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scintillasofbeomgyu · 3 years

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-ˏˋ⋆ ̥ 𝗳𝗼𝘅'𝘀 𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗲𝘁𝗵 – part one: the beginning (cyj)

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem!reader x kang taehyun

genre(s): fantasy, period!fic, nine-tailed fox!yeonjun, crown prince!taehyun, angst, fluff here and there

word count: 4,1k

the spirit who had been guarding the south side of the mountain, a nine-tailed fox, is requested by the crown prince of Joseon to make an appearance before his betrothed. though reluctant at first, he agrees on condition that their meeting is fleeting and under the guise of a mask.

an: this was inspired by the kdrama ‘tale of the nine-tailed’, hence the similar elements. events may or may not be historically accurate. ++ i’m really anxious about how this fic will be taken, but i’ve put too much effort in to let it sit in my drafts ksks. might post the part 2 if you want! let me know what you think!

(finally posting this as a gift for the immense support i’ve been receiving! thank you! ❤️ and low-key bc sumi has been thinkin about kitsune yeonjun)

Sealed by the promise of two youths many moons ago, your betrothal to the crown prince of Joseon was something which was not unbeknownst to anyone in the country. Many young ladies, noble and common alike, coveted your fortune and would make desperate pleas to the gods to have half the luck you did. And perhaps anyone else would have boasted about how fate had favoured them, but you didn’t.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?” his highness asked, raising an eyebrow as you continued to flip through the pages of a book you had picked up from his desk. You placed the book back where you found it and turned to look from the pavilion, out across the pond and above the canopy tops to the mountains in the distance.

What had intrigued you about the palace was not the status, nor the riches, nor the people who dwelt within it. After all, you preferred to be neck-deep in books of history and literature, poetry, and volumes which questioned which was myth and which was reality. Your father, though, was as open-minded as anyone else was about the education of women at the time – not at all. So you had resorted to killing two birds with one stone; appeasing your father by agreeing to meet with the prince meant getting your hands on books you wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

But today, you had an entirely different motive.

“Do you believe in mythical beings, your Highness?” you asked, turning to face the prince who stared back at you, wide-eyed.

The seemingly sudden question had him taken aback.

From the very first meeting, you had puzzled Taehyun. Like you, although he knew he had to do it some day, the topic of his marriage hadn’t interested him. Or rather, it was more important to him that the person he would one day wed had the same interests as he did – the good of the people and the flourishing of the country.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t expect you to be as crazed about love and titles as the other noblewomen of Joseon were, at first. So he was pleasantly surprised when you had arrived at Gyeongbokgung, not batting an eyelash in his direction. But when he had attempted to open discussions about politics and solving the exorbitant taxes expected from the people, he’d find your nose buried in one of the books from the pile you sifted through by his desk.

Taehyun was already struggling to figure you out, and now you asked him this.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he cocked his head to the side, folding his hands behind his back. “have you come across something thought-provoking?”

“It’s quite straightforward; a yes or no question.” you shrugged, smirking as your eyes caught the not-so-discreet glances his personal guard and the eunuch had given one another.

Ultimately, to have relations with the throne was not all sunshine and roses. For your own protection, and to ensure you were not used as leverage against the king, your father had sent you very far from home – to Southern Jeolla. And it was upon your arrival back in Hanyang, after many years away, that you had come to hear the rumours which had surrounded the royal family.

A gumiho. A nine-tailed fox. The spirit which protected the forest. A being which could not be trusted. The one to whom the country owed it’s prosperity. The one at whose hands the country could fall into havoc.

You knew better than to believe the words of storytellers and self-proclaimed chroniclers. It was the fact that they had all said the same thing which had perturbed you. It left this unsettling feeling, which just wouldn’t fade away. So you read book after book, folklores and retellings, each and every documented account of those who had insisted they had seen the man with ‘eyes which glowed like hot embers even in the light of day’. It nearly drove you insane.

That was, until just this morning, when you had overheard the court ladies chattering away in hushed tones about how so-and-so had come to see the prince again, how much so-and-so frightened them, and how they wondered for how much longer the king would leave the future of the kingdom in the hands of such a wild-card.

You turned to look out beyond the trees again, a sudden gush of wind rattling their branches and sending their leaves sailing through the air. “Let me meet him. This... friend of yours, your Highness.”

“No.”

Taehyun nodded, taking a leaf from the shrub in front of him between his fingers, “I thought you’d say that.”

Yeonjun huffed, taking a bite out of one of the freshly picked apples the prince had brought along with him on his visit (as some sort of incentive, he supposed). The scowl he had adorned etched deeper into his face as Taehyun’s proposition crossed his mind a second time. He should have left the boy to the wandering spirits all those years ago, is what he thought. The fact that Yeonjun had allowed him to follow him around and meet with him must have made him cocky.

In the beginning, he trusted them. Yeonjun had spent thousands of years cultivating the forest and protecting those which lived beneath it’s canopy. He had taken an oath to never allow any harm to come to it, and as a sort of by-product, had taken up an arrangement with the king to hand over to him any miscreants who chanced into his territory. And for hundreds of years, this agreement was honored. King after king had revered the spirit who protected the people, throwing grand festivals in his honor.

Until humans did what they always do. They became consumed by greed and corrupted by power. They feared that the existence of a powerful being, and the esteem in which the people held it, threatened the very authority of the throne.

On a night which felt like yesterday to Yeonjun, the then king had convinced him to appear before the people, reasoning that he deserved to be celebrated and loved; not lurking in the depths of a forest where he wondered alone. His yearning for family provoked, he had left, only to return to enormous crackling fires which devoured everything in their path.

