilities. They’ve never once worked for you when you’ve wanted them to. You don’t know how far they can go outside of your control. Isn’t that right?”
Izumiko stopped walking. The two of them were standing in the open space with its decorative shrubs and flower beds now. There were only two or three meters separating them.
There seemed to be students in the library, but for now, there wasn’t even a shadow of a person outside of it. Houjou Academy’s campus was large in comparison to the amount of students it taught. Still, both of them were well aware that it was only a matter of time before someone drew near.
A strong wind blew across the space and suddenly, an illusion settled over the area, making it look as if the two of them were completely alone, surrounded by nothing but trees and empty buildings.
Izumiko didn’t know where Miyuki and the Souda siblings had gone on campus. Honoka’s directions to hang back in the student government room until everyone else had gone had assured that she wouldn’t know where to find them. Even Izumiko was aware that if she knew her friends’ locations, she would only end up relying on their help. It was better this way.
I’ve always been the passive one. I’ve never asked myself what I should do. I’ve just run away. I should have known this would happen… Izumiko thought.
She took a breath.
“That’s right, Takayanagi. Why did you turn into a white dog? No matter how much I think about it, I can’t figure that out. I didn’t do it out of spite, so I don’t feel like I need to say sorry.”
“I have nothing against dogs. When I was young, I even had a prayer said over me where the character for “dog” was written on my forehead. I was a weak child. The prayer was a charm so that I would grow up to be healthy. I won’t particularly think less of you for not apologizing.”
He continued, his tone rather friendly. “Still, I think you should clearly stop doing such things unintentionally. I’ve said it before. It’s not my intention to lock you up. I’m proposing that we share that power you have and put it to good use. Don’t you think that makes me quite similar to Sagara? I suppose you can’t trust me though because our family lineages are different.”
Izumiko glared sullenly at Takayanagi. “Sagara is nothing like you.”
“Certainly, Sagara can’t use his abilities the same way I can. You need someone to control your powers, but Sagara’s not up to the job.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then, let’s see what you can do. Now’s the time, so let’s start the match.”
There were suddenly a number of paper strips in Takayanagi’s hand. Izumiko had seen them before. There were spells written on those papers with ink. While cautious, she wasn’t surprised to see them this time like she had been when he had first used them. She knew what they were now.
I have to break through Takayanagi’s spell, that’s for certain…
She had a feeling that she could do it. She wasn’t worried about whatever she tried not working. On the contrary, she was worried that she would overdo it. There had been truth to Takayanagi’s words. If she couldn’t stop herself, she wouldn’t know what to do, and that was a problem. She didn’t know how to reflect Takayanagi’s spell let alone how to do it without anything happening in the space they were in.
Takayanagi raised one sheet of paper to his lips and began to chant.
Izumiko’s vision began to sparkle and she started to see what looked like golden rain. She blinked her eyes, trying to make out what she was seeing.
I’m going to think about this without getting worked up. What do I need to do?…
It would be easy to do a self-protection charm. If she sensed danger, she would make the nine symbols while saying the chant. In all, it would take less than a second. But that reaction would also escalate the situation. Izumiko paused for a moment as Takayanagi continued to chant.
The rain fell with even more intensity, but it was just like little lights. Izumiko felt nothing against her body. The lights created a line made out of raindrops as they fell. It was pleasant to look at, as was listening to Takayanagi chant. His words seemed to connect to the nature around them.
Eventually, Takayanagi began to speak again. “I’m completely fine with you allowing me to do this. If you say the word, we could end this match without even going out of our way to scare everyone at school.”
“No.”
As soon as Izumiko’s automatic response came out of her mouth, the golden rain around her scattered up into the air all around her. She sensed the light beginning to surround her.
I guess I have no choice…
Takayanagi shrugged his shoulders, and then brought the spelled slips of paper close to his body. Just when Izumiko was thinking that he had given up awfully easily, he pulled something else into his hands. Izumiko stared harder at this item.
…Is that what Claus was holding?
It was a rosary. It consisted of a string of dark purple prayer beads and a silver cross.
“Is that going to be more effective? You have some sort of western complex, don’t you?” Izumiko asked.
Takayanagi began the same chant as before, the words coming fluidly from his mouth.
Something Izumiko could not have prepared herself for happened then. The golden light began to brighten before her eyes, rising in intensity until she could not even see Takayanagi in front of her. It felt like she was being wrapped in a curtain of light. Even with her eyes closed, the light was so blinding that it was obscuring her other senses. She could no longer feel the wind blowing around her.
Is this some sort of hybrid magic? Or is this something he could normally do?
Takayanagi was clearly angry if he was going all out to this extent. The words he was chanting were now certainly more frightening than the Bible verses Claus had recited. Izumiko grew self-conscious of her own weakness.
Do foreign people see me as the same thing as an evils spirit?... Some foreign countries believe that there’s only one god and that people like me should be punished…
Izumiko had no plans to let Takayanagi control her, but his chanting continued on and on in the background. Even among magic users who had the ability to weave spells together one after another, there had to be people who were more powerful and cunning than others. Even if she could drive Takayanagi away, she would probably just come up against another powerful magic user eventually.
If we both lose here, they might not choose anyone as the World Heritage Candidate. Still, hiding probably isn’t my best choice...
If she could break through Takayanagi’s spell, she would have to decide what to do next in just a few seconds. There would be no time for her to think things through leisurely. However, Izumiko still didn’t know what to do. What if giving up her own self-control and accepting defeat was truly the right choice?...
Out of nowhere, Izumiko heard a bright voice from beside her. “I’ll take him down for you. It’s probably better like that anyway.”
The voice sounded like Manatsu’s, but there was no way it could be him. Due to the effects of Takayanagi’s light, Izumiko could not move her body, nor could she move her head. However, as she thought about wanting to see whoever it was who had spoken to her, she did see something strange.
Just like she had seen on that night in Nagano in the Souda’s garden, there was Masumi, standing in darkness some ways away. With a strange start, Izumiko realized that the darkness was the backs of her eyelids. Her eyes were closed against the brilliant light.
“You can’t, Masumi. This match is between Takayanagi and me. Other people aren’t allowed to help.”
Masumi’s hair was long and he was wearing the girls’ uniform. If he was pretending to be Manatsu, it appeared that he was still putting a lot of his own style into the ruse.
“Technically, I’m not another “person,” so that makes it alright. That’s what Mayura and Manatsu say, too.”
“Those two called you?”
“When they’re of one mind, I’m invincible,” Masumi said gleefully. He rolled up the sleeves of his blouse as if to demonstrate this. “They told me to kick Takayanagi out of the school. I’ll knock him so far out of here that he’ll never come back.”
Izumiko hurriedly held up a hand to stop him. “I’m glad you want to help me, but if you’re just going to hurt him, I’ll take care of this myself.”
“Let me do something. I’m really excited about this. I understand now. If Mayura and Manatsu didn’t like you at least a little, I wouldn’t have started liking you either. We all share the same feelings.”
Masumi’s words were innocent. They made Izumiko want to smile. “Thank you. I’m glad the three of you care about me.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“I’ll tell you when I think of it, so wait a second. I’ll definitely call you when I need energy,” Izumiko assured Masumi by way of giving him something reassuring to think about. Then she pushed him towards the darkness. He left, unusually quiet as he disappeared into the shadows.
A thought suddenly occurred to Izumiko as she watched him go.
Masumi just came to help me, but why didn’t Wamiya come when he’s so much closer to me?...
“That’s because I’m more in tune with your desires,” came Wamiya’s voice.
When Izumiko finally caught sight of Satoru Wamiya, she saw he was in his usual crow form. This disappointed her a little. However, his dark body did not blend entirely into the darkness. One of his wings shone in an invisible light. The black, shining crow spread his wings in a moment of self-importance and then neatly folded them back against himself.