Now he was being asked to entertain the likes of one of them again? An insolent, entitled woman who was probably the daughter of some power-hungry government official nonetheless? He wouldn’t allow himself to be made a fool out of again.

“I’m aware you cannot leave the forest unguarded for long periods of time, especially at night,” Taehyun said, brushing the bits of earth from his hand onto his silk garment. “which is why I want to bring her here.”

The half-eaten apple hit the forest floor with a thud.

“What did you just say?” the same incredulity written on Yeonjun’s face, embedded into his voice.

Taehyun grinned sheepishly, “Hyung, can’t you do me this one favour?”

Quickly taking a seat beside him, the crown prince of the Joseon dynasty grabbed onto the sleeve of Yeonjun’s black robe and tugged at it. Yeonjun sucked a sharp breath of air through his teeth and slapped his hands away. The memory of a scared little boy in disheveled clothes, sobbing as snot ran down onto his lips crossed Yeonjun’s mind. He bit back the grin which fought to pull at his lips.

“I thought you weren’t interested in love? Why all the effort then?”

Taehyun dropped his hands from where they had been grappling at Yeonjun’s robe and stood up, clearing his throat before folding his hands behind his back again. Yeonjun smirked. “It’s not by choice, the woman in question is frightening. Only the gods would know the lengths she would have gone to had I refused her.”

Many minutes of back and forth bickering had passed before Taehyun managed to convince Yeonjun to appear before you. This reluctant agreement came with conditions, however. Leaving the mountain for even a moment during nightfall was out of the question, but that didn’t mean that he was okay with some suspicious woman wandering into his home. So, they had settled on the foot of the mountain closest to the north side. Yeonjun had also made sure to point out that although he had agreed to let you see him, he never agreed to introductions.

“You never struck me as the type to attend parties in the evening, your Highness,” you hollered from your palanquin which lagged behind his. When no reply came, you seethed, biting back the urge to punch a hole through the expensive wooden barrier in front of you. He had suddenly appeared at your father’s estate just as the sun had dipped beyond the horizon, not bothering to give an explanation before your father had the guards stuff you into the tiny varnished vehicle. “You haven’t yet answered me, your Majesty. The question from earlier.”

You cried out in pain when the palanquin was suddenly set down, tossing you up in the air like a shuttlecock. Hand still pressing down on your head from where it had hit the roof of the palanquin, you glared at Taehyun’s outstretched hand when the door folded open. You violently slapped the hand away and pulled back your skirt, nearly kicking his shins as you climbed out. Accidentally, of course.

Your behaviour amused Taehyun, a smirk finding its way to his lips. He whispered something to Soobin, his personal guard, who had given him a distressed look in return. He sighed as Taehyun placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a quick nod before returning to the entourage. You raised an eyebrow when Taehyun offered you a smile, gesturing his hand to the left of where the road forked into two.

The evening air was brisk; the various flora emitting a plethora of unique smells which blended together as they crawled into your nose. Leaves rustled as the forest creatures scurried across the floor; the occasional flapping of wings and hoots of the wide-eyed, mice-eating predators filling the otherwise eerie silence. The pale moon, which shone like a great halo in the sky, casted it’s light through the trees, creating beautiful natural skylights and mysterious shadows. The breeze was ever-so gentle, seemingly caressing your cheeks as you followed Taehyun down the path filled with earthy soil.

“You’re going to kill me aren’t you?” He chuckled at the question you had posed. He took a firm hold of your hand as he helped you cross the stream you had encountered, squeezing it a little tighter as your shoe glided off some algae, smiling when he heard the under-the-breath cuss.

When you had both safely crossed over into the field of long grass on the other side of the bank, he caught his breath for a moment. “My men say there came a troupe from Jeonju in Northern Jeolla a few days back,” Taehyun started, motioning for you to follow behind him as he stalked through the vegetation.

You groaned. Just how much torture was he planning to put you through? Did he find out you had ‘borrowed’ some of the books from his shelf?

After another few dreadful minutes of walking, an enormous tree came into your sights. It’s trunk looked as if it could house a small population, and it’s branches spread far across the open space; a meadow. Taehyun smiled in satisfaction and wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead, before placing his hands on his hips. Was this what he wanted to show you? You were far too tired, and your feet hurt way too much to enjoy the sentiment.

“Right, as I was saying,” The prince continued. You took a seat on the soft blades of grass and began pulling the shoes off your aching feet. “Despite journeying across the country to perform in gisaeng houses, I’m told the productions of this troupe were rather enthralling – ”

The sound of your snorting earned a glare from the prince. You shook your hand, “I find myself in constant surprise this evening, your Highness,” you laughed. “Hearing the term‘gisaeng’ from your mouth would send chills down anyone’s spine.”

The distant strumming of a zither whispered in your ears and your body froze. Slowly, the field, which had been lit only by the silvery hues offered by the moon, glowed in shades of green and yellow as fireflies hovered in the air. Then the zither stopped. Your neck snapped in the direction of scuffling feet by the tree trunk. Figures dressed in black placed paper lanterns varying in size at the base of the trunk, before scaling up to the branches.

A gasp slipped from your lips when the zither had suddenly started playing again; much louder this time. Ribbons dropped from different branches around the tree, carrying men and women who spun as they unravelled. Sporting white masks in the form of a fox, they danced around the tree, twirling and swinging back, dipping low before soaring through the air with such delicacy it gave you goosebumps.