“Wamiya, I don’t even really know what I want to do right now.”
“Hurry up and figure it out. Everyone expects you to win this.”
“Did I want you to turn into a crow and leave me alone? Is that something you thought I wanted too?” The words came out of her mouth as she thought them.
Wamiya clicked his beak in response and then agreed, “Something like that. You’ve always had my protection, though. And you think about me often when you’re with Sagara, just like you’re thinking about me now. You think about me more than you do that guy from Togakushi, too.”
“Why did you go to Sagara? Will you ever turn back into the human Wamiya?”
“When you made the decision to dance in front of Satoru Wamiya, did Miyuki Sagara not watch along with me? The decision that I would stay with Sagara had already been made at that time. I am something that was born from the first vestiges of the purest part of your power. Before anything else, you prayed for something that could connect you.”
Izumiko took the tiniest step backward. “I never wished for anything like that. Something that could connect me… To Sagara?”
“To another human,” Wamiya corrected. “Isn’t it the same story as the bridge of magpies that’s made over the heavenly river every year on Tanabata night? The weaver goddess was granted one night a year to see her lover who lived on the other side of the river, but she had no way to cross until the magpies heard her prayer and created the bridge for her. Magpies and crows get along well, so I find this body appropriate to the occasion in its own way.”
At the mention of the weaver goddess, Orihime, and her lover, Hikoboshi, Izumiko drew back further.
“…I just started to really trust Sagara in the past few days, though.”
“There’s a large risk attached to putting your faith in humans. All the same, is that really what you want?”
With a hint of surprise, Izumiko realized that her tentative understanding of what Wamiya had said was slowly forming into a sturdier comprehension of the meaning behind his words. Her feelings were exactly what he was saying.
The dark place where Masumi and Wamiya had appeared to her had been inside her mind. And while she had had full conversations with the both of them, in reality, her eyes had only been closed for a few seconds. Only divine spirits who could transcend time could do such a thing. It was as if they had created a small alternate world in those moments.
I can’t stay here. There are so many people telling me I’m not alone. I need to do this for them...
She had to connect herself to the outside world.
Izumiko took a deep breath, and realized that she now knew what she should do.
Keep reading!
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65:We bet, and you lost.” - “But tattoos are permanent.” with platonic Percy/Jace please!
Advent Calendar: Day 8
Alec frowned when the door to the tattoo-parlor opened and the first thing he could hear was loud giggling and slurred voices. Drunk people were exhausting. So often, they came in here and wanted the most ridiculous tattoos. Alec was not doing that. He wasn’t tattooing drunk people. They were most definitely not in the right mindset to make body-altering decisions.
“Pe—erce, this is an awful idea”, mumbled a voice with a British accent.
“We bet, and you lost”, countered who Alec assumed was Perce.
“But tattoos are permanent”, countered the first one.
“Tough luck. You’ll get a tramp-stamp of a Christmas tree now and tha—at’s it.”
Taking a deep breath, Alec looked up with a tight-lipped smile. The tight-lipped smile loosened when he saw the two guys. They were in their mid-twenties, one dark-haired and with a swimmer’s build, the other with golden-blonde hair falling softly into his face, a smile on his plush, pink lips, eyes sparkling – and okay, so Alec’s focus might have instantly latched onto the blonde…
“We don’t… We don’t take drunk costumers”, stated Alec firmly.
“Aw, come o—on”, whined the dark-haired one.
“You heard the man. I am not getting anything on my ass today, Percy”, declared the blonde.
“That’s unfair, this is super important. Please?”, begged Percy with a pout.
“No. Come back tomorrow, sober, and we can make an appointment”, replied Alec.
The blonde made a little victory-motion before winking at Alec. “Thanks, handsome.”
“He—ey!”, complained Percy as he was being pulled out of the tattoo-parlor again.
Alec just shook his head and heaved a sigh with red cheeks. Handsome, huh?
/break\
The next day, around afternoon, a man in an expensive-looking, well-cut suit entered the Lightwood Ink Institute. Not exactly one of the regulars, but what was far more interesting were the two men walking behind him. The two drunken idiots from last night. Both looked properly chastised as they trailed after the man in the suit, seemingly rather embarrassed.
“You’re the one who stopped my husband and his idiot of a best friend from getting matching tramp-stamps of Christmas trees last night?”, asked the man in the suit.
“Yes. I don’t tattoo drunk people”, replied Alec, one eyebrow raised.
“Thank you”, sighed the man. “I’m Nico di Angelo. My husband Percy, his idiot Jace. You won’t believe how often they get into trouble when mixed. You two, what do you say to the nice man?”
Nico was scowling as he crossed his arms. Percy and Jace stepped forward, both looking sheepish. Percy looped arms with Nico, leaning against his husband in what was clearly an attempt to pacify him. Judging from the way the scowl melted from Nico’s face, it worked.
“Sorry for the trouble. In our defense, last night it sounded like a brilliant idea”, stated Percy. “I mean, this one would totally rock a tramp-stamp. Even if it were a Christmas tree.”
He nudged Jace who blushed and scratched his nose. “Yeah, thanks for saving me from that lasting embarrassment. I really owe you one.”
“You don’t”, assured Alec with a small smile. “I know stupid, drunk decisions when I hear them and it’d be highly unprofessional to still tattoo someone who’s not in their right state of mind.”
“Sti—ill”, continued Jace, leaning against the counter with his upper body, head tilted to look up at Alec from beneath his lashes. “I wish I could do something to make up for the trouble…”
“You really don’t have to, it’s-”, started Alec once more with a polite smile.
“Oh by Poseidon’s beard, this is painful to watch!”, exclaimed Percy all of a sudden, startling Alec. “Jace wants to take you out on a date. Do you wanna go on a date with Jace? I promise as long as you don’t give him too much alcohol, he can actually behave like an adult human being.”
“Most of the time”, tagged Nico on, earning a glare from Jace. “What? I said ‘most’, okay?”
Alec blinked slowly as he watched Jace blush a pretty pink. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re really handsome and you must be a good guy, considering you didn’t take advantage of our drunk state last night and you also weren’t unnecessarily rude about it either”, replied Jace with a shrug, looking up at Alec. “I’d like to take you out. Christmas market? After you close shop?”
“Jace wants to cli—imb him like a Christmas tre—e”, chimed Percy beneath his breath, cackling.
“…Who climbs a Christmas tree?”, wondered Nico before he watched his husband squirm. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you… Why do I let you two hang out without adult supervision? Explain.”
Percy grinned broadly and wrapped his arms around Nico’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. “Because you love me and technically, legally speaking, I am an adult.”
“Twenty-four years old and yet whenever I leave you alone with Jace, you devolve into a four year old”, muttered Nico, wrapping his arms around Percy’s waist to pull him closer.
Alec all the while watched in utter fascination how Jace’s cheeks turned even darker at Percy’s first comment. “The… Christmas market? I’d… sure. I mean, I’m off at six today.”
“Okay. Okay, cool. I’ll… come and pick you up then”, nodded Jace with a broad smile.
That was… That was a beautiful smile. Alec blinked a couple of times as he just stared at Jace. The pretty blonde really wanted to go on a date with him? And here Alec had thought Christmas miracles didn’t exist. He couldn’t help himself but stare after Jace’s retreating form – his eyes drawn to Jace’s butt in those tight jeans. Definitely a miracle work there.
“I don’t think he’d mind if you’d climb him”, noted Percy as he noticed how Alec looked at Jace.
“Shut u—up, just once in your life, Jackson, shut up!”, groaned Jace and shoved Percy.
“What? Never, Herondale. Never!”, snickered Percy as they left the shop.