“This performance is called the Fox’s Hiraeth,” Taehyun whispered, eyes fixated on the scene before of him, “you asked the other day did you not? About gumihos in Hanyang.”

His Highness’ attempt to throw you off was painfully obvious in that moment, and it did not go unnoticed. But just before you could make the remark that you had been carefully curating for exactly this situation, the zither had come to a stop once again. Leaves rustled above you and you lifted your head into a pair of the prettiest eyes you had ever seen.

They were a shade of light brown; little flecks of green and amber peeking from in-between when light passed through them. Bewilderment swam in those sparkling orbs behind the mask, it’s wearer holding his breath, not looking away for even a moment. The feeling in your chest drew a smile onto your lips, so big, it pushed up the corners of your eyes.

“Hello.”

He pulled back suddenly, and a strong gust of wind blew right through you, making you squeeze your eyes shut. The wind seemed to blow harder and harder – Taehyun had to press his hands onto your shoulders to prevent you from being gone with it. When it had died down and you opened your eyes again, you shot up, shoving his hands away.

The lights had gone out and the fireflies were nowhere to be seen. The lanterns and the troupe too had vanished into thin air; leaving not a trace. But that was not what was distressing you.

Hands clenching fists into your satin skirt, your eyes searched desperately, “where did he go?”

“Who?” Taehyun questioned, tightening the black cloth strings of his gat. He blinked, feigning innocence so professionally, it antagonised you. “The performance is over; we should leave.”

Pulling your lips between your teeth, the agonizing feeling of having lost something important tearing at your chest, you made a decision. You were positive that Taehyun knew exactly what was going on, but you weren’t about to waste any more time trying to force an answer out of the tight-lipped prince.

Where the meadow under the peculiar tree ended, the forest started again, and spread all across the mountain. You could have been mistaken, and that man may have just been another one of the performers. But it was the forest. It felt as if it was calling out to you; screaming. Every one of your limbs ached to dash into its depths.

Taehyun cleared his throat and turned away instantaneously when he noticed you hurriedly tearing off your blouse. You tossed the garment carrying the golden emblem to the ground, and slipped your shoes back on, ignoring Taehyun’s voice which bombarded you with questions.

He grabbed onto your hand before you left and you stopped, peering down at where your bodies were joined. “It’s dangerous.” he said; his voice as firm as his grip, yet eyes pleading with you like those of a child.

Despite your fathers’ lasting friendship, you had never met Taehyun until a few days ago. And if you did, you couldn’t recall. The confounded stares he had thrown at you upon your arrival had amused you; they were not contrary to that of the other noblemen and their sons whom your father had introduced you to. You didn’t act like the prince’s woman – they had probably expected someone who they could easily manipulate and bribe to their liking – but you were very much the opposite.

It was his behaviour in the days that followed which had taken you by surprise. He’d have books stacked up all around his desk which varied in genre, and were organised by author and publication date, whenever you visited. He seldom spoke and never forced conversation with you, but he’d call for tea and sweets then leave them at a certain place on the tabletop untouched. You’d catch his eyes glancing up at you every once in a while in your peripheral vision, and a smile would find itself to your lips.

He cared for you and you had grown to care for him as well. But you knew that if you left with him right now, your insatiable curiosity would only grow and you’d just end up returning here anyway.

Placing your hands over his, eyes asking him to forgive you, you slipped out of his grasp.

“I’ll be okay.”

Yeonjun paced up and down the cliff once more. He glanced over his shoulder at the mask resting against a boulder behind him, then slapped his hands onto his face and lamented. He couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. Everything was happening exactly as he had planned – the dokkaebi had put on their show, relishing in the fact that they were pranking humans; the trees, the breeze and the critters had agreed to set the mood for what he had intended to be your heart being won over by the Taehyun.

He peeked through the spaces in his fingers at the wooden guise, and proceeded toward it. He knelt down and picked it up, eyes fixating on the slots where they were housed previously. He was certain he had prepared for everything, but that all changed when his eyes met with yours.

They stared back at him in surprise, but that surprise slowly transitioned into a warmth which enveloped him; the light of the lanterns which reflected from them, inviting him closer. They scared him, too. Under the mask he had given himself the appearance of one of the lumberers who frequented the forest, but your eyes seemed to stare right through him. They reached into his depths, baring him before you.

Yeonjun glared, irritated with how foolish he had been. He should have trusted his instinct and refused Taehyun no matter how much he insisted. It was absurd that after all these centuries he still let himself fall prey to the ludicrous fantasy he would ever be able to live and feel as they do – he knew that was the real reason he had gone along with this preposterous idea.

His grip on the mask tightened before he hurled it into the bushes. Your voice exclaimed an ‘Ow!’, making him topple over in surprise. The golden rays of sun spilled over the summit just as you stepped out from the flora, bathing you in it’s warmth and highlighting your features as it chased away the night. You rubbed your head profusely where the mask had hit you, pausing when you noticed Yeonjun’s figure on the floor.

Hands on your hips, smiling in triumph, you blew the stray strands of hair from your face. “Found you.”

He had never in his life met such a vivacious woman. Your hair looked like a bird’s nest; tiny twigs and leaves buried within the now tousled black locks. There were tears in your hanbok. Stains of dirt, grass and mud soiled the skirt. Alas, you still had a stupid smile plastered across your mucky face. He caught himself before he started grinning like an idiot too, shuffling amongst the earth before rising with his back turned towards you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. Was he looking down on your intellect?

“You’re not very clever for an ancient spirit,” you remarked, tossing the mask at his feet. His frame froze, making you scoff.