Nico sighed and shook his head as he slipped his hand into Percy’s. Percy and Jace had gone to school together and even though Percy and Nico had moved away from New York, they regularly came back – and whenever they did, Percy had to plan some 'Jace Time’ into his schedule. Usually, said 'Jace Time’ ended with Nico bailing his husband out. So that last night, the two had just returned home with matching pouts, it had really eased Nico’s nerves. This Alec seemed like a decent fella, which was exactly what Jace needed. Someone grounded, down-to-Earth, who would be able to reign him in just a little. His own Nico, as Percy liked to phrase it.
Read this here on FFNet & here on AO3!
#OTP: can't live without him#Jalec#Alec Lightwood#Jace Herondale#Shadowhunters#OTP: to Tartarus and back#Nicercy#Percico#Pernico#Nico di Angelo#Percy Jackson#Percy Jackson and the Olympians#Heroes of Olympus#PJOverse#Phoe's Advent Calendar Project#tempestinred#Phoe's Tumblr Drabbles#Fanfiction
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LACMA’s uneven new Picasso and Rivera show reveals an unprecedented, must-see discovery
In 1915, Pablo Picasso acquired a small Cubist still life painted by his casual friend and acolyte, Diego Rivera.
The young Mexican artist, 28, had been traveling through Europe and living in Paris for years, and he and Picasso were neighbors in Montparnasse. A small but powerful surprise haunts his little still life, on view in an unusual new exhibition about the dialogue between the two artists that opened last Sunday at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
The tabletop is covered by a turquoise-green decorative cloth, similar to the patterned designs Matisse was making after his return from Tangiers. In the center, a yellow, white and red bottle of sweet Anis liquor opens out like a Cubist fan, next to a triangular black inkwell pierced by the blade of a tall purplish pen.
Sand is mixed into some pigments. A technical experiment, the rough surface compares actual textures with illusionistic ones, like the painted wood-grain table that Rivera also surely borrowed from Picasso.
Amid the still life’s faceted planes, however, Rivera also painted something strange — one or maybe two wine glasses that overlap. One appears white (light reflected on glass), the other wood grain (the table refracted through glass); a mottled green circle of tablecloth pierces each. Their conjoined forms produce an unexpected double-image — not just wine glasses but a human skull.
The gesture is sly. Rivera’s painting knits together two robust traditions — a common European still-life symbol for life’s vanity, plus a distinctly Mexican version of the death’s head motif, which dates back before the European conquest to Aztec, Mixtec and even Mayan art.
Rivera’s home country, 5,000 miles from Paris, was then deep into a bloody peasant revolution — a convulsive civil war that would drag on for another five years. It was plainly on the artist’s mind.
Except for a brief 1910 visit, Rivera was absent from Mexico for the war’s duration. But the painter was no stranger to its long-simmering motivations.
He was born in the once absurdly rich silver-mining hill town of Guanajuato, scene of some of the most horrific abuses of the Spanish viceroyalty after the European conquest. The family’s house was just up the street from the market warehouse where the slain leaders of the 1810 Mexican War for Independence had their severed heads strung up by Bonaparte forces loyal to New Spain.
The small painting’s admixture of traditional and avant-garde French, Spanish and Mexican elements is thus remarkable and revealing. “Cubist Composition (Still Life With Bottle of Anis and Inkwell)” adds a subtle but inescapable political dimension to Cubism’s otherwise formal investigations, which focused on principles of representation and abstraction.
Here’s another surprise: The Rivera painting, which has remained in Picasso’s family ever since he acquired it a century ago, has apparently never been publicly displayed — or even published — before now. The LACMA exhibition will be seen only in Los Angeles and Mexico City (it travels to the Museo del Palacio de Bellas Artes in June), so don’t miss the unprecedented chance for a look.
Oddly, however, neither the object label nor the exhibition catalog mention the skull. Nor does either text offer any interpretation of what the picture might suggest.
Instead, the focus is fixed on details of the artists’ biographies — on how Picasso got the Rivera painting and what Rivera got in return — plus their formal experiments with materials and techniques for re-imagining representational painting. Both are important, but neither is enough.
“Picasso and Rivera: Conversations Across Time” is uneven that way. There are wonderful objects to see. But sometimes a viewer is left hanging.
Part of the reason is structural. The exhibition is organized like a graduate school art history lecture, where slides of different artworks are projected side-by-side to compare and contrast. The show juxtaposes actual paintings, sculptures and drawings, not photographs; but the binary system creates a closed loop that has trouble breaking out.
For instance, it’s easy to read visual similarities and divergences in the Cubist faceting of paired landscapes. Picasso’s earthy color and schematic architecture in a bracing painting from the crucial summer he and Georges Braque spent painting side-by-side in the French Pyrenees couldn’t be more different from the explosive burst of light in Rivera’s semi-rural scene, where the sun breaks through fog over a viaduct and factory smokestacks.
But the Rivera, painted in an industrializing town just outside Paris, is finally more closely informed by the work of Robert Delaunay than Picasso. The pairing is peculiar — as is the colorful little still life’s juxtaposition with a fine Picasso drawing in black ink and watercolor, when its vibrant palette owes so much to Juan Gris.
The show’s structural organization is reductive, simplifying art’s layered density. That’s counterproductive, working against the very complexity that makes Picasso and Rivera such brilliant, enduring artists.
In five sections, the show means to tell the story of the relationship between the two artists, as well as the relationship between the art of antiquity and their individualized forms of Modern artistic expression. The aim is not without merit.
Both artists began their training in tradition-minded academies — Picasso at Barcelona’s Academy San Fernando, Rivera at Mexico City’s Academy San Carlos. With great facility they both drew from plaster casts of Greco-Roman sculptures, as academies everywhere taught.
Picasso’s Venus de Milo drawing, done when he was about 14, focuses like a laser on her naked upper torso and perky bosom. Rivera’s, executed at about 16, shows the armless sculpture lying on its back on the ground — European Classicism toppled. Picasso the ladies’ man and Rivera the anti-colonialist are announced, at least in general terms.
Then comes the essential Cubist room. It’s one of two major highlights in the show, partly because great Cubist paintings are rare in L.A. museum collections.
This selection of 10 includes “Student With Newspaper” (1913-14), its inebriated young man crowned by a jaunty beret, his face derived from a bleary-eyed, West African Wobe mask. Bold block-letters spell “urnal,” a fragment of “journal,” also wittily evoking “urinal.” Mixed materials of plaster, sand, crayon and paint — a delirious experiment — connect it to Rivera’s still life.
Rivera’s magnificent “Zapatista Landscape” will join the show in February, following a prior commitment to a Paris exhibition. (LACMA’s exhibition remains through May 7.) It’s an astounding mountain of Cubist structure cobbled together from the revolution-minded iconography of a serape, sombrero, straw mats and peasant gourds all anchored by the vertical slash of Emiliano Zapata’s rifle.
The catalog, however, is determined to emphasize the painting’s formal properties at the expense of its meanings. Rivera is said to have been furious that Picasso “stole” a new foliage technique from “Zapatista Landscape” for use in the shrubbery in one of his own paintings — shrubbery he later painted out.
I suspect, though, that draining the political power of Rivera’s motif for simple decorative ends might have had something to do with the Mexican’s anger toward the Spaniard. The Zapatistas were hell-bent on agrarian reforms, fueling the revolution. Rivera’s landscape foliage wasn’t just any shrubbery, and Picasso’s “theft” could easily be seen as an affront to a painting that stood as a resolute repudiation of Spanish colonialism.
The catalog even mistakenly says that Picasso’s discovery of his own “native” antiquity, shown by his use of forms from the art of ancient Iberia, predates his Cubist phase, while Rivera’s use of pre-Columbian motifs occurred afterward, beginning in 1921. The claim is disproved by the unmentioned skull in Rivera’s Cubist still life.