The hair cascading down his back was a pale shade pink which shimmered under the light. It contrasted the pitch black robes he adorned, which were embroidered with silver. When he turned around to give you a look of wry amusement, you noticed the bangs which framed his face were more washed out in colour compared to the rest of his head. His slanted eyes were mono-lidded, and they glistened as beautifully as the night before. His lips were plump; it’s colour reminded you of the strawberry tanghulu you had seen in the market.

He stepped closer to you, smirking at the way you were entranced by his beauty, until his face stood only inches away from yours. You cast your eyes away from him, gulping as you took a step back. His eyebrows furrowed when you cringed, staggering before you fell to the ground.

“Are you alright?” he fretted, the role of the charismatic flirt quickly abandoning him as he helped you to your feet. He wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you into his arms, and carried you to a place where you could sit comfortably. You gripped only his garments tightly, eyes still refusing to meet with his; the scent of flowers lingering on your clothes as he set you down. “His Majesty did not accompany you?”

He knelt down beside you and pulled off your shoes. Blood had soaked into your socks from all the hiking you had done the night before – the back of your shoes had cut deep into your heels; climbing over boulders and through thick vegetation had made the soles of your feet sensitive and prone to cuts and scratches. He pulled his lip between his teeth, eyes shooting daggers into yours.

He poured some of the alcohol he had been storing over your wounds, and massaged in the compound he made of medicinal herbs he had momentarily disappeared to go and find. He tore pieces of his robe to bind them when he was finished, then folded his arms over his chest. “I’m taking you back to the palace.”

You jolted up from where you were seated; Yeonjun pushed your shoulders back down. “None of my questions have been answered, I’m not leaving until they are.”

“Don’t you have a prince to marry?” he contended, tapping a finger on his chin, “they’re not going to be impressed when you return looking like this.”

“What’s your name? Are you really a nine-tailed fox? How old are you? Do you eat human livers? If so, why? Is it true that you are only able to receive titles like the ‘Spirit of the Mountain’ when you don’t feed human on livers? Are you actually a woman? Do you really want the best for this country? Do you wish to bring it to ruin for your own pleasure? Is it true that – ”

He took a step closer to you, and lifted your chin with his finger, closing your mouth. You held your breath as his eyes flickered to your lips, and he smirked noticing the blush spread across your face. He reached behind you and pulled the jade pin from your hair, the tresses falling gently down your back. Bringing the hairpin before you, and his lips to your ear, he whispered, “I dare not rob the future king of his woman, my lady. You should return home for your own safety.”

His hand travelled down the length of your arm, trailing goosebumps and setting fire to your skin. He placed the pin into your hand and lifted it, brushing his lips across your knuckles. His eyes locked with yours and you gasped as they glowed like a setting sun.

A horse whinnied as it strode into the area, making you tear your eyes away from Yeonjun’s. Taehyun slid off it’s back, rushing to your side. He grabbed onto your shoulders brows furrowing as he examined you from top to bottom. “Are you alright, (Y/n)?”

You nodded absent-mindedly, searching for where he had gone. Taehyun led you to his horse, and lifted you onto the saddle, sighing as he found you still trying to see past the trees and their leaves. You squeezed onto your chest as you rode away, an inexplicable feeling overtaking you. You had to see him again. Not out of curiosity. No, you – you just had too.

Yeonjun held onto the trunk of the pine tree and swung his body around from the backside. Watching you ride off into the distance, eyes still set on finding him, he sighed, twirling the ring he had slipped off your finger around his.

“(Y/n), huh?” he muttered under his breath, exhilarated by the way it rolled off his tongue.

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kdtheghostwriter · 4 years

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New Blade Runner Fic

And I mean Brand New!

Yes, this is one of the ideas I’ve had slamming around in my head lately. And before we go further I must must MUST give a shoutout to the righteous @future-geometries for being a source of inspiration.

You see, we both have an on-off, intermittent fascination with the 2017 film Blade Runner 2049. It has a tiny but passionate fandom that still produces content to this day. (That includes a great fic written by J.)

We were in the midst of one of our convos about this flick when they pointed out how tragic K’s arc was and how disappointed they were that we haven’t had a “satisfying, low-stakes AU” yet. Now, this was over a year ago at least and perhaps I underestimated how much people love putting K on the Whump Train because we still haven’t seen it. So, what else is the guy who rewrote Dawn of Justice to do?

This is a rare look into my process as you get to see a very skeletal first draft. The final version will be three chapters with much more detail about the characters and the issues they face in a modern-adjacent setting.

I had to get this out into the Ether because I know it will be ages before I can get back to finishing this. I still have to finish The Batman. I still have to write JL3. Between those I’ll be writing my [REDACTED] rework. And a neat idea I have for Atomic Blonde. Then maybe I can finish this.

Until that fateful day, join me under the cut if you will...

Title: Dead Slow Ahead Word Count: 2415 Category: Gen Fandom: Blade Runner Characters: K, Rick Deckard, Ana Stelline Rating: T+ (some thematic elements and Deckard’s salty language) Summary: A tragedy in the life of Officer K begins a slow spiral that leads to his resignation from the LAPD. He now finds himself in the home of another former officer named Deckard, as he begins the slow march back to stability. A snapshot of a recovery in progress.

He drops the badge and gun on her desk without a word. She doesn’t look up at first, until she notices him still standing there. He stands there in silence for several seconds longer before he takes the seat in front of her. He’s looking down and away, then up and to the left. Anywhere but ahead into her sight.

“Is that it?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Think what? I don’t read minds.”

“I think I’m done.”

She pauses at that. Not out of surprise.

“Kinda figured. Life’s put you through the shit stain recently.”

“…Yeah.”

Another pause and she opens up a drawer to drop the badge and gun into. She snaps twice to get his attention. He maintains eye contact for the first time.

“I don’t have to tell you but…this isn’t normal protocol. It’s usually a two-week notice. Two weeks that you’re still expected to show up and do your job. But I like you. We’re not friends but I like you. You’ve done good work for this department. So, I’m going to do you a favor.”

She holds up two fingers. One from each hand.

“Two days. Forty-eight hours. However you wanna think of it, I don’t care. You get two days leave to figure out whatever this is. You come back in two days and I give you your gear back. If you don’t, I clear out your desk and I don’t see you in this building again. That’s fair, right?”

“Very fair. Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiles very slightly. “You were always so polite. I know I’m a smartass constantly but I do appreciate that.”

“I know.”

“Hey.” She sits up straighter to cross her legs. “Before you go.”

“My baseline?”

“If it’s not any trouble.”

“Not at all.”

He’s been in her office for meetings before. He doesn’t have to see behind her desk to know her finger is hovering above a silent call button. Whether he left the precinct under his own power or under restraint depended on his performance.

He closes his eyes, swallows the emotion and looks forward to recite the words.

“And a blood-black nothingness began to spin. A system of cells interlinked within cells interlinked within cells interlinked within one stem. And dreadfully distinct, against the dark, a tall white fountain played. But in the case of my white fountain what it did replace? Perceptually was something that, I felt, could be grasped only by whoever dwelt in the strange world where I was a mere stray.”

She places both of her hands flat on her desk. She visibly relaxes. He does not.

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Constant K like always.”

“Always a pleasure, Madam.”

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

K jolts awake to slam on his brake, throwing his arm out to the seat space next to him. He expects the paper grocery bags to go flying. What he finds instead is his front bumper flush against the garage door. Asleep in the driveway. Embarrassing but not dangerous. He backs up slightly and kills the engine.

Almost a year removed from his last day finds him in the Silver Lake neighborhood of Los Angeles. He’s staying in a house for the first time since finishing high school. It shows as he drops his keys while fishing from his pockets. He grumbles as he bends down to retrieve them, hearing the door open.

“Deckard,” he says. “I know I’m late but I got some extra-“

The face in front of him isn’t who he expects. It’s much younger and the smile is still visible from behind the clinical mask.

“I suppose you aren’t wrong.”

“Ana. Hello.”

She answers with a wave. “I’m making my weekly visit. May I?”

K without protest hands over one bag and pockets his keys. Once inside, he slips both shoes off and drops into the near recliner with the bag still in his lap.

“About time, boy.” Deckard speaks gruffly while scrolling his phone.

“Kept you waiting, huh?”

“Not me.”

A scruffy Shepard mix brushes up against K’s leg and he repositions the bag to give it a petting.

“Ten years I’ve had Bo, he’s hardly ever that friendly. Good-looking stranger walks in and he acts brand new.” Deckard places his phone down and takes the bag Ana is holding. “You get everything?”

K answers non-verbally through a yawn.

“Feels that way. Oh! Look at this. Four whole bell peppers? I think Miss Consuela likes you, Joe. Joe?”

The latter man is asleep with the second bag still upright in his hold.

Deckard claps once. “Joe! Huh. New gig is doing a number on him.”

Ana pads quietly across the room and stops near the chair before reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“K?”

This perks him up. He looks back at Ana and down to the dog.

“Was I asleep just now?”

“Out cold,” Deckard responds. “You’ve got a bed, you know.”

K hands the bag to Ana. “You don’t need help with dinner?”

“I do, but that can wait until you’re rested. A stiff in the kitchen won’t do me any good. Get.”

K gives Bo another head pat, then shuffles down the hall to his room. While holding the bag, Ana joins Deckard on the sofa to help him with the groceries.

“What’s that you called him?”

“K.”

“Like the letter?”

“Like his badge number. KD6-3.7.”

Deckard scoffs, putting his reading glasses on. “The hell kind of serial is that?”

“It’s his.” Ana says this while inspecting a pack of tomato seeds. “Was his.”

“I’m not calling him by his damn serial.”

“You don’t have to, Deckard.”

“Oh yeah?” Deckard is out of his chair and she follows him into the kitchen. “Why do you?”

“He asked. And I feel like K is a bit more interesting than Joe. Don’t you?”

“Eh. Seems like a lateral move, to me.”

Deckard sits at the table with both bags before him. Ana remains standing, drawing her hands into the sleeves of her pullover.

“Will he be alright?”

“You’ve got three degrees. You tell me.”

This is meant to be a joke, but if the frown outlined by her mask is an indication, Ana does not find this funny. Deckard frowns back to remind her where she got it from.

“Don’t give me that. Physically he’s fine. Beat up maybe but fine. Mentally? Emotionally?” Deckard removes his glasses and his gaze softens slightly. “He won’t be ‘alright’ for a long time. You know that like I do.”

Ana circles the chair to embrace her father. She isn’t taller than him but while he’s sitting, she can rest her temple on his.

“It was nice of you to help him.”

“It was necessary. Kid has no family and I know what the force does to people. Wasn’t gonna let him go back there.”

Ana stands up straight when her phone sounds from the other room. She’s reading the message silently as she walks back in. Deckard is busy separating the canned goods from the perishables.

“Oh,” she says.