In the 1920s, after World War I and the Mexican Revolution were over, what shifted in Picasso’s and Rivera’s work was the artistic balance of power. For Picasso, that meant formal play derived from ancient Iberian sculpture, which reflected his Spanish heritage, mixed with Greco-Roman formats. For Rivera it meant greater prominence for pre-Columbian painting and sculpture.
The show juxtaposes the monumental, tunic-wearing graces of Picasso’s “Three Women at the Spring,” his first Neo-Classical painting, with the “Lansdowne Artemis,” an imposing first-century Roman sculpture of a Greek deity.
Meanwhile the frontal, bilateral symmetry of Rivera’s “Flower Day,” its central figure wrapped in the red, white and green of the Mexican flag, valorizes the vendor stooping beneath the massive basket-load of calla lilies, their phallic golden stamens transforming the white blossoms into sombreros. The painting faces similarly designed basalt sculptures of the Aztec female water-deity, Chalchiuhtlicue, personification of fertility.
The 15 pre-Columbian sculptures form the show’s other highlight. All but one are on loan from the peerless collections of Mexico City’s National Museum of Anthropology and the Diego Rivera Museum-Anahuacalli, the “modern Aztec temple” housing his mammoth collection of nearly 60,000 ancient artifacts. LACMA deputy director Diana Magaloni, who co-organized the show with director Michael Govan and several specialists, is former director of the Anthropology Museum and arranged the exceedingly rare loans.
In a nutshell, then, the show’s story arc goes like this: The two artists both started with Greco-Roman antiquity, then went Modern; finally, they synthesized the radically new with the venerably old, forming a kind of “Modernist Classicism” — Picasso’s based on European models, Rivera’s on American ones.
After bloody, bitter wars, a destabilized present was undergirded with indigenous foundations. That story is already pretty well-known, of course, so points off for lack of originality. But extra credit for all those impressive highlights.
~
Christopher Knight · DEC. 9, 2016.
Los Angeles Times art critic Christopher Knight won the 2020 Pulitzer Prize for criticism (he was a finalist for the prize in 1991, 2001 and 2007). In 2020, he also received the Lifetime Achievement Award in Art Journalism from the Rabkin Foundation
#Pablo Picasso#diego rivera#painting#art article#history article#review#exibition review#los angeles times
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If I can ask one more question: I'd really like to hear the scene where Henry is brought to life
Y’know what I should be writing? The Art of Being Alive. Y’know what I’m not writing? The Art of Being Alive. I couldn’t help myself.
Eyes closed, Bendy slumped down against the door he’d just ducked through, panting as quietly as he could. Pounding footsteps rushed by, oblivious that their prey had hidden. He sat up after a minute of silence and opened his eyes. Bendy scowled fiercely. In his panic, he’d unintentionally entered the room with the Crimson Machine, the source of all their troubles with the newly created humans. If only they hadn’t tried to bring their creations to life, if only they hadn’t let them know that they were going to be destroyed. Killing all the deformed humans was meant to be merciful. Instead, they had banded together and created the worst and most monstrous of them all: Joey himself. He’d quickly taken charge and came up with the idea of capturing the toons to use their ink to make new bodies.Bendy could easily remember the first time he’d seen Joey, down to the last detail. The human had seemed like he was willing to be reasonable, to discuss how they could move forward without more pain, but then everything had gone wrong. “You’ve made most of us,” Joey said. He clenched his fists and then asked, in a tone that was far more hopeful and vulnerable than Bendy suspected he’d wanted to sound, “Would you make more?”No. The toons had told Joey no, and then they had watched as his features contorted, his body growing and changing with added crimson that came from nowhere at all. And Joey had shouted his threats and all the broken humans had attacked. There hadn’t been a moment of peace since.It was only now, nearly three days after the systematic hunting and capture of the trapped toons began, that Bendy realized their mistake. Joey hadn’t been asking for more of their kind in general. The only one of the true cast that was missing was Henry. The toons had looked a lonely, hopeful human in the face and told him that no, they wouldn’t ever consider bringing his best friend