“Gotta go?”

“I do.”

“Fair enough. Scoot, then.”

“Very well, Detective.”

“I told you I’m not-”

Deckard is cut off by a quick peck to his cheek. He fights a smirk as she slips away.

“Hey! Mask on, you hear?”

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

When K wakes up his room is dark. Several hours have passed since he left Ana and Deckard in the living room. This is about when dinner gets prepped, but Deckard hasn’t come looking for him. K walks past a napping Bo in the hallway to see what the status is. Deckard is at the table, peeling potatoes.

“You started.”

“You were sleep.”

“Could have woke me up.”

“Could have. But that would be rude. You’re here now, so get started.”

He tosses a peeler in his direction that K catches easily.

“Yes, sir.”

They stay like this for several minutes, peeling in silence. K is a great help with menial tasks like this. He doesn’t complain, nor does he get distracted. After a time, though, even Deckard gets a bit antsy.

“Talked with Ana earlier today. Before you got here.”

“How is she? She usually stays to eat with us.”

“Busy, Joe. It’s always around springtime her workload gets heavy. She can manage but for a few weeks it’ll be tough.”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, she told me you had your eye on a place?”

“Found one, actually. Studio in Los Feliz. I move in next month.”

“Not bad, kid. You know there wasn’t a cutoff date on this arrangement.”

“I know.”

“I mean I get it. Shacking up with an old man ain’t exactly exhilarating.”

Deckard’s teasing works as K holds up his peeler in protest.

“No, no! It’s not you. I like being here. I’ve…honestly needed to talk to you about this for a while.”

“I got nothing but time, Joe. Just keep peeling, huh?”

“Right.”

K doesn’t speak again until he’s finished peeling his current potato. He also doesn’t see Deckard roll his eyes.

“I never lost the place. I put all my stuff in storage. Been subletting for months. I just couldn’t stay there any longer. I only went back today because the office called me.”

“Is that what this is about?” Deckard reaches into the seat of a neighboring chair and pulls out a copy of the Vladimir Nabokov novel Pale Fire. “Found this under the eggs.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“You mentioned this before. Your girlfriend. What was her name?”

“Joy.”

“She was a reader, huh?”

“No, she hated that book. She liked to hear me read.”

“How long you stay after?”

“Too long but it’s not like I was ever there.”

K closes his eyes and counts before he continues.

“After Joy died… You’d think my work would suffer while I was bereaved but it was the opposite. I was more driven than I’d ever been. I was sleeping in the station barracks. I found a lot of people that didn’t wanna be found. Destroyed them. Got destroyed myself. In my storage unit, there’s a box of awards with my name on them that I got for running and fighting and kicking ass.”

K grabs another potato. He isn’t done and Deckard knows so he doesn’t interject.

“This sounds crazy now but I didn’t even consider leaving.” K drops his peeler and wipes his hand to pull out his phone. “Not until I found this up on my door.”

He passes the phone as Deckard slips on his glasses. Once he sees, he whips them off and returns the device.

“Fucking hell,” he spits out.

“Didn’t matter that my life partner was dead,” K started. “Didn’t matter to them that she was Spanish and not Mexican. It didn’t matter that she was a legal US citizen. Only thing that mattered to them was my badge and my gun, when I knocked on their door and told them exactly what would happen if they bothered me again. That is when I knew.”

“This sounds familiar.”

K exhales. “Bet it is.”

“Well, you were nice enough to share so I’ll do the same. I was with LAPD way longer than I was supposed to be.”

“I thought you quit.”

“I did! Life has a funny way of happening.”

“You too?”

“Rachel was her name. I was already one foot out the door when I met her, so there wasn’t really a decision to be made. And with the ink dry on the previous marriage I felt like the stars were lining up for once.”

“What happened?”

Deckard lays down his peeler to ruffle the fur of Bo who has joined the pair at the table.

“The good news, if you can call it that, is that we weren’t taken by surprise. I was never interested in kids. Rachel wanted one so I wanted one for her. We tried and failed and on the way to failing, we were told in fairly explicit terms that a pregnancy, should we succeed, would likely be fatal. We traveled the country after that. Maybe it was my youth but I was damn prepared to live in that RV in Vegas forever.”

“Until you weren’t.”

“She was with child, Joe. It was every fucking emotion all at once. The happiness, the relief, the fear. I took her home and was back working full time within the week. I took as many cases as I could. Maybe deep down I knew, but I never stopped long enough to think about it.”

There are three potatoes left to peel at this point. K will finish the job, of course; before that, there’s something hanging in the air between them. K goes ahead without looking up from his work.

“Did Rachel get to see her?”

If Deckard doesn’t appreciate this question, he doesn’t let it show. “You never know with that kind of thing. The nurse said she did. Could you blame her? You’re facing down a widower holding a newborn in his arms. You’d say the sky was turning pink.”

K isn’t sure how he should react to this, so he stays quiet for a long time.

“Feel better?” Deckard asks.

“Sorta.”

“Did any of that make sense?”

“Some of it.”

“Good, cause I’m not repeating it.”

The older man rises from his seat and lifts a harness off the wall. Bo takes this as the cue to follow his lead.

“Taking Bo for his night walk. When you’re done there you can get dinner started.”

“Are these for dinner?”

“Nope. They’re for tomorrow. Dinner’s in the oven. All you gotta do is press the ‘Start’ button, big guy.”

K is alone again. He had been rather sluggish and heavy for days up to that point. Moving into his own place once again obviously wouldn’t be the end of his relationship with Deckard or Ana. What it would be is the first extended time he’s had alone with his thoughts. Is he ready for that? Does he have a choice? What is his relationship with these people exactly? He feels better than he was, but there are still more questions than he’d like.

K picks up one last potato from the container. With no one to hear him, he begins to recite the lines he knows so well.

“And a blood-black nothingness began to spin. A system of cells. Interlinked within cells. Interlinked within cells. Interlinked within one stem. And dreadfully distinct, against the dark, a tall white fountain played…”

#br2049 #KDTumblr #officer k #rick deckard #ana stelline #j doesn't promote often #but you should read cotb #it rules and they worked very hard to finish it #thanks again!

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hyperesthesias · 7 years

Text

Loki x Sigyn

Esto Perpetua: Catharsis

Rating: T (mentions of suicide)

Words: 2,355

Notes: so i just finished watching the deep blue sea, and i have feelings. logyn feelings. enjoy.

They had been living secretly in the palace, having escaped their confinement in the Asgardian dungeon, for some small while -- lurking in the shadows, using what magic they could conjure in their weakened and wounded state to both heal Loki’s bitter wounds and to shield themselves from others’ sights enough to steal food from unsuspecting servants. They had gone from one prison to another, yet neither of them had seen it that way -- they were both merely quietly ecstatic that they had the freedom to bathe, to sleep without as much fear, and in a bed made of a mattress, and pillows made of down, and blankets filled with feathers. Such happiness could not be expressed in words, so they did not speak it to each other -- merely gazing at one another as they lay beside each other in the middle of the night or day; Loki cupping his hand around Sigyn’s face, where she would kiss the blackened bruises around his wrists from the binds that had once so recently chafed them, and he would caress the greening contusions against her temple.

And while they reveled in their newfound freedom, this was not the end -- they planned, and had been planning, a quick escape to a nearby realm, though not until they were both healed enough to walk. In the interim, when they were not resting or healing each other, or relishing in the fondness of the palace, they would collect small necessities from other unknowing victims: necessary clothes that were not provided in the room, food that could be saved, medicine, and even a weapon here and there -- taking the responsibility upon themselves to clean, inspect, and organise everything they procured.

Loki’s trembling fingers passed over the vials of medicinal potions as he placed them in a small box that could be hidden beneath the bed -- it contained everything he, himself, would need, whilst Sigyn possessed an identical box. Sigyn sat just a small distance from him on the large bed, where she took the time to organise her own things just the way she liked them. He had been watching her carefully, in case she needed any thing of which he could provide to her, or in case there might’ve been something wrong, as it seemed it were now. She had stopped moving entirely, looking down at something in her hands, though obscured from his sight, he worried nonetheless. So unused to speaking since his mouth had been sewn shut, he had begun to reach out to her to rub her shoulder, in an effort to gain her attention, as he once did in their prison -- but he stopped himself, not wanting to startle her as he often did with such a method, and instead remembered his ability to speak:

“Darling?” he called to her, voice raspy and hoarse still, even with the copious amounts of water Sigyn had pushed upon him.

She started anyway, as though awoken from slumber, and placed whatever it was she had been holding on the bed but beneath her palm so he could not see. “Yes, my love?” she turned to him, pressing upon her lips a forced and pained smile.

But he could see right through her, he always had. Beat him all they wanted, they’d never take his ability to know his wife as he did from him. “Are you alright?” he asked, knowing full well the answer.

She took a sharp breath. “Yes, my dear, I’m fine,” she let it out shakily, clearing her throat as she turned from him again and attempted to gather herself.

He scoffed lightly, not in annoyance, but in worry, and he set his box aside as he crawled beside her on the bed. Swinging his legs over the side, he sat there next to her, unspeaking, unmoving, knowing he could not force it out of her, but that whatever it was, she did not have to face it alone.

And she knew this, without him saying a thing, she knew this. There was much they did not say to each other that they knew, they simply knew -- not out of any sort of magic or psychic ability, but because they had known and loved each other for so long, they had lost the ability to hide or obscure any thing from the other. She smiled at this, knowing that if she did not tell him, it would come out eventually.

Thus, with a quiet and gentle movement, she took from under her palm a dagger that she’d stolen off a passing guard a few days ago, and set it on her lap.

Loki simply looked at it, unsure of her meaning. “I had one...much like this,” he finally said, running a finger along the designs.

“So did I. Many years ago,” her voice even quieter than usual -- a soft whisper that bode none but darkness.

His eyes trailed to her, more worried than they were before. He knew of her past, he knew of the three wars on her world, he knew how she had fought through the last one -- not out of choice, but because she had been drafted, and how she continued to heal all who needed it, not just her own people. He knew she had killed as well as saved, and that not all of what she had done was worth her pride in her eyes. He would beg to differ.

“On your homeworld? on Nashtar?” he asked, again knowing the answer.

She only nodded once, the memories clogging her throat to where she felt she might never be able to speak again. “It was mine, but I had stolen that one, too,” she confessed with a mirthless chuckle. “I had grabbed it off of a fallen solider -- to protect myself. It is ironic, I suppose...” another joyless smile, and she sighed shakily, shaking her head. “I eventually did not use it to protect myself...” and with all the effort in her, she still felt as though she could not force the words from her chest -- as though they were stuck deep within her, in a cavern inside her she had not known about, dark and damp, filled with things unknown and frightening, filled with things best left forgotten.

But he touched her -- he placed his hand on hers, sending a rope into the darkness, where she could climb out of the cave and rejoin him in the light. And with his touch, she felt the words force themselves from her:

“I tried to kill myself. A long time ago,” she turned to him, the first time since he’d come beside her.