to life. Bendy frustratedly scrubbed his face with his palms. Maybe not making Henry was the biggest mistake yet. Of all the characters in the show, he’d been the only one consistently able to calm Joey down, make him see reason, or just plain old get him to stop whatever nonsense he’d been involved in.He slowly looked up. The Crimson Machine was still sitting there, technically ready to be used. Never looking away, Bendy pushed himself up and inched closer. No! What was he thinking? If he made Henry, and Henry came out wrong too, he’d side with Joey. And Henry, being an angel, wasn’t exactly like all the other humans. A Henry angry with the toons could potentially cause the most damage of all. But… Henry had always been rational. There was a good chance that even if he did come out off-model, he’d still agree to help stop Joey. Perhaps if Bendy promised that no one would be hurt, and that they would do whatever they could to help correct the painful deformities— maybe they could actually fix this mess. He began setting the Machine up, and he only hesitated slightly when it came time for the final pull of a lever. Gears turned, pipes shuddered, and it wasn’t long before the nozzle gave a great heave as it started to pour out the crimson to make Henry. This decision, Bendy realized, would either kill him, or possibly save him. When all the other humans had been created, the crimson had splashed to the floor and filled the ritual circle with the foul sludge, and it had always taken a minute for the intended creation to rise up, dripping and wrong. Some of the humans were still only in black and white— most of them were, in fact. But now he watched with wide eyes as the crimson, from the moment the first drop touched the ground, began to swirl back upwards, completely defying gravity. Instead of sloshing into a pool for something to emerge from, it was as though it was filling an invisible, incredibly precise mold. From the bottom up, Bendy watched as Henry took shape. The Machine clanked to a halt, right as Henry’s halo spiraled around into a full circle. For a long second, he was still as a statue, and Bendy wondered if he’d only created a 3D image, not an actual, living human— but then his wings snapped out, and like magick, the rich red color of him poofed off like a gag in the show where someone instantly shakes themselves clean. Beneath, Henry was in full color, from the navy of his sweater vest and the red of his bowtie, to the bright, shining gold of his wings and halo, to the brilliant blue of his eyes.He was on-model. He was perfectly on-model.Bendy watched silently, waiting to see if Henry would do anything. The human’s head tilted slightly in either direction, and his wings rose and fell with tiny twitches, but he otherwise didn’t move. He looked like he was listening for something, but Bendy could hear nothing beyond the dying creaks of the Crimson Machine.Finally, he dared to step towards his creation. “Henry?” Slowly, Henry turned to face Bendy. It was disconcerting; Henry was by no means the tallest of the humans, but Bendy himself wasn’t all that tall to begin with. All the humans dwarfed him, and with Henry’s stretched out wings and lazily spinning halo, his presence was even larger than life than Joey’s terrifying monster form. Henry stared unblinkingly for a few seconds, until his eyes briefly flashed solid white. “Creator,” he said. “You are my Creator.” Relief dragged Bendy down, and his knees wobbled precariously. “Yeah,” he said, “I am. How’re ya feeling?”Henry looked down at his body, out over each wing, and reached up to give his halo a tap. It flared like amber fire and emitted a beautiful note. Strange. Bendy couldn’t remember having it do that in the show. With a satisfied nod, Henry smiled at him. “I’m well. But you are not.”Also strange. Henry’s voice, while extremely similar to his voice actor’s, was just the slightest bit different, just the slightest bit his own. And unlike the other humans, who’d all come to life with their corresponding toons’ vocabulary and other speaking habits, Henry sounded more like he was trying to learn to speak for himself. It was mechanical, like he didn’t know how to talk naturally yet. But that was something to think about later. For now, he had to tell Henry all of what was going on, and then he had to hope that Henry would be willing to help him. That second part should be easy, though. After all, Henry was an angel, a literal saint.
#i answered a thing#liliflower137#the Sinners and the Saints AU#Toon Angel!Henry#batim bendy#star's stories#life and times of star
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