His expression became drawn, and a deep cloud welled within him, stirring and churning. His eyes fell from her as his heart sunk. And there was only one question that marred the eye of that storm, a forbidden question as it may have been, he could not help as it came form his scarred lips: “Why?”

Another sigh from Sigyn, she wrapped her fingers around his and pat his hand against her leg. “It was a long time ago, a different time,” she started. “We were at war -- I was born during the second war, when my mother taught me how to heal, I remember I was a child when I stood beside her, helping her heal people, our people. I remember sometimes they would make it, sometimes they would not. My mother was killed in the third war, the one in which I’d been drafted. It was the bloodiest. I think everyone was so desperate for the fighting to end, it hardly left any rules for judgement.” She paused, swallowing, feeling the ash that once plagued the air coat thickly her throat, and she took a breath as she shook her head, trying to pelt from her the scent of blood that soaked the earth. “I wanted it to end, the fighting,” she confessed. “But there was no end in sight. I had lost...everyone. Everything. My mother, Nah’lile, who was my mentor and my closest friend, who had taken me under his wing when my mother died -- he had been captured by those of the North, there was hardly hope for him. And my childhood friend, Gil’an -- who had joined those of the North, who had forgotten his roots as a South man. Who had forgotten me. Who then proceeded to hunt down and enslave my people -- his people. I...was desperate. I was lost. I knew not what to do. I had only the clothes on my back and the dagger on my belt. So...I’d made my choice,” she revealed, trying to keep the tears from over-spilling from her eyes as she turned to her husband again.

He looked on her with only empathy, continuing to clasp her hand with the utmost tenderness. “What...made you stop?” he asked the second forbidden question, shaming himself and scolding himself inside that he might harm his perfect wife, his Queen, his saviour so plainly and with such little regret if only for the sake of curiosity and the desire to know. But he would deal with himself later, he decided, the Queen spake:

“I had decided that if I was going to do it, I wanted some form of peace. So I went and found a cave that had not been occupied by any side of the war, and hid within its depths. I was a coward, I was foolish --”

“No, no!” he quietly stopped her, moving closer to her to quell her. “You were no such thing. You never wanted violence in the first place, I know you -- I know you well, Sigyn. You have not an ounce of cowardice in you,” he opened his arm, half as invitation, half to make a point, but she fell into his chest, exhausted from recalling such a tale. “Your kind heart has endured much, and no soul such as yours is built to fester such terror.”

“I was so young, I was so young...barely grown. I did not know what to do.”

“I know,” he hushed her, placing a hand on her head.

“That cave...what dwelt within it, saved my life, my people,” she began again.

He looked down at her, curiously, furrowing his brow ever slightly as he continued to hold her -- never wanting to let her go, never wanting her from his arms or sights. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember the legend I told you, of my people, the Great Mak’lon’on?”

“He was something of a dragon, was he not?”

She nodded.

“He was real?” he asked, unsure if he had remembered correctly, or if perhaps time in the dungeon had obscured his memory.

“He was,” she smiled and sniffled. “He was magnificent. The last of his kind. I met him there, in that cave. Every generation, Mak’lon’on chose one person from the realm with whom to communicate, and relay his messages to the people. He had been mourning the previous messenger -- he had been killed in battle, by the North -- mourning in private, unable to communicate. But he saw me and let me stay. He chose me that day. He became my friend,” her smile persisted as she buried her face into her husband’s chest. “He spoke to me, in words I cannot convey, but he told me that if I trusted him, he would help me stop the butchery, the violence, the war -- for good. But I could not do so if I were gone. He wanted me and no one else.” A gentle pause, her recollections getting the best of her, she respired. “I accepted.”

“That is how you united your people?” Loki asked, having never known -- she had never spoken of such things, and whatever he could glean from others on her realm were riddled with so much myth and mystery each story varied from person to person and from tale to tale depending on how much wine they’d had.

“Yes. I flew on the wings of Mak’lon’on and called my people to unite. He died in the final battle, protecting me, but he had lived for aeons -- and he had been happy with his decisions he said,” she sniffed and brushed her face, sitting up from leaning Loki -- she did not want to push on him too hard, he was still rather frail. Her sights returned to the dagger in her lap. “Do you think of me differently?” she asked, somewhat timid of his answer.

He only gazed at her, both in awe and in sadness -- that she had endured so much, but that she prevailed. “Differently?” he repeated, “If I saw you differently it would be only because my admiration of you has grown so much, exponentially, and every day -- every day I see you differently, because every day I love you more,” he smiled weakly, the wounds around his lips still sore. He reached a hand to caress the edge of her jaw and cup around her neck. “Nothing would change my love for you, Sigyn. And I would certainly be a hypocrite if I thought any such negativity about you -- but you know that part of me. You are my everything, Sigyn. And I’m more than lucky, but grateful and happy and...blessed, I suppose, to have you with me. Without you, I would be nothing.”

A gasping breath came from her as a widened smile illuminated her and she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his beck and his collar bone -- all she could reach whilst they sat there.

He felt a lightness well inside him, a breath of air exhilarate him as she held him so desperately and so lovingly -- he knew he did not deserve it, but it was her gift to him, and gifts were not earned. He smiled with happiness as he craned down to envelope her, glad that even he could be trusted with such intimacies of which she had never spoken. He had been honoured.

#logyn #loki x sigyn #sigyn x loki #ship: logyn #*#fic: esto perpetua

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